Five days. That was all it took. Five days for the rumours of the dragon sighting and subsequent defeat of Captain Virelle to reach the capital.
In noble estates across the kingdom, doors closed more often than they opened. Servants lingered longer than necessary near half-opened doors, catching fragments of frantic whispers. Messengers rode at odd hours, their horses lathered in sweat under the moonlight.
One phrase repeated in different tones and intentions, a dark litany across the land: A dragon was seen flying over High Valmere.
The confirmation came on the fifth day. House Vaelor arrived at the royal palace draped in mourning black, the heavy wool soaking up the afternoon light. Their carriage bore no proud banner—only cloth-wrapped crests, muted and shamed.
They were admitted without delay. Grief had its privileges, even in a court built on cold calculation.
Inside the throne room of Aldric IV, the fallen lord's second-oldest son knelt before the dais. "Our father marched against a band of mercenaries to take revenge for the death of my eldest brother," the young man said, his voice controlled but strained, vibrating with a grief that threatened to crack his composure. "He had reason to believe they were responsible for his death."
Aldric listened without interruption, his face a mask of carved ivory.
"Four days ago, we learned that he fell in battle, Your Majesty."
"Where?" the King asked evenly his voice echoing in the vast, silent chamber.
"He fought the band of mercenaries near a private estate outside High Valmere."
The room shifted, a collective intake of breath from the courtiers. High Valmere. First it was a dragon swatting a knight out of the sky, and now a mercenary band managed to annihilate a nobles forces and kill the lord. Whatever is happening there, it can not be a coincidence.
"Is all this just an excuse to hide the start of a failed rebellion?" Chancellor Merrow asked carefully, his eyes narrowed.
"No, Your Majesty," the heir replied quickly. "We were informed the mercenaries were cutthroats and killers with no loyalties to anyone. We also heard it was led by a summoner."
A Summoner. They were rare but not unheard of, with each summoner ever heard of being able to stand toe to toe against armies if they were left to grow. The heir's words settled into the air like a blade laid flat upon a table, cold and sharp.
Aldric leaned back slightly. "And how many men rode with your father?"
The young noble swallowed, his throat bobbing. "All of them." Silence deepened, heavy and suffocating. "Our entire standing army of five hundred."
A murmur rippled through the chamber. Aldric's gaze did not waver. "How many of them returned?"
The heir's jaw tightened, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "None."
This was not just a failed expedition or a costly skirmish. An entire army had been erased. No one in the throne room dared speak, too stunned by the revelation. The weight of the news crushing the breath from the room.
On his throne, Aldric started to see the patterns forming. A dragon appears in High Valmere, wounds a knight, and shortly after its appearance, a noble's entire force was annihilated. Everything seems to point a connection between the two.
"I will task my men to find out everything that happened to them," Aldric said calmly. "Your father and brother will receive a royal condolences and appropriate funeral rites for them."
The heir bowed deeply. Grief lingered in his eyes. When House Vaelor withdrew, the doors closed once more.
Marshal Thorne broke the silence first. "This cannot be a coincidence."
"No," Aldric agreed, his voice dropping to a dangerous register. "It is not." He rose, the movement final. "I want Marquis Cassian Merrowyn to leave for High Valmere at once."
Lord Cassian Merrowyn was not a man easily unsettled. A high-ranking noble of seasoned intellect and political precision, he understood what it meant when a king dispatched him personally. He had not been given accusations or conclusions. He was given a single instruction. He was to observe and assess the on goings of the city and report back what he witnessed.
His carriage crossed the gate into High Valmere under a modest escort two days later. The city appeared intact. Its markets were open. The city's forges could be heard hammering away on their anvils. There were no ruins. Which meant the dragon had not caused indiscriminate destruction. Interesting.
He passed through the gates with nothing more than his name and crest and ordered his coachman to go straight to Baron Edrin's estate.
The Baron received him in a private solarium overlooking manicured gardens, the scent of blooming jasmine clashing with the tension in the room.
"Lord Cassian Merrowyn," Edrin greeted smoothly. "High Valmere welcomes you."
"Thank you for the hospitality," Merrowyn replied evenly, "but I am here under the kings order because of the dragon sighting that happened here." "You are aware," Merrowyn continued, "that Captain Elowen Virelle was brought down from the sky above your city."
