Winter settled over Midland like a shroud. Snow covered the capital in white that turned grey within hours, and the court's intrigues grew sharper as nobles spent more time indoors scheming.
Kars observed it all with renewed interest.
He'd stopped pretending to be restrained. Stopped hiding his amusement at human politics. Stopped acting like he cared about courtly opinion.
The nobles noticed. Some grew more frightened. Others, stupidly, grew bolder.
Lord Aeldric—the minor noble who'd been intended as Casca's political husband before that plan collapsed—approached Kars in the castle library one afternoon.
"I have a proposition," Aeldric said without preamble.
Kars looked up from a military history he'd been reading—not for the content, which he'd memorized in minutes, but for the insights into how humans rationalized their failures. "I'm listening."
"Julius is planning something. A move against the King, or against you, or against both. I don't have specifics, but I have ears in his faction." Aeldric sat uninvited. "I can provide information. In exchange, I want your guarantee of protection when everything falls apart."
"You assume everything will fall apart."
"Look at this court. The King grows weaker daily. Julius grows more desperate. The Band of the Hawk has become more powerful than any noble house." Aeldric leaned forward. "Something is going to break. I just want to be on the winning side when it does."
Kars studied him. Aeldric wasn't stupid—cowardly perhaps, but intelligent enough to read the room and position himself accordingly.
"What specifically can you offer?"
"Names. Meeting times. Plans. Julius is coordinating with other noble houses who resent the Band's influence. They're planning to move against Griffith through legal channels—accusations of treason, demands for investigation, pressure on the King to dissolve the Band."
"And you know this how?"
"Because they invited me to join." Aeldric smiled weakly. "They assume I hate Griffith for the Casca situation. They're not entirely wrong, but I hate poverty and irrelevance more than I hate wounded pride."
Kars closed his book. "You're offering to spy on Julius's faction in exchange for my protection."
"Yes."
"Why come to me instead of Griffith?"
"Because Griffith is predictable. He'll use me, discard me when convenient, and never think twice. You're..." Aeldric searched for words. "You're honest about what you are. You don't pretend to care. Somehow that makes you more trustworthy than someone who pretends friendship while planning betrayal."
Kars laughed—genuine amusement at the twisted logic. "You're smarter than you look."
"Is that a yes?"
"It's a maybe. Provide useful information. If it proves valuable, I'll ensure you survive whatever's coming. Disappoint me, and you're on your own."
Aeldric nodded, stood, and left quickly.
Kars returned to his book, filing the conversation away. Julius was planning legal action rather than more assassination attempts. Interesting. The man was learning that direct confrontation with Kars was suicide, so he'd shifted to political warfare targeting Griffith instead.
Clever. Can't kill the monster, so undermine the monster's reason for staying. Without Griffith's employment, I have no official reason to remain at court.
Of course, I don't actually need official reasons. But Julius doesn't know that.
The formal accusation came three days later.
Julius presented evidence before the royal court—documentation of the Band's activities, testimony from nobles who claimed Griffith had overstepped his authority, legal arguments about mercenary companies operating without proper oversight.
It was thorough. Professionally done. Clearly prepared by someone who understood courtly procedure.
The King looked exhausted. "Lord Griffith, how do you answer these charges?"
Griffith stood, composed as always. "With respect, Your Majesty, every action cited occurred under direct royal authorization. We've operated entirely within the scope of our charter."
"A charter that gives you alarming autonomy," Julius interjected. "You command your own army, answer to no one except the King directly, and have access to resources that rival noble houses. This concentration of power is dangerous."
"This concentration of power has defended the kingdom repeatedly," Griffith countered. "At Doldrey, against the Black Dog Knights, in dozens of smaller engagements. We've served the crown faithfully."
"With the help of a monster." Julius pointed at Kars, who was leaning against a pillar looking bored. "Your Band isn't powerful—he is. You're taking credit for the work of something that should terrify us all."
The court murmured agreement. Kars noted the political maneuvering—Julius had positioned this perfectly. Attacking Griffith directly would seem petty. But attacking the Band's legitimacy by highlighting Kars's influence? That had traction.
