“We all felt it,” I argued, “he wouldn’t fail such a mission.”

  Rhilnaam’s voice rose. “Or the moment he got real freedom; he threw it away.”

  “It saddens me to hear you talk like that about your best apprentice,” I said, furious with myself. “I assumed you wouldn’t send him alone.”

  The chamber erupted. Voices clashed at once, echoing off the curved stone of the mountain amphitheater. Unfazed, my ears picked up the rising shouts beyond the sealed doors. Outside, the fortress was no calmer.

  “Mherlk.”

  “Yes, Commander.” His steps rang across stone as he crossed the central platform.

  The doors tore themselves open, slamming into the rock so hard the hall shuddered. Miadiel stood in the frame, shoulders squared, arms locked tight around a body. Blood soaked her clothes. She stumbled down the incline, boots slipping on stone, knuckles clenched so tightly the skin shone white. I watched the council shift, that old discomfort they always felt around her kind. In the middle of shouts and clash of voices, her words cut through the chaos without a tremor.

  “He fought them.”

  “What do you—” Rhilnaam began. I met his eyes. He swallowed the rest.

  “What did he fight?” My question fell into silence, all eyes fixed on me. Not on Miadiel, who had brought a body. Not on Rhilnaam, who had sent him. On me. Waiting. Judging. Expecting me to respect the old rules. The weight settled on my shoulders like stone. I raised my hand, reluctantly. “Close the doors.” Only then did I see Mherlk—disappointed.

  “I fought bhors,” Miadiel replied.

  “He died to bhors?” Rhilnaam’s voice cut, thin with scorn.

  “Malds,” she shot back. The word sank—only whispered for generations. I drew my hair forward, smoothing it once—then did it again. My other hand closed hard, nails burning crescent into my palm.

  “That’s absurd,” Rhilnaam said at last. “No one’s seen one—.”

  “Then we should ask him,” she said, staring at him. The damage those creatures had done and would still do plain in her eyes. When she turned to the rest of us, only confusion stared back at her. At last, her gaze settled on me. Her pointed ears sank as she studied my face.

  The murmurs cut off at once as she stepped forward and laid Vyre –wrapped in his cloak— before us. She knelt beside him, one hand pressed between his shoulders, her fingers glowing faintly.

  Silence stretched, long enough that the settling of stones and our own breaths seemed deafening, as if the world itself held its breath with us.

  At last, Vyre voice broke it. “Malds…” His mouth had not moved. No breath preceded that sound. Only I caught the whispers of horror behind me.

  “Nest. Too… many,” he hissed, each word a jagged shard. “No words… only pain…can’t find name,” he sagged. A shiver ran through the council.

  “Horn...beak…” his voice frayed, “release…me.”

  Miadiel’s voice cracked. “More,” her hand flared brightly.

  “Whispers…” his body shuddered for the first time, a weak quake against her arm. His head turned blindly towards me. “Commander… I’m afraid…” The last word thinned to nothing as the glow faded and his body went still. The chamber hummed distant and meaningless. I could not look away. I did not want to. The truth pressed down: he was gone. For the first time since my master’s death, my world collapsed to a single, impossible failure. Only Mherlk’s hand brought me to reality.

  Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

  “He parroted what he had read in our records,” Rhilnaam’s voice cut through my stunned mind. “I’ll send his brothers and sisters to wipe out those bhors—wash away the insult he dealt this order by failing.” He paused, waiting for a reaction. Then he added, “We have more pressing matters.”

  Every detail of his plan cut like salt on an open wound. Vyre was one of our best apprentices, entrusted with what should have been a routine final trial in the White Plains.

  “I’ll go alone,” I said, my voice rough.

  Kharnil surged forward, impatient. “Surely, we were not called here to argue over a bhor’s scale—or to offer you as sacrifice, Commander.”

  “Let her speak,” Jhoir snapped, visibly out of patience.

