The first thing to reach Alexander, high in his stone slit, was the groans of the wounded.
The clash of steel and monster shrieks was gone, replaced by a low, agonized chorus of moans and the brisk, shouted orders of the medics.
He watched them move through the carnage below, their red and white uniforms stark against the churned, blood-soaked earth of the town square.
They stepped over the carcasses of the larger, black-clawed beasts and the still forms in royal armor.
Then, new figures entered the scene. Prince Nikolai and High Guard Cornelius strode into the square from the main avenue, their own armor dented and smeared with gore. They looked around with the weary confidence of men returning from a hard-won victory.
"Taz!" Nikolai called out, spotting the High Guard directing a medic team from afar. "We cleared out a nest of those things on the southern edge. A full pack, holed up in the old tannery. Nasty business, but it's handled." He gestured vaguely with his sword. "I trust the northern grounds remained secure?"
His smugness faltered as Taz simply stared at him, then gestured with his chin at the devastation surrounding them—the melted cobblestones, the dissolved bodies of guardsmen, the acrid, green-tinged air.
Nikolai's face paled as he approached, now fully seeing the carnage. He'd been swatting a fly while the hive was attacking.
Before he could form a question, a strange sound cut through the air—a pained, guttural hissing that grew rapidly louder, accompanied by the violent rustle of scales against wind.
All eyes shot upwards.
The Naga-kin fell from the sky above the square and crashed onto the cobblestones with a sickening, final crunch. It did not move. A deep, precise wound—cleaner than any battle injury—marred its chest, the edges of the scales blackened and cauterized.
Alexander's fingers tightened on the cold stone of his windowsill.
A moment later, King Theron walked calmly into the square from a side street, a contingent of his stern-faced personal guards falling in behind him. He held a naked longsword in his hand. With a practiced, almost casual flick of his wrist, he sent a streak of green, viscous blood sailing from the blade to spatter on the stones before he slid it home in its scabbard.
"My afternoon stroll was a bit more eventful than I'd planned," he remarked, his voice deceptively mild. Only then did he allow his gaze to travel slowly across the full, horrifying scope of the scene: his guards dead, his people terrified, his kingdom violated.
For a single, terrifying second, a tempest of pure, cold fury raged in his eyes. Then it was gone, banked behind a mask of granite composure.
He stood for a moment, a statue of regal composure amidst the chaos, as if his mere presence was an order for the world to right itself.
He turned to Cornelius. "See to the wounded. The priority is our people." The command was a clear directive: focus on saving lives, not on guarding a single prisoner. His eyes then found Nikolai and Taz. "With me."
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The war council was already buzzing when King Theron entered, his presence causing an immediate, respectful hush.
The room was dominated by a large table strewn with maps, the air thick with the smell of old parchment and nervous sweat.
"…a Naga-kin, I heard it straight from Liam before the healers took him…"
"…my son is on the wall, he said the arrows passed right through their swords…"
"…demonic, had to be. Nothing natural…"
The whispers died as Theron took his seat at the head of the table. Followed by Prince Nikolai and High Guard Taz.
The door opened again, and Captain Elliot entered, his face flushed from haste. "Your Majesty, my apologies. A courier found me at the city barracks. I came as soon as I received the summons."
Nikolai turned, a sharp rebuke on his tongue. "And where were you when the city was under attack, Captain?"
"I sent him," King Theron interjected, his voice flat and final, silencing his son without even a glance. "He was on an errand. He is here now. Be seated, Elliot."
Elliot took a chair, his posture rigid as the King's gaze swept the room. The attendees solidified into key figures: a chastened Nikolai; Taz, standing stiffly, his new bandage stark white against his uniform; General Brant, a grizzled old war-horse with a face like cracked leather; Duke Viktor, a silent, brooding presence leaning against the far wall; and a handful of other senior commanders and ministers.
"Report," Theron said.
Taz launched into a crisp, descriptive account. He detailed the mutated Clawstriders—their size, speed, and coordinated tactics. He described the Naga-kin's power, its energy arrows, and its immunity to conventional steel. Finally, he came to Hale.
"The undead prisoner fought, Your Majesty. He displayed… significant physical resilience. The creature's claws and toxins had little lasting effect. It called him 'Traitor.' In the end, he intervened to save my life, which allowed the creature to escape." Taz's voice was flat, refusing to editorialize.
One of the ministers, a man named Orin with a neatly trimmed beard, sputtered. "He let it get away? This… this monster you harbor—"
"He saved the life of your High Guard, Minister," General Brant cut in, his voice a gravelly rumble. He leaned over the map, jabbing a thick finger at a dark, sprawling blot of forest. "This wasn't a random beast attack. It was a targeted probe. They were testing our defenses. We need intelligence, not accusations. I recommend we send a company of my best rangers into Mournwood. It's the only blighted place that could spawn such filth. We need to know if this was the vanguard or the entire army."
Nikolai found his voice again. "And we must respond with overwhelming force! If we send scouts and they don't return, we look weak. If we send a legion, we show strength. We burn the forest if we have to!"
"And if the forest burns you back, Prince?" Viktor's voice was a low, amused baritone from the corner. All eyes turned to him.
He unfolded his arms and took a single step toward the table. "General Brant is right. This is a scouting mission. But not for soldiers." His gaze, sharp and predatory, landed on the King. "Send me, Sire. And give me the boy."
A fresh wave of murmurs swept the room. Elliot's eyes widened slightly.
Viktor ignored them. "You have a weapon that can hurt these things. My power is brute force. It's a hammer. But against a creature that shrugs off steel, you need a dagger. From what I saw in the arena, and from what Taz just described, the thing inside Alexander is exactly that. A dagger. And his potential is wasting away. Let me take him to Mournwood. Let's see what he can really do."
The room fell into a tense silence.
King Theron steepled his fingers, his eyes moving from Brant's strategic logic to Nikolai's bluster to Viktor's cold pragmatism. He let the silence stretch, mastering it.
Finally, he stood. The decision was made.
"General Brant," he said, his voice calm and absolute. "You will have your scouts. But we do not send lambs into a wolf's den. You, High Guard Taz, and Captain Elliot will handle the kingdom's immediate defense. Cornelius will report to you once the wounded are stabilized."
His gaze swept over the three military men. "Double the patrols along the merchant routes. Triple the guard rotations on the outer walls. I want the Rangers on a twenty-four-hour watch. Our best Awakened commoners will be the shield this kingdom needs. Nothing gets in or out without us knowing."
He turned his head. "Nikolai. You will oversee the city's security and resource allocation for this new defense posture. The people must see order, not panic." His gaze finally settled on Viktor. "Duke. Your proposal has merit. We will discuss the specifics. Alone."
He dismissed the rest with a wave of his hand. "The rest of you, see to your duties. This was not a war declaration. It was a message. We will not respond with blind panic. We will respond with precision. We will find the sender."
The council members filed out quickly. Nikolai shot a dark, unreadable look at Viktor before following. Elliot fell into step with Brant and Taz, already speaking in low, urgent tones.
Among the members was Master Eldrin. He took a step towards the King and bowed his head slightly.
"I would like to look into these mutated beasts. That is, if you grant permission, My Lord."
Theron gave a satisfactory nod. "Dissect them, experiment on them, do whatever you need to do, Eldrin. I trust you shall find an answer."
Eldrin bowed again and headed for the door, but before leaving, he gave the Duke a stern look. He wasn't in support of using Alexander as a 'dagger,' and it was obvious on his face.
Soon, only the King and Viktor remained in the quiet room, the maps between them a testament to the new, dark world dawning at their doorstep.
"Take a seat, Viktor."