The war room stank of iron and wet leather. Rain tapped the wooden beams above like impatient fingers, and torches hissed in the damp air, casting flickering shadows over maps too old to still be accurate.
Sir Ryliegh Fieldweaver stood silently near the edge of the table, helmet under one arm, black armor streaked with grime. He hadn't bothered to clean the blood off from the skirmish at Hollow Pike — it wasn't his blood, so it didn't matter.
Across the war table, a captain of the Emerald Command tapped the map with a scarred gauntlet.
"They went into the Darkzone two weeks ago. Company of red knights. Fifty strong."
The commander — a grizzled woman with the voice of a siege horn — didn't look up when she said it.
"They haven't returned."
Ryliegh said nothing.
Another officer leaned in, fingers drumming over the parchment where a forest was inked in dark green, nearly black. A place with no roads. No settlements. Just a name scrawled in faded ink: Drearwood.
"The last known signal came from here," he said, pointing to a bend in a river that had probably dried up a decade ago. "Then silence. No flares. No scouts. No bodies."
"They were red knights," the commander finally added, glancing up at Ryliegh. "You've served beside them before."
"Not this company."
"You know how they operate."
"I know they die hard."
Silence settled for a moment. The rain didn't stop.
The commander stepped around the table and held out a sealed scroll — the wax still warm from the stamp.
"Fieldweaver. You're to go in, confirm what happened. Recover anything that tells us how or why. If there are survivors, bring them out. If there's nothing... burn what you find."
Ryliegh took the scroll but didn't break the seal.
"How many men do I take?"
"You don't."
He looked up.
"You're going alone," she said. "No fire. No banners. No noise. You're not there to fight. You're there to learn."
Ryliegh nodded once. "I'll bring back truth."
"Bring back something that matters."
"I just said the same thing."
The commander grunted, turning away.
"You'll leave by dusk. Supplies are waiting at the southern post. Don't wear colors."
"I never do."
She paused in the doorway before leaving him alone in the dim room.
"And Fieldweaver… they said the beasts are getting smarter. Less howl, more hunt. Don't assume you're the apex predator out there."
Ryliegh slid his helm back over his head with a dull hiss of metal.
"Wouldn't dream of it."
The door shut behind her.
Outside, the rain was getting heavier. The forest was waiting.