The smoke over Greyspire had thinned into a pale mist, drifting above shattered siege engines and charred soil. Where once the thunder of war reigned, now only the clatter of hammers and the murmur of rebuilding filled the air.
The citizens worked with a new determination. Families repaired broken roofs, soldiers cleared rubble from the streets, and blacksmiths sharpened blades not with despair but with pride. Greyspire had survived.
On the main square, wagons marked with the sigil of Kael's company rolled in—laden with food, water, medicine, and blankets. His logistics network, hidden yet efficient, distributed aid swiftly. Children lined up eagerly, clutching loaves of bread, while exhausted soldiers received healing salves and ration packs. The relief effort turned fear into gratitude, and gratitude into loyalty.
"Sir Kael's supplies… he saved us even after the battle," one soldier whispered."Without him, Greyspire would be ash," another replied.
Reputation spread like wildfire—not only for Kael, but for the Princess who had vouched for him. Nobles, merchants, and even commoners across the kingdom began to speak her name with reverence.
Far away, in the heart of the empire, the ripples of Greyspire's survival struck the Five Backbones of the Empire—the generals and archmages who upheld its might.
Duke Harrond, the Iron Fist, clenched his gauntleted hand as the report reached him. "So… Greyspire holds? Interesting. That masked man again… he is no common mercenary."
Archmage Veloria, deep within her tower, chuckled as crystal mirrors showed fragments of the battle. "Necromancy, constructs, and beasts of flame… Whoever he is, he is rewriting the rules of war."
Marshal Cyras, commander of the southern armies, grimaced. "If Greyspire's Princess rises in power, the balance of noble houses will fracture. The crown may not hold it together."
Countess Elayne, the political mastermind, tapped her fan against her lips. "A dangerous pawn has entered the game. Perhaps even… a new kingmaker."
And lastly, Lord Gravemont, the most loyal to the throne, slammed his fist onto the council table. "Reckless fools! We cannot let a masked stranger hold the loyalty of half the empire's soldiers."
The empire itself stirred uneasily, for a single victory had shaken its foundations.
Beyond the borders, in the enemy's capital, the Emperor of the rival kingdom seethed on his throne of obsidian. His generals knelt before him, trembling.
"Seventy-nine thousand men," he muttered, voice dripping with venom. "Annihilated. And the Fire Dragon lost."
Silence crushed the war chamber until his laughter echoed, cold and sharp.
"Then we shall not hold back any longer. If shadows protect Greyspire, then we will drown it in fire. Call forth the Crimson Pact. If the gods favor them, let us see how long their walls hold against true calamity."
The generals bowed, terror etched into their faces.
Back in Greyspire, the celebration quieted as Kael walked into the city's prison. Torches flickered along the stone corridor, shadows dancing like restless ghosts.
Behind the final door sat the captured enemy commander, bound to an iron chair with chains engraved in runes. His eyes burned with hatred, but his body betrayed his fear.
Two Greyspire soldiers stood watch, stiff as statues—until Kael stepped inside, his presence swallowing the room.
He raised a hand. A spell circle spread across the floor, glowing faintly, the air vibrating with its weight.
Zone of Truth.
The commander stiffened. His mouth opened, but Kael spoke first.
"In this space," Kael said calmly, "lies cannot exist. Every word spoken will be truth."
The commander sneered, but sweat rolled down his temple.
And then, to Kael's surprise—One of the Greyspire soldiers blurted out, "I stole three chickens from my neighbor last winter!"
The other, horrified, shouted, "And I've been hiding wine in the watchtower!"
Both men slapped their hands over their mouths, eyes wide.
Kael's mask tilted slightly, amused. "Good. The spell works."
His gaze returned to the commander, voice sinking into a low growl.
"Now then. Let's hear what secrets you've been hiding."
The commander swallowed hard, the chains rattling as his lips trembled—forced by the magic to tell the truth.
The room was heavy with silence as Kael activated the glowing runes of his Zone of Truth. The enemy commander squirmed against his restraints, teeth clenched, but the spell pressed down like invisible chains.
Kael raised a small crystal sphere in his palm. Its surface pulsed faintly, prepared to capture every word spoken under the spell's binding.
"Speak," Kael ordered.
The commander tried to resist, his lips quivering, but the magic dug deeper. Finally, words spilled forth like blood from a wound.
"The Emperor ordered Greyspire's fall not for conquest alone. Beneath its walls lies a sealed ruin… an ancient vault. We were commanded to break Greyspire so that the vault may be unearthed. The Fire Dragon was bound not only as a weapon—but as the key."
