The first thing I noticed when I woke up was the smell of iron.
It wasn't fresh blood, nor old rust. It was the smell of something that had been exposed to the air after being sealed for a long time. I opened my eyes slowly, feeling the weight of the day before it even began.
The mansion was too silent.
I got up, put on my cloak, and left the room. The corridor felt longer that morning. Each step echoed as if the place were empty, even though I knew it wasn't.
In the courtyard, I found Vespera kneeling near something embedded in the ground.
It was a blade.
Not a common weapon. The metal was dark, almost opaque, with ancient symbols engraved along the blade. They did not glow. On the contrary, they seemed to absorb the light around them.
"Elara found this at the east gate," Vespera said, without looking at me. "There were no guards. No signs of a struggle."
I approached carefully. I felt a slight discomfort in my chest as I got closer to the weapon.
"A message," I murmured.
"Yes."
Elara appeared soon after, her expression serious. "They left no body. No name. Just this."
I observed the blade once more. It wasn't an open challenge. It was something worse.
"This is a warning," I said. "For me."
Rai'kanna emerged from the other side of the courtyard, accompanied by Liriel. Both stopped when they saw the weapon.
"Demons?" Rai'kanna asked.
"Not directly," I replied. "This is too human to be theirs."
Liriel stepped closer, closing her eyes for a few seconds. "It's an ancient artifact. Not powerful by itself, but it carries intention. Fear. Threat."
Elara crossed her arms. "So someone wants us to know they exist."
"Or that they can reach this place," I added.
I ordered the blade to be removed and stored in a sealed box. Not for immediate study. To prevent it from remaining there, contaminating the environment.
The rest of the morning was dedicated to quick responses. I reinforced the guard. Reduced entrances. Dismissed visitors without prior notice. The mansion stopped being a symbol of victory and started functioning as a fortress.
Even so, the feeling of vulnerability did not fade.
At the beginning of the afternoon, I decided to leave the city.
Alone.
Vespera tried to argue. Elara did too. I ignored both.
"If this is about me, I won't bring this down on you," I said.
Rai'kanna held my arm for a moment before I left. "Be careful. Whoever does this doesn't want open war. They want wear and tear."
I nodded.
I left Vaillor through the north gate, following an old trail that led to the hills. The wind there was stronger, carrying dust and the smell of dry earth. A good place to think. A good place to die, if necessary.
It didn't take long for me to realize I wasn't alone.
"You're not trying very hard to hide," I said, without looking back.
A man stepped out from behind a rock. He wore simple but well-kept clothes. No visible insignia. His face was too ordinary, the kind that easily gets lost in a crowd.
"I didn't come to fight," he said. "If I wanted to, I would have brought more."
"Then speak," I replied.
He took a deep breath. "There are people concerned about the direction things are taking. The tournament. Your rise. The attention you attracted."
"People always get concerned when they lose power," I retorted.
"These haven't lost it," he replied. "Not yet."
I stepped a few paces closer. "Who are they?"
"That doesn't matter now."
"It matters to me."
He smiled faintly. "Of course it does. But the warning wasn't meant to reveal names. It was meant to measure your reaction."
I crossed my arms. "And what did you measure?"
"That you don't hide. That you don't strike first. That you still try to understand before destroying."
Silence stretched between us.
"Is that good?" I asked.
"Depends," he replied. "For some, yes. For others, it's weakness."
"Then tell them to choose their next move carefully," I said. "Because mine won't be a warning."
The man nodded slowly. "I will."
He walked away unhurriedly, disappearing among the hills as if he had never been there.
I returned to the city at dusk. The sky was stained orange and red, far too beautiful to match the weight in my chest.
That night, I gathered the group again.
"It's not war yet," I said. "But it's not peace either."
"And what do we do?" Elara asked.
I placed my hands on the table. "We grow stronger. Not as a symbol. As a threat."
No one disagreed.
When I went to sleep, I realized something with bitter clarity.
Silence was not the absence of conflict.
It was the price paid before it begins.