Eryx Valmor did not stay to watch what followed.
He never did.
By the time Nyvoria's bells rang and soldiers began moving, he was already on the road, riding alone with a small pouch hidden beneath his cloak. It wasn't heavy—but it didn't need to be.
Gold never did.
He stopped at a quiet roadside shrine just before dawn. No guards. No travelers. Just stone, wind, and the sound of distant birds waking up.
Eryx knelt, reached inside his cloak, and counted the coins once.
Enough to disappear for a while.
He smiled to himself.
"Kings," he muttered, "always pay late. Fear pays fast."
Behind him, footsteps crunched on gravel.
Eryx didn't turn right away. "If you're here to pray," he said, "you're early."
"I don't pray," a voice replied.
Eryx turned slowly.
The man wore no colors. No badge. Just simple clothes and eyes that missed nothing.
"Do I know you?" Eryx asked.
"No," the man said. "But people know of you."
Eryx felt a small chill. "That happens when you travel."
"It happens when wars start changing direction," the man replied.
Eryx smiled lightly. "Then I suggest you travel too."
The man stepped aside, letting the road open. "Go," he said. "For now."
Eryx mounted his horse without hurry and rode on.
He did not see the man take note of his direction.
He did not see another figure watching from the trees.
And he did not know that in Aethros, someone else had begun asking the same question Nyvoria had just asked.
Who is leaking our words?
By nightfall, whispers spread in both lands.
Orders arrived too quickly.
Movements were expected too easily.
Secrets no longer felt safe.
Gold had changed hands.
And now, trust was changing with it.