The gates closed behind us, and the sound was like a tomb sealing. The city stretched wide before the company, gray stone streets slick with rain, smoke hanging low over the roofs. It was quieter than I remembered. Too many eyes, not enough words.
Captain Harn rode beside me. "Orders, my lord?"
"Dismiss the men," I said. "They have earned rest."
He frowned. "Even the Whites?"
"They will stay if they wish. I will not feed them."
I gave the signal, and the Aura Knights broke ranks, spreading through the streets. Some went to the taverns, others to the bathhouses or to find a woman. Their red capes turned dark in the wet light until they were almost black.
Only the White Order remained together. Four hundred men in bright steel, white cloaks stained gray by travel. They did not move. Their discipline was a wall.
Captain Harn looked at them and sighed. "His Majesty ordered us to remain with you. Until you are called to the palace."
"Then remain," I said. "Do not follow too closely."
I walked alone through the street until I reached the lower quarter. The inns there were old, built before the wars. I found one I had stayed in years ago, The Blunted Spear. The sign had nearly rotted off, but the hearth still burned.
The innkeeper recognized the mask. He bowed low without a word and led me to a small room above the stables. The air smelled of hay and oil. I set my sword beside the bed, removed the armor piece by piece, and slept.
It was the first time I had slept without armor in a month.
When I woke, the light through the window was pale. The sound of rain had stopped. I washed, shaved, and polished the breastplate until it caught the weak morning sun. Every mark had meaning. Every dent was a memory.
By the time I came down the stairs, the White Order was already waiting outside. They stood in full formation beside a carriage painted in royal colors. The horses stamped their hooves impatiently.
Captain Harn bowed slightly. "We have been ready since dawn, my lord."
I raised a brow. "Then you have wasted half the day."
He smiled, not insulted. "We serve the king, even when he sleeps."
I stepped into the carriage. Harn followed, sitting opposite me. The wheels started to turn.
The city passed by in silence. Merchants opened stalls, children ran barefoot through puddles, soldiers of the city guard saluted as we rode past. Harn loosened his cloak and stretched.
"Feels strange to be back," he said. "Last time I saw Orlanis, the walls were new."
"New walls rot the same as old ones," I said.
He laughed quietly. "Still sharp in the mouth, I see."
"I speak as I think."
"That is why the others hate you," he said.
"Then they should stop thinking."
He laughed harder at that. The kind of laugh men use to keep fear away.
The carriage climbed the upper road. The palace appeared soon after, half-shrouded by mist. Its towers were white marble streaked with gold, the kind of stone you cannot find in Orlaniso anymore. The front gates were taller than most keeps.
When we stopped, servants rushed forward to open the doors. Harn stepped out first, then offered me his hand. I ignored it and stepped down alone.
Inside, the Garnet Hall stretched ahead. They called it the Diplomatic Wing. A hall of mirrors, red glass, and chandeliers. The kind of place where men talked too much and meant too little. The floor was polished so smooth it reflected the ceiling.
I had seen it before. It looked older now.
The guards at the door bowed. One of them announced my arrival. The voice carried through the hall.
"Master Vermant Elden of the Order of Colardio."
I walked past the fountains and statues without looking. They were relics of a time when Orlaniso thought beauty meant strength. To me they were just weight on the crown's purse.
The main diplomatic chamber lay at the end. A large circular room, heavy with heat from too many braziers. Around a stone table sat the other Masters. Five in total. Each wore their cape of color, each had the same look of quiet arrogance.
Only my seat was empty.
When I entered, their eyes turned.
"Late as always," said Master Garen of the Blue Cape, his hair silver and well-kept. "Some of us arrived yesterday."
"I had to travel," I said. "Not all of us live inside the king's shadow."
Master Elric of the Green Cape frowned. "A man of your rank should show respect."
"I did," I said. "I came when called."
The room stiffened. A few of the younger knights behind the Masters shifted uneasily.
"You speak like a mercenary," Elric said.
"I fight like one too," I replied.
That drew a small laugh from someone behind me. Garen's face darkened. "We are leaders of the Orders, not sellswords. You forget your place."
I turned my gaze to him. "And you forget yours. When the cults attacked, you were nowhere near the frontier. I was."
He stood then, the veins on his temple showing. "You think because you swing a sword harder, you understand duty?"
"Better than one who swings none."
The air thickened. For a moment I thought he would draw steel.
Then the doors opened.
Every man in the room fell silent.
The Crown Prince entered.
Dorian von Ricktar was young, barely twenty-three, yet his presence cut through the chamber like cold air. His cape was white, the mark of the royal house, and his armor plain except for the sun crest at the throat. His Aura filled the room, heavy but calm.
He walked to the head of the table, eyes passing over us like a teacher over children.
"Sit," he said simply.
We obeyed.
He stood with his hands behind his back. "You are Masters of the Orders of Orlaniso. You are supposed to be examples of discipline. Instead I find you quarreling like traders."
No one answered. The sound of the fire crackling in the brazier filled the silence.
He looked at me last. "And you, Vermant. You of all people should know silence better than most."
"I do," I said. "I was breaking theirs."
He almost smiled. "Good. Keep it that way."
He turned to the table. "Now. We have reports from the southern border. Several villages burned. The attackers were not men. Stone creatures animated by mana cores, similar to those Master Vermant encountered in the north."
Garen leaned forward. "How many?"
"Too many to count. The attacks are organized. Coordinated. We believe the Theocracies are behind them."
A murmur passed through the room.
Prince Dorian continued. "Our spies report priests in the southern cities preaching a new gospel. They speak of Dukias rising again. They use this magic to prove it."
Master Elric spoke softly. "Then it is war."
"It will be," Dorian said. "But not yet. The king wishes to remind them of Orlaniso's reach. Each Order will lead a border raid into the Theocracies' frontier. Burn their supply routes. Break their camps. Make them remember fear."
"Provocation," Garen muttered.
"Discipline," the prince corrected. "They draw blood in secret. We will draw it in the open."
He looked around the table. "You will have your commands ready within three days. I will lead the strike myself."
That drew surprise.
"My prince," Elric said carefully. "If you fall, the kingdom loses its heir."
Dorian's voice stayed calm. "Then the kingdom will learn the value of sacrifice."
No one argued further.
He dismissed us with a nod. "Prepare your men. The Theocracies will feel our breath on their borders before the next moon."
The Masters rose, murmuring to their attendants. Garen avoided my eyes. Elric gave a stiff bow.
I stayed seated until the others had gone. Dorian turned to me.
"You saw the golems yourself," he said.
"Yes."
"Did you feel fear?"
"No. Only curiosity."
He nodded, thoughtful. "Good. Curiosity builds strength."
I stood, saluted with a hand to the chest, and left the chamber.
The Garnet Hall waited outside, all gold and marble and silence. Servants bowed as I passed, but I did not see them. The palace smelled of perfume and age.
When I stepped out into the courtyard, the White Order was already there, lined up and ready. Captain Harn raised a hand.
"How did it go?"
"The prince has work for us," I said. "We ride south."
He nodded. "When?"
"Three days."
He smiled faintly. "Then the men's vacation was short."
"They have rested enough."
I looked up. The clouds had begun to clear, the first hint of sunlight cutting through the gray.
The air in Orlanis was always clean, but it never felt pure. The city lived off the discipline of others. I wondered how long that would last once the border burned again.