The Knight Order of the Silent Decree was akin to the palace guard for Valecis Isle.

  Training had concluded for the night, and the men and women under my command were just about to sit down to eat. Armor, swords, and casting aids had been put away as sigils dimmed from combat-ready to rest. Servants were standing ready to serve when the notice came through.

  The First Chapter—my unit—was on call for the week. The Order’s home base off the southern coast, a place we simply called Open, served as our headquarters. It was a good headquarters—beautiful and functional—built from a castle belonging to an empire whose name I once knew.

  Being on call was never fun, but our Order valued training, control, and response. We rotated shifts every six weeks.

  The first alert barely registered.

  A low-priority chime that shouldn’t have gone to the garrison—certainly not to a highly trained combat and emergency response unit. The message was strange as my combination casting aid and crystal interface chimed.

  Strange.

  The mana signature was advanced. It was a civilian relay, not military, but still highly refined, which was odd in and of itself. Usually, this kind of message meant a bar fight that had gotten out of hand or a spell misfire someone didn’t want to pay for.

  I ignored it.

  So did everyone else.

  Then it chimed again.

  Same channel. Same source. Louder this time—not in volume, but insistence. The ward-ring pulsed twice in quick succession, glyphs shifting color as the message was flagged and re-flagged.

  I frowned and reached out, touching the receiver rune.

  “Knight-Captain Voss,” I said.

  The voice on the other end was tight. Controlled. Too controlled.

  “Sir, we’re escalating a civilian report from the northern preserve. Multiple hostile signatures. Possible ritual activity. We’re requesting review.”

  “Request denied,” I said automatically. “Send it to regional enforcement.”

  There was a pause.

  Then the voice came back, different now. Sharper.

  “Sir… it’s already been forwarded.”

  That got my attention.

  “By whom?”

  “Independent overwatch,” the voice replied. “Private contractor. She invoked emergency escalation protocols and attached live lattice data.”

  Around me, the room went quiet without anyone saying a word. Plates stopped moving. Hands froze mid-gesture.

  I straightened.

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  “What did the lattice show?”

  Another pause. Shorter this time.

  “There is active cloaking in effect, sir. I don’t know what’s happening in the Preserve, but whoever is there doesn’t want us to see it.”

  Someone swore under their breath.

  I felt the shift then—not in the room, but beyond it. My knights stood, wiping their mouths and adjusting posture. They were waiting for orders.

  “Civilian presence?” I asked.

  “Yes, sir. According to overwatch.”

  That single word—confirmed—changed everything.

  “Who approved escalation?” I asked.

  There was a hesitation. Then:

  “The request reached the Magistrate’s office. They pushed it to High Command.”

  I exhaled slowly.

  Someone had made noise in the right place. Someone had refused to let it die in a queue.

  “Launch authority?” I asked.

  “Pending,” the voice said. “But—sir—the Knight Order of the First Sword is currently in Lumineth. Additional VIPs have arrived in the city, and tensions are high following the attempt on the Crown Princess’ life last month. They’ve been placed on provisional standby.”

  That meant the higher-ups were listening.

  Barely.

  “Stand by,” I said. “And keep that channel open.”

  I cut the line and looked around the room.

  “Suit up, boys and girls,” I said. “We’ve got work to do.”

  The knights didn’t hesitate.

  Chairs were pushed back in unison, the sound sharp against stone. Conversation died without needing to be cut. They moved toward the staging area with the ease of people who had done this too many times to count.

  The chamber itself was a broad, circular vault carved directly into the cliffside, old stone reinforced with newer sigils that glowed faintly along the walls. Racks of armor lined the perimeter—full suits standing upright like silent sentinels, each one etched with layered runes and reinforced seams. Massive swords rested in cradles of ironwood and steel, blades taller than a man, edges dulled only by restraint.

  “Seal armor,” I ordered.

  The response was immediate.

  Sigils flared across the room, lines of light racing over metal as plates lifted from their mounts and flowed into place. Armor closed around bodies in articulated segments—greaves locking over boots, cuirasses sealing across chests, pauldrons settling with weighted finality. The sound wasn’t loud, but it was unmistakable: the soft, decisive clicks of something built to finish what it started.

  The hum came next.

  Reinforcement awakened, a deep vibration felt more than heard as Aura and Arcanum synchronized across the chamber. The air itself seemed to thicken, charged with readiness, the kind that pressed against the skin and made breathing feel deliberate.

  “What do we know?” one of my lieutenants asked, tightening the grip on his blade as the last plate sealed around his forearm.

  “Enough to move,” I said. “Not enough to wait.”

  As if the words had summoned it, the ward-ring embedded in the floor flared again—this time hard.

  Priority override.

  The glyphs burned white, bright enough to cast stark shadows across armored figures and stone walls alike.

  “Knight-Captain Voss,” a new voice said, clipped and official. “High Command has reviewed the lattice feed. You are authorized to deploy. Full garrison response. Knight Order activation approved.”

  I didn’t smile.

  “Destination?” I asked.

  “Northern preserve. One of the old-money lodges.”

  That settled it.

  I turned toward the launch circle at the center of the chamber. It was cut deep into the stone floor, concentric rings of runes and sigils layered atop one another—some so old their origins had been lost to record, others newer, sharper, built to channel force, a sort of release platform.

  The room came alive around me.

  Technica specialists moved to the outer edge, lighter armor snapping into place, spell conduits lighting along rifles and blades designed to channel power into mounted systems. Knights took their positions in practiced order, massive swords coming free of their cradles, resting against the stone while final checks ran through armor and mounts.

  Whatever had been called in wasn’t a mistake.

  Someone on the ground had seen something they couldn’t handle alone—and had forced the Valecis Isle bureaucratic system to listen.

  And systems only listened when things were already close to becoming irreversible.

  “Mount up,” I said.

  The transport was massive, armored, and expensive. The mana and Technica that kept it flying were state-of-the-art, capable of carrying fully armored knights. Knights, Technica specialists, and men-at-arms entered the aerial transport.

  Beyond the chamber, hangar doors began to open.

  Engines awakened. Spell-augmented flight frames lifted from their moorings, light bending subtly around armored hulls as knights moved to their assigned craft without breaking stride.

  Valecis Isle waited outside, calm and unaware.

  Not for long.