"Yes, I have read the report from my men."
"And did you also know that Lord Vaelor and his entire standing army was annihilated."
Edrin did not flinch. "I did, I am saddened by his death."
"So you must know he died on your land, just outside your city?"
"Yes but my priority is to keep my citizens safe. What happened outside my city is of little concern to me."
Merrowyn stepped closer. "For someone who is saddened by his death, you didn't consider sending aid that day?"
Edrin's gaze sharpened slightly. "The battle did not occur in my city and whatever the reason for him to march his army across my land, it was not my business."
"I see."
"The battle you keep mentioning occurred outside the city on its outskirts at a private estate."
"Whose estate?"
"A mercenary and his company."
"Are they led by a summoner perchance?" Merrowyn questioned quietly, his interest now piqued.
Edrin inclined his head. "Yes."
Silence stretched between them. "Did you authorize Lord Vaelor's march through your land and near your city?" Merrowyn asked.
"No."
"Did you attempt to stop it?"
"I did not know he would march his army through my lands," Edrin replied, his voice dry. "He just appeared and attacked them. There was no opportunity to stop him."
"Not one of your men noticed the movements of a five hundred man army across your lands?? Your men are incompetent. "
"He marched through the woods, my men watch the merchant roads and patrol there. I don't send my men out in monster infested woods unless I absolutely have too."
Merrowyn studied him carefully. "I see..and do you know many mercenaries defended that estate?"
"They were a small force."
"I need numbers, Baron."
Edrin hesitated. "There were one hundred seventy men when the battle happened."
Merrowyn did not react outwardly, but his mind raced. "And now?"
"Three died during the battle."
"Three of the mercenaries died fighting House Vaelor's army?" Merrowyn asked incredulously.
"That is correct."
Merrowyn walked toward the window. "You do understand how all this appears, yes? A dragon attacked a knight over High Valmere and is now crippled. Then news arrive in the capital about House Vaelor's army being destroyed outside your city walls and their target, a rat-tag bunch of mercenaries now operate on your land from a fortified estate as if nothing happened!"
Edrin met his gaze. "What happened with the dragon was out of my hands, I was not even aware one of them lurked on my lands and as for what happened to the Vaelor's army, it is tragic but it they brought that on themselves."
"Brought it on themselves?!" A pause. "No normal mercenaries can win against those odds. None! Should I take their strength as a potential threat to the crown?"
"No," Edrin answered firmly.
"Do you say this because you are afraid?"
Another pause. "Not at all."
"Then why say these mercenaries aren't a threat?"
"Simply because they were attacked first. They have never initiated any attacks since they arrived on my land."
That answer lingered. Merrowyn turned fully toward him. "Do you think they would be open to an audience with the king or one of his representatives?"
"I believe so, yes."
"How would they react if His Majesty demands fealty from them and strip them of their rights as sellswords?"
Edrin did not answer immediately. "I don't know. All I know is that they only plan to take on contracts from the mercenary guild and be left alone when recuperating between jobs."
Merrowyn held his gaze. "Hmm..."
Silence.
"From my few interactions with their leader," Edrin said carefully, "what I know is that they will treat others the same way they were treated."
Merrowyn nodded slowly. "Thank you for answering my questions. I shall take my leave and I will see this estate."
The second estate bore scars. There were still signs of scorched earth. Some walls ahve been repairs with new freshly laid motar and stone. The reinforced iron gates were remade and strengthened further. Archers could be seen patrolling along the walls while guards could be seen stationed at intervals through out the estate. Everywhere someone looked, they could seen that this estate had just been through a battle.
Within the grounds, the soldiers not on guard trained. Others rested. Some still bore bandages from recent wounds, the white linen stark against their bronze and steel armors. Medics bustled about. The hetairoi cavalrymen tended to their horses with professional care. Some were seen mounted at the manor entrance.
As soon as Merrowyn arrived before the estate gate, he stepped out from his carriage. The guards at the gates kept it closed. "State your business."
He lifted his crest, the gold catching the sun. "I represent His Majesty, King Aldric IV, sovereign of the kingdom of Valerheim and of this land."
