"They're moving."
The tent fell quiet the moment General Rethar spoke.
Maps lay spread across the central table—paper, not holograms. Deliberate. Old habits for old wars.
"Define moving," Lady Vireen said, arms crossed, sharp eyes unreadable.
Rethar tapped the eastern corridor with a gloved finger. "Logistics realignment. Civilian units pulling back. Ports switching to priority clearance."
"That still sounds like defense," Commander Solas muttered. "He's always done that."
Marshal Kovan snorted. "That's because you're still thinking like he wants you to."
Vireen looked up. "Explain."
Kovan leaned forward. "Kael doesn't announce war. He makes war the most reasonable response left. If our people panic first, he wins without firing a shot."
"So we strike," Solas said immediately. "Hard and early."
Rethar shook his head. "That's suicide. His response units will frame it as aggression. Every neutral bloc will side with him."
Vireen drummed her fingers. "Then what are you proposing, General? We didn't gather here to admire his efficiency."
A younger man at the edge of the table spoke up—Advisor Telm. "We expose him."
All eyes turned.
"Expose what?" Solas asked.
Telm swallowed. "That his system isn't neutral. That it answers to him. That he's already a ruler pretending not to be."
Kovan laughed dryly. "We've been saying that for years. People don't care. Their streets are safe."
"Then we make them unsafe," Solas said coldly.
Vireen's gaze snapped to him. "Careful."
"I'm serious," Solas pressed. "False flags. Internal unrest. If stability cracks, faith in him cracks with it."
Rethar slammed his palm on the table. "That's exactly what he wants! Chaos justifies intervention."
"So does breathing," Solas shot back. "At least this way we control the narrative."
Silence.
Then a new voice entered the tent.
"You're all already behind."
They turned as one.
A man stepped forward, cloak dusted with travel grime, eyes calm in a way that unsettled everyone.
"Identify yourself," Rethar demanded.
"Name's Argen," the man said. "Former logistics analyst. Defected three months ago."
Vireen narrowed her eyes. "From where?"
Argen smiled thinly. "From Kael."
The word hit like a dropped blade.
"He's not preparing a response," Argen continued. "He's preparing a collapse. Yours."
Kovan leaned forward slowly. "How?"
"You're arguing about borders and timing," Argen said. "He's mapped your loyalties. He knows which governors will hesitate, which generals will wait for confirmation that never comes."
Solas scoffed. "And you expect us to believe he's omniscient?"
"No," Argen replied. "Just patient."
Vireen spoke carefully. "What is his opening move?"
Argen paused. "He won't attack your capital. He'll take your confidence. One decisive strike—clean, justified, devastating. After that, half your command will argue the war is already lost."
Rethar exhaled slowly. "Then we force him into a traditional engagement."
Kovan nodded. "A battlefield. Something he can't optimize away."
Vireen looked at the map, then at each of them. "If we're going to fight him," she said, voice steady, "we do it knowing this isn't just a war against an army."
She met their eyes one by one.
"It's a war against a man who believes the world will thank him for conquering it."
Outside the tent, engines rumbled in the distance.
On both sides of the coming war, plans were being finalized.
And none of them involved mercy.