Inside the war room, the silence held.
Not as absence, but as restraint — held between the still-open maps, the unstable torchlight, and the men who remained standing without daring to alter their own posture.
The air felt heavier than before.
As if something had accumulated there and now waited for a single movement to break.
The torches trembled.
Not from wind.
From what still lingered.
As if the room itself refused the next movement.
At the center—
the man on his knees couldn't lift his head.
Fingers still dug into the ground.
Breathing uneven.
As if each breath had to be torn out by force.
His eyes moved fast.
Too fast.
But they didn't see the room—
not entirely.
There was still something trapped in him.
Something that hadn't been left behind.
Doros didn't look at the man.
Not immediately.
He stopped a few meters away.
His gaze went past.
Locked onto Éreon.
"I hope you know what you're doing."
His voice didn't rise.
It didn't need to.
"Because, if all of this…"
A slight gesture, almost careless, indicating the man on the floor.
"comes down to nothing but his words…"
"the damage you've caused won't be paid with them."
The silence returned.
But not empty.
Tense.
Waiting.
Éreon didn't respond immediately.
"Words…" he said, low.
"are what remains when the blade has already done enough."
The tone carried no urgency.
No defense.
Only a statement.
"You want information."
His gaze held steady.
"I brought someone who can still give it."
"The choice to listen is yours."
Behind them, the man trembled.
Stronger now.
A sound slipped out.
Not of pain—
of memory.
Doros didn't respond right away.
His gaze shifted.
Fell onto the kneeling man.
"Alaric."
His eyes lifted.
Brown.
Unstable.
They met Doros'.
Lighter.
Unmoving.
"How many men?"
The question came direct.
No circling.
Alaric's body stiffened.
His fingers dug deeper into the stone.
His breathing failed—
but he didn't answer.
Doros tilted his head slightly.
"Deployed forces… chain of command?"
Nothing.
Not a sound.
Jaw locked.
His gaze flickering—
but not yielding.
Doros watched for a moment longer.
Unhurried.
Without repeating the question.
Éreon shifted his gaze.
Only that.
"You're still trying to hold on to something you already left behind."
His voice came low.
Calm.
"Honor… duty… silence."
A short pause.
"All of that stayed with you… in there."
Alaric's body reacted.
A spasm.
"Here…" Éreon continued "only what I allowed to return remained."
The air thickened.
Denser.
"And I can take that away too."
Now Alaric's eyes trembled.
For real.
"Or I can return you."
Without raising his voice.
Without an open threat.
"Slowly."
Silence.
The man broke first in his breathing.
"Five thousand…" he forced out "cavalry under the banner of Viscount Bragança…"
He swallowed dry.
"And under the command of the heir of House Acasto."
Doros didn't react.
"Awakened."
The word fell.
And stayed.
Alaric hesitated again.
But now it was different.
It wasn't resistance.
It was fear.
"I… don't know the number."
Quick.
"That is held by the viscount… it is not revealed…"
Uneven breathing.
"I only saw two."
"The viscount… and the young Acasto."
Doros took a step.
"Reason…"
A short silence.
"why attack the barony?"
Alaric closed his eyes for a moment.
"The initial orders… were for a meeting."
"With Baron Silvanis."
The air in the room shifted.
"He was supposed to answer."
"To fulfill what was demanded."
His voice faltered.
Returned.
"If there was no response…"
"within a few days…"
"the barony was to be buried."
Silence.
"Who gave the order?"
Now the body locked.
Harder.
Like before—
but worse.
"I… heard it said…"
The voice began to give.
"that it came… from the king himself—"
The body arched.
Violent.
The sound that came out wasn't human.
His fingers tore at the stone.
Blood spread through the cracks.
"No—"
But it was too late.
Doros didn't move.
"Continue."
Cold.
Direct.
Alaric tried.
"The baron… Silvanis…"
His breathing broke.
"has ties…"
His eyes lost focus.
Returned.
"with the north—"
The word didn't finish.
It broke.
His body locked mid-movement.
As if something had reached him from the inside.
His fingers clenched hard against the stone.
Too hard.
A dry sound echoed through the room.
His breath failed.
Didn't return.
His eyes opened—
too wide.
Fixed.
But no longer seeing.
A tremor ran through his body.
Violent.
