General Albrecht did not like closing ground.
It invited questions. From nobles, from the Choir, from men who had not been present but believed absence entitled them to opinion.
Still, the order had been sent.
He stood at the edge of the command encampment and watched the field from a distance. Smoke still clung low to the earth in places, thin and reluctant to rise. Men moved across it in small groups, careful where they stepped, as if the ground itself had learned to mislead.
A banner had been planted at the near rise.
Black cloth. No sigil.
The Choir's mark.
"They'll arrive by dusk," the aide said quietly.
Albrecht nodded. "They won't like the field being closed."
"They never do."
Albrecht returned to the tent.
Inside, the map waited where he had left it. The crease still marked the center. He had not smoothed it away again.
Reaction.
He set a weight on the parchment and reached for a fresh sheet.
The wording mattered.
Unstable ground was doctrine language. It carried no blame. It implied danger without cause, and it allowed the Choir to act without explanation. That alone would satisfy most inquiries.
Most.
The aide lingered. "And the survivor lists, sir?"
"Filed," Albrecht said. "Separately."
"And the soldier?"
Albrecht paused, pen hovering.
"Escorts are not questioned," he said at last. "They are reassigned."
The aide nodded and withdrew.
The Choir arrived without announcement.
They never announced themselves.
Three figures entered the encampment just before dusk, robes pale enough to seem untouched by travel. Their faces were uncovered, unremarkable, already difficult to recall.
They did not ask for Albrecht.
They expected him.
He met them outside the tent.
"The field is closed," he said before they could speak.
One of them inclined her head. Another looked past him, toward the low rise and the black banner.
"By whose authority?" she asked.
"Mine," Albrecht said.
A pause.
The third Choir member stepped forward and pressed a hand into the soil at his feet.
Nothing happened.
He withdrew it slowly.
"This ground remembers," the Choirman said.
Albrecht did not respond.
"Then it is not finished," the woman said. "And neither is the matter."
"Agreed," Albrecht said.
They stood in silence longer than comfort allowed.
Finally, the Choir turned toward the field.
Albrecht watched them go.
He did not know what they would find.
Only that whatever had happened had already passed.
And that was what troubled him most.