{Nicholas Anstalionah.}
Rosen's words could not simply be ignored.
The war was cut starkly short, not by conquest or collapse, but by necessity, and forced into resolution through negotiation rather than bloodshed.
Rosen was not a foolish man.
He understood that without Horia, there was no path to victory.
And if Mirabel were left to rampage unchecked, Fertical itself would cease to exist, erased so thoroughly that no map would remember it.
Because of this, I compelled him to come to Anstalionah.
As an act of calculated mercy, and a demonstration of confidence rather than trust.
I ordered all knights and guards dismissed from the negotiation site.
Enemy territory demands gestures that speak louder than threats.
We met in an open courtyard behind the royal castle.
The manor itself remained heavily guarded, its presence looming just beyond the stone arches, but the space between us was deliberately exposed.
A circular table sat at the center, ringed with chairs, decanters of drink placed neatly between them.
No weapons. No armor. Only symbols.
It had been two days since the war officially ended.
This meeting existed to finalize what violence had failed to decide.
Sansir was still too injured to attend. Kivana had returned directly to Novastia.
That left only Malachi beside me.
Given his late arrival, I assumed he and Rosen had already reached some preliminary understanding along the way.
Jacqueline was present as well, acting as a neutral authority. Rosen had requested her specifically.
He trusted her judgment. So did I.
Mirabel had refused to attend.
Instead, there was another presence.
A new face to this life, though in my past one, they had been instrumental.
Their silence spoke volumes, and for now, that was enough.
Malachi and I wore refined noble attire, fitted tightly at the wrists and collar, colored in black, white, and blue.
No military ornamentation. No insignia of command.
Jacqueline wore her robes, formal and regal, a careful balance between priestly authority and royal neutrality.
Rosen's clothing bore Fertical's sigil throughout, embroidered meticulously.
His attire resembled a suit more than armor, a political statement rather than a defensive one.
He reviewed the treaty agreements in silence, eyes moving carefully over each clause.
The terms were direct.
First, a formal ceasefire, followed by a binding agreement forbidding war between our nations for the next ten years.
At minimum, it would create breathing room.
I doubted I would live long enough to see its end, not with this illness gnawing at me.
I had been close to death even before Griffin killed me in my past life.
Still, ten years would give me time. Time to prepare my kingdom. Time to shape what followed.
The treaty also required a complete halt to border skirmishes and the construction of shared roads between our territories.
Trade, movement, and communication would replace attrition.
No reparations were demanded. Both kingdoms had entered the war willingly.
Fertical more so, but that was not a truth worth pressing into ink.
Rosen seemed satisfied with most of the provisions.
It was the final clause that drew his attention.
"This last condition," he said, tapping the parchment lightly, "what do you hope to accomplish by delaying any formal declaration of alliance?"
The clause explicitly forbade our nations from declaring themselves allies, despite the ceasefire and cooperation.
It was a necessary contradiction.
I turned slightly toward Jacqueline. She nodded once.
"The Golden Authority," she said evenly. "I believe you can conclude the implications."
Rosen exhaled and dropped the papers onto the table.
"I've made my position clear," he replied. "Even if they are corrupt, there is no sense in opposing them directly."
He crossed his legs and leaned back.
"Griffin alone holds too much power. There is no one in this world who can stand against him."
I raised a finger slowly.
"Remember," I said, "Mirabel only lost control because of her anger. Had she tempered it, the outcome would not have been so clear."
He waved the notion aside.
"It wouldn't matter. Everyone knows his Regalia is invincible. He would bring about a miracle from the idol itself."
Malachi spoke next, his tone measured but firm.
"Then the only answer is growth. Remaining bound to their will guarantees stagnation."
Jacqueline inclined her head in agreement.
"Veritas is not a powerful nation in itself. The obstacle is singular. Saint Griffin."
Rosen's expression tightened.
"And what of Satire? Mucro? Stiffer? There are too many variables you are choosing to ignore."
"I've already accounted for them," I said quietly. "I will be the one to kill Griffin."
The courtyard fell silent. All eyes turned toward me.
Nicholas Anstalionah, declaring this. A man who collapsed to his knees when he exhausted even a fragment of his power.
It was an absurd claim. Made by an absurd man. Spoken with a calm that bordered on delusion.
Rosen shook his head slowly, pity plain on his face.
"You've lost your mind. You can barely wield the ability you already possess."
I lowered my gaze to my hands.
"I reached the fourth wall in less than a month," I said.
Then I looked up.
"Do you truly have no faith?"
No one answered. How could they? There were only two paths before them. Trust me, or do not. There was no middle ground left to stand on.
Each of them understood this, even if none were willing to say it aloud.
Rosen knew I was not careless, that every claim I made was rooted in calculation rather than bravado.
Malachi knew I possessed knowledge no one else at the table could account for, knowledge earned rather than learned.
And Jacqueline, for all her neutrality, simply wanted to see whether my vision would hold when pressed against reality.
In the end, choice itself had become an illusion.
They could only follow the direction I set.
"I wish to address a greater concern," I said, my gaze settling on Rosen. "The ties between the Silent Court and the Golden Authority."
He stiffened, his composure faltering for the first time since the negotiations began.
"Well," he said after a moment, his voice quieter.
"With Oliver dead, I suppose there is no reason to withhold it any longer. Midir and Griffin have been in contact."
His eyes flicked toward me.
"I know Nicole has yet to return," he continued carefully, "but you seem unconcerned. There is a very real possibility she died in that battle."
I dismissed the notion with a small gesture.
"I would know," I said. "Without question."
My sister would have faced despair greater than most could survive, but she would endure.
She always did.
She had never been strong in the conventional sense, but her emotions had depth, and that depth gave her resilience.
Whatever she had encountered, she would return in time, and when she did, I would be there to meet her.
Rosen studied me intently, searching for doubt and finding none. He chose not to press further.
"Nonetheless," he said at last, "I do not believe Midir is allied with Griffin. But he is aware of his intentions, at the very least."
Malachi leaned forward slightly, interest sharpening his expression. "And those intentions are?"
Rosen adjusted his collar, discomfort evident.
"That is precisely the problem," he replied. "From what Midir has shared, the matter is… complicated."
He straightened in his chair, drew in a slow breath, and met our eyes.
"To explain it properly," he said, "I will have to begin at the very start."