That night, Aldrich and Alan made their way to the strategy tent. It sat dead center in the camp, marked by taller poles and extra guards. Inside, captains, commanders, generals and Konor himself would be gathering.
They moved with the current of Highlanders flowing in the same direction. Most of the soldiers wore their signature skin suits, tight and sleek. Aldrich noticed the curious and distrusting the stares..
It was expected.
He and Alan were the only ones not wearing a skin suit.
He gave Alan a sideways glance. The green-haired boy had finally thrown on a shirt, though it looked like he'd grabbed the first thing in reach. "Why don't you wear your skin suit like the others?" Aldrich asked.
Alan shrugged. "No real reason," he said. "Just not a fan."
Fair enough.
The tent was already packed when they slipped in. Voices buzzed. Flame sconces threw flickering shadows on canvas walls. Aldrich scanned the crowd, then quietly pulled Alan toward a corner. Low profile. That was the goal.
He didn't want attention.
Still, them being the only ones in the room without skin suits didn't help. But once tucked into the shadow of the wall, it seemed to work as no one paid them much mind. The highlanders clustered in knots, murmuring about formations, terrain, rations. They traded jokes or postured in loud tones.
Across the room, Aldrich spotted Reno. She was laughing with two other women, eyes bright, hair tied back in a high twist. He ducked slightly.
If she saw him, it was over.
He spotted the two Highlanders from the dungeon too. Faces still bruised and swollen. More people to avoid.
Then the tent fell silent.
Just like that.
A man stepped through the entrance, tall and composed, every eye locking on him as if pulled by gravity. He looked barely into his twenties, but carried himself like someone who'd seen the end of the world and come back unimpressed.
Long black hair framed his face, sharp and coldly handsome. A half-moon tattoo was inked on his forehead. It was the mark of the Night Goddess.
His skin suit shimmered white under the torchlight. He moved like he didn't touch the ground.
Respect didn't follow him.
It cleared the way for him.
Behind him came Shaun, silent as a shadow, eyes soft.
This man was Konor H. Darkous.
He reached the center of the tent, where a wide war map stretched across a table. Everyone waited, breath held.
"Hello, everyone," he said. His voice was smooth, too smooth.
"A lovely evening, is it not?"
And then he smiled.
It wasn't comforting.
Nobody answered. Not with words.
Some nodded. Others straightened their backs. A few just stared, like they were trying to figure out if Konor's smile meant something.
Aldrich stayed still. Alan too. Neither of them moved a muscle. If Konor's gaze swept the crowd, it didn't stop on them. Not yet.
Konor placed both hands on the war map. The tent held its breath.
"I'll be brief," he said, voice cutting through the air like a knife through fruit.
Nobody spoke. Not right away.
Some nodded stiffly. Others adjusted their stances, as if posture might shield them from what was coming. A few just stared at Konor's smile, trying to decide if it meant salvation… or annihilation.
Aldrich didn't move. Neither did Alan.
Konor stepped to the war map, placing both hands flat on its corners. Firelight danced across his white suit, making the fabric glow like ivory under pressure.
"Four of the twelve Sylvarith tribes have allied," he said. His voice had turned coarse now, like a blade ground too thin. "And even with just these four, they already outnumber us by far."
Murmurs rippled through the tent.
"We need more soldiers. More fighters. These creatures aren't like the others, they're vicious, skilled, and organized. I don't know how this war began. But it has. And this isn't a hunt anymore." He looked up. "It's survival."
He didn't shout. Didn't need to.
He spread his arms wide, then turned toward Shaun with the smooth, effortless motion of a man who had full control of the room, and expected it to stay that way.
"Give them the numbers," he said.
Shaun stepped forward. "Our army currently stands at four thousand, six hundred and ninety-five." His voice was clipped, practiced. "That breaks down into one thousand, four hundred and sixty-eight Highlanders, and three thousand, two hundred and twenty-seven Lowlanders. We have three hundred squads, twenty commanders, and two generals. The remainder serve in miscellaneous units..logistics, medics, supply."
