“Do you know where Tianensai is?” Talant shut the door like a lid on a drum and asked in a hush that slid like wind through reeds.

Haidra shook her head, dazed; her mind was a blank snowfall, thought frozen and drifting.

“Whatever he is, he’s no longer the brother I knew,” Talant said, blade-bare. “He seized the armory and reshuffled the court like a chessboard at midnight.”

“I need strength,” he went on, voice flat as still water. “Will you stand with me, or kneel to duty and die on that altar?”

Haidra lifted her face; her red lips bit like a petal in frost, tears swelled like glass. She hesitated, then nodded hard as a stone.

“Good.” Talant’s calm was uncanny, a lake without ripples over a trench. The quiet chilled Haidra like night fog seeping into bone.

“The ‘meteor’ was Hippo,” he said. “That was murder, not heaven’s temper. No act of god—only a hand aiming the sky.”

“When I gripped Hippo’s Black Spear today, heat burned through the shaft like a furnace.” Talant’s eyes held embers. “Meteor isn’t something you just throw.”

“It’s chained by the heavens. Every use drags a storm across the world, an upheaval of earth and sky. Only in such turmoil can it ignite.”

“Afterward, for the first twenty days, the Black Spear is dead iron. Calling the star cooks the whole spear to a thousand degrees.”

Talant stripped off his war-plate; steel thudded like a shed shell. He sat on the bed, spent as a banner after the wind.

Fear hit Haidra first, a wave over a drowning heart. “Why do you know this so well, Master?” she asked, vision tunneling into night.

“I crossed weapons with him,” Talant said. “He isn’t my match, but he’s no easy quarry. His spearwork is a beast that bites.”

“The man himself is fog on a river. Father watched him for thirty-five years and still raised a wolf that now circles the pen.”

“Paris holds Mother and Venus as hostages,” he added, voice like iron under snow. “We only have the Dike Guard left to our name.”

“Whatever happens, we cannot release the Dike Guard. Even if they brand us traitors, we hold that line like a cliff against the sea.”

Haidra’s disbelief fluttered like a trapped moth. “But we have no proof. Would His Majesty Paris really… do such a thing?”

“What proof do we need?” Talant’s gaze cut like a blade. “He doesn’t care who knows. He’s rushing a great move, a tide already rising.”

“With us in the Royal Capital, we can still press his head under the water. After that, the river widens, and he’s gone.”

“Contact Medith. If she’s as wondrous as rumor paints, only she can unlace this knot. It’s our family’s shame, but my hands are empty.”

Haidra nodded. At this shore, only one bridge remained, thin as moonlight, and she stepped onto it.

Crackle—night fell like ink, and on the wide plain tents rose like white stones. Bonfires bloomed; Kuso soldiers and the Dusk Legion gathered to drink.

“Come! This cup to our war-god, Medith!” Gill raised his cup, face red as firelight, and shouted to the hall like a bell.

Cheers rolled like surf. Cups kissed and emptied. Bright-clad women served dishes and wine; Sprites sang and danced, voices clear as mountain springs.

The music soothed raw hearts like rain on ash, sanding down the grief of recent days until it shone.

Medith sat at the commander’s seat; fire painted her beauty with a fevered glow. “Careless… we’ve roused the Southern Kingdom, a sleeping giant,” she murmured.

Sais leaned her cheek to Medith’s shoulder, pale fingers pinching her face, a playful crane beak. “What’s this? Our general knows fear?”

“Afraid. How could I not be?” Medith’s smile was helpless, a curve under weight. The Southern Kingdom loomed like those million Black Riders of old.

She had been trampled once, stripped of everything; fear lingered like a scar that aches before rain.

Gill laughed and slapped Haywood’s stone-hard shoulder. “Now that’s a wonder. Medith the fearless wearing that face… ha!”

Cecilia sipped a little wine; her flower-bright face opened. Her golden whip swayed like sunlight as she watched the crowd melt into one.

Only days ago they were mortal enemies, blades to the throat. Now…

Tears misted Cecilia’s eyes like dew at dawn. Haywood’s boulder-like palm rested on her head, steady as a mountain hand.

“All wars are only for peace,” Medith said, gaze drifting past the tent edge into night. “When the horn sounds, everyone is fated to lose.”

Gill’s laughter froze like a candle in wind. He looked at Medith with respect and a tangle of feelings, as if seeing a peak in fog.