The wind passes through the large pillars along the building, entering the space only to leave it again. A massive temple on the edge of a cliff, guarding secrets that perhaps even those inside may not recognize. Silence hangs in the air with no signs of being interrupted. To enter the great gates, there are only two paths: across the bridge in front of the waterfall that falls beside the temple, or up the steep climb on the opposite side. On both sides of the bridges, a large number of knights are positioned, hidden in the same carts they used to arrive in the region. Inside the temple are enemy troops, and outside, positioned soldiers thus continues this trench warfare.
There is nothing concrete, no clues or signs, only a hypothesis. There is a small chance that must be considered. Everyone recognized it from the moment they put on their iron boots and raised their swords, but it still seems more of a hypothetical, moral thought than something that has already taken shape in their minds. The truth is, they are all unconcerned. The eagerness to advance seems greater than the fear of striking a wrong blow. This thought is concentrated on a single entity. An army so powerful does not march fearing death; on the contrary, they fear the massacre caused by their own hands even more. Still, there is a chance.
Inside the temple, far deeper in the corridors, is the point of interest. Light barely enters this side, but it is enough to cast the shadows of the pillars on the floor. One face of the temple looks out over the abyss. It is far from the entrances but close to the outside at the same time. In this small, cubic room, a figure remains motionless in a chair. Hair loose, face turned downward, bare feet, and ropes tying the limbs to the chair, including the neck. Their breathing is muffled by the bands covering their lips, but it's calm, like that of a sleeping child who doesn't recognize the coming struggle of the day. Not even the world inside the box seems to recognize that the cat is in danger.
On the outside...
A huge tent stands at the center of the carts, surrounded by squires. It stands out not only for its size, but also because it is the only one emanating light from within. Inside are the commander and his lieutenants. From this place, the plan that will lead everyone to victory, regardless of any adversity, will emerge. Behind these curtains are the elite of this mountainous kingdom, the peak of their race. Their armor gleams with strength and power, unique among the army of knights, recognized by the color of the metals.
Suddenly, a fist rises and, with all possible violence, descends like a guillotine against the table before him. The blow echoes, scattering several chess-like pieces resembling bishops and checkers, but the sound that stands out is the voice of the aggressor, which almost escapes through the tent's curtains. He yells:
"WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS!?" — he roars, his eyes narrowed and mouth wide open — "I bring you here to discuss a plan, and THIS is what you propose!?"
"But-"
"YOU!" — he points a finger at the knight — "said you had a grand plan" — he moves closer — "Something no one had thought of" — his hand is almost in the other knight's face, invading his personal space a little — "A grand, unprecedented idea." — the pointed finger presses against the knight's cheek — "And it was a FUCKING LANDSLIDE!!!?"
"It wouldn't even be possible to do that, considering the dam is reinforced" — says the girl with long horns, also at the table, while the knight who appears to be the commander keeps pressing his index finger against the other soldier's face.
"Exactly!" — he returns to his place — "You held onto that until I showed up?"
"Actually, he refused to listen to me, so I waited for a superior. That's why I say you should demote that fetishist to a servant's post" — she says with a mocking tone.
"Hm," — the knight takes a deep breath and massages the red spot on his cheek with the back of his hand — "It's not easy to think of something that won't draw attention in a situation like this."
"That's what I brought you here for" — he says in a calmer voice.
A slender, somewhat gray figure without a single hair on his head gently touches the commander's arm, seeking to get his attention. He shows the pieces that had flown off the table from the punch, all gathered and cleaned with the cloth on his shoulder. The commander nods his head in thanks and gathers all the pieces in the center of the large map on the table. The figure lowers his gaze and takes two steps back, kneeling with his hands in his lap, dressed in what looks more like rags and keeping a somewhat sad look on the ground.
