– The Curtains of the Manor
The heavy doors of the manor creaked open.
Dayv entered first; Artir followed, his steps quiet but deliberate.
A dense incense filled the corridor — the scent of wine, perfume, and sins desperately trying to hide.
Dayv pushed the next door open; the grand hall revealed itself.
Laughter and the clinking of steamy goblets echoed from within.
The Governor sat among silk pillows, two young women at his side.
His chest was bare, a jeweled necklace gleaming under the dim light.
When he saw the commanders, he froze — then forced a smile.
Dayv bowed mockingly.
> Dayv: "See, Artir? We should've become governors instead of commanders.
Look at the comfort we missed."
Artir's expression didn't change, but disgust flickered in his eyes.
> Artir: "Comfort… is often another word for decay."
The Governor pushed the women aside and hastily covered himself.
> Governor: "Commanders! What a surprise. If only you'd sent word — I would have welcomed you properly."
> Dayv: "We came at the perfect time. While the wine is fresh, and your sins still warm."
The Governor's face tightened, but he kept his false smile.
> Governor: "Such manners.
Tell me then, what brings the proud commanders of the Eastern Empire to my humble port city?"
Artir stepped forward.
> Artir: "You already know. The magic stones."
A twitch crossed the Governor's face.
> Governor: "Stones? Ah! Merely trade goods. The people's livelihood — the Empire's prosperity."
Dayv's voice turned to ice.
> Dayv: "Prosperity? Yesterday, thirty-three crates of contraband were found on the northern docks.
Three bore the imperial seal.
The sellers were western mercenaries.
Tell me, Governor — who let them in?"
The Governor straightened in his seat.
> Governor: "Dozens of ships pass through my port every day! I cannot control them all!"
Artir walked to the table and tapped his fingers on the silk-covered wood.
> Artir: "You don't have to control them.
You only have to know.
Because when those stones reach the enemy's hands, wars are won with sorcery.
And when that happens, even the walls of your manor will turn to ash."
> Governor: "Is that a threat?"
> Dayv: "Interpret it however you wish."
A tense silence filled the air.
The scent of incense grew heavier.
The Governor narrowed his eyes, struggling to contain his anger.
> Governor: "Commanders… I'm no soldier. Managing a city is not as simple as waging war.
If things work differently here, it's for the people's sake."
Dayv laughed.
> Dayv: "The people's sake? Which people?
The slaves whose throats are cut for smuggled stones?
Or the women in your bed?"
The Governor slammed his fist on the table.
> Governor: "Enough!"
Artir's calm voice cut through the tension — sharp as judgment.
> Artir: "The Emperor once said something, Governor."
> Governor: "And what would that be?"
> Artir: "Do not return empty-handed.
Come back with the heads of the sellers…
or with your own."
The words echoed through the chamber.
Color drained from the Governor's face.
Dayv touched the hilt of his sword, then stepped back.
> Dayv: "The Emperor may be merciful. I'm not.
You have one week to prepare your report.
Fail… and I'll burn this manor before I burn you."
Without another word, they turned and walked toward the door.
The Governor could barely breathe as he watched them leave.
The door shut behind them with a thunderous sound.
> Dayv (from the shadows): "Don't keep us waiting again, Governor.
It'll be our last visit."
---
The doors slammed shut.
For a long moment, the Governor didn't move.
Then he exhaled deeply and walked to the window.
Outside, the harbor lay under a veil of mist.
One of his guards whispered nervously:
> Guard: "My lord… what should we do now?"
The Governor smiled coldly, eyes fixed on the figures walking away.
> Governor: "What shall we do?
Soon… very soon, we'll kill them."
At that moment, a faint, high-pitched flute echoed outside.
The sound brushed against the walls with the wind.
The sky darkened — a rusted gray swallowing the light.
The city held its breath.
That night, for the first time,
the Port City felt the weight of silence.