Rianes was heading back to where the prisoner was supposed to be. His steps were uneven, his shoulder pulled, and his arm ached from the blow.

  “What about the wounded?”

  “They’ll live. We’ll patch them up,” one of the guards replied.

  “Good. But what the hell was that?!” he snapped.

  He said it not as a question, but as a verdict on everything that had been happening over the past few days.

  Skeld walked beside him.

  “That was a Cross,” he said darkly. “Another one. Looks like it came out of the Black Forest.”

  “I got that,” Rianes shot back. “But why the hell was it here? And who sent it?”

  He glanced instinctively at the stone wall. Two spikes were still lodged deep in the masonry, driven so far in that cracks radiated through the stone. Proof of force, you don’t joke about.

  Rianes turned to Skeld.

  “You might be the first person who’s ever actually blocked a Cross’s strike.”

  A pause.

  “But where’s the prisoner?”

  They followed the wall.

  They found him quickly.

  The prisoner lay on the ground, unnaturally still. In his chest was a clean hole from the Bird’s spike.

  No chance of survival.

  Rianes crouched, but did not touch the body.

  Others started running up: guards, mercenaries, a few locals. Syra and Naelis arrived. No one spoke.

  “Shit…” Rianes whispered.

  Then louder:

  “Shit.”

  “Shit!”

  He straightened sharply.

  “I’m so damn tired of hearing about that fucking forest!”

  Rianes grabbed his sword with both hands and brought it down with all his strength on a log lying near the wall.

  A blow.

  Another.

  And another.

  “Shit!”

  A strike.

  “Shit!”

  Wood cracked.

  “AAAAA!”

  Splinters flew in every direction. The wood split the way flesh does under a blade.

  Then he stopped.

  Slowly, he turned to Feren, who was standing nearby.

  “Day after tomorrow,” Rianes said in a flat, dangerous voice, “we assemble a force and burn that cursed forest to the ground.”

  He paused.

  “Prepare the people. Gather a full cohort.”

  He took a step forward.

  “If this local filth wants to play games with us, we’ll remind them what Balrek taught us.”

  Rianes turned and walked toward his camp.

  No one tried to stop him.

  The mercenaries stayed silent. Their gazes slid toward Skeld.

  “What are you looking at me for?” he growled. “I support the idea. I’ve had enough.”

  “Burning the Black Forest is a very bad idea,” Feren said quietly. “There’s a reason no one has touched it.”

  Skeld snorted.

  “Then go and tell him that yourself.”

  A pause.

  “Or better yet, wait until he’s rested. If it’s not already too late.”

  Feren shifted his gaze to Naelis.

  “Talk to him. You’ve always been able to.”

  Naelis watched Rianes walk away for a few seconds, then said calmly,

  “Leave him alone.”

  She exhaled.

  “I’ll fix everything later.”

  But no one was sure

  there would still be a later.

  Night.

  Rianes’s tent stood apart, in the darker part of the camp.

  Inside, it was warm. A bowl with food still sat on the table, a jug of water beside it. Rianes was sitting alone, wearing clean night clothes he had put on after the bath. His hair was still slightly damp. The lamp flame flickered, throwing moving shadows onto the canvas walls.

  He was staring at a single point, but not really seeing it.

  Naelis entered without warning, pulling aside the tent flap.

  “You’re not asleep yet,” she said quietly.

  “No,” Rianes replied. “Just finished eating.”

  She stepped closer, leaned on the edge of the table, and studied him carefully.

  “What are you thinking about?”

  A pause.

  “You’re not really going to burn the forest, are you?”

  Rianes gave a short snort.

  “I honestly have no idea what to do with that place yet.”

  He ran a hand across the table.

  “We spent four days just to… learn nothing.”

  “Hiring a Cross is an unimaginable luxury,” Naelis said. “And power.”

  She sighed.

  “First Yorung, now this. Looks like the scavengers were just crumbs compared to what’s waiting for us there.”

  Rianes nodded slowly.

  “We need to prepare the city for defense.”

  He started listing things, as if laying out a plan piece by piece.

  “Rebuild positions outside the walls. Before the river. Reinforce the towers.”

  “And conduct active reconnaissance right up to the edge of the forest.”