The King looked at Kars. "Do you have anything to say?"
"Not particularly." Kars examined his fingernails. "Julius is correct that I'm responsible for most of the Band's recent victories. He's incorrect that this matters. I work with Griffith because he's interesting. When he stops being interesting, I'll leave. Until then, his enemies are my entertainment."
"Entertainment," Julius spat. "He admits he views us as entertainment!"
"Yes. You're very entertaining. This entire performance—the legal documentation, the careful accusations, the political theater—it's all quite amusing." Kars smiled. "You're trying to remove Griffith through legal means because you learned that physical means don't work on me. It's smart. Strategic. Completely doomed to failure, but the attempt is commendable."
"Your Majesty, this proves my point!" Julius appealed to the King. "This creature operates outside all normal constraints. It acknowledges no authority, follows no law, threatens the very fabric of—"
"Enough." The King raised a hand. "Lord Julius, your concerns are noted. Lord Griffith, your service is appreciated. But Julius has a point—the current arrangement is... irregular."
Griffith's expression didn't change, but Kars saw the calculation behind his eyes.
"I propose a compromise," the King continued. "The Band of the Hawk will remain in royal service, but with additional oversight. A royal observer will be assigned to monitor operations and report directly to me."
"Acceptable," Griffith said immediately.
Julius looked frustrated but nodded. "Who will serve as observer?"
"Lord Aeldric." The King gestured, and Aeldric stepped forward from where he'd been standing in the back. "He's neutral in this dispute and has administrative experience. He'll accompany the Band and provide regular reports on their activities."
Kars had to suppress laughter. Aeldric had positioned himself perfectly—offering to spy for Kars while being officially assigned to spy on Kars. The man was more cunning than he'd given him credit for.
"This is unacceptable," Julius protested. "Aeldric has connections to—"
"The decision is made." The King's voice was firm. "Court dismissed."
That evening, Kars found Aeldric in the castle gardens, looking pleased with himself.
"Clever," Kars said. "You positioned yourself as the neutral observer while secretly working for me. Now you have official access to everything Julius wants to know about the Band, plus official reasons to be around Griffith."
"I thought you'd appreciate the efficiency." Aeldric brushed snow off a bench and sat. "I'll provide you with information about both sides. Julius's plots and Griffith's responses. That's valuable, yes?"
"Very. Though you realize Griffith will figure out what you're doing within a week."
"I'm counting on it. When he confronts me, I'll offer the same deal I offered you—information in exchange for protection. Between you and him, I should be covered no matter what happens."
Kars laughed. "You're betting on both horses."
"I'm betting on survival. The specifics don't matter as long as I'm alive when the dust settles."
"And if I decide you're more trouble than you're worth?"
"Then I die. But at least I tried." Aeldric stood. "I leave with the Band in three days. Anything specific you want me to watch for?"
"Griffith's relationship with the Behelit. He carries it constantly, but I want to know if he ever examines it, talks about it, seems aware of its significance."
"The egg-shaped stone? I've seen it. What's special about it?"
"It's a key to transformation. When the moment is right—when Griffith has sacrificed everything and lost everything—that stone will activate. And when it does..." Kars smiled. "Everything changes."
"Should I be worried?"
"Yes. But you're already worried, which is why you're still alive. Keep worrying. Keep planning. Keep surviving." Kars started walking away. "Oh, and Aeldric? If you betray me, I'll make sure your death is instructive to anyone else considering similar betrayal."
"Understood."
The Band departed for border patrol duty three days later. Aeldric accompanied them as promised, keeping detailed notes and trying not to look terrified whenever Kars glanced his way.
Kars stayed behind. He had other projects.
The royal archives had provided information about the Eclipse, about Apostles, about the God Hand's nature. But there were gaps—questions the texts couldn't answer.
So he went looking for other sources.
The witch lived in Windham's oldest quarter, in a building that predated the current city by centuries. Kars had learned about her from absorbing Wyald's memories—fragments of Apostle knowledge that included references to "the seeing woman" who understood things she shouldn't.
