The heavy gates of Kubu Fort creaked shut behind the departing Elven convoy. A profound silence blanketed the stone courtyard, disturbed only by the fluttering of flags in the cold mountain wind. Shadows danced beneath the torch sconces. Snow clung to the ridges. The fortress, usually so full of voices and training drills, now felt like a grave.
Dyeva stood motionless at the center, arms crossed, her gaze locked on the trail where the Elven banners had vanished beyond the pass.
She exhaled sharply and turned. "Main team—war room. Now."
Inside the fortress strategy chamber, a chamber carved deep into the granite heart of the fort, torches cast golden flickers across polished maps and rune-inscribed walls. A war table sat at the center, its surface scratched from decades of planning campaigns. Evan, Yvette, Ourri, and Runa stood in formation, their eyes focused as Dyeva laid a sealed parchment in the center.
Gerrard lingered by the entrance, arms folded, his quiet presence a steady anchor in the room.
"This mission," Dyeva began, her voice steady but low, "is unlike any we've faced. It isn't just dangerous—it's volatile. Mishandling this could shatter the peace we've barely managed to keep with the elves."
Yvette's eyes narrowed like drawn blades. "So we're walking on a sword's edge."
Dyeva nodded grimly. "Eldwin, the royal advisor of Clares, sent this on behalf of Princess Lilia. She bears no ill will. In fact… she hopes for unity. She believes a future exists where our peoples can stand as allies."
Ourri blinked, visibly surprised. "That's… nice. Unexpected, but nice."
"She also suspects someone is working to destroy that future," Dyeva continued. "Someone hidden. Someone skilled in misdirection."
Yvette stepped closer to the table. "You mean the illusionist?"
Dyeva's jaw tightened. "Exactly. Princess Lilia believes an unknown agent—possibly an illusionist—is scheming to turn our nations against each other. They've already sown confusion and chaos. If we act wrong, we'll walk into their trap."
Yvette crossed her arms. "And Silas?"
"We don't know yet," Dyeva said. "But he remains our only lead connected to illusion magic. His appearance wasn't just timely—it was surgical."
Evan finally spoke, his voice calm but sharp. "I didn't trust him fully. But we lacked proof. And his help seemed… calculated."
Dyeva nodded. "That's why you four are going to investigate discreetly. Publicly, you'll support Clares—but your real mission is to find the illusionist. If Silas is involved, we bring him in. If not—we keep digging."
Ourri's brow furrowed. "And if we're being lured deeper?"
"Then we step carefully and leave no trail," Dyeva said.
Gerrard stepped forward. "I'll reinforce the runes at the border. If anything crosses into Kubu Fort unnaturally, I'll know."
"Good," Dyeva said. "Evan, take your team. Begin by scouting the outer fort perimeter. Then move to the lake—where Silas appeared last. Take two Roam Squad units for support."
She paused, her expression softening for the first time. "I don't have to remind you—peace hangs by a thread."
Evan gave a crisp nod. "Understood."
At dawn, the sky broke in gold and steel, casting a silvery light over the frozen terrain. Evan marched at the front, each step deliberate. Yvette followed close, sharp-eyed and scanning. Ourri's footsteps were heavy but patient. Runa, as always, walked like she was listening to something no one else could hear.
Two Roam Squad units followed behind, armored and alert.
The route led them along the jagged ridges beyond the fort's barrier runes. Wind howled through the pines like voices whispering warnings. They passed crumbled towers and rusted watchposts—the bones of past wars now cloaked in vines.
For three days, they searched. Nothing. No footprints. No magical residues. No signs of bandits or soldiers. The forest held its secrets in silence.
On the fourth morning, they reached the lake.
The water stretched before them like glass, smooth and motionless beneath thick morning mist. Tall willows drooped over its surface like mourners. Even the insects had gone quiet.
"Same as before," Evan murmured. "Too quiet."
"Formation sweep," Yvette ordered. "Fan out. Stay alert."
With practiced precision, the team and Roam Scouts spread across the lakeside. Runa moved among half-buried ruins near the bank, her fingers grazing the cold stone. Ourri checked the high ridgelines. The lake watched them all like a mirror.
Then—three sharp whistles from the northern tree line.
Evan dashed toward the signal.
Two scouts knelt beside a fallen tree. Beneath its roots, half-buried in mud, were two Elven corpses. One male. One female. No wounds. No blood.
Their faces were twisted mid-expression, but their skin was brittle and cracked, as if drained dry.
"They weren't killed by steel," Runa whispered, kneeling. "This… this looks like soul-death."
"Drained," Yvette muttered. "Chaos work. Deliberate. Controlled."
Ourri stared. "Could this be Silas?"
Yvette glanced at him. "Or maybe someone Silas borrowed. What if he used the male's appearance to slip past us?"
Runa's lips parted in horror. "He could've been with us all along…"
"We don't know," Evan said firmly. "But we'll find out."
He turned to the scouts. "Document everything. Include magical causes, body condition, coordinates. Then send a report to Clares."
"To Clares?" one scout asked. "Not Kubu?"
"Both," Evan said. "We're acting in cooperation. Transparency matters now more than ever."
Yvette nodded. "If they think we're hiding something, war becomes inevitable."
The next morning, a Roam Squad envoy led by Salek set off. The wind had picked up, and the mist felt colder than before. Evan watched them vanish beyond the ridge.
"They'll be fine," he said softly.
"They better be," Yvette muttered, arms tight across her chest. "If they come back empty… or don't come back at all—I'll start breaking things."