A guard stepped inside and went to replay the message. The gates did not open immediately. Once the permission from within was given, they opened in a controlled manner. Then, a massive silver form rose silently from beside the iron gate, previously hidden from the road's angle.
Fenrir stepped forward. He moved behind Merrowyn's escort without a sound, a mountain of fur and muscle. A horse trembled violently, its eyes rolling in terror. A knight's hand twitched toward steel.
Fenrir's ears shifted forward slightly. That was enough.
"Stand down," Merrowyn said calmly, though his own heart hammered. The knight froze. Merrowyn turned his head slightly and met the wolf's gaze. He quickly lowered his gaze and waited for the gate to be opened again.
"Permission granted."
Merrowyn stepped forward. Fenrir walked beside them. Close enough to remind that he was there but not close enough to threaten them.
And as the manor gates stood open before him, Merrowyn finally understood. The King had been correct. This was something new and it had to be measured very carefully.
Fenrir did not block them this time. The great wolf simply moved alongside the inner perimeter, silent as a drifting shadow. Merrowyn crossed the threshold into the estate grounds and truly saw.
The courtyard opened wide before him. To his left, a full training field lay active. Nothing about it was chaotic. It wasn't loud like the royal training grounds. No officers were seen screaming yelling out commands at their men. There was no frantic scrambling. Every soldier moved in structured formations, but what struck him most was the fluidity.
Swords did not clash wildly—they met, separated, flowed into second and third transitions. Shield lines advanced and withdrew in seamless synchronization. Spears rotated forward in layered timing that suggested deep drilling—not weeks of training, but months. Perhaps longer.
Pairs broke off into controlled sparring. Their footwork was balanced and precise.Their strikes are economical. There was no wasted motion. Even their breathing seemed regulated. Merrowyn slowed his pace without realizing. This did not look like a band of rat-tag mercenaries drilling. What he saw looked… refined.
One group shifted into rotational movement drills—blade arcs tracing identical patterns through the air. For a brief moment, it resembled choreography more than combat practice. Like a dance written in steel. Every move was graceful and looked effortless.
But Merrowyn knew better. Effortlessness was born from relentless discipline and training.
He observed the archers along the walls next—bows unstrung but within arm's reach. Rotations were quiet and exact. No idle leaning. No sloppy posture. Knights could also be seen standing at attention in structural choke points throughout the grounds. Shields grounded, hands resting loosely along their sword pommels, but eyes alert.
Near the stables, cavalrymen tended to their horses with careful attention. Grooming. Inspecting hooves. Checking tack. A few stood mounted, speaking quietly while surveying the estate perimeter. Not one soldier stared openly at the envoy. Yet he felt watched by all of them.
This was not a force gathered in panic. This looked like a well trained army.
Merrowyn's gaze shifted forward. At the top of the manor steps, before the double wooden doors, stood Aleric. He was not armored or draped in ostentatious fabric. He was a simple dark attire. He stood at ease, but not carelessly.
Beside him stood Athena. Close enough that their shoulders nearly brushed. Close enough that the space between them seemed chosen, not incidental.
In the five days since the battle, something had changed. They did not speak as the envoy approached. They did not reach for one another. But there was a certain awareness between them. It was subtle and unspoken but both knew it was there.
When a breeze passed across the courtyard, Athena's sleeve shifted faintly against Aleric's arm. Neither moved away or acknowledged it. Merrowyn noticed. Not the gesture itself but the closeness between the two.
He reached the base of the manor steps, stopped at a respectful distance and inclined his head slightly in greeting.
Aleric inclined his own in return. "Welcome envoy, I'm Aleric Saint. A pleasure to meet you." There was no forced deference or challenge. He spoke to him as he spoke to any other man.
Merrowyn's gaze flicked briefly to Athena. "And your companion is?"
"Athena." Athena's eyes met his evenly. There was depth there. Old depth. Merrowyn resisted the urge to probe further.
"I come on behalf of His Majesty. My name is Marquis Cassian Merrowyn " he said.
"As you are an envoy I already assumed you were sent by the king," Aleric replied calmly.
"Ah yes that is true haha. Well I won't beat around the bush as you seem someone who prefers to be direct. You must know why I was sent here yes?"
"I have an idea why."
