Lucas did not waste time once the meeting ended. He gathered his squad with quiet efficiency, his movements steady despite the lingering weakness in his body, and within the hour they were riding again with Rus as their destination. The land grew harsher the farther they went, the air thinner and colder, and the silence between them heavier than before. Everyone felt it. This march carried more weight than any they had taken before, and no one needed to say it out loud.
Two days passed like that, filled with cautious scouting, brief halts, and restless nights. Lucas spent most of the time thinking, replaying the king's words in his mind, weighing every possibility, every face he trusted, every shadow that might be hiding something sharper beneath it. He did not voice these thoughts. A commander did not spread doubt unless it was already too late.
It was near dusk on the second day when Patrick appeared.