Only these three characters remain in the tent. Facing the entrance, in the center, is the commander with blond, bowl-cut hair. To the right is a woman of the same height with two white horns, which are not counted as part of her height, and pink hair. To the left is a soldier with a goatee and somewhat orange skin, wearing a hat with yellowish cat ears (suspiciously realistic). The commander empties the pieces onto the table and resumes the planning:
"Let's focus then on what we have so far. I'm going to review it, and you'll plan based only on this!" He brings his fist to his mouth and coughs, staring at the expressions of his lieutenants to ensure they're paying attention. He leans over the temple's blueprint. "Three points. First: There are three main entrances to the structure and one exit that we can only access by sea or air. There are two bridges, one on each side of the mountain, and an extra one that goes up to the waterfall for boats. All of them are open and under constant watch. Therefore, it's impossible to enter through traditional means without alerting them. Second: The building has three floors and a maintenance basement. The bridges are watched from openings on the second floor facing the outside, and, from what the reconnaissance troops have said, some windows on the third floor also seem to have an active presence. Assuming this applies to all four sides (north, east, west, and south)," — he says the part in parentheses more quietly and with an air of obviousness, — "it makes aerial invasions impossible. Finally, the third and most crucial point: There is still a chance that the main daughter of the main house, the most distant heir to the coastal lands, was brought here as a hostage. If true, it might be that the main group of these kidnappers is with us now and not with the elite of the grand," — he says this last part with a more ironic tone, reinforcing importance but also contempt — "Kingdom. The knights who came by order of the Great King gave us a larger number, which means that, here with us, we have more than enough to massacre these imbeciles, but... we can't risk an uncontrolled invasion."
"There's nothing to risk," — says the knight in the hat. — "They haven't given any signs of negotiation or evidence that the hostage is here. If that were the case, we would have received a demand."
"More than that," — the female knight adds, — "they're cornered. There is no escape route, and they recognize the danger. They are facing an advance of two kingdoms against their few troops. They'll be surrendering at our first advance."
"They must have regretted it as soon as they separated from the main group and ended up here. Surrounded with no firepower, they already know it's the end for them."
"Even so," — he interrupts, — "let's work with that possibility. If we acknowledge that there's no danger to us, we can focus on a perfect execution. Right?"
The two agree with nods and shrugs. The commander picks up five pieces with horns and angry eyes, representing the enemy fronts. He places one at each of the three entrances, a fourth referring to the third floor, and a final piece in the center. Next to this central piece, he places a piece with the letter "O" on its head, representing the hostage. Finally, he pulls out small white pieces with the symbol of their kingdom, representing the soldiers under his command, and scatters them on both sides of the bridges. He also leaves some reserve pieces off the blueprint, including one identical to the soldiers' pieces, but red. They notice.
"Is that all?"
"Yes."
"Well, then it's simple" — says the one with horns.
"Simple?"
"Yeah, it really seems simple" — says Argueli, crossing his arms.
"We can solve this in a second."
"Exactly."
"This is going to be easy" — the two say in a confident chorus.
The commander watches the two agreeing with each other, exchanging only sighs and grumbles. He remains surprised by their decisive gestures. For a second, he even belittles his own actions as a commander in the face of the pair's confidence and gestural communication, a true elite among warriors. Something must have escaped his notice, and he feels a little embarrassed by it.
Argueli extends his hand over the blueprint and moves to the troops on the bridges. He begins:
"Boss, pay attention now."
"Okay," — he replies.
"We'll position the troops on the bridges, a quarter of the knights on each side, without forcing entry, just creating a containment front. The shields will be in place, so we won't have to worry about arrows," — the girl with horns agrees with her eyes closed, just nodding her head. — "And this is where the good part starts. We'll put dynamite on the air troops and make fire rain down on them! One of the fronts will retreat, and the others won't be able to, since we'll be drawing attention to the other sides. We'll win in numbers and pressure," — he says with a smile.
"I don't know if-"
"As if that's going to happen, right?" — the girl interrupts, and the commander's self-esteem is immediately restored.
"They attack a kingdom and you think they don't know how to take down a dragon? Now imagine it falling full of dynamite! Ignore that animal and pay attention here, Irvel. We'll attack the two opposite fronts, north and south, while the squires hold off the archers and simulate a surprise invasion. Meanwhile, we'll use the bulls to break down a-"
"No, no, no. No! Are we going to risk my bulls to attack a door when we have bombs here? Did you have a stroke, Ninli? We could easily blow up the doors or even launch them at the archers and-"
"What!? You think no one will attack when they hear an explosion!? How long have you been this stupid, Argeli?"
