Two months after the fall of the Sire, the world had started to breathe again.
Grass grew where acid had scorched the earth. Markets reopened under patched awnings. Soldiers laid down arms to hold hammers, and the air of Laos Fortress—once thick with smoke and command shouts—now thrummed with the measured rhythm of rebuilding.
Inside the fortress workshop, the scent of oil and brass replaced blood and gunpowder. Gears turned, metal clicked, and amidst the cluttered tables of schematics and half-assembled contraptions sat Logos, sleeves rolled, eyes fixed on a small metal box that ticked softly in his hands.
He didn't look up when Lucy spoke.
"You really don't want to do it, do you?"
"No." His tone was matter-of-fact, as though the question itself were a waste of air. He adjusted a screw delicately with a precision screwdriver.
Kleber, standing beside Lucy, crossed his arms. "For someone who claims to love learning, you sure are averse to learning, my lord."
"I like learning what interests me," Logos replied, eyes still on the device.
"And basic humanity isn't part of that?" Lucy asked.
He looked up just long enough to say, "It's not a subject. It's an opinion."
Kleber sighed. "Saints help me. He's impossible."
Lucy stepped closer, arms folded. "So, what does interest you today?"
"Continuing Liverpool's work," Logos replied without hesitation. He rotated the box in his hands, inspecting a joint like a jeweler examining a flawed gem.
Kleber leaned in, frowning. "Why does it feel like I've seen that before?"
"You have," Logos said. "But this one's refined." Then, without looking up, "Tell me, how's everything going?"
Kleber, caught off guard, blinked before replying. "Bal is facilitating and keeping track of all the ones who want to leave. Masen's busy with the ones who want to stay."
"And Desax?" Lucy asked.
"He's scouring the territory, as you requested," Kleber said.
"Good," Logos murmured, adjusting a small cog.
Lucy crossed her arms tighter. "You're done deflecting."
Logos paused mid-turn. "Am I?"
"Yes," Lucy said simply. "You're using that box to avoid talking about what you're really avoiding."
Kleber raised a brow. "You mean that basic humanity stuff? Is that even a thing?"
"Well," Lucy said dryly, "according to me, sending a map that directs ten thousand of the kingdom's best warriors into a trap just to flush out a monster is—"
"Efficient," Logos interrupted, looking up briefly. "You call it evil. But if someone else had done it, they'd call him a great strategist."
"What I'm saying," Lucy countered, "is that you view lives as numbers."
"And?" Logos turned toward her fully for the first time, eyes sharp and unflinching. "Isn't that what soldiers are? Statistics? Percentages of efficiency?"
Her voice hardened. "They're people, Logos."
"Do I have to care for people I don't know?" he asked, tone clinical, not cruel. "They aren't my responsibility."
Kleber rubbed the back of his neck. "I mean… you're not wrong, my lord, but that's a hard thing to say out loud."
Logos didn't answer. The box clicked softly in his hands, gears whirring like a heartbeat. He watched it, expression unreadable.
Lucy stepped closer until her reflection shimmered faintly on the brass surface. "You say that because it's easier to be right than to be kind."
He looked up sharply.
She met his gaze without flinching. "You think if you calculate everything—every loss, every path, every outcome—you'll never have to feel what happens when those numbers die. But the world doesn't work that way."
Kleber lifted a hand, trying to diffuse the tension. "Let's not turn this into a sermon, Lucy. He's a strategist, not a saint."
"He's sixteen," she said, exhaling through her nose. "If I don't teach him now, he'll cross lines he can't return from."
Logos frowned faintly. "Emotion clouds reason. When you start caring about every pawn, you lose sight of the board."
Lucy shook her head. "And when you forget they're people, the board stops being worth saving."
The words hung heavy between them, like heat wavering above stone.
Kleber sighed. "You know, I fought in two campaigns before you took charge. Saw enough men die to fill three graveyards. I used to tell myself the same thing you're saying now — that they were just numbers. Made it easier to sleep. But after a while, you start seeing their faces again." He stared at his scarred hands. "Even the ones you didn't know."
Logos said nothing.
"Doesn't mean you have to cry over every loss," Kleber went on, forcing a grin. "But it's good to remember what kind of currency you're spending when you make your moves."
Lucy smiled faintly. "Spoken like a real human being."
"That's his charm, after all."
The new voice came from the doorway. Bal stepped in, his usual smirk tugging at the edge of his face.
"How long have you been listening?" Lucy asked, turning.
"For a while," Bal said, unbothered.
"Report," Logos said without missing a beat.
Bal rolled his eyes. "Straight to business. Fine. It's pretty cut and dry — half of them are leaving."
Kleber rubbed his chin. "So our current population will be four million."
"That's a lot of mouths to feed," Lucy said. "We'll have to adjust logistics — grain, water, medical, housing—everything."
"Then it's a good thing we have more hands," Logos replied absently, still adjusting the device.
"Actually…" Masen's voice came from the hall. He stepped in, holding a sealed envelope. "There's another thing."
Logos looked up. "What?"
"Some envoys left this." Masen set the letter on the table with a thump.
Kleber leaned forward, eyes widening. "Is that… the royal crest?!"
"Stop screaming," Masen muttered.
"And they just gave it and left?" Logos asked.
"Yes," Bal said. "Though they weren't fakes. Real envoys, real seal."
"Weird," Lucy murmured. "Usually they stay for pleasantries."
"Well," Logos said, breaking the seal, "let's read it."
The crackle of parchment filled the room.
"'The lords of the realm will hold a grand feast in the capital to honor the heroes of the Red Tide. You are hereby invited.'"
The workshop fell silent. The ticking of Logos's brass contraption was suddenly the only sound.
Kleber let out a low whistle. "Heroes, huh? Guess that means you, my lord."
Masen chuckled. "And Sous. The kingdom's shining stars, side by side."
Bal crossed his arms, grinning. "You going to attend, Logos?"
"As much as I don't want to," Logos replied, setting the box down with care. "It's a good opportunity to settle the debt."
Bal blinked. "Wait, we have enough money to clear the debt? Since when?!"
"It's called budgeting, Bal," Logos said dryly, pulling a sheaf of notes from a nearby table. "What do you think I've been doing all this time?"
Masen smirked. "Making that map of yours?"
"Making a weapon?" Bal guessed.
"Getting scolded?" Kleber added with a grin.
Logos didn't respond, though the faint twitch in his temple said plenty.
For a heartbeat, no one spoke. Then Bal whispered to Kleber, "He's thinking about it. We're about to be purged."
Lucy snorted. Masen laughed outright.
And for the first time in a long while, Logos—the boy who saw the world as numbers—almost smiled.
The machine on his table clicked one last time, a perfect rhythm, as though marking the moment the fortress exhaled.
Outside, spring winds carried the scent of rain and iron, whispering through the halls of Laos Fortress.
A new chapter had begun—one where even the coldest mind might have to learn what warmth truly meant.