The cheers of victory had not yet faded when the banners of the Sovereign's retreat disappeared over the horizon. Their army had been shattered, their commander slain, but Kael knew what such a wound meant: the Sovereign would bleed, and bleeding rulers grew dangerous.
The camp was rebuilt in haste, not for rest but for council. Inside a war-torn tent, Kael stood at the head of the table, his companions close at his sides. Maps sprawled across the surface, inked with shifting borders and fresh scars of battle.
"They will strike back," Aric said, his gauntleted hand slamming down on the table. "A Sovereign does not lose so humiliatingly and remain silent. Retaliation will come swift."
Lyra crossed her arms, gaze sharp. "Then let them come. For once, our men believe. They've seen what Kael can do. That kind of faith is harder to break than steel."
Kaelen leaned against a post in the corner, his cloak stirring faintly though there was no wind. "Faith is a double-edged weapon," he said softly. "It elevates heroes into gods, and gods into monsters. The Sovereign will not simply send armies. They will send whispers, agents, knives in the dark."
Kael's crimson eyes flickered.
"Then we'll cut them down in the open or in the shadows. Whatever form they take."
Isryn, usually quiet, finally spoke, her tone laced with unease.
"There is more than armies to fear. The Veil stirs. Reports are coming in from the northern watchtowers—villages vanishing overnight. The timing cannot be chance."
The tent grew silent. Even the most hardened soldiers nearby seemed to shiver at the name.
Kaelen's gaze fixed on Kael, unreadable as ever. "The Sovereign's fury, and the Veil's hunger. Two storms, circling toward each other. You stand between them."
Kael said nothing at first, staring down at the blood-stained map. Then, with slow certainty, he set his sword down on the table, the steel ringing with finality.
"Then we march into the storm. We don't wait for it to consume us."
The companions exchanged glances, knowing what it meant. There would be no peace, no pause. Their path had been chosen.
And outside the tent, word was already spreading through the camp: Kael Rivenhart was not merely a commander. He was becoming something more—something the Sovereign feared enough to move against with everything they had.
The war was no longer about land.
It was about Kael.