The campfires of the Ro army burned low, casting wavering shadows over men sharpening blades, repairing armor, and whispering of home.
It was then the guards led a lone rider into Alexis's command tent.
The man bowed deeply, not with arrogance but with a calm humility that disarmed suspicion.
His garb was plain, his posture unthreatening, his tone smooth yet firm as he delivered the message.
"General Alexis," the messenger said, placing a sealed scroll upon the war table, "our general bids me deliver this word. He requests that in seven days' time, both armies meet in the open field. An all-out battle to determine the true victor. He says the wind of change blows upon both our nations, and prolonging this conflict only wastes time and men. A decisive end is what both armies deserve."
Silence lingered. The crackle of the brazier filled the tent.
Alexis's hand hovered over the scroll, but he did not open it. He already knew whose 'general' words it carried.
Only one man would dare phrase such a challenge with courtesy instead of arrogance, and still make it impossible to refuse.
"…Very well," Alexis said at last, his voice calm. "Tell your master I accept. In one week, this war will end."
The messenger bowed again, left as silently as he had come, and vanished into the night.
Alexis stood alone in the tent for a moment before summoning his officers.
They gathered quickly, faces worn from endless days of marching and blood, yet their eyes sharpened at his words.
"In one week," Alexis said, his voice carrying the tone of finality, "this war ends. Prepare the men for open battle."
A ripple passed through the commanders.
Some stiffened, others exchanged glances, but none voiced protest. For months they had fought in skirmishes and drawn-out engagements.
To know that the end was within reach made even the sternest eyes flicker with relief.
When they left, the tent was quiet again.
And in the quiet, Alexis's mask of composure cracked.
He pressed his palms against the edge of the war table, head lowered. Dread slipped into him like a shadow, cold and sharp.
The letter from the Prime Minister still lay opened before him, its broken wax seal glinting in the firelight.
He had skimmed its words earlier—urgent summons, the capital in need of his presence, Ro standing at the edge of a great rebirth.
Rebirth.
A word chosen too carefully. Too heavy with hidden meaning.
And now, Hiral's challenge.
Alexis's jaw tightened.
He could sense it—instinctively, bone-deep—that Hiral had been moving behind the curtain, weaving threads that touched both court and battlefield.
The Prime Minister's call for him to return… the talk of rebirth… the carefully timed challenge for an open war—none of it was coincidence.
His gut told him the truth he didn't want to admit: Hiral had risked something reckless, even dangerous.
He had infiltrated Ro, meddled in its core, and whatever change was now sweeping the kingdom bore his mark.
Beneficial? Perhaps. Alexis did not doubt Hiral's schemes ran deep but always with great purpose.
If his past actions was anything to refer to, his plans always benefited him but with a prize.
This time Alexis wasn't sure if he was willing to pay the prize not knowing what it would cost.
He straightened, his face once more composed, though his veins still carried the tremor of unease.
The end of the war was near.
And yet, Alexis felt as though the war would cost more than he was ready to bargain for.
He held the koi simply to anchor him as raging waves of destiny clashes at him that seems adamant to drown him.
The war camp churned with quiet, tireless labor.
Lanterns swayed, shadows moved, and the scent of oil and sharpened steel clung to the air.
Alexis dismissed his generals one by one and instead called for the handful who never showed their faces openly—his private shadows.
They gathered soundlessly, their cloaks folding into the corners of his command tent as if they had been waiting all along.
"You will go to Ro," Alexis ordered, voice low but sharp as tempered steel.
"Find out what has happened. Every whisper, every shift of power, every hidden hand behind this so-called rebirth—I want it all in my hands within two days. No excuses."
The shadows bowed and vanished into the night without a sound, leaving Alexis standing before the maps and ledgers that stretched across his war table.
The following hours he devoted to the living body of the army itself.
He walked the camps, speaking with quartermasters to ensure supply routes ran without fault, with healers to confirm medical tents overflowed with herbs, bandages, and salves.
He inspected artillery, spoke with unit captains, and made certain even the cooks and smiths knew the gravity of what was coming.
Every soldier under him must stand at their peak—for when the open battle came, there could be no room for doubt.
Victory would give him the power to dictate terms. Victory would allow him to demand fairness, to secure honor and recompense for both nations.
But when the duties were finished, when the voices of men blurred into a hum of fatigue and expectation, Alexis drifted away from his tent.
His steps carried him beyond the firelight, toward the soft murmur of water.
A stream cut through the trees, silver in the moonlight.
Alexis leaned back against a sturdy oak, his armor cool against his skin, and lifted his eyes to the full moon hanging high.
Its glow sharpened the world yet softened his thoughts, and for a moment, silence wrapped him like a shroud.
Was he ready to face Hiral?
He closed his eyes, letting his mind paint the scene:
Hiral across the battlefield, cloak streaming, eyes cold with intent. Alexis's hand clenched around the koi pendant that lay against his chest. In the imagined clash, he could not strike. He let Hiral's blade cut into him, his heart surrendering before his body ever could.
And yet… he owed his men everything.
Their lives, their trust, their families waiting for them beyond this war.
To falter now was to betray them all.
So he would fight. He must.
And yet, a part of him prayed—desperately—that Hiral would have some hidden plan, that fate would shift at the last instant and spare them from colliding as enemies.
The water whispered. The moonlight stretched. And then—
A shadow detached itself from the dark. One of his spies knelt before him.
"My lord. News from Ro."
Alexis's eyes sharpened. "Speak."
"The King has been overthrown. The nobles scattered. The people rally behind the Prime Minister. But more than that… they are calling for you. They wish for you to return to Ro and take the crown."
The words hung like a blade at his throat.
Alexis's body stiffened, and for a moment, the stream's murmur drowned into silence.
"…Me?" he whispered, disbelieving. "The crown?"
The shadow bowed deeper.
"Yes. They await not only your return, but your victory. They look to you as they once looked to their founder—a man whose conquests bring rebirth."
Alexis's hand fell from the pendant.
His heart sank as if the weight of the entire kingdom had been dropped into his chest.
He stared at the moon, but the light felt hollow now.
Surely, the Prime Minister would not allow this madness.
Surely, this summons was not to crown him but to demand his voice against it.
And yet—if the people themselves wanted it…
He let out a bitter laugh, sharp and broken, the sound of a man who saw his dread confirmed.
The shadow said nothing.
Only bowed and slipped back into the darkness, leaving him alone beneath the stars.
"…Hiral," Alexis whispered into the night, his voice cracking, frayed by grief. "What do you want me to do?"
The koi pendant glinted faintly in his trembling hand.