He found her shop after dark. The door was unlocked.
Inside smelled of herbs and dust and something older. The woman sat at a table covered in bones arranged in complex patterns, her eyes milky with age but somehow still seeing.
"You," she said without looking up. "The one who fell from the sky."
"You know about that?"
"I see many things. Strands of fate, possibilities collapsing into certainty, choices that echo across causality." She gestured to the chair across from her. "Sit. You have questions."
Kars sat, intrigued. "You're not afraid of me."
"I've been dead for three years. My body just hasn't noticed yet." She smiled with too few teeth. "Hard to fear something when you're already borrowed time."
"How are you speaking if you're dead?"
"Same way you're alive despite being perfect. Reality is more flexible than most people think." She rearranged bones with gnarled fingers. "You want to know about the Eclipse."
"Yes."
"It comes when the branded one loses everything. When his dream becomes impossible and his despair becomes absolute." The bones formed a pattern Kars didn't recognize. "Five will gather. Four already exist, one will ascend. And in that moment, causality itself bends."
"Can it be stopped?"
"Stopped? No. Altered? Perhaps." She looked at him directly, those milky eyes somehow piercing. "You're the variable they can't predict. The random element in a predetermined equation. Your presence makes their certainty uncertain."
"So I can disrupt the Eclipse?"
"You can complicate it. Whether that saves anyone or just creates different tragedy..." She shrugged. "I see possibilities, not certainties. The moment you arrived, all futures became clouded."
Kars leaned forward. "What do you see when you look at me?"
The witch was quiet for a long moment, studying him with those unsettling eyes.
"I see someone who traded everything for power and is only now understanding the price. I see perfection that's really just elaborate loneliness. I see someone who killed everyone who knew him and now can't remember why it seemed necessary." She returned to her bones. "I see someone who came here looking for a challenge but found a mirror instead."
"Poetic. Unhelpful, but poetic."
"You want specifics?" The witch laughed—a sound like dead leaves. "Fine. The Eclipse happens in spring, approximately four months from now. Griffith will be the catalyst—something will break him, destroy his dream, leave him with nothing. In that moment of absolute despair, the Behelit activates."
"What breaks him?"
"Many things, one choice. He'll face a decision between his dream and something immediate. He'll choose wrong. The consequences will destroy everything he's built." She arranged more bones. "And you'll be there, watching, trying to decide if you interfere."
"You know I'll interfere."
"I know you'll want to. Whether you actually do depends on what you learn between now and then." The witch met his eyes again. "You're studying sacrifice, Kars. Trying to understand if what you did was worth it. The Eclipse will show you another sacrifice—different scale, different method, but same fundamental question. Will Griffith's sacrifice create something better than your perfection?"
Kars was silent.
"That's what scares you," the witch continued softly. "Not the God Hand. Not the Eclipse. Not even the possibility of failure. You're scared that you'll watch Griffith make his sacrifice and realize yours was pointless. That you murdered your species for nothing."
"I'm not afraid."
"Everyone's afraid of something. Even perfect beings." She stood with difficulty. "Come back in three months. By then, the pieces will be moving faster. You'll need guidance."
"And if I don't come back?"
"You will. Because you need to know if you were wrong." She shuffled toward a back room. "And because some part of you hopes you were right, which is the same thing as doubt."
Kars sat alone in the shop for several minutes after she left, surrounded by bones and implications.
He spent the next week hunting Apostles.
Not because he needed to—the capital was temporarily clear after Wyald's death. But because Apostles operated in the border territories, and hunting them provided useful combat data.
He found one in a farming village, disguised as a priest. It had been feeding on children, taking them one at a time over months, careful not to draw too much attention.
Kars killed it in front of the entire village. Made sure they watched. Made sure they understood that their "holy man" had been a monster, and that monsters could be killed.
The villagers thanked him with tears and prayers.
He felt nothing. Just collected data from the Apostle's dissolving corpse and moved on.