  He fell silent.

  “But it’s far. And there are no maps, no roads. All of it was forgotten long ago.”

  Naelis narrowed her eyes.

  “And the man who came with you…” she said carefully. “He really is from those villages near the ruins of the White Watch?”

  “Yes,” Rianes answered automatically.

  Then he stopped.

  “Wait… if he’s from there…”

  Naelis nodded slowly, already understanding.

  “…then he knows those places. Exactly.”

  Rianes lifted his gaze.

  “If that’s true,” he said more quietly, “then we’ve been handed a favor by a dead man.”

  They were silent for a few seconds.

  “I’ll talk to him,” Naelis said. “And I’ll tell Feren the fire is postponed for now?”

  “Yes,” Rianes replied shortly. “Tell him.”

  Naelis smiled faintly.

  For the first time that evening, it was genuine.

  She left the tent with the feeling of a small victory.

  At last, she could go to sleep.

  Rianes stayed alone for a few more minutes, staring at the table, and for the first time that night, he wasn’t thinking about the forest — but about the path through it.

  Naelis visited the engineer in the morning.

  The mercenary camp was waking slowly and reluctantly. The air still held the chill of night dampness, mixed with the smells of smoke, grease, and old iron. Somewhere beyond the tents, cauldrons clanged; someone was arguing over weapons; someone laughed too loudly — the kind of laughter known only to those used to living beside death.

  The engineer sat in a tent set aside for him alone, though it showed no signs of hospitality. Rough canvas sagged on its ropes, a crate with his belongings stood in the corner, and an overturned barrel served as a table. He was getting used to the new surroundings — to the noise, to the constant presence of armed people nearby, to the feeling that every step here was not entirely his own.

  Naelis approached him calmly, without haste. She neither hid nor tried to seem more important than she was. She greeted him with a short nod and held his gaze just long enough to make one thing clear: this was not an interrogation.

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  — “How have they settled you?” she asked in an even tone.

  The engineer hesitated for a moment, as if checking his own feelings for honesty. Then he shrugged.

  He said he had nothing to complain about. They gave him food — simple, but hot. A bed — hard, but dry. A place to wash, even if only on a schedule. He listed it all almost mechanically, like an inventory.

  After a pause, he added:

  — “But I’ve been forbidden to leave the camp.”

  There was no outrage in his voice. More a statement of fact — just another item on the list of restrictions he would have to get used to.

  Naelis nodded, as if she had expected exactly that answer.

  — “Good,” she said after a brief pause. — “Then I’ll be going.”

  She had already taken a step toward the exit when a voice came from behind her:

  — “Wait.”

  Her movement stopped, but she did not turn around at once.

  — “Mis—” the engineer faltered, the word catching in his throat. He clearly wanted to say more than he allowed himself. — “I need to know.”

  Naelis slowly turned back to him, attentive and focused. There was neither sympathy nor hostility in her gaze — only a readiness to listen.

  — “What exactly?” she asked.

  The engineer clenched his fingers, feeling the roughness of the fabric on his knees, and only then raised his eyes.

  — “Do you have questions for me?” Naelis asked.

  Her voice was calm, almost casual, but her gaze held the engineer steadily, as if weighing every movement he made. Behind them, metal clinked in the camp; someone was practicing with a halberd, someone else was already shouting over some trivial matter. Long pauses were not liked here.

  — “Yes,” the engineer took a slow breath. — “I understand the situation, and I want to prove that my story was true. And that I can be useful.”

  Naelis tilted her head slightly.

  — “You mean that you’re from the villages beyond the river?”

  — “Yes. I lived there my whole life. I repaired all sorts of things for the mountain clans…” — he paused, choosing his words, — “and sometimes for the Pale ones. That’s not forbidden, is it?”

  He spoke faster now, as if afraid of being cut off.

  — “I can prove my skills.”

  Naelis almost smiled — barely, without warmth, more a gesture of courtesy.

  — “No one doubts your skills,” she said. — “That’s not the question.”

  She took a step closer.

  — “How well do you know the area near the Black Forest, the mines, and the Maw of the World?”

  The engineer blinked.

  — “The Maw of the World?” he repeated. — “So that’s what you call that chasm?”