Out of rhythm.
Not ordinary pain.
Like rejection.
As if something inside him was being torn out by force.
A sound escaped.
Not a scream—
something lower.
Rawer.
And then—
it stopped.
All at once.
Without transition.
The silence still weighed over the motionless body on the ground.
Éreon watched for a moment longer.
Without emotion.
"He lasted longer than I expected."
His voice came low.
Almost a comment to himself.
Doros turned his head.
His gaze met his.
"Against what, exactly?"
The question came simple.
But not light.
Éreon didn't respond immediately.
As if choosing how much to say.
"Against what held him."
A short pause.
"The curse."
Doros' eyes didn't move.
"Once someone crosses the abyss…"
Éreon continued
"what comes from outside loses strength."
"Time, cause… even rules no longer sustain themselves in the same way."
The silence held.
But now attentive.
"If it still reached him…"
He assessed the body… and returned.
"then whoever cast it isn't bound by the same limitations."
"Or found ways around them."
The sound of metal rang dry in the room.
Doros drew his sword.
The blade met Éreon's neck.
"Don't speak of the abyss as if it were something respected."
His voice didn't rise.
But hardened.
"The temple watches…"
"and everything that returns from there is marked."
His eyes narrowed a fraction.
"As heretic… or something worse."
The blade pressed a little more.
"Even so, you speak like someone who has walked it more times than he should…"
Doros kept the distance short.
"And knows more than any record the temple keeps."
"Coincidence… doesn't hold all of that."
He tilted his head slightly.
As if something had clicked into place.
"A man dragged from his own shadow."
"Crows where there was nothing."
His eyes narrowed.
"Thalia screaming."
"Asking for something to stop."
The silence weighed.
"Kael acting like someone who already knew what was coming."
The presence pressed the space between them.
"So I'm not going to waste time pretending it holds."
A minimal step forward.
"What did you do inside the forest…"
a short pause
"that affected Thalia directly?"
Éreon smiled.
"I gave the forest something it couldn't ignore."
"The rest… it did on its own."
Doros advanced half a step.
"Don't speak in riddles with me."
His tone didn't rise.
But hardened.
"What did you do?"
Éreon held his gaze.
Without retreating.
"The forest had a rule."
"An intention that spread through everything it touched."
A brief pause.
"I introduced another."
Doros' eyes narrowed a fraction.
"Opposite."
"And when two forces like that meet…"
Éreon continued
"they don't coexist."
"They confront."
The blade didn't move.
But the attention did.
"The weaker one yields."
Silence.
"What kind of rule?"
The pressure of the steel didn't lessen.
Éreon didn't respond immediately.
His gaze dropped for a moment—
to the blade against his own neck.
Returned.
"One that doesn't break."
"It's only paid."
The silence didn't give.
"I didn't alter the forest."
"I imposed something else."
A short breath.
"A part of the abyss."
The steel didn't leave its place.
Doros held the pressure for a moment longer.
"So that's what you're saying…"
His voice came low, unhurried — but now with another layer.
Not acceptance.
Assessment.
His eyes didn't leave Éreon.
"That you can raise the abyss… and bend it to your will."
A short pause.
Long enough for the weight to settle.
"If that were true…"
A slight tilt of the head.
"the temple would have already set half the empire after you."
Silence.
Not as doubt.
As measured provocation.
His gaze dropped for a moment, to the blade.
Returned.
"But of course…"
a nearly imperceptible trace of irony
"perhaps I should accept it without question."
"'Impose rules.'"
He repeated.
Unhurried.
Testing the sound itself.
"That's an interesting way to put it."
Now, a minimal step forward.
The blade didn't retreat.
"Because, from my point of view…"
the tone didn't rise — it hardened
"all I saw was someone meddling in something he does not control."
Silence.
Short.
"And almost killed someone because of it."
"If you can impose yours…"
The tone closed.
"then don't expect me to hesitate to impose mine."
His body shifted.
His grip tightened firmly around the hilt.
The steel angled.
A minimal adjustment of distance.
The kind of movement that doesn't ask for a decision — it simply carries it out.
"Doros."
The voice cut through the space.
Without force.
But absolute.
The blade stopped.
At the same instant.
A thread of blood ran down Éreon's neck.
Doros' eyes moved.
Slow.
Precise.