"I DIDN'T PROPOSE USING BULLS! THEY KNOW HOW TO TAKE DOWN DRAGONS, BUT THE BULLS, THEY'RE THE ONES WHO WILL TEAR EVERYTHING APART."
"I SHOULD PUT A BOMB UP YOUR ASS AND THROW YOU AT THEM AS A HOSTAGE, IT WOULD BE A BETTER CONTRIBUTION THAN THIS PIECE OF SHIT PLAN."
"HOW DARE YOU-"
The commander sighs and stretches his arms while the argument continues. The two lean their bodies over the table, continuing to insult each other, gesturing even more than before, but this time in a very offensive way. Irvel raises his arms and clenches two shining fists. Suddenly, a sense of danger takes hold of the two, seeing his hands raised against the light. He lets out a breath.
"YOU IDIOTS!!!" — Irvel brings both fists down on the knights' heads, banging them on the table and messing up all the pieces again. "Did you forget there's a hostage!? What do you think they'll do to her if they see soldiers attacking from the skies?"
"That hurt," — the knight with the hat mutters as he rubs his head.
"That hypothesis of yours leaves us with no way to do anything."
"Yeah, if we stay fixated on their threat, we'll get nowhere. We couldn't even advance without a prior analysis. Not even Ninli can invade that place without being noticed."
"You could have used another example," — she turns her face away — "but... you're right."
"But we will," — he says louder — "some... somehow."
"A strategist waiting for a miracle?"
Irvel and Ninli exchange conflicting glances. The two stare at each other for a while until the commander sighs and looks back at the blueprint. A silence returns to the room as the slender, bald figure sadly collects the pieces from the floor. Irvel bursts out:
"Nothing's going to come of this anyway, let's change the plan." — He picks up an orange paper marked with a symbol identical to the white pieces representing the soldiers on the blueprint — "They'll listen to you. While they're getting into position, I'll think of something."
"You want to leave our troops... your troops... walking in circles?"
"If it costs fewer lives, yes. I just need time."
"There's no more time," — Ninli's expression changes, her eyes narrowing.
"There's enough to-"
"There isn't, Irvel," — she replies in a serious tone. — "You and I both know what will happen if the Kingdom's troops get here and nothing has been done."
"I couldn't care less about them." — He turns toward the exit. — "They're always overly bureaucratic. We'd have a bunch of letters warning us if they were on their way. Let's just finish this before 'he' comes to see what's happening."
"That's your concern?"
"Yes. I don't want any more worries right now. We'll solve this before he walks through those curtains yelling something like-"
"NOTHING YET!?" — a figure nearly twice the size of everyone else enters, almost tearing the curtains with his horns, which look like a bull's.
"And... it's over."
"What is your problem!?" — he asks with a furious look at the commander.
"You weren't summoned, Marhall," he replies, staring back at him.
"I wasn't? That's right, I wasn't. You can't show the knights you command that you're weak, can you? No. You preferred to call the two that you dangle a carrot in front of and they wag their tails."
"Are you questioning my orders?"
"Alright," — he sighs, opens both hands, and takes two steps back. — "Maybe I got a little hot-headed. While you're my commander, if I'm going to criticize your choices, I should do it in a way that's fair to all of us, right?" — He turns to the entrance and opens the tent flap. — "ALL DIRECT COMBAT SOLDIERS, HERE!!!"
"Here we go."
Irvel turns his back and returns to the table, keeping his head down as his soldiers gather in the tent, encircling the summoned strategists in rows. Marhall remains standing, holding the curtain open as the troops continue to enter. After everyone is inside, the giant releases the curtain and calls the soldier who was previously standing guard outside. He whispers something in his ear, and the soldier leaves toward the outside again. He advances to the table.
"Four sides, four strategists. It's fair."
"We already had four. He's even more useful," — Ninli says, tapping the table twice for the slender figure to come out from under it.
