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The wind made the leaves rustle — none of them made a single sudden move
Éon's blade pressed against her skin, not cutting — but making very clear that it could, without hesitation.
"Who are you?" Éon asked, the tone low, steady, as if the question itself were a sentence.
The figure took a deep breath.
The smooth mask covered half her face — only the cold eyes were visible, trembling for an instant under Éon's blade.
The rapier was still in her hand — but there was no strength left to raise it.
Her eyes, once calculated and cold, trembled only once.
"…I came for you, Prince Éreon," she said, the voice catching in her throat.
The air seemed to grow heavier.
Éon didn't lower the sword.
Then a soft laugh echoed behind him.
Soft.
Confident.
Coming from someone who wasn't even remotely threatened by what she was seeing.
A woman walked between the trees, slow, steady steps.
She stopped a few meters away, casting a shadow that shaped the smile on her face.
"Rynne…" she said, in a tired tone. "I told you to guide them, not start a fight."
The girl on the ground widened her eyes.
The woman continued, now looking directly at Éon:
"And that is not Éreon. It's Éon. If he were that lunatic, you'd already be dead."
Recognition cut through Éon's gaze like lightning.
He slowly pulled the sword back and turned to the woman behind him.
"…Brianna," he murmured, the tension in his body shifting almost imperceptibly.
She smiled more openly.
"It's been a while, Éon."
He stepped toward her.
"So it was you?" he began. "You were the woman who—"
But he couldn't finish.
Rynne, still on the ground, burst out in indignation:
"How dare you speak like that to the future queen of the Central Kingdom?!" Rynne shot forward in a snap, body tense, rapier rising for a strike.
But Brianna simply extended her hand, not even looking at her.
"I suggest you stop now, Rynne," she said calmly. "He can be far more dangerous than his brother."
Silence reclaimed the clearing.
Rynne froze.
Éon remained unmoving.
And Brianna held the same smile — a smile hiding far more than it revealed.
Éon spoke, without breaking eye contact:
"If you're here… you must have met Karna already."
Brianna answered with a brief smile:
"Let's say he wasn't very happy to see me." She lifted the corner of her lips. "If it were Éreon, I assume he'd have used the opportunity to strike me."
Éon stayed silent, only watching her.
Then Brianna turned, her cloak shifting with the wind.
"Let's go," she said. "My camp isn't far."
She walked ahead, unhurried, but with the certainty that they would follow.
"And also… there are things we need to discuss."
They followed Brianna through the forest — silent steps, the rustle of leaves accompanying the march.
It wasn't far — that became clear after only a few minutes of walking.
But still, nothing around looked any different from the rest of the woods.
Until Brianna stopped.
She raised her hand, fingers drawing a small gesture in the air — discreet, quick, almost invisible.
But Éon felt it.
The subtle pressure in the space.
A slight pull on perception, like something adjusting itself.
A soft crack sounded — not in the physical world, but inside the silence around them.
The landscape before them rippled — the light distorted, the air shivered like disturbed water.
The trees dissolved for an instant, poorly painted shadows, before the real camp emerged.
A small camp hidden between two tall rocks, impossible to see from the outside.
The entrance was a perfect illusion wall — so well crafted it could fool even a veteran witch.
Rynne stepped inside first, as if she were already used to it.
Éon studied it carefully before crossing the threshold.
He extended a finger, bringing it close to the illusion.
When he touched it, the image glowed a soft blue for a second, trembling like water brushed by a branch.
"A triple layer?" he murmured, mostly to himself.
Brianna confirmed with a short nod.
"External illusion, magical silence, and presence deflection." She walked toward the extinguished fire at the center of the camp. "An old combination. No one finds this place unless I allow it."
Éon entered, still scanning the surroundings.
The sensation was strange — like being inside a bubble outside the world.
Brianna turned to him.
"Now we can talk," she said. "No curious ears. No spies. No traces."
The wind outside kept blowing.
But inside, protected by the magic, the sound was nothing but a distant echo.
It was clear: what she had to say was not small.
In that controlled silence, footsteps approached.
Steady.
Precise.
Like someone who had walked there for years.
A woman appeared from behind one of the rocks — and the atmosphere shifted immediately.
Black hair, long and heavy, fell in dark waves.
Her pale skin carried the cold shimmer of pre-dawn snow.
Her eyes, glacier-blue, were sharp like cracking ice.
