Baron Edric stood by the dying embers of the central fire pit. The speech was done. His voice still lingered in the air... words given to men with tired eyes. He'd offered them no lies, no glory.
Only the truth. And the burden of choosing to stand. The soldiers had heard what they needed... truth, not a promise.
Now they moved with purpose, silent and grim. Some checked the bindings of their shields; others fastened cloth around the hilts of their swords to stop them from ringing when drawn, letters sealed and passed into the care of riders who might never deliver them. One soldier kissed his daughter's name before tucking it into his breastplate. Another fed his letter to the flames.
Few slept. Some didn't even sit.
It was the kind of calm only men who had already accepted death could wear.
He scanned the camp. How each man stood. Who glanced at whom. Where boots lingered too long.
Then turned toward the slope, eyes drawn toward Whitehold's distant silhouette. Still no fires. No horns. No banners along its parapets. Just a city gone mute... like a mouth sewn shut.
The traitor still hasn't moved.
Not tonight, then. Perhaps after the chaos begins. Or perhaps he was cleverer than Edric gave him credit for.
Either way, Kaavi's silence was proof enough:
the old man hadn't been compromised. He would strike from the dark, just as planned.
Edric turned away, stepping over to the rise that overlooked the slope below.
He pulled his glove tighter and exhaled slowly.
Where are you, Asha?
His mind drifted for the briefest second, unbidden.
He stepped back down the slope as Commander Dave approached.
"We're ready," Dave said. He adjusted his sabre, voice calm but flat. "Our flanking squads are in position. No signals…just timekeeping. We hit the north and east walls on the hour."
Edric gave a nod. "And the siege towers?"
"Covered with soot and snow. Quiet. We're pushing them up under fog cover, just like the plan."
"Good." Edric kept his gaze on the falling snow.
"Archers want final word on targets." Dave said.
Edric nodded. "Tell them to focus on retreat routes. Let no runner carry news out. If the front gates opened too easily, shoot the ones holding the ropes."
Dave gave a satisfied grunt. "I like that plan."
He paused, looking toward the ridge. "You think they know we're here?"
Edric didn't answer immediately. His eyes followed a bird circling far above the city. Then he spoke, low. "Maybe they've known. They're waiting."
Dave exhaled slowly, eyes fixed on the city beyond. "Something feels off. I've marched into quiet before, but this..." He shook his head slightly. "It's not the kind of silence that gives you time to think. It's the kind that waits to close its hand."
Edric didn't look away from Whitehold. "You might be right. Maybe it already closed around us... and we're just walking straight into its mouth."
Dave's jaw tightened. He didn't argue, just said, "We should reinforce the left flank. If anything breaks loose, that's where they'll push."
Edric cut him off gently. "No. If it turns ugly, we break through the front, hold the breach, and let the rest collapse on its own. We won't win by playing cautious."
Dave hesitated, then added in a lower tone, "I trust Serah, but Calder's been pacing strange this morning. Jumpier than usual."
Edric's jaw tightened, just slightly. "Watch him. Discreetly."
Dave nodded once, already backing off into the crowd.
Edric returned to the main tent briefly. Inside, Captain Serah stood over a line of oil-patched leathers, her face pinched with tension. Calder hovered near the back table, scanning scrolls, a candle flickering too close to his ink pot. He didn't look up as Edric entered.
The Baron ignored him.
"Status?" he asked Serah.
She replied. "Food's tight, and the horses are cold to the bone. But I've seen men march into worse with less." She paused, voice a notch quieter. "No messages from the outposts. If they fall, we won't hear it in time."
"We won't need to," Edric said. "This is the last wall."
She gave a nod. "Supply units are loaded. If we lose contact past the first gate, we pull back to the fallback ridge. Wounded go on the second wave."
Edric nodded without turning. "Any report from the scouts near the east wall?"
"Still nothing moving," she replied. "Dead quiet. I don't like it."
Neither did he.
No other words were needed.
Outside, the wind was shifting…slightly warmer, more erratic.
Time.
He walked again toward the fire pits where his officers waited. Every muscle in his back felt coiled, not with fear, but anticipation.
The soldiers were ready.
The maps had been memorized.
There would be no second strike.
He climbed one of the small watch mounds and scanned the slope for movement. Whitehold looked asleep.
But Edric had seen this before.
Stillness was never peace.
It was the patience of something that believed it could not be touched.
He reached into his cloak and pulled a rusted pendant…his father's. A small iron wolf curled around a shield. He let it dangle from his fingers, watching the light catch on its worn teeth.
"We'll give them war," he muttered to himself.
Whitehold
Snow swirled through the ruined rooftops. Crows circled once, then vanished.
Far below, tucked beneath the shadows of the merchant quarters, five figures moved like ghosts.
Kaavi crouched atop a shattered bell tower, cloak drawn tightly around him. His eyes flicked from rooftop to rooftop, tracking movement.
Beneath him, Veyl and Corren weaved through alley gaps like water through cracked stone. Joren kept low, watching the perimeter near the lower access road. Liran had already vanished to the right…his steps too quiet to echo.
Only Viktor stood just behind Kaavi now, pressed close to the wall, heart pounding, his breath fogged. The old warrior's cloak smelled of pine resin and iron…not the reek of Whitehold's streets. Viktor focused on that. Real. Alive. Anchors against the creeping wrongness of the tether's memory.
He didn't shiver. Not from cold, anyway.
Kaavi didn't turn to him, but his voice came soft.
"Four carts. Fifteen crates. Three marked."
Viktor nodded slowly, trying to calm his breathing.
He'd felt the tether once already. A whisper of presence. Not full control…just contact. But the feeling had lingered like frost on skin. Wrong. Unclean.
Kaavi shifted.
"Tonight," he said, "we sever their future."
"Are we burning the puppets?" Viktor asked quietly.
Kaavi's eyes narrowed. "Not yet. We delay until Edric strikes. The wagons are being prepared. We'll torch them before they move."
Viktor looked down.
A Rooftop Watch
Tannic adjusted the string on his bow and gave the distant bell tower a glance. Snow dusted his shoulders.
Let them watch, he thought. We've been hunting in the dark longer than they've ruled it
He saw the flick of Kaavi's hand from a far ridge.
The time was close.
He inhaled once, then steadied the bolt.
The wind had changed.
The city was watching.