Chapter 18
The first sign that something was wrong was not the alarm bell.
It was the ledger.
Rowan had stared at the numbers for nearly a full minute before realizing he'd stopped breathing. Ink dried. Candle flickered. The guild hall hummed with its usual low chaos—boots on stone, laughter from the quest board, Dorian arguing loudly with someone who sounded increasingly tired—but the figures in front of him refused to behave.
"Lila," Rowan said slowly, tapping the page. "Why are we short three shipments of iron?"
Lila leaned over his shoulder, close enough that her hair brushed his collar. It was unintentional. Still, he stiffened before forcing himself to relax.
"Because two never arrived," she said, scanning the page. "And one was rerouted."
"Rerouted by who?"
She frowned. "That's the part I don't like."
Rowan leaned back in his chair. The wood creaked in protest—old thing, like him, built for weight it didn't want anymore.
"Try me."
Lila turned the ledger around and pointed to a small, tidy signature at the bottom of the page. "The city quartermaster. Authorized under emergency provisioning."
Rowan blinked. "Emergency?"
"Yes."
"Why was I not informed of an emergency?"
Lila hesitated.
That hesitation—small, barely perceptible—hit harder than the missing iron.
"Because," she said carefully, "no one is calling it that yet."
The guild hall continued as normal around them. A team of rookies argued over whose turn it was to clean the beast pens. Someone dropped a crate. Dorian's voice rose in theatrical offense.
"You cannot ban me from the kitchens, that's unconstitutional—"
Rowan rubbed his face. "What else?"
Lila flipped another page.
"Two caravans delayed. Three healer requisitions from districts that normally don't file them. Increased mercenary contracts along the western roads."
Rowan lowered his hand. "Western roads?"
"Yes."
He stared at the map pinned behind her desk. The inked lines marking trade routes. The western border, thick with forest and broken stone. Too far from Draxis to matter—at least, that's what everyone kept saying.
"Any official reports?" Rowan asked.
"No," Lila said. "Just... requests. Quiet ones."
Rowan exhaled slowly.
"Dorian!" he called.
Across the hall, Dorian froze mid-argument, one finger pointed accusingly at a very patient-looking clerk. "You summoned me, my liege?"
"Stop whatever crime you're committing and come here."
Dorian brightened. "Ah. A lateral crime, then."
He sauntered over, boots clacking, grin firmly in place. "What's wrong? You look like a man who's realized peace is a temporary condition."
Rowan glared. "You say things like that too easily."
"It's a gift."
Rowan slid the ledger toward him. "You've been running messages and contracts. Anything strange?"
Dorian skimmed the page, expression shifting—not to concern, but to something sharper.
"People are asking questions they shouldn't," he said. "Paying for silence. Paying extra for speed."
"Who?" Rowan pressed.
"Everyone who claims they're not worried," Dorian replied. "Which is always the first lie."
Lila folded her arms. "So it's not just us."
"Nope," Dorian said cheerfully. "The city is doing that thing where it smiles while hiding knives under the tablecloth."
Rowan stood.
The chair scraped loudly against the stone floor, drawing a few glances. He ignored them.
"Recall all active parties within a three-day radius," he said. "No panic. Just... rotate them home early."
Dorian raised a brow. "That's a lot of explaining."
"I'll explain," Rowan said. "You'll embellish."
"Delighted."
Lila watched Rowan move—decisive, steady—and felt something shift in her chest.
He hadn't put the armor on yet.
But this was the man who wore it.
By midday, the guild hall felt... tighter.
Not quieter. Not frightened. Just aware.
Adventurers returned earlier than expected, grumbling but relieved. Supplies were inventoried twice. The cooks began stretching rations "just to be efficient," which everyone knew meant something else entirely.
Rowan moved through it all like he'd never left.
That frightened Lila more than if he'd hesitated.
She caught him in the armory an hour later, standing before the racks, fingers brushing the edge of a pauldron he hadn't worn in years.
"You're not putting that on," she said.
He didn't turn. "I know."
"Then stop looking at it like it's about to walk off without you."
A corner of his mouth twitched. "It's heavy."
"You're older," she said gently.
"Ouch."
She stepped closer. "You're also smarter. And less reckless."
"Dorian would disagree."
"Dorian thinks fire is a conversation starter."
Rowan chuckled softly, then sobered. "I don't want them afraid."
"They already are," Lila said. "They just don't know what of yet."
That made him turn.
He studied her—really studied her—and something in his gaze softened, sharpened, and settled all at once.
"When did you become so good at this?" he asked.
"I've always been good at this," she said. "You just finally started listening."
He smiled. Not the charming one. The real one.
"Stay close," he said. "I'm going to need you."
Lila didn't blush. Didn't tease.
"I know," she said.
That evening, the city gates were reinforced.
Not officially.
No announcement. No banners. Just an extra patrol. An extra lock. An extra watchman told to stay awake a little longer.
Rowan signed the order himself.
When the ink dried, he felt the weight settle—not crushing, not yet—but undeniable.
From the balcony above the guild hall, Lila watched the torches along the wall flare brighter as dusk fell.
The city didn't know what was coming.
But it was starting to listen.
And so were they.
The afternoon sun slanted through the tall windows of the Silver Ember Guild, dust motes drifting lazily like they had nowhere urgent to be.
