The morning sun filtered through a thin mist as the Captain walked back toward the heart of the settlement.
The once-empty field that had been lined with tents now stood alive — wooden cottages rising from the earth, smoke curling from small chimneys, the sound of hammers echoing across the clearing.
Children ran past with laughter that broke against the hum of work.
Men and women carried timber, repaired fences, and tilled small patches of soil just outside the new homes.
The Captain's black coat moved with the wind as he made his way toward a modest structure at the center — his office.
It wasn't grand, just a single-room wooden cottage with a thick door and narrow windows, built by the men who once followed him through blood and mud.
Inside, the faint smell of pine mixed with the lingering scent of steel.
A desk made from rough oak stood against the wall, maps scattered across its surface.
He entered quietly, the door closing behind him with a low thud.
For a moment, he just sat down, his sword resting beside the chair.
The silence was familiar — the kind that came before every storm.
A knock followed.
"Do I have your permission to enter, Captain?" came a calm, steady voice.
The Captain looked up. "Yes," he replied.
The door opened, and Oxel stepped in — his weathered face carrying the patience of a man who had seen too many years and too many battles.
Oxel stepped in, his boots leaving light prints of dust on the floor.
"Captain, you've arrived back," he said.
"Yes," the Captain answered simply. "Just now."
Oxel nodded.
"As you said — the Third Prince is now in the hidden place. Only you, me, Roxy, Rolsten, and Olivia know of it. Olivia and Rolsten are guarding him there, as you commanded."
The Captain leaned back slightly.
"Good."
The Captain leaned back slightly, resting one arm on the wooden desk.
"Where is Roxy?" he asked, his tone quieter now, almost thoughtful.
Oxel straightened. "She's with the soldiers," he replied. "Sparring with them."
The Captain nodded slowly, eyes lowering for a brief moment.
"And… has she been visiting her parents at least once a week as I ordered?"
There was a faint concern in his voice — not of a commander, but of someone ensuring a soldier didn't forget the world beyond war.
Oxel gave a brief nod.
"Yes, she's been going. Every week, without fail."
The Captain's gaze softened, the faintest trace of relief flickering across his face.
"That's good," he said quietly.
"Her parents care for her deeply… it's good that she still visits them."
The Captain leaned back slightly in his chair, the wooden frame creaking under the weight of his armor.
"I'll rest for a while," he said, his tone steady but faintly weary.
"You go and see to your duties—and don't make the soldiers work too hard."
Oxel gave a faint chuckle, the sound rare but genuine.
"No worries, Captain. The soldiers are in good spirits. No one's overworked—they're all… happy, actually."
The Captain's eyes lifted at that, a small, unreadable expression crossing his face before he nodded once.
"Good," he murmured. "They've earned it."
Outside the Captain's office, the village hummed with life — hammers striking wood, laughter echoing from the children playing between unfinished homes.
But farther to the east, at the training grounds, the rhythm was harsher — the sound of steel meeting steel.
Roxy stood at the center of the field, surrounded by ten soldiers.
Dust swirled around their boots as they rushed her all at once — blades flashing in the midday sun.
She moved like water.
Her sword met steel after steel — parrying, turning, disarming.
A step to the side, a twist of her wrist, and one sword flew from a soldier's grip; another was stopped cold by the flat of her blade.
Within moments, the ring of metal faded — the last soldier froze as Roxy's sword rested lightly against his chest.
Silence hung in the air until one man let out a breathless laugh.
"Lieutenant Roxy wins again."
Roxy lowered her sword, her voice calm but firm.
"You're improving," she said. "But you still hesitate — in battle, that's all it takes to lose."
The men straightened, sweat-soaked but smiling, their respect clear in their eyes.
She sheathed her sword — and as the blade clicked into place, her gaze caught movement down the ridge.
Two familiar figures were making their way up the dirt road. Her heart skipped.
"Mother? Father?" she called, surprised.
"What are you doing here?"
Her mother smiled warmly, lifting her skirt slightly to avoid the mud.
"Why not?" she teased. "Can't we come to meet our princess once in a while?"
Roxy blinked, then sighed with a helpless smile.
"Of course you can, but—"
Her father interrupted her with a calm, reassuring tone.
"Don't worry, we're not here to disturb you."
He glanced around the lively training field, then back at his daughter.
"In fact, we came to meet your Captain."
Roxy's expression shifted.
"The Captain? Why?" she asked, a hint of concern rising in her voice.
"I'm doing fine."
Her mother chuckled softly.
"We know. But still, there are things parents wish to say to the man who leads their daughter into battles."
