"So that means we really can't do anything to change it?" Eri asked. Her voice was soft, barely louder than the wind slipping through the tent flaps.
Cassius stood by the entrance, arms crossed, the dim lantern light catching the edge of his pauldrons. He didn't answer right away.
"Some people are born lucky," he said at last. "Others aren't. Some of us... we're just trying to survive."
Eri looked down at her boots. "Then I guess I'm one of those just trying to survive."
Cassius gave a dry laugh, more breath than sound. "Aye. None of us here really like what we're doing. But liking it was never part of the deal."
Kaeli, seated on a crate nearby, looked up.
"And sir… Rethrus paid us well. As mercenaries, we finish what we're hired to do."
Cassius turned his head slowly. "He paid 'you'. What about the rest of us? What do you think happens if this all goes sideways?"
"Sir—" Eri stepped forward, speaking before Kaeli could. "I believe we won't fail."
Cassius stared at her.
"I know I'm younger, maybe even naïve to say this… but I believe in him," she went on. "The way he moves, the way he speaks… it's like he's already seen the outcome. He's younger than me, but he carries himself like he's walked through a hundred wars."
Kaeli's gaze shifted to her, silent.
"He walked into that party with the very people he framed… and smiled. Not out of pride or arrogance, but because he knew what he was doing. Every word, every step—planned. And even now, when he's not leading armies or standing on the front lines, I still feel like he's the one who's going to win this battle."
Cassius let her words hang in the air for a moment.
Then he stepped forward, just enough for the firelight to catch the edge of his face.
"You believe in him," he said, voice even. "Good. Someone should."
He paused.
"But belief won't stop a blade. And it won't bring back the dead."
Eri didn't flinch.
Cassius studied her a moment longer, then nodded once. He glanced once more at Eri.
"Fine," he said at last. "You can continue."
Eri straightened. Kaeli blinked.
"But do not fail," Cassius added, his voice turning iron again. "Failure will not be an option. Not for any of us."
A grin tugged at Kaeli's face. Eri let out a shaky breath of relief.
"Thank you, sir," they said almost in unison.
Kaeli tilted his head, a flicker of curiosity behind his grin. "What brought on the change of heart, sir?"
Cassius didn't look at him right away.
"I suppose…" he began slowly, "I've seen enough broken things in this world to know when something deserves to be saved."
He turned back to them.
"Those girls—those slaves—they won't last long on their own. "
Kaeli and Eri remained quiet, listening.
"But it wasn't just them," Cassius added. "You mentioned that Avalorian girl."
He stepped forward, arms resting behind his back.
"She's got a future, that one. Maybe brighter than she knows. Giving you permission—it's the least I can do. If it keeps her alive, if it gives her a fighting chance… then it's worth it."
Kaeli looked at him with more respect than before, but said nothing.
Cassius lowered his voice just a little, like he was speaking more to himself than to them.
"I said we can't change the way things are. That the world stays the same, no matter how loud we scream."
He paused. Then a faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"But if anyone's powerful enough to prove me wrong…"
He looked at Eri again.
"…it's him."
The sound of boots on cobblestone echoed through the narrowing alleys of Aurelia. City Watch soldiers marched in formation, tightening their patrols from the high stone walls of the merchant district down into the crumbling gutters of the lower wards. Torches flared at every corner, iron lanterns casting uneasy shadows across the faces of weary citizens.
Steel clinked. Orders were shouted. Gates were locked.
All in the name of "safety".
But the people knew better.
A man in a patched cloak pulled his daughter close as guards swept past them. A group of vendors hastily packed their stalls, eyes darting between the soldiers and the blood-colored horizon.
By the tavern steps, whispers flared like wildfire.
"So it's really happenin', huh?" one old man muttered, scratching at his chin. "A war… between two Familiar. Here of all places."
A younger man beside him spat into the gutter.
"Does the king even know?"
"Pfft. Pretty sure not."
Another voice joined in from a window above, a woman leaning out with a half-finished loaf in hand.
"This city's rotten as hell. Doesn't matter which side wins—we're the ones buried under it."
A heavy silence followed. The kind that settles before lightning strikes.
The bells from the watchtower began to toll—three low rings.
Sundown.
Shutters slammed closed. Doors locked. The streets emptied with haste, as if the shadows themselves had teeth.
But even as the soldiers cleared each sector, one name remained on their tongues.
"Fergus Costamado…"
"Find him!"
"Check every cellar. Every sewer if you must."
Some did so with duty. Others, with fear.
"Tsk… what's the point of searchin' for that man anyway?" one of the City Watch muttered under his breath as they passed through a narrow alley near the Lower Gate. The torchlight flickered against the grime on his armor. "Lord Frings could be hiding him already."
"Careful," another warned, glancing over his shoulder. "Sayin' that out loud could get your tongue nailed to the barracks door."
The first guard scoffed. "Tsk… just sayin' what everyone's thinkin'."
"Just stop complainin'," a third voice snapped, older, gruffer, the tone of a man who'd worn the uniform too long. "We do our jobs, we get paid. Let the nobles bleed each other out."
"I know, I know…" the younger one muttered, kicking a loose cobble from his path.
The patrol's footsteps grew faint as they turned a corner and disappeared down another alley.
"Heh… guess it's clear here," one of them muttered before their voices faded into the distance.
The alley fell still.
Then, like breath held too long, the stone shifted.
A section of the wall rippled—its texture softening, melting—until it peeled back like a second skin. From within, a figure stepped forward, grey blending into flesh, cloak unfurling from the stone like smoke.
Fergus Costamado stood silently, his breathing low and careful. Dust clung to his sleeves, and his eyes—sharp and calculating—scanned the space left behind by the guards.
'Hmph… seems my cousin's hand is forced now,' he thought, running a gloved hand along the cold stone beside him. 'That or he's more desperate than I believed.'
A faint hum buzzed through the air.
Fergus looked up.
'Shit… the barriers are up.'
Pale light pulsed faintly above the rooftops, like a net cast over the city—magic woven to trap, to contain.
'They don't want anyone leaving.'
His mind raced, calculating paths and exits, recalling sewer maps, old servant tunnels, anything—
Then he heard it.
Steps. Soft, steady.
Someone walking.
Still too close.
Fergus didn't waste a breath. With practiced precision, he pressed back into the wall. His cloak shimmered once more, blending seamlessly with the stone, until he was gone again—just another shadow in the alley.
'I need to get out of here!!!'