Chapter 6
The report arrived wrapped in red twine.
That alone was enough to make Rowan uneasy.
Red twine meant urgency. Not panic—that was black wax—but something just below it. The kind of message that didn't scream we're all going to die... yet.
Rowan untied the knot slowly.
Behind him, the Silver Ember Guild was waking up. Boots thudded against stone floors. Someone laughed too loudly. A kettle screamed in protest as it boiled over.
Normal sounds.
They did not match the paper in his hands.
He read the report once.
Then again.
Then he folded it neatly and set it down like it might bite him.
Lila noticed immediately.
"You're doing the thing," she said.
"What thing?" Rowan asked, far too quickly.
"The one where your shoulders tense," she replied, peering over the desk. "And you get that look like you're about to tell someone bad news, but you're still deciding how bad."
Rowan sighed. "I thought I was subtle."
"You punch dragons," she said gently. "Subtle isn't really your brand."
Fair.
He slid the report across the desk.
She read it.
Her smile faded.
The attacks were not random.
That was the problem.
Three villages. All within two days' travel of Eastrun. All hit at night. All by different monsters—but with the same pattern. The same entry points. The same retreat paths.
"It says they withdrew together," Lila murmured.
"Yes," Rowan said. "Which they shouldn't be able to do."
"Monsters don't coordinate," she said.
"They didn't," he corrected. "They don't."
She looked up at him.
"You think something's changed."
"I know it has," Rowan said.
A chill crept into the room.
Sir Dorian arrived moments later, armor half-fastened, hair still damp.
"Why do I feel like I missed the calm before the storm?" he asked.
Rowan handed him the report.
Dorian read it.
Then frowned.
Then swore.
"That's not good," he said.
"No," Rowan agreed. "It's worse."
"How?"
Rowan leaned against the desk. "This isn't a raid. It's a test."
"A test of what?"
"Response time," Rowan said. "Defense routes. Patrol strength."
Dorian's grin vanished. "You're saying someone's planning something bigger."
"Yes."
"Someone human?" Lila asked quietly.
Rowan hesitated.
"I don't know," he admitted. "But someone smart."
That was worse.
They called an emergency guild meeting.
The hall filled quickly. Adventurers. Mages. A reformed ogre wearing spectacles. Even the chicken that once used magic—
No.
They didn't talk about that incident.
Rowan stood at the front, hands folded behind his back, eyes scanning familiar faces.
These were not soldiers.
They were people.
People who trusted him.
He cleared his throat.
"We've confirmed coordinated monster activity along the eastern border," he said. "This is not business as usual."
Murmurs spread.
"Guild teams will be dispatched in pairs," Rowan continued. "No solo work. Report everything. Even things that seem minor."
A hand went up.
"Guild Master," a young mage asked, "are we at war?"
Rowan met her gaze.
"Not yet," he said.
That answer did not reassure anyone.
After the meeting, Rowan found Lila waiting near the door.
"You didn't tell them everything," she said.
"No," he admitted.
"Why?"
"Because fear spreads faster than truth," Rowan said. "And once it does, you can't stop it."
She studied him. "And what are you afraid of?"
He didn't answer right away.
"That I won't be enough this time," he said finally.
She reached for his hand.
He let her.
That afternoon, Rowan visited the city walls.
Eastrun sprawled below him—busy, loud, alive. Merchants shouting. Children running. Flags snapping in the wind.
All things worth protecting.
A scout approached.
"Guild Master," he said. "We found something."
Rowan turned. "Where?"
"North road," the scout said. "It's... strange."
"How strange?"
The scout swallowed. "The monsters left markings."
Rowan's blood ran cold.
"What kind?"
The scout hesitated. "Symbols."
Rowan closed his eyes.
Symbols meant intent.
Intent meant intelligence.
And intelligence meant this was no longer a simple fight.
Behind him, the city laughed and lived.
Ahead of him, something was waking up.
And for the first time in years, Rowan Valebright wondered—
What if the Adamant Shield finally cracks?
The road north of Eastrun was quiet in the wrong way.
No birds. No insects. Even the wind seemed hesitant, as though it feared disturbing something that had already claimed the land.
Rowan knelt beside the dirt.
The symbol had been carved deep into the earth, not scratched or burned, but pressed—as if the ground itself had yielded willingly. The lines were sharp, geometric, intersecting in a pattern that made his eyes ache if he stared too long.
"I've seen this before," he said.
Sir Dorian stiffened. "That's not comforting."
Lila hovered behind them, clutching her satchel. "Where?"
Rowan hesitated.
"During the Ashfall War," he said. "Near the end."
Dorian exhaled slowly. "I thought all records of that campaign were sealed."
"They were," Rowan said. "For a reason."
The symbol wasn't magical in the traditional sense. No glow. No heat. No lingering mana.
It was worse.
It was deliberate.
They followed the trail the monsters had left behind.
It was subtle. Broken grass. Scorched stone. Claw marks that abruptly stopped, as if the creatures had been called away mid-rampage.
"Monsters don't retreat this cleanly," Dorian muttered.
"No," Rowan said. "They were ordered to."
Lila frowned. "By what?"
Rowan didn't answer.
Because the answer was clawing its way back from a place he had buried long ago.
They reached the village by midday.
Or what remained of it.