To the entrance.
Kael stood there.
His weight supported.
Beside him, a woman held him up.
Black hair falling like windless night.
Pale skin, with a faint warm glow.
Golden eyes — steady.
Doros didn't turn his body.
But his voice came.
"I don't believe you dragged yourself here in that state…"
"without a good reason."
He turned his head.
His eyes met Kael's.
"So give me one."
Kael breathed.
Slow.
Like someone measuring the space before speaking.
"You're going to need him… for what this war will bring."
His voice came low.
Contained.
"And even if you didn't…"
His head tilted slightly.
"you wouldn't be able to kill him."
The silence reacted.
Not to the men.
To what wasn't seen.
"Didn't you notice?"
The question came without confrontation.
"Look around."
Doros didn't answer.
But obeyed.
His eyes passed through the room.
Across the unmoving men.
Not on guard.
Still.
As if something had been taken from them.
Until finding Aldric.
His hand still on the sword hilt.
But without tension.
Without will.
His eyes returned.
To Éreon.
The smile was already there.
Small.
Contained.
Doros didn't change posture.
But his voice came lower.
"What did you do?"
Éreon raised his hand.
Touched the blade.
Lightly.
The steel yielded.
Without resistance.
He walked past Doros.
Unhurried.
As if he had never been under threat.
He stopped by the table.
His gaze fell over the maps.
"You really believed…"
A slight pause.
"that you could kill me that easily?"
Doros turned his body now.
Completely.
"What did you do to them?"
The question came firm.
Without raising.
Kael answered first.
"Not to them."
"To what sustains them."
He tilted his head slightly.
"When two intentions collide…"
"the weaker one yields."
Doros' eyes passed again over the men.
Now with a different measure.
Kael continued:
"Puppets of shadow."
A short pause.
"They see, hear… understand."
"But they don't command their own bodies."
Doros narrowed his gaze.
"Shadow puppets…"
His tone came lower.
"And you expect me to believe you did something without anyone noticing?"
Kael didn't move.
"You must have felt it."
A slight pause.
"Even if just a little."
His head tilted a degree.
"A minimal change."
Doros' eyes went to Aldric.
"So that's why…"
His gaze shifted.
Met Éreon.
"he drew his sword."
Éreon smiled.
His eyes didn't move.
"I admit… that surprised me."
"A little more than the rest."
The smile didn't widen.
But remained.
"Says a lot about him."
His gaze briefly passed over Aldric.
"And about what he can still perceive."
Then returned.
"Experience… has its value."
Silence.
Short.
Éreon shifted his gaze.
To Kael.
"I see Gaia revealed more than I expected."
A slight tilt of the head.
"A year beside someone who couldn't react…"
"offers certain… opportunities."
Kael didn't respond.
His silence wasn't empty.
It was choice.
Éreon held for a moment.
"Staying alive requires understanding what can kill us."
His gaze remained on him.
Then moved.
Beyond.
His eyes met the woman beside him.
"Madéa."
His voice came low.
"I see you helped him."
She didn't move.
"I only stabilized what was left."
Simple.
Without ornament.
"He can't fight."
Éreon held her gaze.
"Why?"
A brief silence.
"It's not something that needs to be said."
The golden eyes didn't retreat.
"Before we descended the mountain…"
Her voice came calm.
"you offered me a choice."
"I take it now."
Her golden eyes held steady.
"Help the barony."
"It's all I ask."
Éreon watched her for a moment longer.
"Afraid of your own death?"
The question came without apparent weight.
Almost curious.
"If that's it…"
A slight shift of his gaze.
"there's no need."
Returned.
"I can take you out of here unharmed."
Madéa didn't respond immediately.
An almost-smile touched her lips.
Not relief.
Nor denial.
Just… knowing.
That was enough.
Éreon held her gaze for a moment.
Then turned.
Unhurried.
His hand lifted slightly.
"Rupture."
The effect came immediately.
Like a thread being cut.
The bodies reacted.
One after another.
Air returning out of rhythm.
Knees giving way.
Hands trembling.
Aldric was the last.
Air rushed in like a blow.
His hand tightened on the sword hilt—
now with real force.
His eyes focused.
Confused.
Alive.
The silence returned.
But not the same.
Now—
no one there mistook what Éreon was capable of.