The wind howled through the broken watchtower.
Snow drifted across the ancient stones.
Yet neither Kaelan nor Dren noticed the cold anymore.
Only one sentence mattered.
"The man who attacked Corven was Corven's son."
For several moments, nobody spoke.
Below them, Velmora continued burning.
Above them, the night remained mercilessly silent.
Finally—
Dren pointed at Arcturus.
"No."
The old general raised an eyebrow.
"No?"
"No."
Dren folded his arms.
"You're going to explain that."
For the first time, Arcturus actually smiled.
A tired smile.
The kind carried by men who had survived too many wars.
"Fair."
He turned toward the city.
And began.
"Thirty years ago..."
His voice became distant.
"...before Velmora."
"...before the frontier rebellions."
"...before the empire began breaking apart."
Snow swirled through the shattered tower.
"There was the Third Border War."
Kaelan listened carefully.
Corven had mentioned it once before.
Only once.
But the memory had clearly haunted him.
Arcturus continued.
"The northern kingdoms united."
"The empire was weak."
"Corrupt."
"Divided."
His eyes remained fixed on the distant horizon.
"Everyone believed the empire would fall."
Kaelan immediately understood.
Just like Velmora now.
The old general nodded slightly.
As if reading his thoughts.
"Exactly."
A long silence followed.
Then—
"We won."
The words carried no pride.
Only exhaustion.
"After six years."
"After hundreds of thousands of deaths."
Dren's expression darkened.
"That bad?"
Arcturus laughed once.
A bitter sound.
"You've never seen a real continental war."
Silence returned.
Then his eyes hardened.
"Neither should anyone."
The wind struck harder against the tower.
And for the first time—
Kaelan saw genuine pain behind the old general's calm exterior.
Not physical pain.
Memory.
Regret.
"The final campaign happened near the Frost River."
Arcturus continued quietly.
"The largest battle in northern history."
Kaelan could almost see it.
Thousands of banners.
Miles of battlefields.
Entire kingdoms colliding.
The kind of war that would become legend.
The kind that destroyed generations.
"We won."
Arcturus repeated.
Then came a pause.
"But victory wasn't free."
His eyes lowered slightly.
"Corven's family died there."
Silence.
Kaelan froze.
Even Dren stopped joking.
Arcturus nodded slowly.
"Wife."
"Daughter."
"Brother."
Each word felt heavier than the last.
"They were caught during the retreat of a northern coalition army."
Snow drifted across the floor.
"Wrong place."
"Wrong time."
Another pause.
"War doesn't care."
Kaelan finally understood.
Not everything.
But enough.
The coldness.
The obsession with order.
The belief that chaos always led to catastrophe.
Corven wasn't protecting cities because he loved power.
He was terrified of collapse.
Because he had already seen what happened when collapse won.
Dren broke the silence carefully.
"So where does the son fit into this?"
Arcturus' expression darkened.
And for the first time—
The old general looked uncomfortable.
"His name is Lucien."
The name hung in the air.
"Corven's only surviving child."
Kaelan immediately noticed something.
The old general hadn't said living child.
Only surviving.
A subtle difference.
A dangerous one.
"Was?" Kaelan asked quietly.
Arcturus looked toward him.
Sharp.
Observant.
Good.
The old general nodded slowly.
"That's the problem."
Silence.
Then—
"Everyone believed Lucien died five years ago."
The tower seemed colder suddenly.
Five years.
A dead son returning to assassinate his own father.
Nothing about that sounded simple.
Nothing about it sounded accidental.
Dren rubbed his face.
"Why does every answer create three new questions?"
No one had a response.
Because he was right.
Then suddenly—
Footsteps echoed from below.
Fast.
Urgent.
A resistance scout burst into the tower.
Breathing heavily.
Snow covering his cloak.
"Commander!"
Kaelan turned instantly.
"What happened?"
The scout struggled to catch his breath.
"The palace."
Again.
Always the palace.
"The black banners are mobilizing."
Arcturus' eyes narrowed immediately.
"How many?"
"Thousands."
Silence.
Kaelan felt something tighten inside his chest.
Thousands?
Not for riots.
Not for crowd control.
For war.
The scout swallowed.
"They're opening every armory."
Another pause.
"And Corven personally took command."
The atmosphere inside the tower changed instantly.
Because everyone understood what that meant.
Corven had made a decision.
A major one.
Arcturus moved toward the broken window.
Far across the city—
Black banners were gathering.
Street after street.
District after district.
Like a tide moving toward one destination.
The palace.
No.
Someone.
Corven wasn't preparing for rebellion anymore.
He was hunting.
The old general spoke quietly.
"He found Lucien."
Kaelan's eyes widened slightly.
And suddenly—
Everything connected.
The assassination.
The mobilization.
The urgency.
This wasn't about Velmora anymore.
It was about family.
About old wounds.
About ghosts from a war thirty years dead.
Then Arcturus turned toward Kaelan.
For the first time since they met—
His expression became deadly serious.
"You wanted to understand Corven."
The old general's voice carried the weight of decades.
The weight of history itself.
"Then understand this."
Outside, the bells of Velmora began ringing once more.
And somewhere within the city—
A father was searching for the son he believed dead.
While a son hunted the father he could not forgive.
Arcturus' eyes hardened.
"If those two meet before this revolution ends..."
The wind screamed through the tower.
And for the first time—
The legendary Lion of the North looked afraid.
"...Velmora will burn."
...
"The most dangerous battles are not fought for kingdoms. They are fought for the ghosts we cannot let go." ⚔️
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What do you think really happened between Corven and Lucien five years ago?