The golden halls of Kathlyen Palace gleamed under the morning sun. King Hadrian of Ostara walked slowly through them, his boots echoing against polished marble. Servants bowed as he passed, but he hardly noticed. His thoughts were elsewhere — tangled in memories that refused to fade.
The corridors, lined with banners of gold and crimson, offered no comfort. Not anymore.
As he reached the wide balcony overlooking the city, he exhaled deeply, gripping the stone railing. The wind carried faint scents of the market — spice, steel, and smoke. But even that familiar peace couldn't drown the memory that clawed at him.
His mind dragged him back to that day.
---
The room had been dim — torches burning low against cold stone walls. The chamber of kings, silent but for the crackle of flame.
Before them knelt the spy — an elf cloaked in black, wrists bound in silver cuffs that dimmed the faint glow of his veins. His hair was pale, almost white, and his eyes shimmered like blades under torchlight. He was young — too young, maybe — but his smirk held the arrogance of someone who knew more than he should.
Elenora, the queen, stood beside Hadrian — elegant even in armor, her golden hair braided tight, her voice calm but razor-edged.
"You are aware," she began, "that spying on a royal meeting between monarchs is punishable by death under every existing treaty."
The elf lifted his chin, smirking. "I'm aware."
Hadrian stepped forward, expression flat. "Then speak, before we decide whether you deserve a clean end."
The spy's smile didn't fade. "What do you wish to know, Your Majesty?"
"Who sent you," Elenora replied. "Were you ordered here by your king, or were you just chasing coin?"
"I can't answer that," the elf said quietly.
"Can't?" Hadrian's tone sharpened. "Or won't?"
The elf tilted his head, grin widening. "Let's say… it doesn't matter. My job was to see how far along you are in preparing for the invasion."
That word echoed through the chamber.
"Invasion?" growled Dravok, the Orc King of Korraval. His tusks flashed as he stood, towering over everyone. "You dare speak of invasion in my presence, elf?"
The spy chuckled, low and cold. "Oh, I dare much more than that."
Queen Vorga of Korraval leaned forward, her crimson eyes narrowing. Her tone was deep but measured — the kind that made even warriors listen.
"You think your kin can stand against two kingdoms? Ostara and Korraval together? You'd be crushed before your first sunrise."
The spy giggled. Giggled.
"You think your two lands could stand against Aetherwyn?"
A heavy silence fell. Even the torches seemed to dim.
Hadrian's jaw tightened. "You've made your point," he said, motioning to the guards. "Take him to the lower cells. He'll speak again, when he's less amused."
As they dragged the spy away, his laughter echoed down the hall — sharp and hollow.
"You'll see, kings. You'll all see. The wind already carries their march!"
Hadrian's hand had clenched into a fist that day — and even now, a year later, he could still feel the weight of that sound.
---
He rubbed his temple, sighing, as the memory faded. The throne room doors loomed ahead. Inside, Queen Elenora sat by the high window, her silver goblet untouched beside her. Sunlight traced her figure, glinting off the light blue fabric of her gown.
"Morning, dear," she said softly without turning.
"Morning," Hadrian replied, walking toward the throne and sinking into it with a heavy exhale.
"You're still thinking about it, aren't you?" she asked.
He rubbed his forehead. "You'd think I'd forget after a year, but no. I can still hear his voice. 'The wind carries their march'— damn elf knew something."
Elenora looked over at him, gentle but firm. "You can tell those were empty threats. It's been a year, Hadrian. No attacks, no warnings, not even a whisper. If Aetherwyn truly wanted war, they wouldn't have waited this long."
Hadrian shook his head. "That's where you're wrong."
He leaned forward, his voice dropping low. "I went scouting last month. Me and Dravok. We rode along the Korraval border — the villages near Aetherwyn's frontier… half of them are gone. Burned down. People dead. And no one's talking about it."
Elenora's expression darkened. "You saw this yourself?"
"I did." He looked up, eyes steady. "No banners, no tracks, but the attacks were organized. It wasn't bandits. Someone's moving — quietly."
For a moment, neither spoke. The silence stretched long and heavy between them.
Then Elenora sighed, sitting beside him on the dais. "So what do we do?"
Hadrian chuckled dryly. "I was hoping you'd have the answer. You're the smart one here."
She smiled faintly. "Maybe. But you're not dumb either."
He grinned, leaning back. "Didn't say I was dumb."
"Good," she said with a teasing smirk. "Because you're not smart either."
That earned a quiet laugh from him, and for a brief moment the tension eased.
But it didn't last.
Hadrian's eyes hardened again. "I think I know what we need to do."
Elenora raised a brow. "So we finally put it to use?"
He nodded slowly. "It's time."
He turned to the guards stationed near the doors.
"Send a letter to every country. Korraval, Vyrmoria, and if they'll even respond — Sarthros. I want a royal meeting. A real one this time, no spies, no games."
The guard bowed deeply and left at once.
Elenora leaned forward. "And what do we tell them?"
Hadrian's voice was calm, steady — but beneath it ran a steel resolve.
"if peace isnt one of the options we were given i want to see how they respond to war."
He stood, walking back to the balcony, gazing out toward the horizon where the mountains met the sky. The wind swept through the open hall, and for a fleeting second, it almost sounded like laughter — faint, distant, and familiar.
Hadrian clenched his jaw.
"Let them march," he muttered. "Ostara won't be first to fall."