Duskspire had fallen to the hands of the Dark Ones. It was defeat—its blow heavy, and its taste bitter, but not to me. I didn’t feel any hollow ache in my chest, or any burnt steel aftertaste on my tongue. The ones that felt those were Vayr, Sophia, and Octavia. It was easy to tell because their expressions said it all.

  I stood at one corner of the room with my shoulder pressed against the wall, silent, and arms folded. The room, though small—the same meeting room that Mom, Yukina, Evren and I had gathered at earlier, felt even more cramped thanks to the presences of Vayr, Octavia, and Sophia. Even worse was that no one but Sophia sat on the seat offered by the chairs in the center of the room. The air in the room hung thick—stale with sweat and dried blood, but no one really cared about that.

  My gaze drifted over everyone, especially on Vayr and Sophia, as I picked out fractures of their resolve, the disbelief and the rage simmering beneath their words. It was so evident that they never took account for this event. For me, to an extent, it was unbelievable too—suffering defeat in an instant, by the hands of people who weren’t even part of the war in the first place.

  Vayr stood at the table’s head, with his hands braced on the oak wood, as he stared at the map of Duskenfell. Its curling edges and faded ink, a testament of countless strategies now rendered useless. Speechless, he shook his head, slow and heavy like a man well aware of how badly his situation had turned out. His fingers dug into the table, splintering a corner with a little screeching sound.

  Sophia sat to his left, slumped in the backrest of the chair. Her clothes, a canvas of violence, soaked with blood that had darkened to rusty brown, but I couldn’t tell whether or not the blood was hers. Dust and fine debris of stone streaked her hair, clinging to it like a shroud. She held her right arm with her left hand, as if her arm was fractured even though I didn’t see any visible signs of injury. Her grip tightened briefly, and a faint tremor ran through her fingers, but she did her best to mask it with a steady exhale.

  Octavia paced the room’s short length. Her boots thumping against the stone floor, stopping at intervals like she had something to say even though no words left her mouth.

  Yukina sat on a low stool on my right side, and Evren leaned on the wall just like I did on my left, her dragon, now in its cat-like form sat on her right shoulder. Mom stood by the window, her golden hair gleaming in the sun rays that seeped through the window. Her hands rested calmly at her sides, but her gaze roamed, just like mine.

  The silence that gripped the room shattered as Vayr’s voice cut through the air, rough and laden with frustration,

  “Who are these people?”Vayr asked.

  He threw the question in the air, hoping the someone would give an explanation that was different from what he already knew. His hands, still braced against the oak wood table, and his gaze still fixed on the map on it. He knew this enemy, at least on the surface—but he sought something more, something different. An explanation that could shift the weight of defeat into a shape he could wield.

  Sophia straightened from her lean against the backrest of her seat, her voice rising in response, sharp and pragmatic despite the exhaustion that clung to her like a second skin.

  “Does trying to know who they are even matter at this point?” She countered.

  “We’ve been dealt with a devastating blow. This war, for us, is lingering on the brink of being lost—practically as good as gone. What we need now isn’t answers about them, what we need is a contingency. The real question is; what is the best way forward?”

  Then Mom’s voice came, soft yet piercing, cutting a different path through the tension. Her gaze still swept across the room—lingering on Vayr, then Evren, then Octavia.

  “I know all of us here have different opinions regarding the current situation,” she began, her tone measured, yet deliberate.

  “But I am curious about one thing, and I believe it’s best to confront it now. Why this war? For what purpose do you wage this war against the Imperium?”

  Three voices, three questions, each pulling in different directions like arrows loosed from separate bows. Vayr wanted to know more about the Dark Ones, Sophia wanted a fix to the current situation, and Mom wanted to know the reason behind the war.

  It was easy to tell their intentions, or rather, their reactions to the defeat at Duskspire. Vayr wanted revenge. He wanted to know more about the Dark Ones, and probably use that information to get back at them. Sophia wanted to turn the situation around as quickly as possible, and Mom, I didn’t think she cared less about Duskspire. Her question wasn’t born out of defeat, but of doubt, a quiet reckoning. I believed that she was at the junction of two crossroads. She wanted to know why the war even began in the first place, whether it was noble enough to know if her allegiance still lied on the right place.

  For me, I felt like I was on the same page with Mom. Not because I wanted answers regarding what started the war, but because I didn’t really care about the Azkhans. I wasn’t an Azkhan, so I didn’t have any blind loyalty towards them. My loyalty was to my family, and the only reason I fought on their side was because the turn of events then, warranted that I did. But more importantly, because it ensured my survival and the survival of House Choryth. The blow they suffered at Duskspire was obviously tragic to any Azkhan involved in the war, but for me, I felt indifferent. It didn’t trigger an emotional or psychological response in me.

