Relief flooded Arasha's heart when Kane's comm-link finally lit up with his safe return.
But she had no time to bask in that feeling.
The crisis in the western provinces was far from over — and worse, the deeper she investigated, the clearer it became:
Several influential nobles had been rerouting emergency supplies, hoarding goods meant for the starving people and selling them to the black market or foreign merchants at inflated prices.
The betrayal ran deep.
Left with no other option, Arasha prepared for war — not of blades, but of words and politics.
She rode swiftly to the capital, her personal guard flanking her, the banners of the Scion Order flying behind them.
Their presence alone sent a ripple through the capital's bustling streets.
Upon reaching the Royal Court, she wasted no time in requesting an open tribunal session.
****
The grand marble hall of the capital echoed with murmurs as lords and ladies in their finest silks gathered, their faces painted with false politeness and hidden disdain. They were ready to see Arasha — the ever-troublesome "Luxfire's Sword" — humbled.
The King himself, seated high upon his gilded throne, watched the scene unfold with the air of a man already tired of the nuisance.
Arasha stood alone before them all, her armor polished but unadorned, her posture straight and unyielding.
A few nobles stepped forward, voices dripping with feigned concern.
"Commander Arasha," said Duke Emeran, a paunchy noble who hadn't lifted a sword in decades, "surely you understand, military matters must remain under royal discretion... not in the hands of rogue commanders."
Others nodded sagely, emboldened.
"It is improper for a single Order to act with so much autonomy. Perhaps it is time," another added slyly, "for the knights' forces to be reintegrated directly under His Majesty's sovereign command."
The trap was clear.
Strip Arasha of her authority — isolate Scion Order — and thus dismantle the one shield the commoners and borderfolk still trusted.
For a long moment, Arasha said nothing.
The nobles began to whisper, sensing victory.
Then Arasha slowly drew out a small scroll.
Unfurling it, she displayed it openly before the assembly — an ancient decree bearing the unmistakable seal of the royal bloodline.
"This," she said, her voice calm but ringing through the hall, "is the binding decree established by His Majesty's own father, King Azure the Wise."
"It recognizes the military command and rights of the House of Duke Arrius Dawnbringer and its heirs."
"My Father's right. My right."
Silence slammed over the court.
The lords and ladies froze. Some paled.
They had forgotten.
Forgotten that Arasha was not just some convenient pawn — she was also a Dawnbringer, the bloodline that had carved the kingdom's borders with sword and sacrifice.
Her late father, Swordmaster Arrius Dawnbringer, had won half the southern territories the current King now sat so comfortably upon.
Arasha's icy gaze swept over the assembly.
"You forget yourselves," she said, voice colder than winter steel.
"You forget whose blood built these walls you now cower behind."
Some nobles visibly flinched. The King scowled but said nothing — unable to challenge the decree without risking the loyalty of the old nobles or sparking public outrage.
"I stand here not for personal gain," Arasha continued, voice rising, "but because your greed and cowardice cost hundreds their lives."
She turned, handing a compiled ledger of evidence to the Royal Chamberlain.
"These," she said, "are records of supplies withheld, villages abandoned, and people betrayed."
"I hereby issue a formal accusation against the following houses..."
One by one, she listed them — cold and merciless — until the hall buzzed with barely concealed panic.
The King, grinding his teeth, had no choice but to publicly issue a reprimand and investigation order.
The accused nobles' assets would be frozen. Their titles suspended pending judgment.
But as she walked out of the court, her jaw set tight.
She knew this victory would paint a bigger target on her back.
The nobles would not forgive this humiliation. The King, too, would wait for his opportunity.
Still, Arasha walked with her head high, her cloak billowing behind her like a banner.
In her heart, she held a simple, unwavering truth:
I do not fight for crowns nor courts. I fight for the people. For those who have no voice. And I will not bow.
****
The days after Arasha's victory in court were anything but peaceful.
The backlash came like a venomous tide.
Slander spread through the capital like wildfire.
Whispers in the tea houses and salons claimed she had falsified evidence.
Rumors suggested she sought to usurp the King's power, that she plotted rebellion from the North.
Worse, forged documents began appearing — clever fakes accusing her of siphoning military funds and engaging in secret pacts with foreign merchants.
Arasha remained composed outwardly, shoulders squared against the storm, but even she knew:
The longer the lies festered, the harder it would be to maintain the Order's honor and loyalty among the common folk.
Sir Garran advised vigilance; Leta whispered about striking back with the same underhanded methods the nobles used.
Arasha refused.
