Night slid down like a velvet cloak. In the makeshift tents, candles snuffed out, and only the night watch moved softly, posts like silent stones.

But in the command tent of Talant and his inner circle, light burned like a small sunrise. Torches and candles stood like paired spears, flooding the canvas with gold.

Outside, two trusted guards held the line like bronze statues. Inside, only four remained, huddled around a wooden table.

They traded looks like blades meeting. The air pressed on their lungs like a tight band, leaving breath thin.

After a long hush, Talant sat by the table and spoke slow, the words heavy as iron. Starting tomorrow, we ride without pause. Aside from what rest we must take, we drop everything and aim straight for the royal city.

Huh? Confusion rippled like wind over grass across their faces.

I won’t give you much reason. For the next stretch, stock every horse. Even if they drop dead, we reach the capital. Talant’s tone cut like a cold knife, and shock flickered like sparks.

Talant rarely gave orders with that kind of final edge. The camp felt like a drumhead pulled tight.

May I ask why? The man who’d followed Talant spoke calm, voice like a quiet stream.

No. Talant cut the path clean. The man nodded, the motion like a falling leaf. I understand. Nixiu and I will handle it.

They rose and left, the canvas flap breathing like a slow lung. Outside, night swallowed them like ink.

Haidra turned to Talant, worry blooming like frost on glass. She wanted an answer she could hold.

I’m sorry, Haidra. It’s not that I don’t trust you—quite the opposite. I care too much to drag you in. This is no ordinary affair. If nothing happens, that’s best.

Though I don’t believe that’s likely. My heart’s a knot, tight as soaked rope. I can only tell you this: Eunomia’s sky is about to change. Talant’s face held pain and disbelief, like a tree bending in sudden storm.

Haidra was more lost than ever, thoughts scattered like birds. Talant, why panic so much? Over a letter with unclear intent… Paris is openly ambitious and harsh. Everyone knows that.

Even if he wants me moved, it could be about saving face—say, a friendly minister demoted and transferred.

Paris has a fierce temper. I do too. Palace matters aren’t mine to steer. At worst, I’ll gripe.

You think it’s muddled, or his intelligence is off, or you’re worried for me. Talant’s voice went low, like thunder behind clouds.

But I don’t see it that way. I’ll say one thing. A human heart can’t be read. A nation must stare into its history like a mirror. Strip feeling away. Act from the country outward.

When you can do that, you’ll see what I see. For now, just follow through. Talant’s fingers locked tight, knuckles white as chalk, tremor running like a winter shiver.

Haidra held her doubts like stones. In the end, she stayed silent, the choice heavy as wet sand.

Let it be just my master overthinking… Haidra stepped out of the tent. The bright moon hung like a jade plate, and when she met its gaze, a cold she’d never known rose like mist in her bones.

....

Lord Wald, here’s dinner for tonight. The ponytail maid came in with dishes, steam curling like morning fog.

The elder was bent like a snail under its shell, age etched in every line. His beard was white as frost, his years carved deep, yet his eyes pierced like twin needles, seeing through veils.

Wald lifted the meal with slow hands, a kindly smile forming like a soft lamp.

The maid answered with a laugh as bright as bells. With his nod, she pulled the door to, the wood closing like a lid.

The instant the door clicked, her gaze flipped cold as iron. Contempt swept her features like a shadow, and horror trembled there. No one could tie that look to the cute girl from moments ago.

She moved like a swift sparrow, long legs tapping like raindrops. She climbed to the eaves and vanished at speed, a blur swallowed by night.

....

March 17. Wald rose at ease, bones creaking like old hinges. The ponytail maid had water ready as always, standing by the bed like a reed in wind.

Thank… you. Wald smiled, showing a scatter of old teeth, the gaps like missing tiles.

The maid blushed, shy as peach blossom, voice soft and uneven. My lord, you’re too kind… this is just… what I should do. She held the tray with both hands, cheeks warm.

Wald burst out laughing, the sound like a crackling hearth. After breakfast, he put on his unique gold-shining court robe. Light pooled on the silk like sunlight on rice fields. He shuffled toward the treasury.

Before he left, he reminded the maid not to skip breakfast, words gentle as a hand on a shoulder.

She waved both hands, happy as a child saying goodbye. Hss… ah… A spike of pain stabbed her head like an ice pick, then faded in moments like a ripple dying.

Am I… just too tired? But I didn’t even do much. She held her head, digging for memory like a hand into sand, and found nothing but blank white.

After a while, she shrugged, the motion like a feather flick. Energy returned like spring sap, and she began to tidy Wald’s room, every swipe a small breeze.

By dusk, a day of work had weighed on her like wet cloth. Fatigue pooled in her limbs.

Lord Wald, are you all right? An official saw Wald near dozing, and a thread of pity stirred like smoke. He’s this old, yet he still worries over the accounts, working hands-on.

Wald panted, eyelids heavy as lead. He forced a kind smile, the curve like a crescent. No… no problem. I’m old… not much use…

I… I’ll sleep… sleep… His lids dragged lower and lower, like curtains at night, and at last his head dropped onto the table like a felled log.

Several clerks in finance shook their heads, small helpless smiles like rain on stone. They covered him with a thin cloth, a poor blanket like paper. Then they returned to the ledgers, lines and numbers marching like ants as they worked on.