Interlude X – Ashen's Net
Ashen's eyes reflected the firelight of the raided supplies. Her lieutenants stood around her, smug at the night's success.
"Good haul," one said, tossing a sack of dried meat onto the ground. "Enough to starve them for weeks if they don't recover."
Ashen didn't answer right away. She traced a finger along her dagger's edge, thoughtful.
"They won't starve," she murmured. "Not yet. Seraphine isn't weak enough to fall that easily."
Her lieutenants exchanged uneasy glances.
Ashen's smirk returned. "But trust—that is weaker. Break that, and the walls will collapse on their own."
She leaned forward, voice a whisper meant only for herself.
"And the sweetest part? I don't even need to lift the blade. They'll destroy each other for me."
----
Interlude XI – Noctis Alone
Noctis sat on the citadel wall, boots dangling over the edge, a bottle in his hand. He wasn't drinking—just rolling it between his palms, staring at the liquid catching moonlight.
The raid had ended. The walls still stood. But something inside felt like it had cracked.
He'd fought beside Seraphine, blade in hand, but the whispers wouldn't leave his head.
What if she couldn't hold it together? What if this all came crashing down?
He hated himself for thinking it. He hated the shadows it put between him and her. But it was there, gnawing.
He sighed, leaning back against the cold stone. "Damn it, boss," he muttered. "Don't make me regret betting on you."
----
Interlude XII – System Log
[INFINITE REALMS – HIDDEN THREADS]
Event trigger: "Traitor Revealed"
Parameters met:
— Successful raid infiltration.
— Player suspicion threshold reached.
— Loyalty variables unstable.
Branching paths:
1. Traitor uncovered and punished. → Loyalty stabilized.
2. Traitor concealed. → Internal decay accelerates.
3. False accusation. → Loyalty collapse.
Outcome probability: currently indeterminate.
Observation continues.
----
The citadel still smelled of smoke. Torches guttered low, their flames casting long shadows over walls scarred by last night's raid.
Seraphine walked the corridors like a ghost, armor still smeared with ash and blood. Every pair of eyes followed her—some filled with respect, others with doubt.
She ignored them. She couldn't afford to waver.
At the war table, Valeria and Noctis waited, their faces tight with exhaustion. A handful of survivors trickled in behind them, voices hushed.
"We lost three supply caches," Valeria reported without preamble. Her tone was clipped, controlled. "Two on the lower floors burned out completely. One sabotaged—locks broken from the inside."
"Inside," Seraphine repeated, her voice flat.
Valeria nodded grimly. "A traitor."
The word hung heavy in the air.
Noctis shifted in his seat, arms folded. "People are already tearing each other apart over it. If we don't get ahead of this, it'll eat us alive."
Seraphine's hand curled into a fist. She slammed it down on the table, maps rattling. "Then we drag them into the light."
Her voice carried through the chamber, hard and unyielding. "No more whispers. No more doubt. We find the one who opened that gate, and we make an example of them."
Silence followed. Not agreement—fear.
Because everyone knew that if she was wrong, the wrong blood would be spilled.
The investigation began at dawn.
Seraphine and Valeria questioned guards, traced steps, examined the broken gate. Noctis prowled the barracks, listening for slips in conversation.
The citadel became a tinderbox.
One group accused another of slacking at their post. A shouted insult turned into a fistfight. By midday, two players respawned after brawling each other to death.
Every hour the tension rose higher, until the air itself felt sharp enough to cut.
And then came the break.
A guard—young, nervous, eyes darting like a cornered animal—was dragged before them. He had been seen near the gate before the raid. His alibi was shaky. His story twisted.
The hall filled with voices. Accusations. Demands for punishment.
Seraphine stood over him, sword at her side, the crowd pressing in behind her.
"Tell me," she said, her voice low, controlled. "Did you open that gate?"
The guard shook his head violently. "No—I swear—I didn't—"
Her eyes narrowed. She wanted to believe him. She wanted to—but the weight of the citadel pressed down.
If she didn't act, the whispers would never stop.
She raised her sword. The crowd surged closer, breaths held, waiting.
And in that moment, she saw it.
Fear. Not guilt. Fear of her, of the mob, of the blade that could erase him in a stroke.
Seraphine's heart clenched.
If she struck him down, maybe loyalty would steady—for a time. But if she was wrong…
Her hand trembled.
Noctis stepped forward, his smirk gone, eyes sharp. "Boss. Careful."
Valeria's hand rested on her hilt. She said nothing, but the tension in her shoulders screamed.
The crowd whispered, voices rising like a storm. Kill him. Prove your strength. Show us you can protect us.
Seraphine's breath burned in her lungs.
She lowered the blade.
The hall erupted—shouts of outrage, disbelief, anger.
"Enough!" she roared, silencing them. "We don't kill on doubt alone. If you want blood, you'll have to step through me to spill it."
Her gaze swept them, fire in her voice. "This fortress does not run on fear. It runs on trust. If you can't stand with that—leave now."
The crowd wavered, rage colliding with shame. One by one, voices fell silent.
But Seraphine knew. This wasn't over.
Trust was a fragile thing. And she had just chosen mercy in a world that demanded blood.
That night, Seraphine walked the battlements alone. The air was sharp with frost, her cloak snapping in the wind.
She felt the citadel shifting beneath her feet. Cracks widening, whispers growing.
A choice made. A price paid.
Somewhere below, someone else smiled in the shadows—because the true traitor still walked free.
And Seraphine had just given them more time.