  The current situation was an interesting one, and I found it funny how they blindly trusted us. Yes we were allies of some sort, but our relationship wasn’t established on the best of terms—a bond that was forged purely on survival and personal interests.

  But it was understandable because the had no other choice than to trust us. The truth was, we could end the war at the moment if we wanted to. All we needed to do was to hand Sophia and Vayr over to the Imperium, and even though they tried to put up a fight, the outcome was obvious.

  It was just a thought, an intrusive one of course, tempting in its simplicity. In the end, It wasn’t my decision to make, and even if it were, I realized in a faint jolt that I would hesitate. The recognition unsettled, but the reason was obvious even though I couldn’t explain it.

  My gaze drifted to Sophia. The first thing that got my attention, as always was her hair. Its characteristic deep auburn, lingering on the edge of red was a rarity—a beacon that set her apart in any crowd, since there weren’t a lot of people who had that kind of hair. Her hair didn’t just serve as a marker for her identity to me, it triggered the memory of our first meeting in the Dark Caverns. The memory was one I wouldn’t forget easily since she was the first person to give me a reality check—that I was still very much vulnerable even with my newfound abilities.

  Then I saw her as a demon, the first of many misconceptions I had about the Azkhans. But even then, she stood out, different from other Azkhans I’d met. Not because she was royalty; she didn’t carry herself with the entitlement one might expect from an heiress to an Empire. Even now, as I watched her slumped in that chair, bloodied and weary, that same quality persisted. Royalty seemed like a mantle thrust upon her, an ill-fitting garment she wore out of duty rather than desire. I couldn’t pinpoint what made her different—not then, not now. I only knew she was. There was something in her, something beyond the crown she was destined to bear, that defied the mould of the Azkhans I’d come to know and that was a puzzle I couldn’t yet solve.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  She spared my life. She could have killed me like she did to other adventurers, but she didn’t. The fact that she spared my life deepened my curiosity about her and when I got the opportunity to confront her for a reason, her response was vague.

  I saved her life too, at Brisdow. It was an act I didn’t fully weigh at that time, driven by instinct more than intent, but it shifted something in her. She carried the debt like an unspoken weight, a tether binding us in a way that neither of us anticipated.

  Brisdow did something to her—that was what I thought, at least from my perspective. It wasn’t just my intervention; the fact that Mom nursed her back to health exposed a side of her that she hid from everyone else. She let us see a softer side of her because she felt that we were people she could trust, and more importantly, people who could understand her.

  For some reason, she seemed to trust me. Her actions could tell. It wasn’t loud or overt, but it was woven in her actions like a quiet thread. I saw it in our second meeting with the Azkhans, when she didn’t hesitate granting the High Lord’s request. And again during the invasion of the port city, when she fought beside me without a flicker of doubt. Maybe that trust stemmed from the fact that I saved her life in Brisdow. Or maybe it was because she believed I was strong enough to be relied on. It could be both, both reasons combined made more sense—a blend of gratitude and recognition.

  Yet, for all that, I didn’t feel close to her. Not in the way friends were close. Our connection was something else—forged in blood and survival, not affection. Still, as I turned that thought over in my mind, I realized I wouldn’t betray her trust so easily. The idea of turning against her, of handing her over to the Imperium as I’d briefly imagined, sat wrong with me. Not out of loyalty to her cause, but something deeper, something personal. She’d spared me once, and I’d saved her in turn. That exchange, however unspoken, held weight. It tethered us, and I wasn’t ready to sever it—not yet.

  Octavia’s voice came alive.

  “We would have time to learn about the Dark Ones if we find a way to turn this situation around,” she said to Vayr.

  She turned to Mom,

  “We are just soldiers given orders to fight, not a reason to fight. If somehow, you are able to get an audience with the Emperor and the High Council, then you can throw your question to them, and maybe you can get an answer. But that would be very unlikely, because even the princess here has no idea too.”

  Then she turned to Sophia.

  “The solution is obvious even though you may not like it. We send a message to the Emperor, reporting defeat. One of two things would happen; either he orders retreat, or he sends more reinforcements, but this time, Elder guards included.”

  Octavia had answered all three questions—Vayr’s, Sophia’s, and Mom’s in a single sweep. Her logic was sound, and her reasoning was clear, but there was no comfort in it. These weren’t the answers they craved. Octavia’s words made sense, yes, but they were raw—practical, unadorned, and far from soothing. The room seemed to tighten around them, grappling with the stark reality she’d laid bare.

  The next words Mom said, came off as a bit of a surprise. Though it was obvious because the thought of it had crossed my mind earlier, but I didn’t expect her to lay it out bare.

