The journey to the fort had been swift but merciless. Every soul was led through the hidden entrance carved into the mountainside, but the knights stood as the final gate—testing each for signs of loyalty. Those who failed to pass were struck down on the spot. No questions. No mercy. There was no time to bind or interrogate them; hesitation could mean betrayal from within. The dull thud of bodies hitting the ground echoed in the narrow stone corridors, a reminder to the survivors of what treachery cost.
Some were missing entirely—faces that should have been there but weren't. Those were the ones who had already chosen the enemy's side, and no one voiced the thought aloud, but everyone knew: they would return, and not as friends.
Inside, the fort stretched like an underground village carved from the bedrock. The air was cool, heavy with the faint scent of damp stone and burning oil. Narrow, winding tunnels connected larger chambers—storerooms, training halls, sleeping quarters—each barely large enough to hold the tide of displaced citizens. The walls bore the marks of ancient chisels, their scars softened by time, and torches lined the corridors in uneven intervals, throwing shadows that danced like restless phantoms.
The emperor stood before the gathered crowd in the largest chamber, his voice carrying over the muted murmur of fear. He told them the truth—that danger pressed in from all sides—and urged them to have faith. "The knights will stand with you," he promised, "and we will endure until the threat is broken." His words fell heavy, but they brought a flicker of steadiness to the restless eyes watching him.
With the knights guiding them, the people were given small, designated spaces to stay—niches carved into the walls, curtained off corners, and hollowed alcoves that became makeshift rooms. The fort settled into a tense, muted order while plans for the counterattack began to form.
In the royal quarters, deep in the fortified heart of the underground, the same faces from the first council meeting gathered again. The air was close, the glow of the lamps subdued. Seris stood near Rythe, her arms crossed. "You're not healed yet," she said evenly, eyes narrowing slightly as if measuring his stamina.
Rythe looked at her, his tone flat but resolute. "The kingdom of Ardan has fled underground. It won't take long for the enemy to find us. When they do, there will be no running—only slaughter. This fort will become a tomb." He let the words sink in, his gaze sweeping the room. "So we don't wait for them to come to us. We take the fight to them."
No one immediately spoke. The silence pressed in, thick as the stone around them. Then, without another word, Seris said, "We depart in the morning," and turned on her heel, striding toward the small chamber she had been given.
One by one, the others left, their faces hollow with exhaustion. Maleus departed with Thalan, their low murmurs fading down the hall. Rhalia left with Serin, their hands brushing briefly in quiet reassurance. Astrid and Vaela followed, Dain trailing behind Kael and Elion. Rythe was the last to rise, the faint scrape of his armor against the stone floor breaking the stillness.
Only Aurean remained seated, unmoving as the chamber emptied. The room seemed suddenly too large, too quiet. He sat there for a long while, staring at the faint ripple of lamplight against the walls, wrestling with thoughts that refused to settle.
At last, he pushed himself to his feet and made his way through the dim corridors, the air cooler the deeper he went. He stopped outside Rythe's door, hesitating for a long moment before raising his hand to knock.
The door creaked faintly as Aurean pushed it open. The chamber was small, its walls bare stone broken only by a single torch bracket and a low wooden table. Rythe sat on the edge of the narrow bed, elbows on his knees, his gauntleted hands clasped loosely. His gaze was fixed on the floor, but the rigid set of his shoulders spoke louder than any expression could.
Aurean stepped inside and closed the door behind him. The sound was soft, but in the close air it seemed to echo. "You didn't eat," he said quietly.
Rythe didn't look up. "Neither did you."
Aurean's jaw tightened. "I'm not the one still recovering from half-healed wounds."
"That won't matter when steel's at our throats," Rythe replied, voice low, the edge of weariness sharpening it. "They're coming, Aurean. No wall—above or below—will hold them forever."
Aurean moved closer, stopping a few steps away. "Then why not rest while you can? Tomorrow—"
"Tomorrow," Rythe cut in, finally lifting his gaze, "we take the fight to them. I won't wait here for the fort to become a grave."
The torchlight caught the lines of exhaustion on his face, the faint pallor beneath his skin. But his eyes… his eyes burned.
Aurean felt something twist in his chest—half pride, half something darker. "You're stubborn enough to see this through, even if it kills you."
Rythe's mouth curved in something that wasn't quite a smile. "Even if it's the last thing I do."
For a long moment, neither spoke. The silence was heavy, not hostile, but full of things neither of them could quite say. Aurean finally sat on the chair by the table, his gaze lingering on Rythe like he was memorizing him.
"You don't have to carry it alone," he said quietly.
Rythe looked away, his hand curling into a fist on his knee. "I do."
And somehow, Aurean knew there was nothing he could say tonight that would change his mind.