"Sergeant, sir. The Staff Sergeant is asking for you in his office."
Chagrin rose immediately, straightening his uniform with practised efficiency."Tell him I'll be there. And get the squad ready in the briefing room. If he's calling me in, we're getting a mission."
Outside the barracks, the ground bore the scars of constant training and skirmishes—pounded earth, torn grass, shallow trenches never fully filled in. The sky above was overcast, tinged with a dull red haze that never quite left this part of the Empire.
It was the kind of day that invited reflection.
Chagrin had none.
"Good afternoon, sir," he said, stopping at the open doorway.
The Staff Sergeant nodded. "Come in. Meet Mr. Erwin Duvet, he's here from Headquarters."
Erwin Duvet looked nothing like a field operative. Blond hair neatly combed, pale eyes calm, face more suited to a stage than a war room.
"Good afternoon, Sergeant," Erwin said pleasantly. "How are you on this fine day?"
Chagrin glanced at the window. "Sir, have you seen the weather?"
Erwin smiled. "Weather affects mood, not outcomes. In the long run, it's irrelevant."
Weirdo.
"Well," the Staff Sergeant cut in, "we're not here for philosophy. Mission."
Erwin's tone sharpened just enough to matter. "Sergeant, your squad has been selected for an operation at the Ruins of Catharsis. Intelligence suggests barbarian activity, about twenty to thirty hostiles. Your objective is to clear the perimeter so research teams may enter safely."
He paused, then added carefully,"You and your men are not to enter the inner ruins."
Chagrin frowned. "Understood. What's the research focus?"
Erwin produced a thin slate etched with faint blue lines—Vein signatures.
"A recent blue pulse was detected beneath the ruins," he said. "Localised. Abnormal. We require environmental readings and artefact verification."
So that was it.
Catharsis hadn't been chosen at random.
"You'll deploy at nightfall," Erwin continued. "Researchers arrive the following morning. You'll be issued night-vision goggles, the new models. Efficient. Quiet."
Chagrin nodded. "I'll brief my squad."
"Good luck," the Staff Sergeant said evenly.
As they rose, Erwin extended a gloved hand. "May the Empire's light guide you."
The handshake was firm—and cold. Not from temperature, but from absence.
"Sergeant," Erwin added, almost casually, "do you believe in fate?"
"I believe in orders."
Erwin smiled. "Then follow them well."
When Chagrin stepped into the corridor moments later, Erwin was gone.
No footsteps. No waiting escort.
As if he'd folded out of the world.
Chagrin liked missions away from barracks. Violence was simple. Strategy was honest. The goal was clear.
But this mission unsettled him.
Catharsis was rubble—collapsed walls, broken altars, forgotten stone. And yet no entry into the inner ruins? That made no sense unless there was something worth preserving inside.
Or something dangerous.
The briefing room filled quickly. Eleven men total. Elite. Two snipers, scouts, foot soldiers with varied specialties.
Chagrin laid out the map.
"Outer perimeter first. Scouts identify archers. Snipers replace them. We observe communication patterns before engagement. Once the perimeter is secure, we ambush the main force."
A murmur of assent.
"No firearms except sniper rifles. Ammunition shortages. Choose melee weapons you're comfortable with."
"How many hostiles?" someone asked.
"Twenty-five to thirty. Night operation only. Two-hour window maximum. Dawn favours them."
Orders delivered. Formation assigned.
At 19:50, they marched.
The journey was long and silent.
At 01:30, Chagrin raised a fist.
Movement.
A shape in the dark.
A panther.
Black as night—and bleeding.
The blood glimmered faintly, catching the moonlight in a way it shouldn't.
Glowing?
A soldier stepped forward instinctively.
"Hold," Chagrin ordered.
"We move."
The panther watched.
He saw me.
The thought brushed against Chagrin's mind like a whisper.
They moved on. The jungle swallowed them.
By 03:30, the ruins emerged from the trees—collapsed stone, broken walls, an altar at the centre.
"Scouts," Chagrin said quietly. "Thirty minutes."
One returned injured. An arrow through the thigh. A barbarian's head in hand.
Efficient. Brutal.
With forty-five minutes until sunrise, Chagrin studied the map.
The altar pulsed faintly blue beneath the stone.
The Veins were awake.
And Catharsis was about to remember why.
...
Upper Palace — Elsewhere
Rain streaked down the window.
Lord Merris did not turn.
"Did he take the bait?" he asked.
Renard removed his gloves slowly. Gold light traced his arm before fading.
"He'll reach Catharsis," Renard said. "The altar will wake."
"And the Order?"
Renard smiled."The Order of the Eclipse moves when the world forgets to look up."
A silver coin flipped between his fingers—Empire crest on one side, a dragon's eye eclipsed on the other.
"Let the Empire have its heroes," he said softly. "We'll have its gods."