The silence that followed my declaration was not the hollow quiet of a vacuum. It was the pressurized, electric stillness of a forge, a space where something heavy and sharp was being hammered into shape just out of sight.
I waited. I expected the sudden, rhythmic thrum of arrows, or perhaps a single messenger picking his way down the ridge with a counter-offer or a curse. I expected a roar from the battlements, a defiant signaling of fires, or the desperate clang of a bronze bell.
Nothing came.
The silence was deliberate. It was the quiet of a man who had already looked at the board, seen my opening move, and was simply finishing the long-form calculation of his response. Behind me, I could feel my men shifting, their breath blooming in the air like pale ghosts. They felt the weight of that absence. They knew as well as I did that a silent enemy is an enemy that isn't afraid.