She would not sink into the filth they wallowed in.
She would stand firm — even if she stood alone.
And then, like a sudden clap of thunder, Valmira Steelhart arrived.
Lady Valmira Steelhart — her grandmother's younger half-sister — was no simple noble.
She was a force of nature.
Married into a minor barony years ago, she had turned their modest holdings into an economic empire, her eastward territories now brimming with luxury goods, rare minerals, and untold influence.
More importantly, the previous King, King Azure, had granted Valmira autonomy over her lands, recognizing her crucial role in enriching the kingdom's coffers.
When she entered the capital, she did so in a gilded carriage drawn by six snow-white destriers, a procession of banners bearing her family crest following behind her.
The whole city turned to watch.
The slanderous whispers died mid-breath.
The venomous gossip mongers clamped their mouths shut.
In a stunning public move, Valmira openly defended Arasha.
In the city's largest plaza, she declared:
"I shall stand beside my grand-niece, Commander Arasha of Scion Order, in all matters."
"Those who dare spread falsehoods about her shall find themselves blacklisted from every Steelhart-owned establishment."
And there were many fine clothiers, jewelry houses, spice markets, and auction halls for rare artifacts.
Nobles who lived for vanity and luxury screeched in horror when their invitations were revoked, their credit cut off.
The merchants, fearing Valmira's disfavor, refused to deal with them.
Overnight, the balance of power shifted.
Those who had laughed behind fans now bowed in apology.
Those who had gloated now sent desperate letters begging for forgiveness.
****
When Arasha finally met Valmira in a private salon, she could hardly believe it.
The older woman, resplendent in a deep crimson gown embroidered with gold, swept Arasha into a crushing embrace.
"You've grown well, little flame," Valmira whispered warmly, squeezing her tight.
Little flame…
Arasha — normally composed even before kings — felt tears pricking her eyes and hid her face against her great-aunt's shoulder.
"Thank you," Arasha finally managed, voice thick with emotion.
"I... don't deserve such kindness."
Valmira pulled back, smiling like a lioness.
"Nonsense. Blood stands by blood. And besides—" she winked conspiratorially, "—you're the only one in this wretched court worth betting on."
They shared a soft laugh — the kind Arasha hadn't allowed herself for a long time.
But as she walked away later, Arasha's resolve only hardened.
This was not the end.
The nobles would wait, would scheme — they always did.
But now, she had new allies.
Now, she had hope.
And somewhere in the distance, she thought of the North, of the Order... of Kane.
And she promised herself once more:
No matter the cost, she would protect what was precious to her.
****
After the whirlwind in the capital, Arasha returned to the Order's base with Valmira accompanying her, much to the astonishment of the knights and squires.
While Arasha's demeanor remained composed, Valmira's sharp eyes missed nothing as she toured the grounds.
The base was clean, organized, and disciplined — a reflection of Arasha's tireless work.
But it was also, to Valmira's dismay, severely underdeveloped.
The training grounds were basic, with worn dummies and cracked sparring mats.
The armory was serviceable but stocked with gear many would consider second-hand.
The medical wing, though spotless and well-stocked with potions and herbs, showed signs of patched walls and weathered cots.
A base built on grit, loyalty, and stubborn pride — but without the support worthy of its Commander's stature.
Valmira's heart twisted as she silently swore:
"If they will not give her what she deserves, then I will."
She disguised her simmering anger with a pleasant smile as she chatted politely with the officers and nodded along to Sir Garran's brief reports.
But inwardly, she was already planning.
She would send her best craftsmen, architects, and builders — men and women loyal only to her — to rebuild the base into a true stronghold, befitting her grand niece's caliber.
Later, as the sun began to sink behind the mountains, Arasha and Valmira sat in the Commander's personal courtyard, a quiet space filled with hardy northern flora and a modest fountain.
A tea table — an ornate piece Valmira had "coincidentally" brought along — was set with fine porcelain and steaming fragrant tea.
Valmira poured Arasha a cup herself, a rare show of affection.
They sipped in comfortable silence until Valmira finally broke it, her voice soft but firm.
"You're overworking yourself, little flame. This base… Scion Order… It's your life, isn't it?"
Arasha set her cup down, looking momentarily out over the courtyard.
The weight of her responsibilities pressed against her back like a tangible thing.
"It is. But it's also theirs," she said, meaning her knights, her squires, her people.
"And there are so many who rely on us... If I falter, others will fall."
Valmira studied her for a long moment, then smiled — a proud, fierce smile.
"Then let me help."
