The audience chamber dispersed in a fever of voices—nobles spilling into side halls with flushed faces and eager speculation.
The firelight dimmed behind Alexis as he withdrew, each step echoing heavier than the last against the marble corridors.
The Prime Minister caught up swiftly, his long robes whispering as he beckoned Alexis into a smaller chamber tucked away behind carved doors.
The warmth here was muted—only a brazier glowing faintly, its embers crackling like an afterthought.
For a long moment, neither spoke. Alexis unfastened his cloak, his movements precise but burdened, while the Prime Minister studied him with the kind of gaze that stripped pretense bare.
Finally, the old man broke the silence.
"So. Tell me. What truly happened in Eldara?"
Alexis's eyes lowered, shadows drawing beneath them. He spoke not with flourish but with an unvarnished honesty that felt heavier than any speech in the chamber before.
He told of the king's own elite knights reaching Eldara first and their death. He spoke of the king of Eldara's sudden death, of the prince struck down, of the grief-stricken crown heir forced to bend beneath a yoke he could not refuse.
He told of how war brewed not from malice alone but from folly, greed, and wounds still raw.
The Prime Minister listened in silence, his hands clasped tightly until his knuckles whitened. When Alexis finished, he pressed a hand against his brow and exhaled sharply.
"Damnation. We could not stop it. We could not keep their hands from dragging us all into fire. And now—now the court clamors for blood."
His voice cracked with something perilously close to grief.
Alexis looked at him then, and in his silence the Prime Minister saw it—an immense shadow that seemed to cling to the young general.
A weight carried not just in his stance but in the dimming light of his eyes. The burden of protecting a kingdom despite its thorns bleeding him, of lives balanced on the edge of steel, of a silent choking sorrow, pressed against Alexis with cruel intimacy.
"You are too young to bear this alone," the Prime Minister whispered, more plea than rebuke. "That weight in your heart—it will break you before the war does."
For a moment, Alexis faltered. His hands tightened at his sides, a flicker in his gaze betraying just how near he was to shattering. But his reply was steady, even if quiet.
"When this storm passes—when things settle, and peace is no longer a dream but a possibility—then I will share what lies here." He touched his chest lightly, as though afraid to press too hard against the pain beneath. "Until then… I can only ask you to endure with me."
The Prime Minister's throat worked, emotion catching there, but he did not argue. Instead, he placed a firm hand upon Alexis's shoulder—solid, grounding, resolute.
"Then I will endure. For as long as you stand, I will stand with you. Even if the whole world conspires to bring you down."
Alexis inclined his head in quiet gratitude. Nothing more needed to be said.
They parted soon after, Alexis vanishing down the corridor with the poise of a man carved from stone, the Prime Minister watching him go with renewed resolve.
In that frail ember-lit room, the elder statesman swore to himself that no matter how high the fire of war rose, he would remain the shield at Alexis's back.
****
The gates of Alexis's mansion swung open as his retinue dispersed into the courtyards and stables, relieved murmurs rising as the men finally found respite.
Alexis, however, did not linger. He entered the great house with a heavy pace, boots leaving streaks of melted snow upon the marble.
"Bring a warm, hearty meal to my study," he ordered as soon as he crossed the threshold, his tone measured but weary. The servants bowed and scattered, efficient in their silence.
In his chambers, Alexis stripped off the frost-stiffened cloak and unbuckled his armor piece by piece. As he tugged at the layers beneath, his movements grew rougher, until a sharp snap caught him off guard.
His breath stilled.
The koi necklace had been pulled free, the delicate chain dangling against his palm.
For a heartbeat, Alexis stared as though he had torn something vital from his chest. Then he clutched it close, securing it with trembling care, the small weight pressed briefly against his heart before he refastened it around his neck.
Only then did he exhale and finish changing into the dignified but softer clothes suited for his study.
When he descended, the head butler was just ushering in the food cart. The warm scents of roast meat, spiced broth, and fresh bread filled the chamber.
"My lord," the butler intoned with a bow.
"Thank you," Alexis replied, voice quieter than intended.
The butler bowed again and withdrew, leaving Alexis alone with the feast.
The general sat in silence for several breaths before taking up knife and fork. He forced himself to eat slowly, deliberately, every bite a mechanical effort to keep his strength.
He knew he could not falter—not now, not with a court aflame and armies waiting for orders. Energy was as much a weapon as steel.
Yet his mind wandered despite his discipline. And every time it did, it found its way back to that moment—Hiral's broken smile in the midst of death and mourning.
A smile that bore not triumph but sorrow, heavy and unspeakable.
The taste of food turned to ash. Alexis lowered his utensils, his hand hovering midair before covering his face. His fingers pressed hard against his eyes, against the heat threatening to spill.
He could not—would not—allow tears to fall.
Because beneath the storm of grief lay a deeper terror: the fear that his hands, his choices, his blade, would one day be stained with Hiral's blood. That the war would twist their paths until no reconciliation remained.
He was not confident—perhaps for the first time in years—that he could control the current of events to spare them both. That hopelessness cut sharper than any steel.
Alone in his study, with food cooling on untouched plates, Alexis bowed his head into his hands, fighting to smother both tears and dread beneath the only armor he had left: his silence.