  — “That’s what it’s called in the kingdom.”

  He gave a quiet huff, without irony.

  — “I lived there my entire life. That means I know the area very well.”

  He lifted his gaze, as if seeing it in front of him.

  — “I’ve been to the edge of the Dark Forest a few times. Back then, it was… safer. Or at least it seemed so.”

  Naelis didn’t comment. She waited.

  — “So,” she continued after a short pause, “you could take us there?”

  — “Yes,” he answered immediately. — “But going there with a large group would be far too dangerous.”

  — “No one is going there with a large group,” Naelis said calmly.

  She spoke as if discussing an ordinary walk.

  — “We want to send scouts to the Dark Forest. Quietly see what’s there, and come back. Two people — and you, as a guide.”

  The engineer was silent for several seconds. There was more fear in that pause than in all his previous words.

  — “And you’ll cure me?” he finally asked.

  Naelis didn’t look away.

  — “Lugu sickness isn’t curable. And it doesn’t kill you,” she said flatly, without softening it.

  — “But you can stay with us. There are many outcasts in the Blue Cohort. And really…”

  She gave a slight shrug.

  — “There’s an entire city of them in the forests on our lands. It’s called Netrin. You’ll get papers and housing there — or in one of our cities.”

  — “And for that,” the engineer said carefully, “I just need to walk to the forest and back with your scouts?”

  — “Well,” Naelis replied, “and for your story to match reality.”

  He let out a short breath, as if accepting a decision that had been forming for a long time.

  — “Alright. I agree,” he said. — “Tell me when we leave.”

  Naelis nodded.

  — “I’ll inform Rianes. The final decision will be his.”

  She was already walking away, leaving him alone with the noise of the camp and his own thoughts, when it became clear: there would be no road back.

  The engineer returned to his things in a good mood.

  For the first time in a long while, he moved without inner resistance. His hands went back to the familiar motions — checking the belt, tightening fastenings, laying out his tools the way he had done all his life. The camp no longer felt like a cage, only a temporary stop.

  Inside, a sense of direction appeared — not freedom, but the chance to earn it.

  Meanwhile, Naelis was heading toward Rianes — with one more small victory.

  Not the kind they write about in reports, and not the kind that changes the course of a war in a single day. A small, quiet victory: one person agreed to take a step toward a place most were afraid even to look at.

  Rianes was already working.

  He chose volunteers for the expedition without long speeches and without pressure. Those who didn’t ask unnecessary questions and understood that not everyone might return. On the table in front of him lay two letters, written in different hands — one restrained and dry, the other sharper, built from short, abrupt lines.

  Balrek and Atrion needed to know.

  About the Pale.

  About the Bird’s attack.

  About how the situation was changing faster than anyone wanted to admit.

  The ink hadn’t even dried when he set the pen aside.

  Meanwhile, Feren and Philip were already packing their gear.

  After the Bird’s attack, no one wanted to delay the reconnaissance. There was a feeling hanging in the air that every wasted hour was working against them. In silence, they checked their equipment: ropes, weapons, rations, the small things that keep you alive when everything goes wrong.

  Reconnaissance was no longer just a task.

  It had become an answer.

  South of the Kingdom

  The royal army had already crossed the border into Solmar.

  The line that looked clear and confident on maps turned out, in reality, to be little more than a convention — a few broken boundary posts, churned earth, traces of wheels and hooves that had long since lost any sense of ownership. They passed through their own ruined border village: silent, burned out, with black holes of windows where eyes should have been. Roofs had collapsed, the well was choked with ash, and dark stains still marked the road — stains no one tried to name aloud.

  A few kilometers farther, the column was supposed to enter the territory of the first enemy settlement.

  That was exactly what felt wrong.

  Serain rode at the front, surrounded by his advisers, and with every mile, the unease only grew. After several more days of marching, they were meant to reach one of the Palmar cities — a major hub, both commercial and military. Yet throughout the entire advance, they had not encountered the enemy’s army at all.

  No formations.

  No scouts.

  Not even stray patrols.

  The emptiness pressed harder than any battle.

