Sunrise crawled over the keep like it was ashamed of what it would soon reveal. Smoke still clung to the southern ridge, thick as guilt. Edric stood at the parapet, cloak rippling, eyes hollow with thought. The arrow that lit the sky still haunted his muscles. A message sent. A promise made.
"Highness," Brynn said behind him, voice low. "You didn't sleep."
"No time." His fingers traced the stone. "Fire was a warning. But not just for us."
Brynn glanced out across the trees. "You think they were signaling someone else?"
"Or proving they could reach us. Either way, the next move's ours. And we can't afford to play their game."
Below, the yard buzzed. Will and Ronan oversaw drills—real drills now, not just shield pushes and panting panic. Arrows thudded into hay, spears clashed with old armor dummies. Fiona darted between them, chalking sigils and barking rune orders like she'd been born to it.
Edric descended the stairs two at a time. "Rafe!" he called across the courtyard.
The clerk looked up from his books. "If it's more recruitment paperwork—"
"Inventory. I want every bowstring length, every boiled hide, every iron scrap logged by midday."
Rafe paled. "That's… hundreds of entries."
"Then start now."
The clerk scuttled off. Edric turned as Ashcoil slithered down from the tower wall, scales glinting pale blue where a molted patch hadn't fully faded. The serpent flicked its tongue at him.
"No," Edric said. "You don't get fresh goat today. You molted last week."
Ashcoil hissed and curled around his boot anyway.
Fiona approached, hands black with soot, a rune-burn line fresh on her forearm. "We've got ten shields carved and rune-laced. Not perfect, but they'll hold."
"Good. And the hooks?"
"Next batch ready by dusk. The vine-cutting edge held up well. Will even split a fence post in two."
"Try not to destroy the training yard."
"No promises," she said, grinning. "You'll want to see what Merra's cooking up next. She wants to try a binding rune on the goat."
Edric blinked. "The goat?"
"Apparently it's been kicking through barrels."
He rubbed his eyes. "Fine. But if that thing starts glowing, I'm blaming you."
She winked and jogged off.
The gate watch called a short while later. "Rider!" A lone figure galloped up the south path, raising no dust. Edric's hand dropped to the dagger at his belt as Ronan and Brynn flanked him.
The rider pulled up at the edge of bow range—dirty, bruised, barely holding the reins. A woman in rough-spun cloak, one hand bandaged red.
"Parley!" she shouted hoarsely. "From Baron Helmrick!"
Brynn spat on the stone. "That bastard."
"Let her speak," Edric said. They lowered the gate halfway. The woman stumbled in, collapsing off her horse.
She held out a blood-streaked scroll. Edric broke the wax.
"Baron Helmrick demands tribute," he read aloud. "One tithe of grain, one trained archer, and the head of your serpent beast. Refusal will be considered treason. You have until the next full moon."
Brynn's mouth twisted. "Treason from whom? There's no king."
"Exactly," Edric said. "He's hoping to crown himself through conquest."
The messenger rasped, "Didn't come willingly. They're… taking villages. One by one. Burning the rest."
"Why risk coming here?"
"Because you fired back," she said. "You didn't run."
Ronan looked at Edric. "Orders?"
"Get her food. A bath if she wants it. And tell Garrick to reinforce the south wall."
"And the reply?"
Edric crumpled the scroll. "The next head Helmrick sees will be iron-tipped."
Later, in the ruined chapel-turned-war-room, Edric spread a fresh map across the stone altar. Lines marked supply routes. Pins tracked last known movements of Geldar and Helmrick's men. Too many pieces. Not enough hands.
Brynn tapped a spot. "If we bait them—set traps here and here—"
"They won't bite unless they think we're weak," Edric said.
"Then we pretend to break. Let scouts 'escape' with news of desertion."
He nodded slowly. "Risky. But we control the field."
Ashcoil slithered onto the altar, eyes fixed on a rune Edric had idly drawn in the corner—a looped knot with two barbs.
"That one again?" Brynn asked.
"It came in a dream." Edric didn't explain the rest—that every time he carved it, the air around him stilled. Like time blinked.
Fiona ran in moments later, breathless. "The goat's missing. And the rope melted."
Edric blinked. "The rope melted?"
"Merra used the wrong binding rune. It… might've been a minor heat sigil."
Ashcoil raised his head like he approved.
"We'll find it," Fiona added.
"I'm more concerned it doesn't find us first."
"Ronan said he saw it head into the east tower."
Edric sighed. "Of course."
That night, the keep felt tense. Even laughter at the fire pits had an edge to it—men joked louder, drank faster, trying to drown the crackle of nerves. Edric made the rounds personally, checking posts, nodding to recruits who straightened at his approach.
In the barracks, Cress showed Wren how to whistle through two fingers. Garrick offered pointers on arrow angles. Fiona nursed a burn on Will's hand while muttering about idiots and splinters.
As Edric stepped out, Ashcoil curled tighter on his shoulder. A low hiss, almost affectionate.
"I know," Edric murmured. "We're not ready. But we're getting there."
At dawn, they found the goat in the bell tower. Covered in soot, chewing on a map, and somehow immune to gravity.
"It… walked up the wall?" Fiona guessed.
"Or glitched through it," Will offered.
"Mark it as a new species," Rafe muttered, jotting it into a side ledger.
Ashcoil hissed again.
"No, you still don't get to eat it."
At midday, a scout returned with grave news. A hamlet three miles west had fallen. No survivors. No bodies. Just ash and hoofprints.
"Helmrick doesn't just want power," Brynn said. "He wants fear."
"Then we won't give it to him," Edric said.
In the forge yard, he carved the knot-rune again, slower this time. Blood beaded on his fingertip. When it touched the mark, the world flickered—just a blink—but enough to make the wind pause.
A taste of time slippage.
Ashcoil coiled around the table, humming softly.
Fiona leaned in. "Is that… a Crown rune?"
Edric looked at her. "No. Something else."
She reached out—hesitated. "It feels like memory."
"Feels like forgetting," he said.
And for a second, he couldn't remember what day it was.
The rune faded, leaving only a burn mark in the wood.