On her forehead, the ancient seal pulsed under the dim light — runes that seemed to breathe.
The thick dark wool cloak, the fur-lined collar, and the metal brooches with old symbols gave her a weight of authority impossible to ignore.
Cold-iron chains and heavy medallions completed the imposing presence.
She stopped before the three and made a minimal bow.
"Princess Brianna. Prince Éon."
Brianna let out a short, almost tired sigh.
"I hope you haven't forgotten Lady Skýra Bragança," she said to Éon. "After all, Éreon made sure to remind me of the debt I owe him."
Éon gave a slight nod in acknowledgment.
Skýra kept her rigid stance.
"Sir Karna is already waiting in your tent, my lady."
Brianna arched a brow.
"I figured he wouldn't wait. Very well." She made a soft gesture with her hand. "Let's go to him."
Brianna didn't wait for an answer.
She turned and began walking through the hidden camp, her cloak dragging a faint swirl of magical dust with each step.
Éon and Rynne followed just behind, while Skýra kept the rear, silent as an ice shadow.
As they advanced through the camp, soldiers emerged between the tents.
Men and women in dark armor, with arcane markings on their forearms.
Each one, upon seeing Brianna, stopped what they were doing.
And then it happened:
First, the quick glance.
Then, the straightened spine.
And finally, the bow of the head — all of them, without exception, acknowledging her authority without needing a word.
It wasn't fear.
It was respect.
Deep.
Rooted.
Éon walked a few steps behind, his eyes sweeping every corner of the camp.
He noted the positions of the tents, the calculated spacing between archers, the pattern of extinguished fires, the shadowed zones used as movement routes.
"Military organization… but with ritual structure," he thought.
Something there wasn't just a troop.
It was specialized training.
Éon shifted his focus to the soldiers — each of them wore a metal brooch similar to Skýra's.
That symbol… he knew it from somewhere, but the memory slipped like smoke.
Rynne, beside him, noticed the soldiers' discipline and tried to imitate their posture — but was ignored.
They only bowed to Brianna.
Only to her.
The main tent appeared between two larger rocks, the reinforced fabric marked with faint runes that seemed to sleep, waiting to be awakened.
Skýra stopped beside the entrance.
"My lady… he is inside."
Brianna drew a deep breath, like someone preparing for something inevitable.
She partially lifted the tent's curtain — soft light escaped for an instant.
And, without looking back, she said:
"We enter together."
Then she looked at Éon over her shoulder.
"You too, Éon. We've reached the point where no one here can stay out."
Brianna stepped inside the tent.
Karna was seated, posture far too straight for someone relaxed.
He threw her a quick look — brief, containing no warmth.
Just enough to register her presence.
Then he looked away, as if the sight brought him mild discomfort… or memories he'd rather not revisit.
Brianna broke the silence:
"Karna. I see you got ahead of us."
He nodded, curt.
"Princess Brianna…" he said, emotionless. "The sooner we finish, the better for both of us. Don't you agree?"
The air between them seemed to hold its breath.
It wasn't a fight.
It wasn't hostility.
It was that silent, uncomfortable tension that grows between people who share something no one there wants to name.
Brianna settled herself, adjusting the cloak on her shoulders.
Éon, Skýra, and Rynne took their places soon after, each choosing a natural spot inside the tent.
Silence closed in with them — and then the curtains parted.
Zeph entered.
The instant the canvas fell behind him again, sealing the tent, both Karna and Éon looked straight at him.
Zeph's expression was hard, tense, like someone carrying a weight he didn't want but had to release.
Brianna spoke before anyone could move:
"He already advanced the report," she said, her voice firm but carrying something beneath it. "And it seems he already knew who I was."
She cast a brief look at Karna — quick, yet full of meaning.
"So I decided to let him in," she finished. "After all, he was the only one who got that close to my illusion barrier."
Karna didn't move — but something in his posture tightened, like tension finding a place to rest.
Brianna drew a slow breath, turning her focus to the center of the tent.
"That said…" her fingers touched the table, marking an irreversible point. "I suggest we abandon this fight against the Eastern Kingdom."
The last words fell like stone.
Zeph went rigid.
Skýra narrowed her eyes.
Rynne seemed to restrain the urge to react.
Éon studied everything in silence.
Karna merely closed his hand around the arm of the chair — slowly, as if deciding something in silence.