Flickering candlelight cast a dim glow over the room, while the soft rasp of a pen filled the silence, scribbling across parchment.
The man sitting in his office had a calm, focused look on his face as he signed document after document.
But as he was placing another document on the far-too-large pile that had been built, he stopped, looking at the sigil of a certain document he had in front of his eyes.
"The Archivum Civitas," he muttered, looking at the seal, before opening and reading the contents of the letter.
It was another report of the Iron Line's movement from High Bezel Domini.
It was the fourth one this week, and after each one, further dread was added to his anxiety.
He was good at manipulating, advising, and noticing things.
But when you are up against an army of commoners who cannot be manipulated, there is nothing to notice.
For they were unpredictable.
The involvement of King Yalan of the Ulveth Kingdom made things even more difficult to deal with, especially with the Sedes Sanguinis still empty.
The contents of the second part of the letter made him sigh even more than the first part.
A cry for help for all the Noble Bloods to unite and defend themselves against the approaching threat.
But many had already joined hands with the foreign king, meaning any cries for help would fall on deaf ears, unwilling to help.
Not because the Noble Bloods, still loyal to the Empire, did not want to, but because their absence would make their Domains weak, undefended, and ripe for the taking by the betrayers.
"I'm sorry, Bezel Domini," he said, putting the paper away, into a drawer inside his desk, "I've done all I could."
Memories of the battle on the Plains of Duldera resurfaced in the man's head.
The carnage that happened there was beyond anything he had ever witnessed.
However, the blood did not phase him.
No… what did was the defeat.
The defeat against an enemy he had not taken into consideration.
The usage of the Morois was beyond brilliant, and that hurt his pride.
And when they lost, choices had to be made, with sacrifices following shortly after.
There was no other way, after all.
Noble Blood Seraph betrayed them, not joining the fight as it was supposed to, but instead remaining neutral, with obvious inclinations and movements to join hands with King Yalan, after the battle.
He, and some others, had to retreat, flee back to safety, and leave behind all the plans made, all the men he brought.
It was cheaper after all, to pay a grieving family gold than to explain to them why their son, brother, husband, or father will not be returning.
But they had to survive, and gold would silence them.
The Iron Line would also have to wait before he could deal with it.
All he could do now was plan on other fronts. They had to bring allies to their side, remove betrayers from their ranks, and consolidate all their power to have as much leverage in whatever followed next.
But that was easier said than done when the others were still grieving.
Even he was on his fourth sleepless night again, not able to fall asleep, worried that things had gone far too wrong, and cursing some of the decisions he had made in the recent past.
It was hard to plan things when one was worried about their daughter.
How she was, if she was still alive, where her body was located, and so on and so forth.
He was considered a genius, his Blood a Crownbound, yet he was just as hopeless as all other men were in such times.
Not that special after all, he thought as he got to his feet, walking away from the table and towards the tray that had a teapot and a small ceramic cup on it.
He poured it silently while watching the cup being filled slowly.
Once full, he took the cup into his hands, bringing it to his lips slowly.
It was lukewarm, but it will have to do; no time to reheat it, after all.
He went back towards the table but stopped looking outside his window into the night.
A beautiful mountain range stood in the distance, with snow shining under the moonlight, sitting on one of the mountaintops.
Nothing else was visible, as all else slept.
The silence was almost soothing, if not for all that happened hundreds of miles away.
But a knock at the door disturbed his viewing, bringing his mind back inside the dimly lit room.
Who could it be at this hour? he wondered to himself, before taking a seat back on his chair.
"You may enter," he said out loud, taking a more noble stance with his back straight, his chin up, and waiting to see who entered.
The beautiful wooden door opened slowly.
"It's me, dear," said his first wife, Lea, "You have a visitor with an urgent message."
"Who? What happened?" Lucien asked, getting to his feet.
"It is I, Patriarch," a woman said flatly, her red eyes visible through the darkness.
"Daughter?" Lucien asked, surprised to see the terrifying woman visiting at this hour, "Please enter, take a seat, both of you."
And both nodded as they entered the room, closing the door behind them.
"Lea, dear," Lucien turned to his wife, "Before we begin, can you please reheat the tea for the Daughter?"
"Certainly," Lea nodded, going towards the tray and placing her hands on the ceramic teapot.
As steam began to slowly raise, Lucien turned on the light artifacts sitting on the four corners of the room before inviting the Daughter to take a seat on one of the leather couches in front of his table.
"How have you been these past few days?" Lucien asked, looking at the emotionless woman sitting on the left couch.
She donned a pure white dress, made of beautiful silk, as was customary for her Order.
Just as customary was the red hair and eyes she wore, making her look younger than she actually was.
"Asleep to conserve and refill lost power," the Daughter replied as Lea placed a teacup in front of her.
Silence fell over the room as the Daughter ended her reply, her conversational skills poor enough to make even a Crownbound unsure of what to say next.
So, he waited for his wife, Lea, to fill her own cup of tea and join him at his side before concluding the attempt at small talk.
"I assume that the reason you are now awake is also the reason for the visit, correct?" Lucien asked, placing his right hand atop his wife's.
"A correct assumption, Patriarch," the Daughter said with a nod, lifting the steaming teacup to her pale lips and sipping it as if the heat didn't bother her.
"Then?" Lucien asked, staring at her face.
"Our Order has been requested to pass a message to the Patriarch of Blood Maroux in secrecy," the Daughter replied, "Though we do not understand its meaning."
"Who is the sender?" Lea asked, her gaze locked on the woman in front of her.
"And what is the message?" Lucine added.
"The source of Morality yet stands strong, soon to be rekindled," the Daughter replied, closing her eyes while she spoke, "The Daughter of Blood Certa's Domain received these words from the first wife of Blanc of Blood Denegis, as well as your firstborn daughter, Celine of Blood Denegis."
A deafening silence fell over the room.
Lucien's ears could not hear anything else besides the echo of his rapid heartbeat.
Lea gasped, her eyes swiftly filling with tears as she covered her mouth, shocked by the news that her daughter, her flesh and blood, was still alive and well.
"A-are you… uh, is this information valid, without a shadow of any doubt?" Lucien asked, his mind fearing that this might be a dream.
But Lea's shaking hand felt real as she closed her hand around his wrist.
"Beyond that," she nodded, "Further information such as her physical condition, who besides her and her husband was present, as well as the situation the Daughter met them in, has been sent as additional information as a gift from the Order."
"Physical condition?" Lucien asked, noticing the wording the Daughter used, "What physical condition? Is she wounded?"
"Pregnant, actually," the Daughter corrected.
Lea, hearing this, couldn't hold her tears anymore, as she started bawling her eyes out, happiness overtaking her stressed body.
Lucien hugged her tightly, his face wearing a light smile, while his mind digested all the information.
He had many more questions he would have to ask, but while his wife was still crying her heart out, he took this chance to think on the message itself.
The source of Morality yet stands strong, soon to be rekindled, he repeated the words in his head, translating their meaning.
It wasn't difficult to manage, as he was the one who taught her such things and all their meanings.
He understood what his daughter requested and what she planned to do next.
Soon, all the worries washed away, and as his wife slowly calmed down, steps rushing in their direction could be heard approaching.
Just as the wooden door swung open, revealing a few worried ladies behind it, Lucien spoke again, unbothered by their presence.
"I want to know everything," Lucien said, looking at the Daughter, before his eyes slowly moved towards the women still at the door, "Everything about my daughter and son-in-law."