  Her tone was soft, yet it had all the seriousness in the world. I’d never seen her speak in this manner. Mom was angry, Octavia’s response didn’t sit well with her. Though Octavia could be right about not knowing what the reason behind the war against the Imperium was, the way she laid it out to Mom sounded rude.

  “You don’t know me,” she began, her eyes locked on Octavia,

  “So I don’t expect you to understand that I’ve been fighting in this war for most of my life. This war has shaped me—moulded every choice, every loss, every breath I’ve taken. Even now, as I stand here, it still does. So when I ask for a reason, I expect one. And if you don’t have one to give, then at least address me with the respect I deserve.”

  Her words were measured, deliberate, but beneath them simmered a fury that sharpened every syllable.

  Mom’s face, usually so composed and soft, twisted into a frown—a rare expression that stripped away the years, revealing a fiercer, younger version of herself. Her gaze bore into Octavia with an intensity that bordered on malice, and she, Octavia, for all her earlier boldness, faltered, as she met that stare.

  Mom didn’t stop.

  “What guarantees your safety here?” she pressed.

  “Why isn’t this war already lost beyond saving? Us. The Choryths. We’re the reason you Azkhans still cling to the hope of turning this disaster around. If we choose to walk away, if we decide to betray what’s left of you to the Imperium—what do you think would happen then?”

  She let the question hang, heavy and accusing, a weight thrown, not just at Octavia’s feet, but to Vayr’s and Sophia’s as well.

  “Right now, you need us more than we need you. That’s the truth of it. So when I ask something, don’t ever brush me off like I’m some bystander.”

  The room was quiet, every breath held as her words sank in. Vayr stood upright, his earlier rage now tempered with a wary alertness. Sophia, looked in Mom’s direction, surprised. In fact, every one was, but probably for different reasons.

  I’d always seen Mom as someone laid back. Her character was warm, almost always compassionate—at least that was the side of her that she always wanted us to see. I knew she was tough too, but the tough side of her only appeared during battles, when the going gets rough. This was different, this was authority.

  Octavia straightened, her jaw tightened as she faced Mom. She understood the reality—their reality, and she knew Mom was right even though it sounded like a threat.

  “I didn’t mean disrespect,” she said, her voice steady but stripped of its earlier firmness.

  “I’m just a soldier. I don’t have answers about the war’s why, none of us do, not even the princess. I apologize if my words came off rude, I guess I am still stressed from the aftermath of Duskspire.”

  Though she apologized, I could clearly tell that it was a struggle for her. It wasn’t something that she was used to doing. But she didn’t have a choice, she was smart enough to know that.

  Vayr intervened, trying to ease the tension.

  “We are fully aware of how important House Choryth is to our cause, a relationship we don’t take lightly, neither do we underscore. We will end this meeting here so everyone can take a break and rest. We’ve all had a long day. But in conclusion, I will go on with Octavia’s idea. I will report defeat to the Emperor, and his response will determine our next course of action. For the meantime, we will hold down Galdor with whatever forces we have left, and monitor the situation from here too.”

  No one said anything again, but the message was passed. Sophia agreed with a single nod and Vayr reciprocated before leaving the room. Octavia followed, and then Mom, Yukina and Evren. The tension was clearly unresolved, but ending the meeting was the best thing that Vayr could do.

  I still struggled to understand the reason why mom reacted the way she did. She wasn’t the type of person that got offended easily, and even if she did get offended, she wasn’t the type to lash out and make threats. Maybe I didn’t know her as well as I’d imagined, but one thing crystallized in that moment, sharp and undeniable; she hated the Azkhans. I’d always known that she disliked them. Now, though, I saw it for what it was; something deeper and fiercer, a loathing that had simmered beneath her warmth all along. I couldn’t help but wonder just how much that hatred might shape what came next, for her, for us, for this fragile alliance lingering on the edge of collapse.

  It was just me and Sophia left. I looked at her, unsure of what to say. She didn’t catch my gaze since she just stared at the table. I walked past her and made my way towards the door. But before I could leave the room, she called my name.

  “Svan.”

  I stopped walking upon hearing my name, turning in her direction. Her voice was a bit shaky, like someone who was on the verge of tears.

  “I guess today is cursed with surprises,” I said inwardly.

  “What’s the matter?” I managed to ask.

  She lifted her gaze to meet mine, her hair falling slightly into her face. The tremor I noticed earlier was now more pronounced.

  “Can I trust you, Svan?” She asked, her voice trembling with vulnerability.

  I hesitated, the question catching me off guard, as her eyes searched mine with uncertainty. There and then, it struck me. Brisdow hadn’t just bound us with a debt; it had left her leaning on me, however unwillingly, in a way I hadn’t fully grasped.