The command tent breathed like a living thing.

  Canvas walls fluttered faintly as the mountain wind pressed against them, carrying with it the distant clang of blacksmiths, the murmur of soldiers, and the ever-present stench of blood that no amount of sentence candles could fully erase. Maps were pinned to wooden boards, weighted with knives and iron markers. Candles flickered, casting long shadows that stretched and twisted across the tent floor like grasping hands.

  Then the tent flap was thrown open.

  Light cut through the dim interior in a harsh blade, and with it entered Sofie Merz.

  She moved with purpose, boots striking the ground sharply, her expression carved from iron. Two of her personal guards followed immediately behind her, dragging a man between them by the arms.

  The man protested loudly.

  “Unhand me at once!” he shouted, kicking uselessly as his polished boots scraped against the dirt. “Do you have any idea who I am? What I represent? You barbaric woman, release me immediately! I am a direct messenger of Central Command—I demand to see the legion commander at once!”

  He was not injured. Not exhausted. His clothes were clean, his face round and well-fed, his hands soft. He did not look like someone who had ridden hard through monster-infested territory. He looked like someone who had traveled comfortably, stopping often, perhaps complaining the entire way.

  Sofie stopped in the center of the tent and turned slowly to face him.

  “Oh?” she said flatly. “If your message is so important, why didn’t you go directly to the commander when you arrived?”

  The man sniffed, his nose wrinkling in disdain. “Because I required proper food first. Not that slop you serve to soldiers. As for your commander—my well-being takes precedence over his schedule.”

  The conviction in his voice was absolute. He genuinely believed what he was saying.

  Sofie’s jaw tightened. For a brief moment, disgust flickered across her face before she forcibly smoothed it away.

  Before she could respond, a new voice entered the conversation.

  Cold. Controlled. Sharp enough to draw blood.

  “And what,” the voice asked, “gives you the authority to look down on my commander?”

  The man turned, startled, finally noticing the rest of the tent.

  Eloi sat behind the command table, fingers steepled, eyes fixed on the intruder. The legion commander did not raise his voice. He did not need to.

  “Well,” the man said slowly, clearly confused as to why anyone would challenge him, “it’s common knowledge, isn’t it? Your commander is a commoner. No pedigree. No lineage worth mentioning. Naturally, he should show respect to someone of my standing.”

  He straightened, puffing out his chest.

  “I am Ellay of House Wewar,” he declared proudly. “The Thirteenth Prince. You will treat me accordingly.”

  The air changed.

  The candles flickered harder, shadows deepening. No one spoke. Even the guards seemed to tense.

  Then Eloi spoke again.

  “Very well,” he said quietly. “Where is the message you were sent to deliver?”

  Ellay smiled, clearly mistaking calm for submission.

  “Oh, I have it right here,” he said, pulling a sealed letter from his coat. “But you are not permitted to read it.”

  He began fanning himself with the letter, smirking as he looked around the tent, clearly enjoying the attention. In his mind, envy filled every pair of eyes.

  Eloi stood.

  “I am the legion commander,” he said, every word clipped and precise. “If anyone has the authority to read that letter, it is me. Bring it here. Now.”

  Ellay hesitated, then scoffed. “Proof.”

  Without hesitation, Eloi produced the legion seal.

  Ellay glanced at it briefly before handing the letter over with exaggerated reluctance.

  Eloi took it—and froze.

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  His eyes locked onto the wax seal.

  “…Why,” he asked softly, “is this seal broken?”

  The temperature in the tent plummeted.

  Ellay’s smug expression faltered for the first time.

  “Well,” he muttered, suddenly uncomfortable, “commanders always dismiss me once delivery is complete. So I read the messages now. Just to make sure they’re accurate.”

  Eloi stared at the broken wax, bearing the insignia of Central Command— the UN emblem imprinted on a heater shield, a symbol of unity and defense.

  You understand,” Eloi said quietly, “that tampering with sealed military correspondence is punishable by death. And I mean permanent death.

  Ellay laughed nervously. “That’s for peasants. Those laws don’t apply to nobles.”

  Silence.

  Then Eloi turned his head slightly.

  “Well, Selvijs,” he said calmly, “it appears you win your bet.”

  Selvijs, standing nearby, grinned broadly.

  “Arrest him,” Eloi continued. “And when does the next supply convoy arrive?”

  “Tomorrow,” Selvijs replied easily. “Shall I commission a cage?”

  “Yes,” Eloi said with a thin smile. “Immediately.”

  Ellay didn’t have time to protest.

  One of the guards struck him across the back of the head, and he collapsed. His unconscious body was dragged from the tent like discarded baggage.

  Only then did Eloi turn to the report.

  Line by line, his face drained of color.

  “Commander?” Sofie asked cautiously. “What does it say?”

  Eloi handed her the letter without a word.

  It detailed how Legion Forty—positioned similarly to their own—had nearly collapsed. Goblins had not broken them. Internal failure had occurred. Because it was important to note that the legion was assigned to India. The legion commander and his vice commander were chosen by their own country. As the Legion commander was an important position that needed competent people assigned to it, and there were not enough competent Indians of the higher cast, or, for a better word, nobles. So they had to take the lower cast as commanders, which the noble captains did not like. So imagine how that went.

  Officers refusing orders. Soldiers sleeping on watch. When the goblin attacks ceased for three days, they assumed victory and lowered their guard.Only the commander and his guards remained alert, posting lookouts.

  The goblins returned in force.

  Only intervention from neighboring legions prevented annihilation.

  Fifteen minutes passed in silence.

  When Selvijs returned, he came in smiling. Hey, they have taken care of the idiot. He is locked up. Why the long faces he questioned Eloi.

  After he finished reading the letter he was handed, he questioned why they warned us that we didn't have their problem right. Selvij looked confused.

  The Indian generals in high command are warning their own people, and, to save face, they warn everyone; the rest of the generals are happy to go along with it.

  Because they can also warn their own people without looking dumb. Eloi sighed.

  Selvijs sighed. “ So post it on the notice board?”

  “Yes,” Eloi replied quietly. It would be funny if it weren’t so damn depressing.

  He leaned back, exhaustion finally showing.

  “We’re fighting for survival,” he murmured. “And we still can’t escape ourselves.”

  Sofie gave a bitter smile. “You should remember how hard it was for Europe to unite. Even with Russia at the door.”

  Eloi nodded slowly.

  “Selvijs—have the clerks copy the report. I’ll write to Central Command regarding that idiot.

  As the tent emptied, the war outside continued.

  And somewhere beyond the hills, something watched.