Houses stood intact, but empty. Doors open. Tables set for meals never eaten. A child's wooden sword lay abandoned in the dirt.
"No bodies," Lila whispered.
"That's intentional," Rowan said.
Dorian turned sharply. "Explain."
"Fear," Rowan replied. "Dead villages inspire anger. Empty ones inspire panic."
He stepped into the central square.
The symbol was there too.
Painted this time.
Fresh.
Lila gasped. "They came back."
"Yes," Rowan said. "To make sure we noticed."
A sound echoed from one of the houses.
Rowan's hand went to his sword instantly.
"Hello?" Lila called before anyone could stop her.
Rowan shot her a look.
She winced. "Sorry."
A figure stumbled out.
An old man. Alive. Trembling.
"They said you'd come," he croaked.
Rowan approached carefully. "Who did?"
The man's eyes locked onto the symbol behind Rowan.
"The Herald," he whispered.
Rowan froze.
Dorian swore under his breath.
Lila looked between them. "That sounds... bad."
"It is," Rowan said quietly.
They gathered the survivor and escorted him to the edge of the village.
"The Herald promised protection," the man said. "Said the monsters wouldn't kill us if we obeyed."
"Obeyed what?" Lila asked.
The man shook. "He didn't say. Just told us to leave. To spread the word."
Rowan felt something twist in his gut.
"What word?" he asked.
The man looked up at him.
"That the Shield would fail."
The journey back to Eastrun was silent.
Too silent.
Even Dorian had no jokes.
At the city gates, Rowan paused.
"Dorian," he said. "Double the guard. Quietly."
"Already on it," Dorian replied.
Rowan turned to Lila.
"I don't want you involved in this," he said.
She crossed her arms. "That wasn't a request."
He frowned. "Lila—"
"I know you're trying to protect me," she said. "But I'm already involved. This is my guild too."
She softened. "And I trust you."
That made this harder.
"Stay close," he said finally.
She smiled. "Always."
That night, Rowan stood alone in his office.
The symbol haunted him.
He pulled a book from a hidden shelf—old, worn, and sealed with wards that hummed faintly.
The Ashfall War.
He opened it.
The page fell naturally to an illustration.
The same symbol.
Beneath it, a name written in faded ink:
Draxis, the Herald of Ruin.
Rowan closed the book.
"Not you," he whispered.
The bells rang at midnight.
That alone was wrong.
Eastrun's bells rang for fires. For invasions. For disasters that could not be handled quietly.
Rowan was already moving when the first echo hit the streets.
He burst from his office, cloak half-fastened, sword already in hand.
"West gate!" someone shouted.
"Something's in the air!"
Rowan didn't ask questions.
He ran.
The west wall was chaos.
Torches flared. Guards shouted orders over one another. The night sky rippled like disturbed water—and then it split.
Something crawled through.
Not a monster.
A shape.
It looked like armor made of shadow, hollow and wrong, its limbs bending at impossible angles. It didn't roar. It didn't charge.
It watched.
Rowan stepped forward.
The thing tilted its head.
And spoke.
"Adamant Shield," it rasped. "You're late."
Rowan's blood went cold.
That voice.
Not Draxis.
But something that knew him.
The creature moved.
Rowan met it head-on.
Steel rang against darkness, the impact cracking the stone beneath his boots. The force alone would have flattened a lesser man—but Rowan held.
Always held.
The thing recoiled, surprised.
"You still endure," it hissed.
"I do more than that," Rowan growled—and punched it.
The blow shattered the creature like glass, shadow exploding into mist that vanished on the wind.
Silence fell.
Too quickly.
"That was it?" Dorian asked, arriving breathless.
Rowan didn't relax.
"No," he said.
Behind him, Lila stood frozen near the wall, eyes wide.
Rowan turned sharply. "You shouldn't be here."
She swallowed. "I know."
The air shifted.
Symbols ignited across the wall — the same mark, glowing faintly now.
A voice rolled through the city, calm and distant, as if spoken from a great height.
"Eastrun stands because the Shield stands.
When the Shield falls... so will the city."
The symbols faded.
The night went still.
No army followed.
No monsters surged.
Just fear.
That was the point.
Dawn broke over a shaken city.
The council demanded answers. The guards demanded reassurance. The guild demanded leadership.
Rowan gave them calm.
But when the city settled, he found Lila in the courtyard.
She looked small in the morning light.
"You're hurt," she said.
He glanced down. His knuckles were cracked, bleeding slightly.
"I've had worse," he said.
She stepped closer and took his hand anyway.
"I heard the voice," she said. "It wasn't just a threat."
"No," Rowan agreed.
"It was a message."
"Yes."
She met his eyes. "For you."
Rowan nodded.
"He's baiting me," he said. "Trying to draw me out."
"And will you go?"
He hesitated.
Then shook his head.
"No," he said. "Not yet."
Her shoulders relaxed slightly.
"This wasn't a declaration of war," he continued. "It was a reminder."
"A reminder of what?"
"That I'm still standing," Rowan said.
He squeezed her hand.
"And that means he hasn't won."
Later that day, Rowan posted new guild orders.
Not mobilization.
Not conscription.
Investigation.
Protection.
Preparation.
The world didn't need a war yet.
It needed its Shield steady.
That night, Rowan and Lila shared tea on the balcony.
No speeches.
No promises.
Just quiet.
For now, that was enough.