  I stepped onto the platform. “I will not lead our protégés to their deaths—not for your pride.” I met Rhilnaam’s gaze, “You can hide behind Vyre’s so-called incompetence if you wish. But when you finally believe me, only my bones will remain. And you will do nothing because I am the best fighter among you all.”

  Miadiel raised her voice as she stood next to me. “Tell me, what crisis eclipses the return of Malds, of our nightmares? Is it the annual gathering you’ve all planned for ten years and never once held?”

  No one answered. She had never spoken in council before. Their eyes were wide—fearful. Caught between two ancient terrors: the malds returning, and the Shandvai demanding answers. An instinctive dread, old as memory itself, pressed against them—no skill could hold it back

  Miadiel said, calm but firm. “I felt what he called ‘whispers,’”

  “Whispers?” Rhilnaam asked, for the first time true worry crept into his voice. Whether for his life or his peace of mind, I could not tell.

  “What does it mean?” Theresa asked.

  “It means he spoke the truth,” I replied, bluntly. At least our ranks were strong enough for what was coming. “And it means that tomorrow, we leave for Tur.”

  My words had not finished echoing before half of the chamber broke into protest, once again. I sat, looking at Rhilnaam, silently asking him. “Do you have a better idea?”

  Miadiel stood next to me, amused. Mherlk, arms crossed, scrutinized my every reaction and gesture. Patiently, I waited for the tumult to fade until a voice suddenly roared through the room.

  “Enough!” Jhoir thundered. “You disgrace our fathers. And our master!” Breathing seemed loud against the weight of unspoken truths.

  My voice rang through the chamber. “Remind me, why are we called the Watchers of Melkna?” No one answered. “If any of you think you can lead better than I can, step forward. I will gladly hand over the honor of commanding a pack of stingy cowards.” Those who were not concerned knew as well of those who were. “You care more for the gold given by chosen lords than what you swore to protect.”

  “You fear the malds? So, do I. But no one can fight in your place. And no one will,” I took a step forward, my voice rising with steel. “Tomorrow, only the willing need to follow me on this one-way trip. That includes you captains.” I sat. “You may leave now.”

  One by one they left the chamber, half showing their support, half ignoring me. The doors closed.

  “Lyan.” Miadiel’s voice called softly, her gaze locking with mine, a silent plea for consideration.

  I knew what she wanted. “I won't seek his council,” I replied stubbornly. “We are more than capable of handling a few malds without him.”

  "Then I will," Miadiel replied, disappointment flickering in her eyes. “You talk about their pride, but you are no better than them.”

  The room was empty except for Mherlk and the two of us. He sat quietly, waiting for the storm to pass. Miadiel rose and stood in front of me.

  "You know I like you...but sometimes I'd strangle you," she said, her fists tightening at her side, eyes flashing with equal parts frustration and fondness.

  “This concludes our discussion” I said firmly.

  “Fine,” she sighed, yielding. “I wish he would have come with me.”

  “You'd need more than luck to convince that lazy drunk.” I turned away, not wanting to see her disappointment. He wasn’t a drunk. Finran’dir just saw too much.

  “If only you weren't so stubborn,” she muttered. Mherlk!”

  “Lady Miadiel!”

  “No lady, just Miadiel. I’ll be riding for a few days. Can you find me a sturdy horse?"

  “When do you depart?”

  “Before sunset.”

  “It was already past noon when you arrived,” he noted.

  “I knew you'd catch on quickly,” she said, blinking at him.

  Mherlk rubbed his temple, then straightened, boots tapping briskly across the stone floor as he made for the doors.

  She watched him go, then turned to me. “You know he'll make you apologize.”

  “For calling him a lazy drunk? He won't know unless someone tells him,” I tried for confidence, but the smile didn’t reach my eyes.

  “He may not be a prophet, but he knows more than you think,” she said, her eyes clouded with a fleeting fear. “Believe me—you’ll be grateful to see him.”

  “We've gone over this so many times,” I said. “I have no desire to learn the kind of knowledge only nightmares can teach.”