The crystal sphere shimmered, locking the confession inside.
Kael's mask tilted slightly. So this was never just about war. It was about something hidden beneath Greyspire.
He closed his hand, pocketing the recording, and turned without another word.
Days passed, and life slowly crawled back to normalcy.
In Greyspire, the streets were alive again with merchants, smiths, and children playing between repaired walls. Though scars of battle remained—shattered homes, charred stones—the city pulsed with determination. People spoke with gratitude of the Princess who had refused to abandon them.
In Kael's hidden village, the rhythm of life was steady. Farmers tended fields under the protective veil of his barrier magic, unaware of the storm still looming beyond. Children chased after the rare slimes like pets, laughter echoing through the concealed haven.
Within the Greyspire council chamber, nobles presented their reports. One after another, they knelt before the Princesses.
"My lands lost two villages to fire.""My granaries were emptied; we can supply no more grain.""My levy was reduced by half…"
Their voices carried both anger and resignation, each noble eager to protect their own.
When the nobles finally departed, only the Princesses remained. That was when Kael stepped forward and placed the glowing crystal on the table.
"What you will hear," he said, "is the unfiltered truth of your enemy."
The sphere shimmered, replaying the commander's words in his own trembling voice.
The Princesses sat in stunned silence. One clenched her fists, eyes hardening. The other glanced towards Kael, realization dawning that the war was a piece of something far greater.
Later that evening, Kael met once more with a circle of nobles—this time not for reports of damage, but for business.
"My company will expand toward the Mining Capital," Kael announced calmly. "Ore, refined steel, and enchanted alloys will be the lifeblood of what comes next. With your cooperation, supply chains can be established swiftly. In return, you will profit from the stabilization of these territories."
The nobles exchanged wary glances, but none could deny the masked man's influence. After what they had witnessed in the battle, even the most proud among them knew better than to oppose him outright.
The agreement was reached.
Just as Kael dismissed the gathering, a Greyspire soldier burst into the hall with two sealed letters in hand. He bowed deeply.
"My lords, my ladies—urgent correspondence. One from the Mayor of the Mining Capital… and the other…"
The Princess took the second letter, eyes narrowing at the crest upon the wax seal.
The Iron Fist of the Empire, Duke Harrond.
A silence heavier than any battlefield filled the chamber as the weight of the name settled upon them all.
Kael's masked gaze lingered on the seal, his thoughts unreadable.
The wax seal cracked under the Princess's thumb, the mark of the Iron Fist splitting clean in two. The parchment was heavy, the kind that carried weight both in substance and intent.
She unfolded it carefully, her voice steady though the council chamber leaned forward as one to hear.
"To the Princesses of the Royal Line, guardians of Greyspire's flame in its darkest hour, and to the one cloaked in shadow whose presence reshaped the tide of war—"
The chamber stirred. Murmurs swept through the nobles at the acknowledgment of the masked man.
The Princess continued.
"You are hereby invited as honored guests to the Annual Founding Festival of the Mining Capital. It is both a celebration of steel and stone, and a forum for the empire's future. The two of you shall attend as Chief Guests, and the Masked Ally of Greyspire is also formally summoned. Refusal will not be taken lightly, for the eyes of the Empire now watch the backbone that yet holds the realm."
The last words carried a weight unmistakable—an invitation, yes, but also a veiled demand.
Silence fell when her voice trailed off. All eyes shifted to Kael.
The masked man leaned back, gloved fingers resting lightly against the table. His voice, when it came, was calm and final.
"I will go."
The nobles shifted uneasily. Some in shock, others in disbelief. His words rang like iron.
Kael inclined his head toward the Princesses. "Not because of Harrond's summons. But because both of you stood firm where others abandoned. The backbone of this empire rests on six cities. If they fall divided, the empire falls entirely. I will ensure those who stood by Greyspire are not alone."
The Princesses' eyes widened slightly, a mix of gratitude and surprise flashing across their faces.
Around them, the nobles whispered among themselves.
What favor have the Princesses done to earn such loyalty?What secret binds this masked figure to them?Why would a force of that magnitude place himself beside them?
The questions gnawed at the lords and ladies, but none dared voice them aloud.
The Princess carefully folded Harrond's letter again, her hand trembling slightly as she set it on the table.
"Then it is settled," she said softly, yet her words carried like steel. "We leave for the Mining Capital."
Kael's masked gaze lingered on the crest stamped into the parchment—Iron Fist Harrond's shadow now looming over all their fates.