The fortress had given them shelter, but not peace. By morning, Kael could feel the tension in the air as clearly as the chill in the stone. The envoy's words had not vanished with the night; they lingered, gnawing at the edges of discipline.
In the courtyard, a quarrel broke out. Two soldiers shoved each other, voices rising above the clang of steel.
"You think his fire will save us?" one spat. "It will consume us, just as the envoy said."
The other shoved back, jaw tight. "Without him, we'd already be ash. You'd be carrion for rebels."
The clash drew a circle of onlookers until Garrick's cane struck the ground with a sharp crack.
"Enough," he barked. "You'll bleed for the Empire, not each other."
The men scattered, but Kael saw the fracture remain. Doubt had taken root, and doubt was harder to kill than any rebel.
Later, Kael entered the hall where the nobles lingered. Candles burned low, their light catching on polished rings and sharp eyes. Lord Veynar's voice carried, dripping with disdain.
"You see it, don't you? The men doubt. They whisper of ash. If your beast speaks, it speaks ruin."
Kael met his gaze, steady as stone. "Doubt is a weapon. I will break it before it breaks them."
Another noble leaned forward, softer but no less cutting. "Or it will break you."
The words hung heavy. Kael did not answer. He turned and left, the echo of their suspicion following him into the courtyard.
Night fell, and Kael walked the battlements alone. The stars were faint, drowned by the glow of distant rebel fires. Below, Tharos stirred, wings brushing stone, ember eyes burning in the dark.
The rumble pressed against Kael's chest not words, not yet, but something deeper.
They doubt because they fear. Fear is fire. Feed it, and it consumes. Shape it, and it endures.
Kael gripped the railing, the beast's presence burning through him. Tomorrow, he would march again. Tomorrow, he would test whether belief could be forged from doubt.
The fortress slept uneasily, soldiers turning in their beds, nobles whispering in corners. Kael remained awake, watching the horizon. He knew the envoy's challenge had planted seeds of division. But he also knew fire could be shaped.
And if belief was fire, then he would forge it until it burned brighter than fear