Morning light crept slowly over the ruins, pale and cold, spilling between fractured stone pillars and broken arches. The meeting spot lay silent—too silent. Even the wind seemed hesitant to pass through.
Varen stood near the edge of the clearing, hands behind his head, softly whistling an uneven tune. The sound echoed faintly, bouncing off stone.
Lyra's brow twitched.
She sat with her arms crossed, eyes half-lidded, annoyed irritation radiating off her in waves. The whistling continued. Once. Twice. Three times.
She snapped her head toward him.
"Do you have to do that?"
Varen blinked, then grinned. "Do what?"
"That," Lyra said sharply. "That stupid whistling."
He tilted his head, deliberately whistling again—louder this time.
Lyra's fingers curled against the stone tabletop.
Claymond cleared his throat before she could take another step. "Enough," he said calmly. "Both of you."
Varen shrugged but stopped, rocking back on his heels. Lyra turned away with a scoff, staring toward the broken road ahead—the path Kairo should have returned from hours ago.
[Why are we even waiting?] she thought bitterly. [This was reckless from the start.]
She exhaled slowly.
"He's not coming back," Lyra said aloud. "That scouting mission was suicide."
Varen's grin faltered. "You don't know that."
"I do," she shot back. "People like him always overestimate themselves."
Claymond adjusted his glasses, eyes narrowing slightly as he checked the sun's position. "It has been longer than expected," he admitted. "The task may have exceeded our estimates."
Renn, standing besides lyra, clenched his jaw. "Exactly. He failed. Or worse."
Still, silence stretched.
"He's cutting it close," Varen muttered.
Lyra didn't answer immediately. Her gaze hardened instead. "Or he misjudged things."
Claymond adjusted his glasses. "It's possible the situation was worse than anticipated."
"Or," Lyra said coolly, "he overestimated how much information one person could pull back safely."
Shiri stood near Kairo's empty seat, arms crossed, tail swaying in slow agitation. He said nothing at first, eyes fixed on the archway.
"This waiting isn't helping," he said finally. "But panicking won't either."
Onyx stood beside him, silent as ever, massive frame unmoving. His gaze never left the path Kairo would return from.
Claymond folded his hands in her lap. "We knew this was a risk."
Lyra exhaled sharply. "Let's stop this."
Everyone looked at her.
"This waiting changes nothing," she said, voice steady but cold. "We should focus on the important matter—the tide. If Kairo hasn't returned by now, then…" She paused, jaw tightening. "He must be dead."
The words hung heavy.
Shiri turned slowly. His expression was controlled, but his eyes burned. "I will ask you to take that back."
Lyra frowned. "I'm being realistic."
"Respectfully," Shiri said, bowing his head just slightly, "even as an ally, you cannot speak of my lord that way. I won't tolerate it."
Lyra's eyes flashed.
Ren stepped forward instantly. "How dare you speak to my lady like that?"
Onyx moved without a word, placing himself in front of Shiri. The air thickened—sharp, dangerous.
Varen watched, amused, a smirk tugging at his lips.
"Enough," Lyra said suddenly.
Her hand clenched.
She swallowed. "This isn't worth it."
The tension eased—but didn't vanish.
Suddenky—a small hand, reaching out, fingers straining toward someone already turning away—
Lyra's jaw tightened.
[Nothing good comes from going back there.]
She forced the image down, breathing evenly.
Then—
Footsteps echoed.
Everyone looked up.
At first, only movement between pillars. Then shapes emerged—small figures climbing the stone steps two at a time.
Ratmen.
A group of them, dusty, chattering softly among themselves, tails flicking with nervous energy as they crossed the platform.
And behind them—
Kairo.
He stepped into the open light, boots scraping stone, cloak torn and dirt-streaked. He looked tired. Focused. Alive.
For a moment—
No one spoke.
Varen's relaxed posture stiffened. His grin stalled halfway into place.
Lyra didn't move.
Her eyes locked onto Kairo, scanning him once, twice—no blood, no visible wounds. Only that same calm expression.
Alive.
She looked away first.
Then, slowly, she turned her head toward Shiri.
One brow lifted. Just slightly.
A corner of her mouth curved upward—not a smile, but something sharper. Quieter.
(I told you.)
Shiri caught the look. His lips pressed together before he gave a small, stiff nod, as if acknowledging a debt he'd never admit aloud.
Lyra faced forward again, arms crossing.
"…Took you long enough," she muttered.
Claymond rose slightly from his chair, then sat back down.