Arasha blinked in surprise.
Help?
She hadn't dared hope for more.
Still, with the honesty she always favored, she answered:
"We could use more logistics-focused personnel. People who can organize supply chains, maintain armories, build proper training fields… skilled healers would be a blessing too."
Valmira snorted softly, waving a hand.
"Forget recommending. I'll send the best of the best. People I've trained myself or had under my wing for years."
Valmira paused and took a sip of tea then added,
"By the time I'm done, this place will make the royal barracks look like a pigsty."
Arasha sat there, stunned for a beat, then lowered her head, a rare crack of vulnerability in her usually unshakable posture.
"Thank you."
Valmira leaned across the table and lightly tapped Arasha's forehead with a knuckle — a sisterly, familial gesture.
"Family stands for family. Always."
They sat for a while longer, drinking tea as the cool breeze danced around them, letting the world's troubles melt away — if only for a moment.
****
In the weeks to come, caravans bearing the Steelhart crest would begin arriving.
With them came master architects, elite blacksmiths, skilled healers, and seasoned logicians.
Unbeknownst to the kingdom, the foundation of something greater than an ordinary Order was quietly, methodically being built.
And at its heart stood Arasha — the flame that refused to waver.
****
Kane sat at the edge of his cot in the northern barracks, the comm-link glowing faintly in his hand.
Across the connection, Arasha's voice — softer, lighter than he remembered — filled the quiet room.
"The new facilities are nearly complete," she said with a gentle smile Kane could hear even if he couldn't fully see it.
"Training grounds, a proper forge, new medical wards… It's all going faster than I expected. Great aunt Valmira is a miracle worker."
Kane listened, heart both soaring and sinking.
He was happy, truly, that Arasha was finally receiving the support and infrastructure she deserved.
But at the same time, a bitter thorn twisted inside him.
He hadn't been the one to give her that.
When Arasha laughed — light, almost girlish — recounting how Valmira bullied the knights into trying the new gear, Kane realized something painful:
He forgot that he needs more than strength to stand beside Arasha. And, he lacks so much…
Muscle and swordsmanship alone weren't enough.
He needed power. Influence. Resources.
And if he didn't have them yet, he needed to get them.
And fast.
He only had two more years.
Four years total before the world's halted gears began turning again, faster, deadlier than before.
That night, Kane sought out Lucian, dragging him out to the frozen training fields.
"Lucian," Kane began bluntly, "how do you gain power?"
Lucian blinked, caught off guard by the intensity in Kane's gaze.
"Train harder? Lead men well? Prove yourself on the battlefield?"
Kane grimaced. He already knew that — it was obvious. But it felt... insufficient.
Still unsatisfied, Kane dared to approach Duke Lionel himself later that week.
The Duke, after hearing Kane's stammered question, only smiled mysteriously behind his thick beard.
"Power comes to those who endure and those who inspire," he said.
"But Kane... sometimes, you must define your own battlefield first."
Vague.
Infuriatingly vague.
Kane, frustrated but determined, found unexpected help where he least expected it: the Duchess.
She invited him for tea after catching him loitering near her gardens.
She listened to Kane's halting explanation of his goals and fears.
The Duchess's sharp, kind eyes glinted with understanding.
"If you truly wish to support Arasha," she said, pouring him a cup of fragrant tea, "You must build something of your own. A house, a name, a force."
Kane stiffened.
"You mean start... my own house?"
She smiled serenely.
"Exactly. It need not be grand — yet. Allies, reputation, wealth — all these things can grow if you are bold enough to plant the seed. Seek out old, fallen knight families without heirs. Restore their honor. Earn loyalty where others see ruins."
Kane sat, stunned. He could he forgotten that this world was Eidolon wars strategy game…He should've considered it sooner.
Before he could fully digest the idea, young Levi — ever irreverent — strolled by, snacking on candied almonds, and overheard.
Grinning like a fox, Levi chimed in:
"Or you could build a Guild, you know. Mercenaries, adventurers — a free company under your command. Not quite noble, but hey, nobles are overrated anyway!"
He winked.
"Get strong enough and rich enough, and they'll be begging you to marry their daughters. Or in your case..."
Levi smirked.
"One specific Commander."
Kane flushed furiously at Levi's teasing but found himself pondering the idea seriously.
A house.
A guild.
A force.
A way to create his own place in this world — not just cling to Arasha's shadow.
For the first time, Kane saw a concrete path forward.
And he swore — with a hand clenching around his comm-link — that when Arasha needed him the most, he would be someone she could truly rely on.