The first light of dawn crept over Tortilla like a secret it couldn't keep.
It slipped through the curtains of Trilla's quarters, painting faint gold across the marble floor and the half-open case of scrolls near her desk. The city outside hadn't yet woken only the faint sound of soldiers' boots in the distance, their rhythm soft, steady, almost shy.
Trilla hadn't slept.
She sat by the window, chin resting on one hand, the other tracing idle circles in the steam of her tea. Her uniform coat hung neatly by the chair; her saber, unsheathed, lay across her lap.
Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the same image in the courtyard last night, the faint light below, and that ridiculous man standing there, arms crossed, grinning like an idiot who'd just solved the universe's simplest riddle.
"Stratamorph Cal'culus," she muttered under her breath, rolling her eyes. "Honestly… what kind of title is that?"
"It means 'The God of War,' my lady," said a soft, teasing voice behind her.
Trilla didn't turn. "Maki, if you're about to give me a lecture on divine warfare, I will personally throw my tea at you."
"Then I'll stay quiet," Maki replied cheerfully, stepping in with a tray of folded documents and a clean uniform coat. "But I do recommend you wear something less… existential for the council march."
Trilla sighed. "You're impossible."
"I learned from the best," Maki said, setting the tray down. "You've been awake all night again, haven't you?"
"Couldn't sleep."
"Dreams?"
"Annoyances."
Maki smiled faintly. "Ah. That soldier again?"
Trilla froze for a half-second. "What soldier?"
Maki tilted her head. "The one you've been 'not thinking about' since yesterday."
Trilla blinked at her. "You're fired."
"Again?"
"Yes, again."
They both smiled.
The morning peace was interrupted by a sudden shout from below the balcony.
Trilla's head snapped up. Maki rushed to the window, peering through the glass.
"Guards are chasing someone," Maki reported. "Looks like a thief… or a very stupid morning jogger."
"Eww," Trilla said, rising and grabbing her saber. "If it's another noble's son trying to sneak into the gardens again, I swear"
But the next moment, she heard the clash of steel.
Her tone changed instantly. "Maki, stay here."
"Like hell I will"
"Maki."
"…Fine. But if you die, I'm haunting your funeral."
Trilla was already gone.
The courtyard glistened with dew and torchlight. Two guards were locked in a clumsy scuffle with a dark figure darting between them fast, agile, almost animal-like. The intruder's hood flared with movement as he dodged a spear thrust and vanished behind the pillars.
"Damn it!" one guard shouted. "He's like a ghost!"
"More like a zombie," muttered the other, wheezing. "A fast zombie!"
Trilla's boots struck the marble with quiet precision. Her blade flashed once silver slicing through the mist.
The figure turned just in time to see her stance: low, balanced, sharp as logic itself.
She spoke evenly. "Drop the weapon."
The intruder hesitated. Then lunged.
Trilla sidestepped smoothly no wasted motion. The blade missed her by a breath; her counter was almost lazy. She twisted her wrist, catching his arm mid-swing, and drove the hilt of her saber into his shoulder. The man dropped like a sack of regret.
The guards stared.
One finally said, "Remind me not to make her mad."
Trilla exhaled, brushing her hair back. "You'd think people would learn not to pick fights before breakfast."
She knelt, pulling back the man's hood young, maybe twenty, eyes sharp despite the bruise forming on his jaw. Not a thief. Too well-trained for that. His boots were military-grade light, reinforced, northern make.
Her expression hardened.
"This isn't random."
Minutes later, the guards hauled the intruder away. Maki arrived, breathless, clutching a cloak. "I told you not to die!"
Trilla sheathed her saber. "I didn't."
"Well, next time at least scream or something."
Trilla smirked faintly. "Would that make you feel better?"
"Probably."
The guards saluted her before dragging the prisoner toward the lower cells.
Maki adjusted her cloak around Trilla's shoulders, frowning. "You think he was after you?"
"No," Trilla said quietly. "After something. Or someone."
Her gaze shifted toward the distant barracks the same direction Vector had gone.
A thought crept in, uninvited and unwanted.
Could it be connected?
She shook her head. "No… don't be ridiculous."
Maki noticed the flicker in her eyes. "You're thinking about him again."
"I am not."
"You are."
"I..." Trilla stopped, sighed, and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Fine. Maybe a little."
Maki grinned. "That's progress."
"It's irritation."
"Same thing."
Trilla rolled her eyes. "Maki, if you weren't so good at your job, I'd have you thrown out a window."
"Then I'll stay useful," Maki said brightly.
By the time the sun finally broke over Tortilla's rooftops, the city had changed. Trumpets echoed faintly from the central gates. Banners fluttered from every tower, their sigils catching the morning light.
The Imperial Army Vector's army was preparing to move west.
Trilla stood on her balcony, cloak sweeping in the wind. Maki beside her, holding a fresh dispatch from the Council.
"They're ready, my lady," Maki said. "The western division awaits your command."
Trilla took the scroll, eyes narrowing slightly. "Then let's not keep them waiting."
As she turned, her gaze lingered one last time on the distant barracks below on the faint, chaotic movement of troops, and maybe… just maybe… one familiar figure laughing too loudly in the crowd.
She shook her head, a small, reluctant smile tugging at her lips.
"Ridiculous man," she whispered.