"A fortress remembers the names of those who bled into its stones." – Etching found in Amakatsu's outer wall
The road east to Evalia felt like a different world compared to Durama's walls. Where Durama had stood black and grim, Evalia greeted them with sunlight reflecting off calm rivers and fertile plains. Its walls were round, smooth, and pale, more like an embrace than a shield. For many, Evalia was Tilbara's jewel—a place where peace felt almost believable.
But as Ken and Kabe crossed the gates with their convoy, the weight of Durama clung to them. Soldiers saluted half-heartedly, children played in courtyards unaware of blood still drying on armor, and the air smelled of river lilies instead of ash.
Ken muttered, "Feels wrong. Like the war stopped at the gate."
Kabe answered quietly, "No… it's just that Evalia refuses to look at it."
Inside the council hall, the difference was sharper. Stone pillars painted with clan emblems stood around a great circular table, where voices clashed louder than any battlefield.
"Raise the armies!" shouted one elder. "Durama bleeds, and you ask us to wait?"
Another countered, "If we strike first, we dishonor the Compact of Ash and Dawn. Tilbara stands because peace holds stronger than fear."
Ken shifted uneasily, the debate echoing in his skull. He wanted to shout, to tell them what the walls of Durama had looked like at night, slick with blood and ash. But his place was in the shadows beside Kabe, not among the voices of kings and elders.
Prince Qinglua stood at the center, his gaze sweeping the hall. Calm, but heavy. "Listen to yourselves. The enemy across the sea is not blind. They hear our division more clearly than our unity."
Silence fell. For a moment, the room felt smaller.
Later that night, while the city slept, Ken wandered to the riverbanks. The moon shimmered across the water, yet the reflection did not match. The river showed another sky—stitched with red curtains, torn by whispers.
"Ken Hiroki…" The voice was deep, layered, like a growl beneath the water.
Ken froze. His breath clouded as if the night had turned cold. "Who's there?"
The river rippled. A shape stirred beneath—horns, eyes glowing like embers, scales the color of burning stone. A presence both ancient and restless.
"I am Rudhana. You dream of strength, yet you fear its weight."
Ken stumbled back, his hand tightening on his blade. "A dream… this is just a dream."
The voice rumbled, half laughter, half snarl. "The trail remembers. And soon, you will too."
The reflection broke. The river was just water again, calm and silver under the moon. Ken fell to his knees, gasping.
Behind him, Kabe's voice cut through the night. "What did you see?"
Ken hesitated, then shook his head. "Nothing. Just… the river playing tricks."
But in his chest, Rudhana's growl lingered, and the silence of Evalia no longer felt safe.
Ken hadn't told Kabe the truth. How could he? The growl still echoed in his ribs, as if the thing in the river had ,marked him.
The next morning, the council reconvened . Sunlight streamed through colored glass, painting the hall in warm golds and reds. Yet the voices around the circular the table were sharp, splitting the air.
"We cannot rely on dreams and whispers," said one advisor. "Durama is strong enough to hold. We must not empty Evalia's walls to rush to its side."
Another countered, "Strong? Did you not see the wounded they dragged here? If Durama falls, Evalia will be the next wall to crumble."
Prince Qinglua raised his hand. The arguments silenced like blades sheathed . "The Compact was built to hold Tilbara together, not to strangle it. We will reinforce Durama… but Evalia remains our anchor. If we lose trust here, all else collapses.
Ken leaned close to Kabe, whispering, "They're too slow. By the time they decide, it'll be too late."
Kabe reply was quiet but firm. "Then we act, even if the council doesn't."
That night, while the city feasted to a calm its fear, shadows slipped between the alleys. Smoke coiled from a figure draped in ash-gray, had walked into Evalia unnoticed, her form half-wrapped in illusions.
She paused near the river where Ken had stood. Her reflection in the water was not her own-it was a hundred faces, women and men, all swallowed by fire. She touched the surface lightly, and the river darkened.
"Even here," she murmured, "peace is just another mask."
From the shadows, her words drifted like smoke. "The myths stir… and when they awaken, even this jewel of Tilbara will choke on its silence."
Unseen by the city, she vanished again, leaving only a faint trace of ash.