The morning after the helicopters, the camp was different.
Not quieter—louder. Hunters laughed. Hunters joked. Hunters who had been staring at the horizon with hollow eyes were now pointing at the sky, tracing flight paths, mimicking the thunder of rotors.
"Did you see it?" someone shouted across the mess tent. "The whole sky lit up!"
"Like a sun!"
"Like a bomb!"
Corrin was at the center of it, retelling the event for the fourth time. His arms waved, his voice boomed, his audience grew.
Ami sat at the edge of the crowd, a cup of cold coffee in her hands. She wasn't laughing. She was watching Aurelion.
He stood apart, leaning against a supply crate, his arms crossed, his eyes on the eastern horizon. The Stain still glowed, but it seemed dimmer this morning. Or maybe that was just the sunlight.
"You're not celebrating," she said, walking over.
"I'm thinking."
"You're always thinking."
"Someone has to."
She handed him the coffee. He took it, didn't drink.
"The helicopters worked," she said. "The creature is dead. The portal is closed. That's three wins in a row."
"Three tests," he corrected. "Zarveth is probing us. Finding our strengths. Our weaknesses."
"And what did he learn this time?"
Aurelion looked at the sky. "That we have weapons he doesn't understand. That we can hurt him without using mana."
"That's good, right?"
"It's good. For now." He finally took a sip of the coffee. It was cold and bitter. "But he will adapt. He will find a way to counter them. And when he does—"
"We'll find something else."
He looked at her. "Will we?"
The general called another briefing.
The mood in the tent was lighter than before. Maps were marked, strategies discussed, congratulations exchanged. The hunters who had been on the ridge were praised. The helicopter pilots were commended.
Aurelion stood at the back, listening.
"We've confirmed that the creature was connected to the Stain," the general said. "Its mana signature matched the readings we've been getting from the castle."
"So killing it weakened the ancient one?" Thalia asked.
"Temporarily. The Stain has receded by approximately two percent."
Two percent.
Aurelion felt a chill run down his spine. They had unleashed a small sun on the creature, expended countless mana bolts, risked pilots and machines—and the Stain had receded by two percent.
"We need more," he said.
The room turned to him.
"More helicopters. More firepower. More of everything." He stepped forward. "Zarveth isn't going to sit in his castle and wait for us to chip away at him. He's going to adapt. He's going to learn. And when he does, two percent won't be enough."
The general's expression was unreadable. "What do you suggest?"
"We hit him before he adapts. Not the Stain—the castle. The throne room. Him."
Silence.
Then Thalia: "You want to attack the ancient one directly?"
"I want to end this before it becomes a war we can't win."
The meeting ended without a decision.
The general promised to consult with Command. The hunters dispersed. Aurelion walked back to Valley's Watch's camp.
Kael was cleaning his pistols. Corrin was polishing his spear. Ami was reorganizing the supply crates—a nervous habit.
"They're not going to approve it," Corrin said.
"They might."
"They won't. Attacking the castle directly is suicide."
"Everything is suicide," Aurelion replied. "The question is whether we die on our feet or on our knees."
That afternoon, a scout returned from the Stain.
Her face was white. Not pale—white. Like she had seen something that had drained the color from her skin.
Everyone in the command tent went silent.
"Report," the general said.
The scout swallowed. Her voice trembled. "The red portal—it's grown. Not a little. Much bigger. It's… it's the size of a city block now. Maybe larger. I couldn't see the edges."
A murmur ran through the tent.
"And the castle?" Thalia asked.
The scout looked at her. Her eyes were wet. "There's something over it. In the sky. An eye."
"An eye?"
"A giant red eye. Made of fire. It's just… hovering. Watching." She wrapped her arms around herself. "It doesn't blink. It doesn't move. It just looks."
Aurelion stepped forward. "That's Zarveth. He's not just watching through scouts or knights anymore. That eye is him. He's observing us directly."
The general's face was grim. "You're certain?"
"He wants us to see. He wants us to know that he sees us too."
The scout was dismissed. She left, still shaking.
The room was silent.
That night, Aurelion sat on the ridge.
The Stain glowed brighter than ever. The red eye was visible even from this distance—a baleful star burning above the castle, pulsing slowly like a heartbeat. And he knew now: that wasn't a symbol or a spell. That was Zarveth himself, watching, waiting, learning.
Ami climbed up to join him. She didn't say anything about favorite spots. She just sat down, close enough that their shoulders touched.
"You've been up here for hours," she said.
"The eye doesn't blink. I'm trying to figure out if it's looking at the camp, the valley, or just everything."
"Maybe all of it."
"Maybe."
She was quiet for a moment. Then: "The scout said it was made of fire. But you think it's him."
"It's his perception. His attention. He's not just sitting on his throne anymore. He's actively watching us."
"So he saw the helicopters?"
"He saw everything."
Ami shivered. "And he's not afraid."
"No." Aurelion's voice was flat. "He's curious. And that's worse."
She leaned her head against his shoulder. "Then we make him afraid."
"How?"
"By surviving. By fighting back. By showing him that we're not just interesting—we're dangerous."
He didn't answer. He just stared at the red eye.
It stared back.
The next morning, Command made its decision.
"We're not attacking the castle," the general announced. "Not yet. We need more intelligence. More firepower. More time."
"We don't have time," Aurelion said.
"We're making time."
The decision was final.
Aurelion walked to the edge of the camp and stared east.
The red eye stared back.
They're making time, he thought. But time is exactly what Zarveth wants.
Time to grow. Time to feed. Time to remind us why the night should be feared.
We're not buying time.
We're selling it.
He turned and walked back to the camp.
There was work to do.