The night burned differently when men doubted.
I knew it before the words were spoken, before the soldier broke silence with his challenge. The fire gave no warmth anymore—it only threw shadows that swallowed more than they revealed. The men sat scattered, their faces gaunt, their armor dented and dulled, their hands twitching near blades that should have been resting easy. No laughter, no dice games, no murmured prayers—only the quiet grind of hunger chewing bone.
And above it all, the silence inside me.
Not peace. Never peace. But that silence storms wear, the silence of a sky too heavy with clouds to release its thunder yet. The system stirred there, coiled and waiting, its voice not a sound but a weight pressing against my ribs.
"They are already splintered. Strike, or be struck. It is the only law of circles."
