Nasir rode without a banner.
He passed through border towns with a merchant's face and a soldier's eyes—quiet, efficient, dangerous. His name changed in every inn. His weapons stayed hidden. He was Zareena's blade in the dark, honed by loyalty, not blood.
Three days into the journey, he stopped in a ruined village where smoke still curled from blackened stones. The letter she had given him weighed heavier than steel inside his coat.
He waited until nightfall.
In the back of a crumbling chapel, he lit a single oil lamp and broke the seal.
The contents were not meant for a spy's eyes. But Zareena had known he would read it.
"To the House of Vassren,
You hide your steel behind trade and coin, yet your men were seen near our borders. I am not blind. Nor am I naïve.
I offer one chance.
Send your second son to Vireloch. Not as a hostage, but as a partner. Let him train beside my men. See how we live and how we prepare.
If you decline… I will treat your silence as intent to align with Marcerov.
Choose your allegiance wisely.
—Z.V. of House Serinova"
Nasir folded the letter again, slow and careful.
She was moving pieces. Preparing allies. Drawing lines.
And this family—House Vassren—was one of several whose loyalties danced on a blade's edge.
Years Earlier
He first met her when his own name was still a whisper.
She had arrived in the capital underguarded and underestimated, looking like a girl too young for the name she bore. He was posted as a backup shadow—not even meant to speak to her.
But then a fire broke out in the stables.
Everyone panicked.
Except her.
She pulled a burning tarp off a panicked horse with her bare hands, lips tight, eyes like steel. While nobles screamed and guards hesitated, she saved the animal without a word and walked out of the smoke like it meant nothing.
Later that night, she found him in the corner of the barracks yard.
"You," she said. "The one who didn't flinch."
He didn't know what to say.
"You'll serve me one day," she added. "When I build something worth serving."
He laughed. Quietly.
But years later, when his commanders vanished and his brothers betrayed coin for safety—she sent for him.
No oaths. No ceremony. Just: "I remember you."
And that was enough.
Now, he rode for her once more.
The roads grew harsher, and shadows longer. But Nasir was no longer a lost soldier.
He was the whisper of Vireloch.
And he carried her warning like a flame.