Merrowyn clasped his hands behind his back. "The king has heard that you annihilated one of this kingdom's nobles' army and even killed their lord."
The training field continued behind him. Steel moved in fluid arcs. Boots pivoted in unison. Aleric did not glance back. "We disrupted an assassination attempt on us a few days prior and then that army advanced on us without warning, so we defended ourselves." he said simply.
"You believe it was your right to kill the noble as self defense?" Merrowyn looked at him surprised, unable to determine if he actually cared about the consequences of killing a noble or if he genuinely didn't know about them.
"Tell me, would you stand still and let your friends and close ones get killed because some random noble decided they wanted you and your family dead?" Aleric questioned back.
"....The kingdom has laws in place to prevent these kinds of situations--"
"You mean the kingdom has laws to prevent this from happening between NOBLE HOUSES. We, the common people don't have the same luxury."
A pause—not long, but deliberate. "I understand...." He knew when to stop pushing. Merrowyn regained his slightly broken composure and continued. "I am also here to ask if you knew anything about the recent dragon sighting that happened and if you knew what might have caused it to attack one of our knights in the sky."
"The dragon probably attacked your knight because it was intruding in its territory." The answer was given too quickly, it sounded prepared. Merrowyn immediately suspected Aleric to be hiding something but for now he'll let it go.
"By the way on my way here I couldn't help but notice the remarkably disciplined men you command," the envoy said instead, nodding subtly toward the yard.
"They train relentlessly," Aleric replied.
"It shows." Merrowyn's eyes returned to him. "I also heard that you lost three men in the battle."
"Your information is correct."
"You don't seem affected by their loss." Merrowyn noted
"I just don't parade grief," Aleric said quietly. "I might not show it, but I do not forget it either."
That answer held weight. Merrowyn studied him more closely now. This man was not heartless but rather pragmatic in his way of thinking.
Athena shifted slightly closer to Aleric when the wind lifted again. There was something between them. Merrowyn understood then that whatever this estate was becoming… it was not built on chaos. It was built on cohesion. And cohesion, when paired with power, was far more dangerous than ambition.
He exhaled slowly. "May we continue this conversation elsewhere?" he asked.
"Sure," Aleric replied.
Merrowyn nodded once. "Then I will follow your lead."
Aleric turned slightly toward the manor doors. "This way then."
Lord Merrowyn followed him up the steps and into the shade of the wide veranda that overlooked the estate grounds. A sturdy picnic-style table had been arranged there—simple wood, polished but...unadorned, the grain of the timber smooth under the afternoon sun. Three chairs were already set.
One of Aleric's guards stood nearby, posture impeccable, his eyes scanning the horizon even as he moved. As they approached, another guard stepped forward with quiet efficiency and began pouring the tea that was already prepared into porcelain cups, the steam rising in thin, fragrant ribbons. A small tray of biscuits rested between them.
Merrowyn's brow lifted faintly, taking in the lack of finery. "No staff?" he asked.
"Not yet," Aleric replied evenly. "We had other priorities to take care of first."
The guard placed the cup before Merrowyn with a respectful nod, then did the same for Aleric and Athena before stepping back into position as if nothing were unusual about acting as both soldier and butler. Merrowyn took note of that, too.
They took their seats. Merrowyn sat across from Aleric. Athena took the seat beside him and then—boldly—beneath the table, unseen from the envoy's sight, she slid her hand into Aleric's.
His fingers stilled for a fraction of a heartbeat. Surprise flickered through him, a sudden heat stirring in the center of his chest. But he did not pull away. Her skin was soft—warm, impossibly smooth against his newly callused hands, roughened by weeks of fighting in the wild and training. The contrast grounded him. For weeks, he had stood in the wild unsure of his next move. Here—quietly—he was reminded he was still human and that he was not alone to walk this new path.
He curled his fingers gently around hers. No words passed between them. None were needed. They both knew. A conversation awaited them—about what they were becoming, about what had changed between them since their first meeting. But not now. Not with the Crown watching.
Merrowyn observed their posture, their proximity, their stillness. He said nothing of it. Instead, he lifted his cup. "Lord Aleric," he began.
Aleric inclined his head slightly. "You requested that we move our discussion," Aleric said calmly. "What would you have of me that required a change of venue?"
