The Training Grounds — Two Days After the Night Watch Test
The training field was still slick with rain, and the waterlogged wood felt heavier than usual. The soldiers split the recruits: half into spear drills, the other half into endurance under the rain.
Milo was gasping for breath as he dragged a log tied to a rope, the mud swallowing his feet with every pull. Next to him, Bartol laughed between ragged breaths as he dragged his own.
— "This log is talking to me! It says: leave me here, I won't move."
Milo managed a grin through his sweat:
— "Then stop listening… and push it."
On the other side, Ilda moved with measured steps, quietly counting each one under her breath as she carried a weight on her back. No one thought she was the type to whisper, yet her lips moved with every step.
Hark, however, had turned his head three times toward the lone torch at the edge of the yard. A soldier barked at him:
— "Eyes forward, coward of the night!"
But Hark's gaze kept drifting back to the flame more than to the path ahead.
Small moments, simple as they seemed, were carving unknown faces into real people.
By the Supply Tent — At Noon
The recruits sat over a thin stew. Smoke lingered in the air, and their eyes carried exhaustion. Suddenly, Ryman burst out laughing, staring at a small chunk of meat in his bowl.
Torn raised an eyebrow:
— "What's so funny?"
Ryman chuckled:
— "I imagined it was Commander Raun's head… dropped into the pot."
A few chuckled under their breath, while Milo shot him a warning glance.
Just then, an older veteran sat nearby, speaking with another about rumors from the border.
— "Did you hear about the man who passed through the northern camp?"
— "What man?"
— "The Silent General. They say he came to the border himself. Didn't speak a word, but after he left, the raids dropped to half."
— "Nonsense. Who makes peace with silence?"
— "You didn't see his soldiers' eyes when they returned with him. They weren't like the others. They say they'd follow him even if he ordered them to walk into fire."
Milo listened with curiosity. Kaizlan, however, stayed silent, his eyes fixed on the stew. He didn't know why, but the name itself weighed on him like stone.
Inside the Command Tent
Commander Raun sat with Sergeant Halj. On the table lay a newly drawn map, the lines shaky with urgency.
Halj muttered:
— "Another rumor about the Silent General. Seems his presence has become every camp's story."
Raun didn't lift his eyes from the map. His voice was calm:
— "Rumors are sharper than swords. If the soldiers believe them, they become truth."
He folded the map harshly and added:
— "But if he truly was at the border… then something larger than these camps is moving."
By the Rampart — Nightfall
Kaizlan sat near a small fire with Milo and Torn.
Milo stared into the flames:
— "Do you think the Silent General is just a lie?"
Torn smirked faintly:
— "Even if he is, a lie that scares the enemy is worth keeping."
Kaizlan was quiet for a long moment before saying:
— "Fear doesn't always come from swords… sometimes it comes from men whose faces we've never seen."
The torch flickered in the wind. The words lingered in the air, heavier than the smoke.
Elsewhere — In the Dark Alleys of the Capital
A well-dressed man walked slowly through the night. He spoke to no one, looked at no one.
But as he passed a group of drunken guards, their laughter died instantly, as if the air itself had commanded silence.
The rumor was not just a tale.
It was a shadow that always walked a step ahead of its master.