  Serain knew this was not how wars were fought without reason. The Solmarans could not have simply withdrawn and left the road open. They had made a move — hidden, calculated, dangerous. The only question was where, and when, it would reveal itself.

  The advisers leaned closer, speaking in hushed voices, trying to piece together a picture from fragments of reports and their own assumptions. Some expected an ambush in the mountains. Others feared a strike at the rear. A few believed the enemy was deliberately drawing the army deeper inside.

  They tried to understand it all while riding in formation, maintaining the appearance of a confident advance.

  But each of them felt the same thing:

  This silence was not a sign of weakness.

  It was preparation.

  — What options do they have? Serain broke the silence.

  He rode steadily, without looking at his companions.

  — If they went around through the forest to the west, we would have spotted them.

  He gave a short nod toward the dark band of trees.

  — If they skirt the mountains to the east, the terrain is too bad for an army. And we would have seen them there as well.

  Kordain was silent for a while, cross-checking maps and reports in his mind.

  — They could have gone around us by ship, he said at last, and landed somewhere near the border with Lugarn.

  Serain snorted.

  — I hope so. Then they’ll simply break themselves on the rocks.

  He lifted his gaze to the gray sky.

  — In autumn, the waters are too rough. Even for experienced crews.

  Cael, who had been listening in silence, leaned forward.

  — What if they went through the Black Forest?

  The question hung in the air. Hooves struck the ground dully, as if underlining the pause.

  Kordain was the first to speak.

  — That would be a very effective maneuver.

  He sighed.

  — Korosten is excellent for defense. But defense requires people. And who do we have there right now?

  — Rianes is there, Serain answered without hesitation, and about a hundred of the local guard.

  Cael frowned.

  — Would that be enough to hold it?

  Serain shook his head.

  — For holding it — no.

  He paused.

  — But it would be enough to buy time. I’m certain the Compacts are already fortifying the city.

  Kordain did not look reassured.

  — I’m worried about the Suggestor who was operating in our village, he said. — Who do we have in Korosten right now with a high stage?

  Serain didn’t answer immediately.

  — No one, he said at last. — Only Velm from the Cohort.

  Kordain snapped his head around.

  — That same one?

  Cael twisted a crooked smile.

  — The name suits him better than most, he said, letting out a short laugh.

  The laugh was dry and faded quickly.

  Kordain shot him a grim look.

  — If you knew how hard they hunted him during the war…

  His voice trailed off, but it was enough. Each of them understood the implication:

  If the Solmar forces really had passed through the Black Forest, Korosten would not be just a target.

  It would be a test.

  Their conversation was cut short by excited shouts from the soldiers.

  The column slowed. Someone raised a hand, pointing ahead. Beyond a small rise, the view opened onto the first Solmar settlement — a village not far from the border. For many, it was a sign: they had truly arrived, truly advanced, truly were not marching into nothing.

  But the joy turned bitter almost immediately.

  The village was burned.

  Just like the border village of Ceredan.

  And at the very same time.

  Charred walls, collapsed beams, blackened skeletons of carts. The ground was trampled, and the ash still held the marks of recent fire. This did not look like an abandoned place — it felt more like a response, delayed but brutal.

  No one knew exactly how it had happened. But one thing was clear: the local forces of Ceredan had managed to strike back and attack the attackers’ settlement. Whether it had been a spontaneous blow or a well-organized counterattack, there was no one left to say.

  The soldiers rejoiced.

  They saw it as confirmation of their righteousness, a sign that the enemy had already been punished, that the advance was justified.

  Serain did not rejoice.

  He studied the ruins, the bodies, the traces of fighting, and understood how fragile the truth was here. It was impossible to completely rule out the chance that the Ceredans themselves had struck first. There were too few witnesses to draw any conclusions.

  Only a single surviving family from the border village remained.

  And even their words came out fragmented, broken by fear and loss.

  Serain remained silent for a long time before giving his orders.

  — Bury the bodies, he said at last. — All of them. Ours and the enemy’s alike.

  Some of the soldiers were surprised, but no one questioned the command.

  He ordered the rest not to stop and to keep moving. The army had no right to linger among ash and doubt. There was too much unknown ahead.

  They were to make camp only at dusk.

  and resume the march the next day.

  War did not wait for the truth to become clear.