"Comparing me to a slave, that's just like you," — he sighs. — "Very well. Now that we're all here, tell us, how do you plan to risk our lives based on a possibility... I mean, paranoia."
"Did you bring any information we don't have?" — he asks without looking at him.
"And do you have anything to justify this time we're wasting?"
"Yeah."
The two stare at each other. The soldiers remain static, exchanging only light glances among themselves, looking for a sign, maintaining their role as informal, voiceless judges. Ninli and Argeli stop interrupting and take on the role of listeners. Internally, Irvel also waits to hear something. It's not so much the hope for a miracle, but the wait for one last sign before taking action. There is a responsibility on him in this moment, a final barrier. He can't get past it.
"Give the order."
"..." — He doesn't respond.
"Give the damn order."
"Not yet," — Irvel crosses his arms and turns his back to the table.
"There's no one in there who deserves this concern. Even if there were, we have no way to save her. If an envoy from the Kingdom gets here, he'll take you off command and take over the mission." — Marhall gets up from the table and walks over to the commander, not taking his eyes off the figure with his back turned. — "They'll eradicate everything in there and demote you for not doing the same. You want that shame?" — He grabs his shoulder. — "Give the order. We will advance without a single casualty."
"I have the final word," — he says, looking down.
"Yes," — he assumes a formal posture.
"We'll wait for—"
His tight lips are about to exclaim a denial when a figure emerges from the entrance, saying: "Sir, an envoy from the Kingdom is here. He requests permission to join the commanding body of this battalion."
Irvel's eyes widen, and he remains static, unable to respond. Marhall takes over: "Send him in." — The soldier returns toward the camp entrance, and Irvel lowers his face. The large soldier touches his shoulder again.
"If you don't want to stop being a knight, stay silent from now on," — he says in a low, calm tone. — "You're a good commander, Irvel. But you won't be able to lead a squad like ours until you get over this morality. This is going to turn into a mess from now on. Pass on the information, and we'll say the troops were slow to get into position, got it?"
"..." — He looks at Marhall's face as if to thank him, but then turns back to the empty dirt floor. There is nothing left to do; it is no longer in his hands. If there is an innocent person inside, they will be crushed in the confusion. If not, all this time was for nothing, and he will be punished for not being more efficient. He failed.
"Positions!" — All the soldiers puff out their chests and lift their chins. — "We will be in front of a Kingdom strategist, everyone stay silent and listen carefully. From now on, we will be led by him." — The soldier sent to escort the new commander emerges through the curtains, from behind Marhall. He continues, — "In the name of the Four-Pronged Accord and the Treaty of the Crowns, we will be at his disposal, understood?"
All the soldiers nod yes and look out of the corner of their eyes toward the entrance. Some of them immediately change their expressions, going from neutral to surprised, frightened, and confused. Marhall finally turns around, putting his arms behind his back, ready to greet the commander with a nod, but he only finds the figure of his soldier. For a few seconds, he remains static, looking around for the figure. The informant coughs to get his attention, then points his head downward. The giant looks down and is met by a small figure wearing a red cloak. He continues to stare at the hooded figure, who, in stature, barely reaches his knee. After nearly ten seconds of complete silence, he tenses his body, then releases it as he breaks into laughter:
"HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAA!!!"
"By my goddess," — he says, with tears in his eyes and his cheeks hurting. The rest of the soldiers remain silent, without a reaction. — "You really fooled me well." — He grabs Irvel's shoulder again, almost falling over from laughing so hard. — "I really thought you had gone soft, but you can still pull a prank like no one else." — He wipes away the tears — "Very well. Can we get back to the plan? I want to go home today." — He looks at the commander, and the two exchange confused glances — "You didn't know either? Ah... Well, this really seems like something Argeli would do. If it is, it's the first time he's made me laugh in almost five years of unfunny jokes." — He looks at the soldier with the cat-eared hat. His eyes are wide and his mouth is trembling, in complete despair. — "No? But... then who-"
The small hooded figure passes by Marhall and heads toward the table with the blueprint, ignoring the looks that surround him. While everyone is in dismay, the slave picks up a chair lying next to some supplies at the back of the tent and brings it to the table. In a low, childlike voice, he says: "Thank you."
