The first survivor stumbled into a Silverveil border town at dawn.
He was covered in mud and blood. His eyes were wild.
He babbled about a demon in the woods. A shadow that cut men apart with a whisper.
The town guard laughed at him. Called him ale-addled.
Then the second survivor arrived. Then a third.
All told the same story.
By midday, a fast rider was on the road to the Silverveil capital.
By that same afternoon, Noella was reading a decoded spy report from Kael's network in Silverveil.
She sat in her laboratory. Volsei stood across from her, cleaning his knife with a methodical cloth.
"They're calling you the 'Whispering Blade,'" Noella said, a hint of approval in her tone. "And they're terrified. The merchant guild has suspended all payments to freelancers. They're waiting for direction from their lords."
"Good," Volsei said.
"The part about the Tombsrose pin is more concerning. If Tombsrose is using Silverveil as a cat's-paw, it means they're already working to destabilize us indirectly. A formal invasion is likely being planned, but they want us softened up first."
She tapped the map. "We've bought a little time. But not much."
King Alistair entered, looking weary but resolute. "The eastern villages have sent messengers. They're thanking us. The raids have stopped."
"They've stopped because the raiders are dead or scattered," Noella said. "The gratitude will last until the next threat. We need to institutionalize the protection."
"How?" Alistair asked.
"We form a new guard. Not the old, demoralized castle soldiers. A mobile force. Volunteers from the villages. We arm them with what we have. We train them." She looked at Volsei. "And we have a unique training advantage."
Volsei looked up from his knife. "I'm not a drill sergeant."
"No. But you can be a demonstration. Show them what one person with precision and surprise can do against a larger, dumber force. Teach them the value of asymmetry."
Volsei considered. "That could be… mildly interesting."
A knock at the door. A young page, nervous.
"Your Highness. A rider approaches from the south. Under a banner of… parley."
Noella's eyes narrowed. "Which house?"
"Silverveil, Your Highness."
\-\--
The rider was a single diplomat. An older man with a carefully trimmed beard and the keen eyes of a scribe.
He was brought to the great hall under guard. He carried no visible weapons.
Noella received him on the dais. King Alistair sat on his throne. Volsei leaned against a pillar in the shadows, watching.
"Princess Noella. King Alistair," the diplomat bowed. "I am Envoy Marlowe of Silverveil. I come under a flag of truce, to discuss… recent disturbing events."
"Which events would those be, Envoy?" Noella asked, her voice cool.
"The brutal attack on a group of… independent frontiersmen in the Blackwood. Men of Silverveil citizenship."
"Independent frontiersmen," Noella repeated. "A curious term for armed bandits who have been burning Eden villages and stealing children's toys."
Marlowe's smile was thin. "Allegations. Unproven. Regardless, the response was disproportionate. A slaughter. By a… supernatural agent in your employ."
He let the accusation hang.
Noella didn't blink. "Eden defends its borders by any means necessary. If Silverveil citizens choose to take up arms against us, they become combatants. Their fate is their own."
Marlowe's eyes flickered toward the shadow where Volsei stood. He couldn't quite make him out, but he felt the presence.
"My lords of Silverveil are concerned. The use of… Ether-tainted powers violates the post-Scourge accords. It invites retaliation from the supernatural realm. It endangers us all."
"Tombsrose holds the Soul-Prayer," Noella countered. "Is that not a supernatural power? Do you lecture them on accords?"
"Tombsrose is the hegemon. The rules are… different."
"Ah. So the rule is: power makes right."
Marlowe spread his hands. "It is the way of the world, Princess."
Noella stood. She walked down the dais steps until she was level with him.
"Then hear this, Envoy. Eden is no longer weak. We have power of our own. The next time Silverveil funds bandits to prey on our people, we will not stop at the bandits. We will hold the funders accountable. Directly."
Her mismatched eyes held his. "Do I make myself clear?"
Marlowe swallowed. The cold certainty in her voice was more frightening than any shout.
"Perfectly, Your Highness."
"Good. You may take that message back to your lords. You have safe passage to the border."
The envoy bowed again, deeply this time. He retreated, his diplomatic composure cracked.
When he was gone, Alistair let out a long breath.
"That was… perilously close to a declaration of war."
"It was the only language they understand," Noella said. "Strength. Certainty. Fear."
Volsei moved from the pillar. "He was lying. About being just Silverveil."
Noella turned. "How do you know?"
"His boots. The leather. It's treated with a tannin unique to the marshes near Tombsrose. Standard issue for their mid-level officers. He's a double agent. Or at least, his mission was approved by both."
Noella's mind raced. So the collaboration was deeper. Silverveil wasn't just a cat's-paw. They were in active coordination.
"Then Tombsrose already knows about Volsei. They're probing. Testing our resolve."
She felt a cold thrill. The game was escalating faster than she'd modeled.
"We need more information," she said. "We need to know their timetable. Their force composition."
Volsei sheathed his knife. "I can get it."
"How?"
"Tombsrose has a forward outpost. Two days' hard ride south. A garrison of fifty. They relay messages between the border and the capital."
"You can't take fifty men alone in a fortified position."
"I don't need to take it. I just need to read their dispatches. And maybe… leave a note."
A ghost of that almost-smile again.
Noella calculated. High risk. But the intelligence value was immense. And another demonstration of their reach would paralyze their enemies with uncertainty.
"Do it," she said. "But be a ghost. In and out. No confrontation unless necessary."
Volsei nodded. He turned to leave.
"Volsei."
He paused.
"Come back."
He looked at her. For a long moment, the professional mask slipped, just a fraction. She saw something raw in his light brown eyes. Not boredom. Not rage.
Something like… purpose.
"I will," he said.
He was gone.
\-\--
That night, Noella couldn't sleep.
She stood on the battlements of the west tower. The wind was cold, carrying the scent of distant rain.
Below, the kingdom of Eden slept. Unaware of the storm gathering on the horizon.
She thought of equations. Of variables. Of the man who was now the most critical variable in her life.
He was a weapon of impossible sharpness. But weapons could turn. Could break.
She had to be the hand that wielded him. And the sheath that contained him.
A whisper of displaced air behind her.
She didn't turn. She knew.
"You're not gone yet," she said.
Volsei stepped beside her, leaning on the stone parapet. He looked out at the dark landscape.
"I leave at midnight. I was… thinking."
"About what?"
"About why I'm doing this."
Noella waited.
"For years, I just watched. I cut when I was bored. I walked where I pleased. Nothing mattered. It was all just… patterns of pain and stupidity."
He glanced at her. "You're a different pattern. You want to build something. Even if you have to burn everything else down first. I want to see what you build."
Noella felt a strange tightness in her chest. Not emotion. A recognition of shared isolation.
"I don't know what it will be," she admitted. "Only that it cannot be this. This slow death. This humiliation."
"Good," he said. "Certainty is boring."
He pushed off the parapet. "I'll be back in three days. With their secrets."
He turned to go.
"Volsei."
He looked back.
"Thank you."
He didn't answer. He just gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod.
Then he stepped off the battlement.
Noella's heart lurched.
But he didn't fall. The air around him shimmered. He vanished between one heartbeat and the next.
Gone to walk between realms.
She stood alone in the wind.
She looked at the spot where he had disappeared.
For the first time, the cold fortress of her mind felt less like a prison.
It felt like a command post.
And she had her general.
The war was coming.
And they would be ready.