The silence in the mountain pass was so absolute Kai could hear the faint crackle of frost forming on Valerius's blade. It was a standoff poised on a knife's edge, and Roric, as usual, decided to be the one to push it over—but in their favor.
"Seems we've become a popular commodity," he said, his voice low but audible. He slowly raised his bound hands, the gesture non-threatening but deliberate. "Captain, be pragmatic. You're wounded, outnumbered, and your primary objective," he nodded towards Valerius's cloak where the runestone was hidden, "is secured. Dying here to keep two troublesome prisoners seems… inefficient."
He then turned his head slightly towards Seraphine. "And you, my lady, clearly have a distaste for the Emperor's methods. But starting a war over us? That's a bold first move. Maybe there's a simpler transaction available that doesn't end with this beautiful scenery painted in blood."
Valerius slowly unsheathed his sword. The archers in the trees took aim, studying his movement closely.
"KRSSHHH!" With one precise strike, Valerius's sword severed the chain binding both Roric and Kai. It burst apart in shards of ice and sparks.
"There," he said, his voice tight with suppressed agony. "But know this—I will be back for what is mine." A sharp groan escaped his lips as his teeth slammed together. The movement had torn the wound in his waist, a hot, fresh wave of pain searing through him, a brutal reminder of his helplessness. He stood there, a figure of cold fury and undeniable pain, outnumbered but never, ever defeated.
For a long moment, no one moved. The only sound was Valerius's ragged breathing.
Then, Seraphine gave a sharp, bird-like whistle. Her archers lowered their bows but did not relax. Her eyes, still holding a trace of that unsettling confusion from when she first saw Kai, remained fixed on the Captain.
"A wise choice," she said, her tone devoid of triumph. It was a simple acknowledgment of a tactical reality. "Tend to your wound. The wilds will finish the job if we don't."
She gestured with her head, and two of her fighters moved forward cautiously, not towards Valerius, but to flank Kai and Roric. One of them, a broad-shouldered woman with a grim face, produced a knife and in one swift motion, cut the ropes binding Roric's wrists.
"Move," the woman said, her voice a low rumble. There was no offer of help, no words of welcome. They were now prisoners of a different kind.
Roric rubbed his freed wrists, a cynical smile playing on his lips. "New leash, same walk," he muttered to Kai, just loud enough to hear.
As they were ushered away, Kai couldn't stop himself. He glanced back over his shoulder.
Valerius had not moved. He stood watching them leave, one hand pressed against his bleeding side, the other still clutching his icy sword. His face was pale, but his eyes burned with a promise that felt colder than his blade. He wasn't just watching prisoners escape; he was memorizing every detail, already planning his retaliation.
Then, Kai's gaze met Seraphine's. She was also looking back, not at Valerius, but directly at him. That strange pull tugged at his core again, a silent question passing between them that neither could answer. She quickly turned away, snapping orders to her team to break camp with a practiced efficiency.
They moved quickly, leaving the wounded Captain and the scene of the ambush behind. But as they disappeared into the thick trees, Kai knew one thing for certain: Valerius's words were not an empty threat. They were like a prophecy. And the fragile, unfamiliar sense of freedom he felt was nothing more than the eye of a coming storm.
The journey back to the citadel was a blur of agony and seething frustration. Valerius rode slumped in his saddle, each jolt of the horse sending a fresh spike of fire through the wound in his waist. He'd used a desperate burst of his ice magic to stem the bleeding, leaving the flesh around the gash numb and mottled with frostbite. The physical pain was a welcome anchor against the humiliating replay of events in his mind: the shattered manacles, the white-haired woman's commanding gaze, the retreat.
He arrived at the citadel's main gate under the cover of a deepening twilight. The guards, seeing their Captain pale and bloodied, moved to assist him.
"I report directly to the Duke," Valerius ground out, shoving past a helping hand. "Announce me. Now."
He was not taken to the military infirmary or the commanders' quarters. Instead, he was led through hushed, opulent corridors to the administrative heart of the citadel, the domain of courtiers and politicians. He was made to wait in a stark antechamber, a deliberate insult of a room—a single wooden chair against a wall, while through an archway he could see the plush comforts of the Duke's outer receiving room. Every minute spent waiting on that hard seat, the chill of the stone floor seeping into his boots, was a reminder of his fallen status.
Finally, the double doors to the inner study swung open. A silent steward gestured him inside.
Grand Duke Henry's study was a testament to quiet power. Bookshelves reached the ceiling, a large map of the empire dominated one wall, and a fire crackled in an ornate hearth. The Duke himself stood by a window, silhouetted against the city lights below. He was a man in his late fifties, his hair silvered at the temples, dressed in robes of deep blue velvet rather than armor. He turned as Valerius entered, his expression unreadable.
"Valerius," the Duke said. His voice was calm, mellifluous, and the use of his name alone, devoid of rank, sent a colder chill down Valerius's spine than any ice magic. "You look… diminished."
Valerius stopped in the center of the room, refusing to sway despite the wave of dizziness that threatened to overtake him. He said nothing, simply reaching into his cloak and placing the smooth, dark runestone on the Duke's immaculate mahogany desk. It landed with a solid thunk.
The Duke's eyes flicked to the stone, a flicker of satisfaction in their depths. He picked it up, weighing it in his hand. "The Sunken Rune. After all these years." He set it down carefully. "A notable success. Now, tell me about the catastrophic failure that accompanied it."
Valerius delivered his report in clipped, precise sentences. The bandit ambush, the loss of the men, the emergence of the new faction, the white-haired leader. He saved the most critical piece for last.
"The grave robber, is not a Resonator," Valerius stated, his voice flat. "The manacles you provided—the Sealer's Iron—he shattered them with raw, uncontrolled power I have never witnessed."
Duke Henry listened, his fingers steepled. When Valerius finished, the silence stretched, broken only by the pop of the fire.
"The stone is good," the Duke finally said, his calm tone belying the severity of his words. "The rest of your report is a disaster. You lost the soldiers under your command. You lost the asset, Roric, whom I personally vetted and transferred to your care. And you allowed a weapon of incalculable potential to fall into the hands of an unknown enemy." He leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. "Remind me, Valerius. Why did I entrust you with this mission? Why did I give you my pet scout?"
"The intelligence was flawed," Valerius countered, his jaw tight. "We were unprepared for an ambush."
"The intelligence," the Duke replied, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper, "came from Roric himself. He was the source. So, I ask you again: did he lead you into a trap? Or did you simply mismanage the tools you were given?"
The question hung in the air, a poisonous seed of doubt. Valerius had no answer.
The Duke stood and walked around the desk, stopping mere feet from Valerius. He wasn't a large man, but his presence filled the room. "This 'grave robber' is now the priority, so is the woman. Your mission is no longer retrieval; it is investigation and acquisition. You will use the resources of the Inquisition. You will burn every informant, call in every favor. You will find them." He paused, letting the order sink in. "Do not fail me again, Valerius. The Emperor's patience is not as… abstract… as my own."
The dismissal was clear. Valerius gave a stiff nod, turned on his heel, and walked out, the Duke's gaze burning into his back. The heavy doors closed behind him, and he allowed himself a single, shuddering breath in the empty antechamber. The hunt for Kai was no longer a matter of duty or even pride. It was a test of survival, and the most dangerous predator was no longer in the wilds—he was in a velvet robe, standing by a window.