Two days later, he found another in a merchant caravan. This one was subtler—arranging "accidents" that left goods unguarded and bodies unquestioned.
Kars executed it in the middle of the road, in front of the merchants it had been manipulating.
They asked if he was a saint, sent by God to protect the faithful.
He laughed and walked away.
The third Apostle fought back—a warrior type that had been challenging fighters to duels and consuming the losers. It was strong, fast, skilled enough to have survived decades.
Kars beat it to death with his bare hands, slowly, learning its physiology through direct dissection.
It begged at the end. Promised information, offered to serve, pleaded for mercy.
Kars watched it die and felt only mild disappointment that it hadn't provided more useful data.
When he returned to Windham, the Band was back from patrol. They'd handled several bandit groups, settled a border dispute, and generally fulfilled their obligations without incident.
Aeldric found him immediately. "We need to talk."
They walked to a private courtyard, away from listening ears.
"Griffith is meeting with Princess Charlotte," Aeldric said quietly. "Frequently. Privately. It's causing talk."
"So? He's ambitious. She's royalty. Makes sense politically."
"It's more than political. He's... courting her. Actually courting her, not just manipulating her for advantage." Aeldric looked troubled. "I've watched him with her. He's different. Almost human."
Kars frowned. This was new information. "Is he in love with her?"
"I don't think Griffith is capable of love. But he's... attached. She represents something to him beyond pure political utility."
"Interesting." Kars filed this away. In the original timeline—based on what he'd learned from texts and absorbed memories—Griffith's relationship with Charlotte was central to his downfall. But the specifics were murky. "Keep watching. Let me know if anything changes."
"There's more. Julius is planning something for the New Year celebration. I don't have details, but several of his faction have been meeting secretly, and they're nervous about timing."
"An assassination attempt?"
"Or a scandal. Or evidence of treason. Something that happens publicly, during the celebration, when the court is assembled and the King can't avoid addressing it."
"How long until the celebration?"
"Three weeks."
Kars nodded. Three weeks to prepare for whatever Julius was planning. Enough time to position pieces, to set up counters, to ensure the entertainment value was maximized.
"Good work, Aeldric. Keep me informed."
The New Year celebration approached with gathering tension.
The entire court would be present—nobles from across Midland, foreign dignitaries, military commanders, the full royal family. A grand ball, formal presentations, the traditional toasts and ceremonies.
And somewhere in that gathering, Julius would make his move.
Kars spent the days before preparing. Not weapons—he needed none. But information, positioning, contingencies. He met with Aeldric daily, tracking Julius's faction's movements. He observed Griffith's interactions with Charlotte, noting the subtle changes in his behavior. He catalogued every noble's alliance, every guard's loyalty, every potential variable.
The Band sensed something coming. They were on edge, checking weapons more frequently, watching shadows more carefully.
"You know what Julius is planning," Guts said one evening, finding Kars on the battlements.
"I have theories."
"Care to share?"
"Why? You can't stop it. You can only react." Kars looked at him. "But if you want practical advice—keep your sword close during the celebration. Julius will do something that requires immediate response. Whether that's violence or scandal, you'll need to be ready."
"That's not advice. That's just telling me to be prepared."
"Sometimes that's all the advice there is." Kars turned back to the city. "Julius is desperate, cornered, and running out of options. Desperate people are unpredictable. I can tell you probabilities, but I can't tell you certainties."
"Would you stop him if you could?"
"Depends on whether stopping him is more interesting than letting him act." Kars smiled. "I'm not your protector, Guts. I'm just here to see what happens."
Guts was quiet for a moment. "Casca thinks you'll betray us."
"She's probably right."
"But not yet."
"Not yet." Kars agreed. "You're still interesting. Griffith is still interesting. The situation is still developing in ways I want to observe. When that changes..." He shrugged. "We'll see."
Guts left without another word.
Kars remained on the battlements, watching snow fall over Windham, counting down to the celebration where Julius would make his desperate play.
Three more days, he thought. Then we see if Julius's desperation produces tragedy or comedy.
Either way, it should be entertaining.
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