Fort Gairn held its silence deep into the night.
Malrik Dorn stood by the narrow window of his chamber, a strip of bark sealed in his hand. The torch beside him burned low, smoke curling against the stone.
He turned toward Lieutenant Ren.
"You'll carry this. Tell him Fort Gairn will not stand if he marches on it. The rods are failing—you saw it yourself. They won't save the walls again. If he has the patience to wait, I'll meet him in the ruins beyond the fort, where no ears can listen. No one else can know. If another mouth hears this, both of us are dead men."
Ren bowed his head once.
"I understand. If the Chainkeepers catch a whisper—"
Dorn cut him short.
"Then you'll never come back, and neither will I. Ride with the scouts already placed. Say nothing until you stand before him."
Ren took the bark, tucked it close, and left without another word.
At dawn, a white cloth fluttered at the tip of a spear as three riders approached Stonecross. Ren rode in the center, two cloaked scouts shadowing him.
From the wagons and ditch banks, whispers rose like smoke.
"A Dominion trick, you'll see."
"They ride under a flag, but it's still their colors."
"If we let them close, they'll spring steel on us."
The square answered with a thud of shields. Bloomscript squads locked in a wall at once, threads humming faint and steady.
The Rhino stamped and tossed its horn, snorting like it would charge if given half a reason. The Raven screamed from above, sharp as iron torn in two. High in the clouds, Zor wheeled, arcs crackling faint across his wings. Freed Servitors shifted uneasily, eyes on the riders.
Mira stepped close to Draven, her voice sharp.
"You can't trust him. He's Dominion. A white flag doesn't wash that away."
Joran stood at the forge edge, soot on his hands, muttering under his breath.
"Stone walls don't fall because you hope they will. Iron bends when fire and hammer meet. Sometimes words have to strike first."
Brenn planted his staff in the dirt, steady as a wall.
"Better to hear the man and know the trap, than stumble blind into it."
The murmurs of the camp rose, suspicion heavy, but the line held.
Ren dismounted slow, palms clear. His eyes moved over beasts and men, and when he spoke his voice was plain.
"Fort Gairn will not hold if you march on it. The walls look strong, but the rods are breaking. Without rods no handler can hold a beast. You saw it when the Raven crowned. If you strike straight, the fort will fall. That much is truth."
He lifted the bark, seal unbroken.
"Lord Dorn says this instead: if you wait, if you want more than wreckage, he will meet you in the ruins beyond the fort. That is his word. I was given nothing else. I carry it plain, without twist or riddle."
Silence held the square. The only sound was the faint hum from the book at Draven's side. Its pages trembled but did not open.
Draven watched Ren long enough for the moment to bite. Then he turned away and walked back to the soldiers drilling in the dust. The wall of shields moved again, breath in rhythm, as though no pause had come.
Ren stood frozen. No answer, no sign. At last he swung back into the saddle. His hand shook once on the reins before he steadied it. He rode under the white flag until the camp was lost behind him.
By evening, drills rang through Stonecross once more. Shields struck, boots thudded, hammer beat iron on the forge. Refugees whispered still, but the line did not break.
Across the Marches, Fort Gairn's torches flared along its wall, staring back across the emptiness.
Two fires burned against each other, each waiting for the other to speak first.
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