"So," Fornos said, standing near the edge of the balcony overlooking the Dag estate's eastern gardens, "does that mean I can use company resources?"
Voss, lounging in a chair, glanced up from his ledger. "Money? No. That's still under your mother's jurisdiction."
"Obviously," Mary chimed in without looking up from the stack of documents in her lap.
"But," Voss continued, "the underground logistic networks? Yes—as long as you can keep your operations discreet. If a single noble envoy sniffs out a redirected shipment, you'll be the one answering for it."
Fornos smirked. "I don't plan to get caught."
"I didn't plan to get married," Mary said dryly. "Yet here we are."
Voss chuckled. "Point is, discretion is your leash. Use it well."
Fornos nodded, storing the approval like a rare coin. He had anticipated resistance, but this was more permissive than expected. Either they trusted him… or they were testing him.
"By the way," Mary added, still scribbling something onto a parchment, "how's your war budget holding up?"
"I've spent about ten percent of it," Fornos said, somewhat cautiously.
That made both parents pause.
"Ten percent?" Voss's brow furrowed. "As far as I remember, you siphoned the funds from every dormant golem project we mothballed after the Nievera Ball. That was no small cache."
"It wasn't," Fornos admitted. "And I expected to burn through at least a third of it by now. But… circumstances required innovation."
"Circumstances?" Mary asked, her voice smooth but clipped. "Or shortcuts?"
Fornos approached the long table where Mary was seated, leaned on the carved oak edge, and folded his arms. "Developing golems isn't cheap. Raw materials, Codex scripting, Core refinement—it stacks quickly. I had to take some liberties."
Mary's pen paused mid-word. "Define 'liberties.'"
The atmosphere shifted. Even the quiet rustle of garden leaves outside seemed to pause in anticipation.
Fornos met her gaze squarely. "By the end of the preparation phase I've set into motion, my forces will consist almost entirely of war slaves."
The silence was immediate and full.
Fornos continued, voice calm but firm, "They'll be armed, trained, and sustained. But they won't be paid. Their only compensation will be regular meals, a place to sleep, and the dignity of not being treated like expendable meat. Some of them were criminals. Some were abandoned children. Some were simply desperate. All of them were willing."
Mary set down her pen slowly. "Slavery. Is that what we're calling innovation now?"
"I call it realism," Fornos said. "I needed a labor force. One that could be indoctrinated, trained, and shaped. If I tried to recruit freely from the general population, I'd have nobles sniffing around within a week. The only people no one notices are the ones society already threw away."
"You said 'war slaves,'" Voss noted quietly. "So you're not just using them as porters or auxiliary workers. You're turning them into your soldiers."
Fornos nodded once. "Yes. Golems need support crews—mechanics, loaders, scouts. Humans can fill the gaps, if properly conditioned."
"And how," Mary asked slowly, "are you conditioning them?"
"With food," Fornos replied. "And structure. Most of them have never eaten three meals a day. Never slept without fear. I give them that. I show them there is a hierarchy where they can belong. And then I drill it into them that loyalty is survival."
"You're building a cult," Voss said.
"I'm building an army," Fornos corrected. "That's the same thing when the cause is strong enough."
Mary leaned back, folding her arms. "Do they know who you are?"
"No. To them, I'm just 'the Architect.' I never show my face. I work through golems and intermediaries. The legend matters more than the man."
Voss gave a small nod. "Clever. That gives you flexibility. If something fails, the Architect can vanish. Fornos Dag stays clean."
Fornos smiled. "Exactly."
Mary didn't smile. "And what happens when they find out? When one of those children you raised up sees you at some noble's banquet and realizes their 'Architect' is the son of a rich merchant living in a mansion?"
Fornos shrugged. "Then I deal with it. If they hate me, good. Hatred sharpens purpose. If they revere me, even better. Either way, the warband survives."
There was a long pause. Voss tapped a finger against his knee, weighing something.
"You're not wrong," he said finally. "It's effective. Brutal. Risky. But effective."
Mary's gaze remained unreadable. "And what will you do if nobles start investigating your growing military presence?"
"I'll point them to Varnhollow," Fornos said. "It's still legally outside our city's jurisdiction. It's a grey zone. They'd need full council approval to act, and that takes time. Time I'll use to reinforce."
"And what of the Konos fellow?" Voss asked. "You're trusting him with a lot."
"He owes me," Fornos replied. "I gave him a second life. He won't betray me."
"They always say that before the betrayal," Mary said quietly. "Even when you raise them yourself."
Fornos looked at her but said nothing. There was history in her voice—sharp and buried.
"You're walking a very thin line," Voss warned.
"I always have," Fornos said. "The difference is now I know where I'm going."
Mary finally stood, adjusting the cuff of her sleeve. "Then make sure you don't fall before you arrive."
As she turned to leave, she paused at the door.
"And Fornos?" she added without turning.
"Yes?"
"If I find out you've been using children as leverage again…"
"I haven't," he said immediately.
"Good," she said coldly. "Because if you do—I'll dismantle everything you've built. Personally."
Then she was gone.
Fornos stood still, the weight of her warning lingering in the air like the scent of steel before a duel.
Voss let out a breath. "That's the Ice Ledger, son. Be careful not to mistake her silence for approval."
Fornos nodded, gaze distant.
He was building something. He just had to make sure it didn't bury him.