Night fell on the barracks, thick as a wool blanket.
Through the tight window upstairs, Aiden kept an eye on the yard slipping into night mode. The daytime rush wound down - guards switched shifts, gates got inspected, while tired soldiers headed for bars, chatting quiet-like. Lights lined up along the battlements, painting rock faces warm and pushing gaps into thick black.
This was when he'd usually doze off.
Right then, that's when his mind kicked in. He'd never been more alert than at this moment.
He moved away from the window, dropping the curtain behind him. The tiny space given to "Elias Grant" held just a bed, a lopsided table, yet enough room for his gear on a hook. It worked fine for him. Some actual office worker might've grumbled. But someone using that name as a cover stayed quiet.
[Ding.]
[Sub-Quest: Measure the Wolf – Passive tracking active.]
[Alert: Holt's now inside the yard, doing a check after dark.]
Aiden snapped the final clip into place, hands flying from habit. "Exactly right," he whispered.
He walked down the hall. Light from the lamp had faded, nearly everyone from daytime left. Some folks still trickled through, rubbing their eyes or stretching. Not one really noticed the clerk standing there.
He moved steady, not fast - like someone with things to do but nothing chasing him. Going down the steps, then into the big room, where the schedule was nailed up, a grid of wood holding scribbled names and hours.
Aiden stopped - just briefly - to look it over. At the head of multiple lists, there was Holt's name. Checkups. Drill evaluations. Meetings with the council. His grip reached every corner.
It's no surprise he'd thought Holt had been everywhere in the realm.
Out here, the nighttime breeze hit Aiden's fair face with a chill. Fires sputtered on the edge of the field, flickering across practice areas that sat nearly bare.
Mostly.
In the middle of the yard, a group of officers and top sergeants stood stiff, their expressions blank on purpose. Around a single guy they gathered, arranged in a wide arc without touching. Though quiet, the tension held tight between them.
Captain Holt.
From far off, Aiden still knew who it was. That wide build stuffed into heavy black guard gear, short hair now streaked with gray instead of solid dark. Even when grinning, his jaw looked tight. The lion emblem on his chest shone sharper than anyone else's - polished up, no dents or marks.
He looked pretty much the same.
Aiden's fingers jerked, his gut yelling at him to grab a blade, or just rush in and end it like before. Still, he moved slow by the yard's border, making for the tool rooms like he was stuck doing chores.
Holt's words cut through the rocks - piercing, brief, strength chilled by frost.
"…no excuse for the patrol delay. I want the east wall manned properly, not half-asleep. If you're tired, take fewer breaths."
A shaky laugh spread among the guys standing close by.
Aiden eased up a bit so he could hear, but didn't make it obvious. He kept his eyes away on purpose.
One of the lieutenants cleared his throat. "Sir, we've tripled the checks around the outer crypts as you ordered. No disturbances reported. The priests swear their wards are intact."
Holt grunted. "Priests swear a lot when they're scared. Keep the extra patrols for now."
"Sir," another ventured carefully, "is there… something specific we're looking for?"
A pause hung in the air. For a second, Aiden sensed Holt looking over - quiet, sizing things up without a word.
After that, the leader spoke up - "We're hunting errors."
He spoke in a way that shut things down right away.
Aiden kept going, vanishing behind the row of practice figures by the storage huts. Over there, he stayed out of sight while still seeing everything.
Holt spun round, checking out the yard, then the walls, after that the barracks - like someone used to slicing meat, looking close for something off. He glanced toward the dark spot where Aiden was hiding. Just for a blink, his gaze stayed.
A tight feeling gripped Aiden's heart - like a memory from long ago kicking in without warning.
Holt looked away.
He hadn't spotted the corpse beneath the stolen armor. Not just then.
One of the sergeants stepped forward, helmet under his arm. "There's also talk in the lower ranks, sir. About the knight."
Aiden's body stilled.
Holt looked up. "Who's he?"
The sergeant swallowed. "Some say the burial blessings were… strange. The coffin lock wouldn't break when the priests tried to—"
"Rumors," Holt cut in. "And I don't run this barracks on rumors."
"No, sir. It's just—"
"If you hear a man repeating them," Holt said, voice lowering, "remind him we bury tongues just as deep as heroes."
A tense silence.
Aiden's lips bent into a grin, but there wasn't any real joy behind it. That was just Holt - dangerous words dressed up as offhand remarks.
The captain shifted his weight, gauntlet flexing. "The knight is dead. The prince honored him. The kingdom moved on. That's the story. Anyone who wants to tell a different one can join him underground."
The words should've hurt. Long ago, Aiden would've pulled back. Instead, they hit - like fire hitting rock.
Dead. Honored. Forgotten.
Not yet.
