Dusk hung pale over Askelor, the quiet house standing at the edge of a small city far enough from the capital's noise, yet close enough to feel its pulse.
The wind of early winter brushed through the grass, carrying the scent of damp soil and the omen that something unknown had begun to shift.
A black, unmarked carriage halted in the front yard.
The door opened slowly, and Soren Voltaire Duval stepped out in silence.
He wore a long, ash gray coat.
His gaze hadn't changed since leaving the War Council chamber.
Silvain followed behind, touching his chest in a brief salute.
"The house remains as always, my Lord. Written reports await in the study."
Soren gave a faint nod.
"Ensure no one enters the main chamber unless I ask for them."
At the doorway, Lysette Faure, deputy head of household, bowed politely.
"Welcome home, Lord Duval. Dinner can be prepared at any time."
"Not now."
Soren walked inside down the long stone corridor, past faded portraits of long forgotten ancestors,
the scent of old wood thick in the air.
The Strategy Room
The old study had once been used by nobles who bore the Empire's weight.
Now only one name hung above the iron gate: Duval.
Upon the desk lay the latest report from Fort Althaar, seal unbroken.
Soren sat down, his fingers brushing the wax mark red wax,
from Commander Alberch Varn.
"Captain Tharic Elwen has fallen. Unknown militia executed the attack too cleanly. Traces of magic. Rumors spreading like a plague."
Soren did not frown.
He simply sat in silence letting his mind rearrange possibilities
like pieces on a board.
A knock, soft and deliberate.
"Enter."
Lucard Vehlheim and Aldric Noirvale stepped in one sharp and cold as midnight,
the other still and heavy as a hanging verdict.
"The border is shifting," Soren said without preamble.
"Too swift to be a peasant revolt.
Too quiet to be an invasion."
Lucard took the file, scanning it.
"The magic trail... not from sanctioned flows.
Not listed in the Academy.
Nor any military branch."
Aldric's gaze was steel.
"Shall I leave tonight?"
Soren shook his head.
"Not yet.
We don't move muscle until our eyes map the shadow."
He turned to Lucard.
"You'll go. Alone."
Lucard nodded without hesitation.
"Go to Althaar.
Not as an Imperial agent.
Not as a Duval.
I want to know who started this and who profits from it."
"Clear orders," Lucard replied quietly.
"I'll enter through the old northern supply route.
They think it's dead."
Soren stood slowly, turning his back to them.
His gaze drifted through the large glass window toward the distant lights of the town.
Small flames house lamps.
But in his mind, another kind of fire had already begun to burn.
"If this is a game, they're not playing to win.
They're playing to burn the board."
"Leave tonight.
Don't return without the name of the one pulling the strings."
Lucard bowed lightly.
"I will bring you the answer, my Lord."
Aldric stood, arms crossed.
"And me?"
"You stay.
The world is starting to watch this house.
Make sure none of them can read our intent."
Soren was left alone.
The air inside the room felt heavier than before.
He stared at the fire it barely burned.
"Everyone starts a war with a reason.
But only those without reason… never stop."
The night wind slipped through the window's edge.
But in his mind the storm had already arrived.