The small being climbs onto the chair and stands before the table. He brings a tiny metal fist to his mouth and clears his throat with a low, sharp cough. Then he puts his hands on his own shoulders, grabbing the cloth that covers him and pulls it off as if he were straightening a bedspread. The large red cloak comes off his head, revealing small, round ears, and spills onto the table, exposing a symbol marked in black: it looks like an "x" with tips like the hands of a clock, which divide a circle into four parts. Considering it as a straight drawing on paper, in one quarter of the circle, specifically the left one, there is no border; in its place is another ball, this one oval-shaped, like a large number zero. The symbol of the elite paralyzes everyone, making Ninli almost fall backward in astonishment. The figure raises his head from behind the cloak.
A small brown bear with large, light-brown eyes and an innocent smile with prominent fangs is revealed. He holds the cloak against himself to roll it up and throw it over his shoulder, but first makes a bow with his head. He finally says:
"Dali sent me to command this group in the name of the Kingdom. I hope... we can get along," — he gives another smile, a little shy.
Silence fills the tent.
"An official envoy," — Irvel says after his astonishment.
"With a red mark," — Marhall adds, coming closer to the table.
"We'll be commanded by this little bear."
"Yeah. It's going to be interesting, isn't it?"
"Yes, it will be," — he replies with a gentle laugh.
"Yeah, our new commander."
A moment of silence.
Marhall sighs. Then his face contorts as if all his nerves are about to rupture and bleed onto the floor. He grips the corners of the table and launches it upward with all his strength, tearing the tent's ceiling and knocking the lanterns to the ground, which spill oil and, in conjunction with the flames, become a bonfire. He turns to his subordinate who went to get the boy and shouts very loudly, while all the other soldiers leave their positions and cause a commotion.
"WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS!?" — he points at the small bear standing on the chair with the cloak in his hands and in complete silence.
"I don't know, he just arrived and-" — Marhall grabs him by the collar.
"WHAT THE FUCK IS THIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIS!???????"
The fire rages. It's getting colder..
Two eyes open in the darkness. The face shakes to clear the hair from its gaze, then turns to the surroundings. A large, empty room. A block with no sign to identify anything. Flat walls and ceiling, with a door at the end of the room, facing the one who is observing it. As she tries to bring her hands to her face, she realizes she can't move them. She wiggles her fingers and arms, trying to understand what is keeping them tied behind her and against each other. As she moves her mouth, she notices the bands covering it, through the contact of her lips with the fabric. She tries to move her legs but feels the ropes that keep them tied to the chair's feet, which prevent her. Nothing is right.
She looks over her right shoulder, coming face to face with a corridor of pillars and an empty wall. Then she turns to the left. Finding the same scenery, but this time with a kind of bag thrown in the corner. She narrows her eyes to look for some identifiable sign on it, but finds nothing she recognizes. This disturbing silence only brings her closer to the question, "where am I?" In the midst of the doubts, a voice echoes in her ear: "Hello."
The sound quickly brings her face forward. Her eyes meet those of another person. A figure with a face covered in shadows and wide eyes. A few inches from her face, the stranger smiles from ear to ear, with their gaze fixed on her green pupils. The cold wind from this figure's breath and the big, gleaming smile grow larger in her mind. It seems this moment will never end. All beauty and things capable of being seen have ceased to exist, and only these two big white eyes and smile remain. A bird in a cage and a feline.
The figure leans their body back into a natural pose, standing before the tied-up girl. They raise their hands with metal claws and bring them to her face. The icy blade touches just below her eyelid, joining the coldness of a strange breath.
"I'm sorry-"
With a quick motion, they cut all the bands at once, letting them fall onto the prisoner's lap. They bring the metal claw to the chest of their armor and rub one against the other, as if trying to clean the blade. They let out a sigh as they crouch down and sit before her, letting the strands of their blonde hair fall onto their own shoulder, and smile again.
"Mind if we talk?"