"Sir," one of the lieutenants said cautiously, "there is the matter of the missing—"
A bell sounded on the wall, stopping his words. Not the sharp alarm for danger - just the brief chime meaning someone's at the gate.
"Deal with it," Holt snapped. "I have reports to review. Varro better have them ready this time."
He spun around, heading for the barracks door, his cloak trailing like smoke. One by one, the officers broke off and went about their duties.
Varro.
Aiden kicked away from the wall, darting in just before Holt, his steps soft against the floor. Instead of the usual path, he grabbed the rear staircase - rarely touched except by staff - and made it to the files chamber right as the captain's footsteps rumbled through the central corridor.
Varro looked up as Aiden entered. "You should be in your bunk by now, clerk."
"Holt wanted his numbers," Aiden said, dropping a neatly stacked report on the desk. "I figured you preferred ink to shouting."
Varro looked at the papers. "Did you really do all this stuff?"
"Yes."
He snorted. "If the captain finds a mistake, I'll blame you until the day I die."
"If he doesn't," Aiden said, "you can take the credit."
Varro thought it was good. A grin spread across his face while he snatched up the paper - then came a bang, sharp and sudden, against the door.
"Varro!"
Holt's voice.
"Come in," Varro said, quickly pulling himself upright.
The captain walked in before anyone could say go. Getting asked wasn't something he ever bothered with. He took up space like smoke fills a small hut, his gear blackened but shiny at the corners, gaze sharper than frozen rock.
He hardly looked at Aiden - just a quick glance at the badge, his stance, then off again.
"Captain," Varro said, handing over the papers. "Here's that status update you wanted.".
Holt grabbed them, leafing through - swift, smooth strokes. "Did you actually do this?"
Varro hesitated. "With assistance, sir."
Holt looked at Aiden - his eyes tightened slightly. "That's the guy they hired last week."
Aiden looked at him. His gaze stayed dull, plain - like someone used to staying quiet. "Yeah, boss. That's Elias Grant."
Holt looked at him. Just a second. Then another.
Aiden held onto the fake name, keeping it there between them - almost like armor. It wasn't his real one, but he used it anyway, letting silence stretch around it instead of explaining.
Finally, Holt grunted. "At least someone around here can write without smearing ale across the page."
Varro made an effort to seem humble - but didn't pull it off. "Just trying to keep folks happy, boss."
"Don't," Holt said. "Aim to function."
He snapped the report closed. "These numbers will do. For now. Double the night drills for the east wall. I want them tired enough to not think, but not tired enough to fall."
"Yes, sir."
Holt started walking away, but stopped right at the door. He glanced back toward Aiden - just once.
"You served before?" he asked.
It was just a basic question. One cops often ask when they've got nothing else to say. Yet something felt off - like Holt was hunting for mistakes, only pretending he wasn't paying attention.
Aiden's answer came easily. "Briefly, sir. Border garrison. Learned enough to know I'm better with ink than a spear."
Holt's mouth twitched, not quite a smile. "Everyone thinks that until the ink runs out."
He walked off, silent.
When the door closed, Varro let out a long breath. "He almost looked… pleased. That's the most terrifying thing I've seen all week."
Aiden stared at the blank door frame. "Sure is careful," he muttered under his breath.
"He's a hound that learned to enjoy biting," Varro muttered. "If you're smart, you stay off his teeth."
Way past time for that, Aiden figured - already spent a moment inside those jaws.
He picked up the leftover papers, lining them up one by one.
[Ding.]
[Sub-Quest: Measure the Wolf – Progress Updated.]
Watch out - this one notices everything, runs the barracks by scaring people but gets things done. Facing them head-on now? Better not
Pull apart from the inside. Build power first - then act
Use what you know. Spot the gaps. Hit where it matters.
When he stepped out of the records room and moved through the shadowed hallway toward his cramped space, Aiden kept replaying what had come up during the meeting. Holt was wary about that underground chamber - not because of ghosts but something sharper beneath the surface. Instead of letting talk spread unchecked, he clamped down on it fast. He wanted the version floating around about the knight's end to stay tight - shaped by him, not shaped by others.
He got guys like Holt. Because they wanted things fixed - just how they saw them: neat, steady, ruled by themselves.
What really got under their skin was when things wouldn't just stay hidden.
Where two hallways met, Aiden stopped moving. Sounds came from down under - crude jokes about toilets, people talking, typical nighttime chatter. Among them, soft yet sharp, slipped a laugh he knew well.
Rowan.
The kid hung around the barn or outside, keeping calm near unfamiliar people and animals. Picking up bits of conversation without knowing they mattered.
Good.
The corpse wore a mask, hid deep in the wolf's lair, while whispers crept through soil.
His foes were still dozing in cozy sheets, safe inside their version of events - where the faithful warrior perished just as planned.
Before long, folks realized spirits ignored tales - what mattered to them were conclusions