He didn't pause. "As for the Sylvariths, conservative estimates place their combined number, from the four united tribes, at over thirty thousand."
Gasps erupted like shrapnel.
Aldrich felt the weight of that number. Not just in his chest, but deep in his gut. Four tribes. Out of twelve. And they already had a seven-to-one advantage.
"That's outrageous!" A man snapped from near the edge of the gathering. He had deep brown skin, a well-kept goatee, and long dreadlocks pulled behind his shoulders. "We don't stand a chance!"
Another chimed in, voice rising above the din. "Shouldn't we scatter? Hide out in smaller groups? At least some of us would live to see the end of the trial!"
Others joined in. The tent buzzed. Cross-talk layered over frustration. Over fear.
Then…
"Silence."
Konor didn't raise his voice. He dropped it like a hammer.
And the tent obeyed.
He stepped forward slowly, letting the tension stretch thin before snapping it. "Your fears are valid," he said, expression unchanged. "Yes, we are outnumbered. And yes, we are working to strengthen our numbers. But shame on you..shame..if your first instinct is to run."
His tone turned to steel.
"If you truly believe that, tear off your cores and march yourself to the Lowlands. You're not fighters. You're miners."
Aldrich's stomach clenched.
He knew Highlander superiority was baked into everything here, but no matter how often he heard it, the disdain still stung. It still felt raw. Still made his fists want to close.
Alan's hand found his shoulder. A small gesture. Just enough to keep him grounded.
Konor's smile returned, too smooth. Too easy. "We'll fight. Because we have something they don't."
He turned slightly, motioning.
Reno appeared at his side like smoke, a box in her hands.
Aldrich tensed the second he saw it.
The box.
The one that had followed him like a shadow in his thoughts. He had not expected Konor to willingly pull it out in front of everyone.
She set it on the table. Konor opened it without flourish. From inside, he lifted a glowing, cylindrical object. It was long, smooth, and glowing a faint blue at the seams.
Aldrich leaned, trying to see. Alan tilted forward too.
"You know what that is?" Aldrich whispered.
Alan shook his head. "Never seen anything like it."
Konor held the item up for all to see, turning it in the light. "This," he said, "is a K2-S9. Most of you have never heard the name. That's because it's classified. Military tech. Very rare. And very, very dangerous."
"What does it do?" a woman asked from one of the back ranks.
Konor smiled at her like she was a child who'd just asked why the sky was blue. "It uses wave energy. Unstable, potent. Destructive. Anything within five kilometers…" He made a sound like boom, miming an explosion with his hands.
Laughter followed. Nervous, uneven.
A man stepped forward. "And how did that end up here?"
"I have my ways," Konor replied, too quickly.
"We have four of these," he added. "And we'll use them wisely. These savages won't know what hit them."
His gaze slid to a man standing nearby, his arms crossed, face unreadable, two sabers strapped across his back.
If Julia, Bernard, or Beebee had been here, they'd have recognized him in an instant. It was Marlo Achanam.
"General Marlo," Konor said. "You mentioned a group of Lowlanders you were attempting to recruit. The ones in the Bane Dunes?"
Marlo didn't move. "Yes. They're camped out far east. It'll take my men two days to reach them, and another to return."
Konor frowned. "Time we don't have. How many are there?"
"Over a hundred," Marlo replied. "But a handful of them are worth ten of ours. And their leader… she's worth a hundred."
That got a laugh from someone. Konor included.
"Come on, General," Konor grinned. "They're Lowlanders."
The laughter spread. But not to Marlo.
"I don't exaggerate," he said, still stone-faced. "I saw her fight once, she moved like she was dancing. She took down a king skitterling alone."
The tent fell quiet.
Marlo swept his gaze across the officers. "How many of you can claim that?"
No one answered.
In the corner, Aldrich's lips curled into a smile.
Julia.
There was only one Lowlander he knew who fought like that, who made battles like dance arts.
He'd found her.
He turned to Alan, ready to whisper the news when Konor's gaze snapped to the corner.
Right to them.
His smile vanished.
His eyes narrowed.
Aldrich's pulse kicked.
Shit.