The storm that had been gathering in the heart of Valeriand was no longer silent.
Within the restored war room of House Verentis, the torches flared high as the scent of ink, metal, and sweat mixed in the air. Maps were sprawled over the table, and the tension in the air was thicker than steel. Achilles stood before his council, his presence like a blade ready to be unsheathed.
It had been nearly a week since they had seized the estate back from Duke Maren's forces. Since then, all of Verentis had begun to whisper the same name with renewed reverence—and fear.
Achilles Verentis had returned.
The great commander of the border. The man who had survived twenty years of war against the Ascendrian Empire. A man whose legend was now shadowed by something far darker, and far more determined.
But even legends needed information. And tonight, Achilles would finally receive it.
The chamber doors opened.
The flickering light of torches framed the silhouette of a man as he stepped inside—cloaked in black, his steps silent as death. It was Skotos, the shadow.
Every head turned toward him.
Achilles raised his eyes from the map and met his gaze. "Report."
Skotos knelt. "I've returned from House Marestel's inner estate. And I bring news. Both good… and bitter."
Kael stepped forward, fists clenched. "Did you find her?"
Skotos nodded. "Lira Verentis is alive. Ten years old, confined in a chamber beneath the western wing of Marestel's ancestral keep. Guarded constantly. Treated as leverage."
Achilles' expression remained unreadable, but his voice tightened. "Condition?"
"Healthy. Scarred… but not broken. They fear what she represents. She is the daughter of the battlefield's greatest commander. And they plan to keep her hidden until they can either use her against you—or eliminate you entirely."
Captain Renar slammed his fist into the table. "Cowards. Using a child!"
Achilles spoke over him. "And the mine?"
Skotos gestured to the map. "Ten miles north of the Verentis estate—still within the duchy's borders. The mine is active. Guarded by a rotating garrison of mercenaries and house soldiers. What's worse… they've installed magic dampening seals over the mine's core—likely to prevent any foreign manipulation or magical disruption."
Kael cursed. "So even if we try to collapse it from the outside, it's fortified magically."
Achilles crossed his arms. "And the trade routes?"
Skotos moved several black pieces on the map. "They've created an illicit trade route through the southern passes. Avoiding main roads entirely. They move the refined stones through hidden carriages, using royal permits passed under the table. Their profits... unimaginable."
The room fell silent.
Achilles stared down at the map for a long moment, then spoke in a low voice.
"We strike both."
Renar blinked. "At once?"
Achilles nodded. "We cannot afford to give them time. If we rescue Lira first, they'll fortify the mine or move it entirely. If we strike the mine first, they'll use my sister as a hostage. So we split forces."
Kael looked uneasy. "A dual assault… we're strong, but not invincible. If one side falters—"
"That's why we won't falter," Achilles said, cutting him off. "We're not fighting as nobles. We're fighting as ghosts of the border. As the forgotten soldiers they cast away. We know how to bleed for victory."
He turned to Skotos. "You'll lead the infiltration team. Ten of our best. Your job is to secure Lira. Silent entry, silent exit. If they see you, they die. If Lira's harmed in any way, you bring me the heads of everyone responsible."
Skotos bowed deeply. "Consider it done."
Achilles turned to Kael. "You and I will lead the strike on the mine. Renar, you'll command the reserve force and guard the estate. If House Marestel tries to retaliate while we're gone, burn every bridge they try to cross."
Renar saluted. "With pleasure."
Achilles paced slowly around the war table, fingers brushing the edge of the ancient oak. "We move in three days. Rest, train, prepare supplies. Every blade must be sharpened. Every soldier must know the cost of failure."
Kael's jaw tightened. "And if the King intervenes?"
A long silence.
Then Achilles turned toward them all, voice like thunder beneath ice.
"Then we burn our way to the throne room."
---
That night, Achilles stood alone on the ramparts of the estate. The wind tugged at his cloak, and the stars blinked above like distant lanterns.
His thoughts wandered—not to battle plans or politics—but to a little girl.
His sister.
He had missed her birth. Missed her childhood. Missed her laughter and cries. And now, the first time he would ever see her… she would be a prisoner in enemy hands.
It was unbearable.
He clenched the stone railing until his knuckles turned white.
"You're strong," he whispered into the night. "You must be. Because you're one of us. And I'm coming for you."
Below, the soldiers of Verentis trained with renewed fury, their blades flashing in the moonlight. They were no longer nobles or knights. They were wolves.
And the hunt was about to begin.
---
Three Days Later
The twin moons of Valeriand hung high over the forest as two groups moved under the cover of night.
One, led by Skotos, slipped like shadows across the western hills, bypassing patrols, leaving no footprints behind.
The other—a force of fifty elite Verentis soldiers—marched silently beneath blackened banners. Achilles led them, Kael at his side.
They moved like death.
The mine loomed ahead—a wound in the earth, guarded by rows of armored mercenaries and enchanted barriers. It stood tall on Verentis soil—stolen, defiled.
Achilles raised his hand.
"Tonight, they learn what border soldiers are made of," he growled.
And then, with a silent gesture—
They charged.