Shadows That Guard the Throne
The torches hissed against the cold stone walls, their flames stretching long and thin, casting restless shadows over the black granite floor. The air inside the command room felt heavier than usual—thick with smoke, exhaustion, and unspoken pressure.
"You really are trying to kill yourself with work," Johny said softly.
Black didn't respond.
Not yet.
The papers were scattered across the table like fallen feathers, ink still wet on half of them. Reports from patrols, reconstruction updates, supply shortages, casualty counts—every line was another reminder of how hard the city had been shaken by Leon's assault, how deep the wounds still ran.
Johny tilted his head, studying his friend, his second-in-command, the man who had followed Leon into the flames without a moment's hesitation.
"…This the path you and I chose, huh?" he murmured. "From Now on, No turning back now."