Before Roxy could respond, a soldier nearby straightened and said, "I'll inform the Captain!"
Without waiting for approval, he dashed toward the wooden office at the edge of the village.
Roxy exhaled, shaking her head with a small smile.
"He's going to make this sound far too serious…"
The soldier ran down the hallway and nearly collided with Oxel, who was just stepping out of the Captain's office.
"Easy there," Oxel said, steadying him. "What's the rush?"
"Sir, Roxy's parents have arrived. They wish to meet the Captain."
Oxel folded his arms and sighed. He just started resting for once.
"Tell them the Captain is resting," he said firmly. "He'll see them later."
But before the soldier could even nod, the office door opened.
"Why not let them in?" came the Captain's calm voice.
He stood in the doorway, composed but clearly tired. "I'm not so weak that I'd let the parents of my soldiers wait outside."
Oxel turned to him.
"Captain, you should rest. They'll understand—"
"I can rest when they've left," the Captain interrupted, stepping back into his office.
"Bring them here."
"Yes, sir," the soldier said and hurried away.
Roxy parents entered the office.
The Captain, seated behind his desk, motioned politely toward the chairs before him.
"Please, sit," he said, his voice calm but distant.
Captain placed two cups of tea on the table.
The Captain sat back, his expression composed, almost unreadable.
"So," he said after a moment, "what brings you here, so far from your home? What could be the reason?"
The couple exchanged a glance before Roxy's father spoke. He stood up and said,
"We wanted to thank you, Captain… for allowing our daughter to visit us once a week. We know that lieutenants in the army rarely receive such time away. It means a great deal to us."
Roxy's mother nodded quickly.
"She speaks of you with respect — we are truly grateful to know she serves under your command."
The Captain looked at them, his face calm as stone, but his tone softened just a little.
"There's no need for thanks," he said.
"It is my duty to protect them — all of them. Roxy serves her post with honor. A few hours of peace are the least she deserves."
For a moment, silence filled the room — not cold, but calm. The couple bowed again, their eyes shining with quiet gratitude.
The next day.
The cave breathed with silence — its walls damp, its air thick with the scent of stone and earth.
Torches flickered weakly in the cracks, their flames throwing restless shadows that danced across the jagged rock.
From above, drops of water fell in slow rhythm — a steady, distant heartbeat echoing through the dark.
At the center stood the Captain.
He wore a long, black jacket — the kind that clung close at the shoulders and swept down like a cloak, its edges brushing the uneven ground.
The faint glint of steel shone at his waist, where his sword rested in its sheath.
The air around him carried a quiet weight — calm, steady, unreadable — like a shadow that had learned to stand still.
Across from him stood Titus, clad in white.
His attire mirrored the Captain's — same cut, same strength in the fabric — yet the color made him appear almost ethereal under the flickering torchlight.
His expression was disciplined, his stance firm, the years of battle carved into his face.
For a long moment, neither spoke. The sound of water and fire filled the silence.
Then, Titus stepped forward slightly, his voice echoing against the cavern walls.
"So… we meet again, Captain. It's been a while."
The Captain's gaze lifted, his tone calm and distant.
"Yes," he said softly. "It's been a while."
Titus's voice dropped to a low, deliberate rumble that filled the cave's hush.
"I'm going to Wustania," he said, eyes level with the Captain's.
"There's a mission there — quiet, surgical. Rumors say they're stirring for war again. I need to go in and find out what's true."
He paused, and the torchlight carved hard lines across his face.
"But I can't do it alone," Titus added, blunt and steady. "I need you with me."
The Captain's eyes narrowed. "They can never let us rest," he murmured.
"So what is our objective?"
Titus stepped closer, the torchlight catching the pale weave of his white jacket.
"Get the intelligence. Find out what they're planning. That's it."
The Captain's eyes narrowed, catching the faint inconsistency in Titus's tone. His voice came out sharp, edged with suspicion.
"That doesn't make sense," he said flatly. "A small intel run — and you need me for it? Two captains for a minor mission?"
His gaze lingered on Titus.
Titus spoke with a faint smile tugging at his lips, a calmness in his tone that didn't quite reach his eyes.
"As expected from you," he said, the words drifting through the cave's cold air.
Then his expression shifted — the smile faded, replaced by a quiet seriousness.
"There's a reason two captains are assigned to this. I can't tell you much… because I don't know it all myself. Someone will brief us once we reach Wustania."
The Captain gave a short nod.
"Okay," he said.
"When do we depart?"
Titus steadied his voice and said,
"Tomorrow, we move. Be ready."