The night settled over the stronghold like a heavy cloak, muffling every sound except the faint drip of water from the stone walls.
Inside, Lucian sat quietly, the steel of his father's sword resting across his lap. Draven leaned against the wall, eyes closed, trying to find calm in the chaos that had become their lives. Melken, ever the shadow, moved silently between them, checking corners, watching for threats that might spring from the dark.
Merlik broke the silence.
"The minister's hand is not yet visible," he said. "He's calm now because he's planning, and when he strikes… it won't be with steel alone."
Lucian's jaw tightened. "What do you mean?"
Merlik gestured toward a darkened corridor. "He has… creations. Experiments. Soldiers, twisted and conditioned, whose minds and bodies are bound to his will. Ordinary men are no match for them. And worse… sometimes, they are not men anymore."
A chill ran down Draven's spine. The tales they had heard whispered in the shadows—the missing villagers, the soldiers who vanished without a trace—suddenly made sense.
Melken's voice cut in, low and controlled. "This is why we cannot rush. He is not predictable. Not even slightly. Every step we take must be measured. One mistake… and he will turn everything we love into a weapon against us."
Lucian closed his eyes briefly, breathing in slowly. Memories of his lost childhood, of the forge, of his mother's smile, of his father's silent teaching… all flowed together. For a moment, he allowed himself a single thought: we are still alive, and together.
The chamber door creaked. All three looked toward it. A shadow slipped along the wall. But it was only Li, stepping forward, her face pale but determined. She had risked much to reach them.
"You're not alone," she said softly. "Whatever he has… we face it together."
Lucian nodded, resting a hand briefly on hers. Words weren't needed. The warmth reminded him that the fight wasn't just for vengeance or crowns—it was for the people, the family, the world his mother had once dreamed of protecting.
Outside, a storm rumbled in the distance, thunder rolling like a warning drum. It mirrored the tension inside. No one knew what the minister would unleash next, only that it would be something no sword could easily stop.
Merlik moved toward the map again, tracing the positions of loyalists, patrols, and potential entry points. "We prepare," he said, "not for what we hope he will do… but for what we know he is capable of. And believe me, that is far worse than any blade."
Lucian clenched his fist around the hilt of his sword, the weight of responsibility finally settling on his shoulders. "Then we fight smart. We fight together. And we survive… because if we fall, the minister wins, and the shadows will never end."
A long silence followed, broken only by the distant thunder. Each of them felt the looming presence of the minister, unseen but palpably close, like a predator watching its prey from the dark.
And in that silence, fear mingled with determination. Because when the storm finally broke, nothing—neither steel, nor blood, nor loyalty—would ever be the same again