Shiri let out a quiet breath. "Good."
Kairo stopped at the table. "Sorry I'm late."
Varen barked out a laugh. "You kidding? You came back at all—that's the impressive part."
Claymond inclined his head. "You returned. Did you get what you went for?"
Kairo nodded. "I did."
The ratmen behind him straightened instinctively, some puffing their chests, others trying very hard to look disciplined.
Kairo rested his hands on the stone table. "You already know the tide is being directed. What I went for was scale."
He spoke steadily, without theatrics.
"There are just under two hundred hounds in the main formation. Most of them are Tier Threes. They form the bulk—fast, coordinated, and enhanced by their chains."
Varen's expression shifted. "That's more than we expected."
"Scattered among them are higher-tier units," Kairo continued. "Tier Fours. Fewer, but positioned deliberately. They act as anchors—keeping the pack organized, preventing collapse."
Shiri frowned. "And the one calling the shots?"
Kairo rested his hands against the stone table at the center of the platform, his expression sober.
"I couldn't get any closer," he said. "The others kept their distance from the center. Even while sleeping, they formed a loose perimeter—always facing inward. Guarding it."
Claymond's fingers stilled on the rim of his glass.
Claymond looked at Kairo steadily.
"So," he said, voice calm but probing, "you didn't get the most important information—what it can do?"
Kairo shook his head.
"No—that's not what I meant," he said evenly. "I said I couldn't get near it. I didn't say I learned nothing about it."
He paused, then added, "I managed to identify the leader's tier."
Silence fell.
"…Tier five."
The air seemed to tighten.
Shiri's jaw clenched. Onyx's eyes darkened, unreadable.
Lyra's breath hitched before she masked it, gaze sharpening. "That explains the discipline," she said quietly.
Claymond exhaled slowly. "A Tier 5 leading a tide this size…"
Varen let out a low whistle. "Yeah," he muttered. "That's bad."
Claymond exhaled slowly. "This information changes everything."
He straightened. "A deal is a deal. Kairo—"
"No," Lyra said.
All eyes turned to her.
"This isn't enough," she said firmly. "Information doesn't make a leader."
Claymond frowned. "He completed the challenge. He brought back critical intelligence."
"And yet," Lyra said, eyes locked on Kairo, "why should we follow you?"
The question landed hard.
Kairo didn't answer immediately.
Then he looked back at Lyra.
"Because I won't treat this like a numbers game," he said. "When the tide hits, I won't stand behind you and issue orders."
He tapped the stone table lightly. "I'll be where it's worst. And if we make a call that costs something—then I'll carry that weight with you."
No bravado. No promise of victory.
Just certainty.
Lyra's breath caught—just slightly.
That image flickered again in her mind. The reaching hand.
Her fingers tightened against the stone.
Kairo met their gazes one by one, voice steady, unflinching.
"So once again," he said, "I ask you—let me lead your army."
Elsewhere
Deep within lightless corridors, where stone walls pulsed faintly with unnatural energy, a rabbit-headed butler knelt.
"Sir Leon," Jeeves said, ears standing tall. "The Beast Tide has reported contact."
Leon stood before a towering pillar—his Territory Core—glowing crimson and gold. His blond hair stirred faintly as power flowed through the chamber.
"An enemy scout was detected," Jeeves continued. "A Shakeled Hound engaged them."
Leon did not turn.
"Was it captured?" he asked lazily.
"No, sir."
Leon clicked his tongue. "Unfortunate."
Jeeves hesitated. "We used a slave observation crystal to see through the hound's eyes."
Leon's red eyes narrowed slightly.
"A waste," he murmured. "Those crystals are limited."
He waved a hand dismissively. "The hound itself is irrelevant. A Tier Three beast means nothing."
Jeeves nodded eagerly. "Through the vision, we identified ratmen—commanded by a lord."
Leon scoffed. "Ratmen."
He turned at last, gaze sharp and calculating. "So the lords of the ruins are aware of us."
Jeeves smiled. "Yes, sir."
Leon's lips curved into a thin grin.
"Then we don't have time to wait."
He placed a hand on the Territory Core, eyes gleaming.
Behind Leon, Jeeves' smile twisted—too wide, too sharp. White teeth lined his grin, nothing like a normal rabbit's.
[(Perfect. Just what I wanted. This fool—no… my lord. Thank you for the opportunity.)]
Leon raised his hand, red eyes burning.
"Tomorrow," he declared calmly, "the Beast Tide begins."
To be continued.....