1st Person POV: Kaito
The watchtower's stone was still warm beneath my hands, though the sun had already started its slow descent. From up here, the newly patched streets of Korvath sprawled like veins of fresh scar tissue—raw, but alive. Workers shouted, carts rumbled, and the rhythm of rebuilding hummed through the city. For the first time in weeks, the air didn't smell like smoke and blood. It smelled like sawdust, mortar, and… hope.
And then I saw him.
The procession glided through the gates like a polished dagger sliding from its sheath. Banners of Ostoria fluttered—deep crimson trimmed with gold—and armored horses clopped against the cobblestones in practiced unison. At the center rode Chancellor Valerius Montara, draped in his immaculate white coat with golden tassels. A statesman's smile carved into his face.
My breath caught.
My body stiffened. My fingers dug into the stone railing until my knuckles went white.
That face.
For years, it had haunted the peripheries of my memory like a ghost in smoke. A smile that didn't belong to any savior… only to a man watching fire consume everything.
And just like that—
The tower disappeared. The world twisted.
I was ten years old again.
---
Bustleburg burned around me, a storm of orange and black swallowing the streets. Screams ricocheted between the buildings. The air was thick with ash, choking every breath. I crouched in the ruins of a tailor's shop, clutching my little sister's hand, whispering for her to stay quiet.
Outside, soldiers ran—not Ostonian, but Valerian—silver armor glinting in the hellish light. An ogre's roar split the night. Another wall came down with a thunderous crack.
And then I saw him. Standing in a dark alleyway, half-shadowed by the blaze. Valerius Montara, younger but unmistakable, his smile sharp as glass. He was not alone. Beside him stood a man in full Valerian plate—ornate, commanding. Their hands clasped briefly, a conspiratorial exchange. Montara nodded once.
Seconds later, the ogres hit the western gate.
The city fell that night.
And I ran.
---
The memory shattered like a mirror, and I was back in Korvath, heart pounding in my chest.
"Him…" I whispered, the word trembling out of me like smoke from dying embers.
Below, the Chancellor was delivering some flowery speech to the gathered townsfolk—praising resilience, promising vague "coordination efforts" with Ostoria. His voice was honey over thorns. And the crowd, desperate for stability, clung to his every word.
But I wasn't looking at him anymore. I was watching his men.
The Chancellor's personal guard moved with disciplined precision, but something was off. They weren't just securing the area—they were marking it. Subtle scratches on pillars. Quiet exchanges with civilian foremen. One soldier "accidentally" loosened the binding on a key support beam for a scaffolding. Another delayed a supply cart with a bureaucratic "inspection."
They weren't protecting Korvath.
They were stalling it.
A cold knot twisted in my gut.
I slipped away from the tower without a sound. My boots kissed the stone stairwell like whispers, and soon I was back on the streets, blending into the flow of workers and soldiers. I pulled my hood low, letting the shadow cover my face.
This wasn't the time to confront him.
No… this was the time to watch.
---
For the next few hours, I shadowed Valerius's entourage through the city. I'd spent years moving unseen through the filthiest corners of kingdoms; a procession of polished bureaucrats was child's play.
At the central supply depot, two guards rerouted lumber meant for the southern wall to a "temporary storage site" that didn't exist on any reconstruction map. I noted the false direction on a scrap of parchment.
At the apothecary tents, one soldier discreetly spilled a barrel of alchemical preservatives, ruining a batch of healing salves. Another handed a messenger the wrong ledger, ensuring a day's delay in resource allocation.
Tiny cuts. Surgical sabotage. Not enough to draw attention… but enough to bleed the effort slowly.
And Valerius? He walked through it all like a conductor, smiling at children, shaking hands, giving empty promises of support that somehow never materialized into actual crates, soldiers, or coin.
To anyone else, he was a savior.
To me… he was the man who smiled as my city burned.
---
I perched later that night atop the half-repaired western rampart, watching the Chancellor's camp settle near the plaza. Torches flickered around their carriages, shadows dancing like old ghosts.
My jaw clenched. Every instinct screamed to strike now—put an arrow through his heart and be done with it. But this wasn't Bustleburg anymore. This was Korvath. Yoshiya, Omina, Seikaku—they'd built something here worth more than vengeance.
If Valerius was truly here to finish what he started… then I'd expose him piece by piece. Quietly. Meticulously. Like the blade of a hunter against the throat of a beast.
I looked toward the flickering tents one last time and whispered to the night,
"This time, you won't burn another city. Not while I'm watching."