Merrowyn set the cup down, the porcelain clicking softly. "The king fears instability in the region." Aleric did not react. "What occurred in High Valmere cannot be ignored," Merrowyn continued evenly. His gaze sharpened. "The power you have showed the world is too great for a band of mercenaries."
"I understand the need for stability but I did not seek battle," Aleric replied.
"Perhaps not," Merrowyn said. "But you still dominated the one that came knocking on your doors."
Silence stretched, heavy with the weight of five hundred dead men.
"The King wants to know," Merrowyn continued carefully, "what he can expect from you."
"Before answering, tell me, what does he expect of us?" Aleric asked.
"Restraint," Merrowyn answered. "Loyalty. Transparency." A pause. "And assurances."
Aleric's expression remained composed. "And if I decline to pledge all of his expectations?" he asked softly.
Merrowyn leaned back slightly. "His expectations are merely what a commoner should readily agree too," Merrowyn replied evenly. "We are speaking of allowing your mercenaries to be under the kingdoms management, it should be an honor for you. But if you refuse, understand this—when a man commands such exceptional warriors, he does not stand as a mere mercenary. Even with the backing from a lesser noble such as a baron. I also have reason to believe you know more than you let on about that dragon. If my suspicions are correct, the king would not allow you to continue moving about freely."
There it was. The pressure.
"You now represent a potential shift in the balance of power in this kingdom," Merrowyn continued. "The king must ensure that shift does not turn against him."
Under the table, Athena's grip tightened faintly. Aleric did not move. "And how," he asked evenly, "would the Crown ensure that?"
Merrowyn's eyes held his. "There are expectations of fealty that extend beyond oath. You would be required to contribute to the kingdom. You will be managed by someone appointed by the king and all movements will need to be approved beforehand. Lastly, you and your band of mercenaries will have to participate in any and all matters concerning the movements of military assets."
Every single word spoken was an insult to Athena and Aleric. This was blatant coercion.
Before Aleric could respond, the air changed. It began as a faint heaviness. Like pressure before a storm. Merrowyn's breath faltered mid-inhale. His spine stiffened. The tea in his cup trembled slightly against the porcelain. The wind did not move. But something vast had turned its attention upon him.
From the far corner of the manor veranda, unseen beyond the open archway, stood a tall figure in dark attire—silent, arms loosely folded. Fafnir—in human form—stood watching. Listening.
The moment Merrowyn's tone had shifted toward threats and coercion, Fafnir had responded with a bit of his draconic pressure. This was his way of warning this envoy to tread very carefully.
Merrowyn's heart stuttered. His vision narrowed for a split second as instinct screamed at him to run, to escape far far away from there. Whatever released that pressure was immeasurable. It felt like an ancient predator stared at him waiting for him to make a mistake to erase him. It made him feel very small and defenseless.
The sensation vanished just as quickly as it had come. Merrowyn inhaled sharply, steadying himself, his face pale, cold sweat drenching his back. Across from him, Aleric lifted his cup and took a calm sip of tea.
"I apologize," Aleric said mildly. "He heard you."
Merrowyn's gaze flicked instinctively toward the shadowed archway. Fafnir did not move. Did not blink. "You see..he is… protective in a way," Aleric continued. "The pressure you felt was merely a warning."
Merrowyn swallowed hard. "That was a warning?" he asked quietly.
"Yes."
The envoy's composure did not shatter—but it definitely cracked. He now understood something the King had only suspected. The man before him still had hidden cards and only he knew how close to death he had been.
Merrowyn folded his hands atop the table, recalibrating. "The king," he said more carefully now, "does not wish to be your enemy."
"And I do not wish to be the Crown's," Aleric replied.
Silence fell again but it was different this time. It felt more honest. Under the table, Athena's thumb brushed lightly across Aleric's knuckles steadily. A gentle reminder that he isn't alone.
Merrowyn exhaled slowly. "Then perhaps," he said, voice measured once more, "we may discuss cooperation between the king and you and your men instead of forcing you into the kingdoms forces?"
Aleric's gaze held his. "That," he said quietly, "would be a wiser choice."
And in the corner of the veranda—Fafnir's presence eased but did not disappear.
Merrowyn had come to assess and take them under control of the king but instead he met a force he could not assess.