The chamber door creaked open at dawn, letting in a blade of gold-tinged light. Vaeryn stood there alone, his silhouette clean and sharp against the glow.
"Walk with me," he said. Not a request.
Eliakim followed, boots silent on the smooth stone floors. The corridors twisted like a labyrinth, passing war rooms, storage vaults, and shadowed staircases. Guards nodded as Vaeryn passed — some with wary respect, others with the subtle deference of soldiers to someone they think is on their side.
At last, they emerged onto a narrow balcony overlooking the valley below. From here, the stronghold's scale was clear: watchtowers like spearpoints, hidden trails vanishing into thick forest, and smoke rising from the forges far below.
Vaeryn leaned on the railing. "You want out," he said without preamble.
Eliakim's face stayed still. "We want our freedom."
"Same thing," Vaeryn replied, eyes scanning the distant ridgelines. "But nothing here is free. Not for me, not for you."
He turned to face him fully, the early sun catching the sharp lines of his cheekbones. "I can get you beyond the Queen's reach. Beyond the Legion's hunting parties. Into the wilds where even war cannot follow."
Eliakim waited for the hook.
"In return," Vaeryn continued, "you'll take on a task for me. A single strike, at a target both the Queen and the Legion consider untouchable. Do this, and I make you vanish."
Eliakim's brow lowered. "And if I refuse?"
"Then you stay here until one side decides you're worth killing… and the other decides you're worth trading."
They stood in the wind, a long silence between them.
Then Vaeryn said something in flawless Elvish — low and sharp, the kind of sentence meant to pry at someone's mask.
Eliakim's gaze flickered. "You know I don't—"
"Stop pretending," Vaeryn cut in, voice suddenly quiet but edged. "You understand me perfectly."
Eliakim froze for half a heartbeat. "How did you—"
"I have my ways," Vaeryn said, that almost-smile ghosting across his lips. "Now… how did you learn the Elven tongue?"
Eliakim met his eyes. "I have my ways."
For a moment, they just stared at each other, the wind snapping between them like an unseen banner.
"I chose you for this because you are unpredictable," Vaeryn said finally. "Neither side has their claws in you yet. That makes you dangerous… and perfect."
Eliakim didn't nod, didn't commit. "I'll need to speak to my people."
"Of course," Vaeryn replied smoothly, as if he already knew the answer. "But do not take too long. Wars move faster than men think… and this war has a habit of eating those who hesitate."
As Eliakim turned to leave, Vaeryn added softly in Elvish — "Every piece has its place on the board. Even the ones that think they're free."
The War Room — Later
The group gathered in the dim back chamber they'd been given — a storage space with one barred window and crates stacked against the walls.
"He's offering us a deal," Eliakim began. "One mission for him, in exchange for a clean way out."
Caleb's expression sharpened instantly. "Or a clean way into something worse. Men like that don't make deals — they make traps."
Skyling tilted her head, curious. "But if he really can get us past both the Queen's guard and the Legion's scouts, isn't it worth at least considering?"
"That's exactly the hook," Caleb shot back. "Make the bait sound like the only way out, then reel you in until you don't even notice the net."
Ezra, leaning in the shadow by the door, finally spoke. "Vaeryn Solthir is the kind of man who lets you win just enough to keep you from noticing you're losing. You take this deal, you're already dancing to his tune."
Eliakim looked at each of them in turn, weighing their words. "I'm not saying yes. I'm not saying no. But if he's playing both sides — and I think he is — then we might be able to use him as much as he uses us."
Caleb folded his arms. "That's a dangerous gamble, even for you."
Eliakim's eyes narrowed slightly. "Sometimes the only way out of a game is to play it better than the one who made it."
Silence followed, the kind that made it clear they were already standing on a knife's edge.