Rowan Valebright sat at the long central table, boots planted wide, sleeves rolled up, reviewing a stack of reports with the kind of patience only a man who had seen three wars and survived them could possess.
Which was to say: thin patience.
He rubbed his temple.
"Why," he asked calmly, "does this say 'shield failure due to excessive inward force'?"
Lila, standing beside him with her clipboard hugged to her chest, leaned closer.
Her brow furrowed.
"That... is odd."
Rowan looked up. "Odd how?"
She flipped a page, then another, eyes moving quickly. "Normally shield failures are recorded as fractures from slashing or piercing damage. This one—" she hesitated "—reads more like the shield was crushed. From the front."
Rowan's fingers stilled.
Across the table, Dorian Lionsreach was lounging in his chair, boots kicked up on the edge of the table, polishing an apple on his sleeve like it was a priceless artifact.
"Probably a troll," Dorian said cheerfully. "Big arms, tiny brain, loves punching things."
Rowan didn't respond right away.
He slowly reached for the report again, scanning the damage notes.
Crushed.
Bent inward.
Straps torn free.
"...Trolls don't punch like that," Rowan said at last.
Lila looked up at him, surprised by the quiet weight in his voice.
Dorian noticed it too.
He sat up slightly. "You're saying that like it's a problem."
Rowan exhaled through his nose. "I'm saying it's unusual."
That should have been the end of it.
Instead, Lila flipped to another report.
"And this one," she said slowly. "And this."
She laid three more parchments out beside the first.
All different jobs.
All different parties.
Same phrasing.
Dorian frowned.
"...Huh."
He leaned forward, apple forgotten.
"That's... new."
Rowan leaned back in his chair, the wood creaking faintly beneath his weight.
He felt it then — the subtle protest in his lower back, the dull reminder that sitting too long now came with consequences.
He ignored it.
"Where did these occur?" he asked.
Lila checked the map pinned to the wall, marking the reports with her finger.
"Westward routes. Near the old trade roads."
Dorian whistled softly.
"People still go out there?"
"Less and less," Lila said. "Most couriers refuse those jobs now. Some adventurers too."
Rowan's eyes narrowed. "Refuse?"
She nodded. "They don't say why. Just that the pay isn't worth it."
Silence settled over the table.
Not heavy.
Not ominous.
Just... thoughtful.
Dorian cleared his throat.
"Well," he said lightly, "I'm sure it's nothing. The west has always been weird. Probably some new monster with anger issues."
Rowan gave him a look.
Dorian grinned wider. "What? If the west ever wakes up, I'm blaming you."
Lila laughed despite herself.
Rowan snorted.
The moment passed.
Or so it seemed.
Later, Rowan found himself in the training hall.
He hadn't planned to be there.
His body had simply... wandered.
The hall was empty, sunlight cutting through the high windows, illuminating rows of weapon racks and practice dummies scarred from years of use.
Rowan reached for his old shield.
The one he hadn't used in years.
It was heavier than he remembered.
Or maybe his memory was lighter.
He lifted it anyway, settling it against his arm.
The familiar weight grounded him.
He took a breath.
Then another.
And stepped forward.
The first strike came easy.
The second too.
By the third, his shoulder twinged.
Rowan paused.
He lowered the shield slightly, flexing his fingers.
"...Huh," he murmured.
He laughed quietly to himself.
"Getting sloppy."
He adjusted his stance and continued.
When Lila came looking for him later, she found him sitting on a bench, shield resting beside him, staring at nothing in particular.
"You missed dinner," she said gently.
Rowan blinked, then smiled.
"Did I?"
She sat beside him, close enough that their shoulders brushed.
"Dorian stole your portion," she added.
Rowan sighed. "Tragic. Truly."
She hesitated, then asked softly, "You're thinking again."
He glanced at her.
"That obvious?"
She smiled. "Only to me."
He considered deflecting.
Instead, he said, "Do you ever get the feeling that things are... lining up?"
Lila tilted her head. "Lining up how?"
He searched for the right words.
"Like pieces on a board," he said slowly. "Not moving yet. Just... waiting."
She didn't laugh.
She didn't dismiss it.
She looked thoughtful.
"I noticed something," she said instead.
He turned toward her fully now.
"The injury reports," she continued. "The ones we talked about earlier."
"Yes?"
"They're increasing," she said. "Not fast. Just enough that no one panics."
Rowan closed his eyes briefly.
"Lila—"
"I'm not scared," she said quickly. "Not like that. I just... wanted you to know."
He opened his eyes and looked at her.
Really looked.
She was steady. Concerned, but not shaken.
Proud.
"...Thank you," he said quietly.
She smiled, then nudged him with her shoulder.
"Besides," she added, teasing warmth returning, "if something terrible was about to happen, you'd handle it. That's kind of your thing."
Rowan chuckled.
"Unfortunately."
She leaned her head briefly against his arm.
"For the record," she murmured, "if the west does wake up... I'm blaming Dorian."
Rowan laughed, genuine and warm.
"Fair."
That night, long after the guild hall had gone quiet, a lone courier arrived at the gates of Eastrun.
His armor was dented.
Not slashed.
Bent inward.
When asked what happened, he only shook his head.
"I've seen monsters," he said hoarsely. "This wasn't one of them."
And then, after a pause:
"...Tell the Guild Master not to come west alone."
The guard didn't ask why.