The road stretched endlessly, a brown ribbon cutting through the sea of green. Dust hung in the air like memory, and every hoofbeat felt like the ticking of some great unseen clock.
The imperial convoy had been traveling for three days now. Spirits were high or at least, pretending to be.
(The road;vector's column)
"Next time I agree to a campaign during dry season, hit me in the head with a hammer," Brentford muttered, wiping his forehead. His horse looked like it hated him as much as he hated the sun.
"You'd survive the hammer," Vector said, calm as ever, "but not my lectures afterward."
"Damn you, Captain. You and your calm voice sounds like you're always two steps away from a nap."
"That's strategy, Brentford. A calm mind unsettles the enemy."
"And the lieutenant."
Furi Wetland rode beside them, balancing a glowing tablet on his lap, muttering coordinates and equations. His horse trotted lazily, unimpressed by his genius.
"Captain," Furi said suddenly, "if the winds maintain their current direction and velocity, we can reach Rathos in two days instead of three."
Vector glanced at him. "If the winds don't change?"
"Then we'll reach Rathos in four."
Brentford groaned. "Brilliant."
Behind them, Tobara struggled to control her horse, which had decided that the trail's edge was more interesting than the road itself.
"Damn animal! Move...gahhh!" she yelped as it veered sharply, nearly toppling her into a ditch.
Vector didn't turn his head. "You're gripping the reins too tight, Tobara. Horses sense panic."
"Yes, sir!" she squeaked.
"Try smiling."
"I...sir?"
Brentford smirked. "The horse won't bite if you smile at it, recruit."
Furi, without looking up, added dryly, "Unless it's carnivorous."
Tobara looked horrified. "They can be carnivorous?!"
Vector exhaled. "Gods help me."
At the head of the column, Cidney Cavy rode slightly ahead, her gray cloak fluttering. Her eyes were sharp not paranoid, just trained.
She wasn't the loud type; her silence was its own authority. The men joked she could spot a lie before you even thought of telling it.
After an hour of steady marching, she returned from the ridge, dust on her boots and a faint smirk on her lips.
"Report," Vector said.
"Two miles ahead. Abandoned checkpoint," she replied. "No guards, no horses, no bodies."
Brentford frowned. "That's not exactly comforting."
"Could be deserters," Cidney continued. "Or could be that someone scared them off."
Vector's eyes sharpened the strategist waking up beneath his calm.
"Position the men in two lines," he ordered. "No noise. We'll scout it before we march through."
"Should I alert the General?" Furi asked.
"Not yet," Vector said, voice low. "Let's confirm what kind of shithole we're walking into first."
Brentford grunted. "There it is. The serious tone. The calm before the bastard gets clever."
Vector smirked slightly. "You make it sound like a bad thing."
(Back in tortilla)
The palace of Tortilla shone beneath the same sun, though its warmth felt distant behind marble walls.
Trilla sat in the grand hall, surrounded by stacks of parchment and her mother's advisors.
Every seal, every scroll carried the weight of decisions men twice her age couldn't make without arguing first.
Her mother, Vallery Tortilla, watched from her throne elegant and composed, her every gesture measured.
"Trilla," she said softly, "you're staring at the window again."
Trilla blinked. "I was… listening, mother."
"You were thinking about something," Vallery said, voice like silk over steel. "Or someone."
The girl flushed slightly. "Just the troops. Wondering if they've reached the valleys yet."
Her mother smiled knowingly. "The captain of the Imperial Army leads them. Breckenridge blood, if I recall."
"Vector," Trilla said quickly, then regretted it.
Vallery's eyes glinted. "Ah, you know his name."
Trilla fumbled for composure. "Everyone does! They call him Stratamorph Cal'culus the 'God of War and Strategies.' How could I not know?"
Vallery chuckled softly. "And yet, you blush when you say it."
"Mother!"
"Relax, my dear. I tease because I see a spark in your eyes curiosity, perhaps. Just be certain it does not distract you. The council grows restless. They watch both him and you."
Trilla took a slow breath. "I won't disappoint you."
Her mother's expression softened that regal calm merging with maternal warmth.
"I know you won't, my rose. You were born to command, not to follow."
As Vallery left, Trilla exhaled. Alone now, she turned toward the balcony again, and gazed at the horizon. The sunlight stung her eyes.
"Damn that soldier," she muttered. "Even when he's gone, he's annoying."
(Dusk on the road)
That evening, Vector's convoy made camp near the edge of an old forest.
The smell of pine mixed with smoke as fires flickered. Brentford argued with the cooks about rations, Furi traced lines in the dirt, and Tobara finally got her horse to behave mostly.
Cidney returned from her perimeter check, tossing her cloak aside.
"Captain," she said, "you might want to see this."
Vector followed her past the tree line.
There, carved into the bark of an old oak, was a symbol a spiral of ash and blood, old but deliberate.
He touched it, frowning. "Rebel mark?"
Cidney nodded. "Or warning."
Vector's jaw tightened. "Either way… they were here recently."
From the camp, Brentford's voice echoed faintly.
"Captain! Dinner's ready, but I'm not promising it's edible!"
Vector sighed, stepping back toward the light of the fire. "Tell him to save me a plate."
Cidney tilted her head. "You actually eat his cooking?"
He smirked. "Strategists eat what's available."
"Brave bastard," she said quietly, almost smiling.
Two Silhouettes, One Moon
Later that night, Vector sat at the edge of the camp, sketching routes into his notebook lines and arrows illuminated by firelight. His men laughed somewhere in the background.
He paused, glanced up at the moon, and exhaled.
Miles away, in the palace of Tortilla, Trilla leaned on her balcony railing under that same moon. Her fingers brushed the air like she could almost touch the horizon.
Neither spoke, neither knew but for a moment, both looked at the same sky.
One saw strategy; the other saw wonder.
And somewhere in the space between, fate began to draw its lines.