While the deities were lost in the flickering pixels of their old video games—shouting about high scores and power-ups—the world below was held in a suffocating, breathless tension. In the Western Republic, the morning air was cold and smelled of damp earth.

  Dorian stood before his gathered people. He didn't wear his full battle plate; he wore a simpler, reinforced traveler’s tunic. He looked at the Iron Legion—his friends, his neighbors—and felt the heavy weight of leadership.

  “We are ready to move, My Lord,” the Captain reported, his hand resting on the hilt of a sword he hoped he wouldn't have to draw.

  “Today is the pivot of history,” Dorian announced, his voice echoing through the stone square. “We go to the river not to conquer, but to speak. If we can’t find a path to peace today, we will face a war that will consume everything we’ve built.”

  Dorian checked his equipment. He didn't reach for a shield. Instead, he tucked a brass flare gun into his belt and hung a silver whistle around his neck. These were his tools for today: one for a signal of peace, and one to call for help if the shadows moved.

  “This is the final word,” Dorian said, handing a sealed parchment to his swiftest rider. “Ride ahead of the caravan. Deliver this to Cian personally. He must know we come with open hands, not closed fists. If he sees the dust of our march, he must know it is a caravan of hope, not an invasion.”

  The messenger saluted, spurred his horse, and vanished into the morning mist, riding hard toward the East. Dorian watched him go for a moment, then turned to his Captain.

  “Let’s move. And pray the wind is in our favor.”

  The Bridge of Unity was a massive stone structure spanning the Great River, designed centuries ago to connect the East and West. Now, it was a checkpoint of suspicion. Lukan stood at the center of the span, his cloak fluttering in the damp river breeze.

  When the sound of galloping hooves approached, Lukan raised his hand. “Hold, messenger! I am an envoy of the East. I’ll take the word to my Lord.”

  The Western rider pulled his horse to a halt, the animal’s breath misting in the air. He looked at Lukan’s fine robes and the royal seal on his belt. “I’ve never seen you at the border before. What’s your name?”

  “Lukan, Chief of Intelligence,” Lukan said with a practiced, easy grin. “I’m a new addition to the court. Cian wanted someone faster to handle his correspondence.”

  The messenger let out a short laugh. “A chief of intelligence running errands on a bridge? You’re a joker, Lukan.” He reached into his satchel and handed over the sealed parchment. “Here is the word from Lord Dorian. See that it reaches Cian’s hands before the sun sets.”

  “You have my word,” Lukan smiled.

  As soon as the messenger turned his horse to head back West, Lukan’s smile vanished. He didn't wait to reach the palace. He broke the wax seal with a sharp click and devoured the contents of the letter. His eyes narrowed as he read Dorian's pleas for a peaceful summit.

  “What are you doing, Lukan?”

  Lukan didn't jump. He slowly folded the letter and tucked it into his pocket as the Captain of the East walked up behind him. The Captain was a man of honor, his silver armor polished to a mirror finish.

  “A letter from the West,” Lukan said simply, not turning around.

  “And why are you reading it?” The Captain’s voice was stern. He stepped closer, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. “Official correspondence is for the Lord Cian’s eyes alone. You’re overstepping, boy.”

  The Captain reached out to grab Lukan’s shoulder, unaware that a pair of cold, amber eyes were watching him from the shadows of the bridge’s stone pillars.

  Thwip.

  A tiny, feathered dart hissed through the air, burying itself in the soft leather of the Captain’s neck. He gasped, his hand flying to the wound.

  “What...?” the Captain slurred. His knees buckled, and his vision swam.

  A woman stepped out from the shadows. She was dressed in tight, dark leathers, her face partially obscured by a mask. This was Vesper, Lukan’s most trusted operative. She caught the Captain before he hit the stone.

  “What should we do with him?” she asked, her voice as sharp as a blade.

  “Disarm him,” Lukan commanded, looking down at the sleeping loyalist. “Take him to the hidden docks. If he wakes up, make sure he doesn’t have a voice to scream with. I have a King to ‘advise.’”

  Lukan turned and began the long walk back to Cian’s palace, the stolen letter burning a hole in his pocket.

  The sun was high over the Eastern capital, but for Cian, the sky felt as dark as a tomb. He stood atop the scaffolding of his unfinished Great Wall, looking at the gaps in the stone that felt like open wounds.

  “My Lord! My Lord!” Lukan came sprinting up the stone steps, his face a mask of simulated terror. He reached Cian, gasping for air. “The West... they have broken the peace! They’ve taken our Captain! They’re marching on us even as we speak!”

  Cian’s heart hammered against his ribs. He gripped the wooden railing so hard it splintered. “Taken the Captain? But... we were supposed to talk! They’ve already arrived?”

  “Our scouts are being cut down, My Lord,” Lukan lied, his voice trembling with false urgency. “The wall isn't finished. If they reach the city, we have no defense. We can’t stop them in a fair fight—their cannons will turn this stone to dust.”

  Cian looked at his city—his beautiful, peaceful city—and saw only a slaughterhouse. “What do we do, Lukan? Tell me!”

  “There is only one way to save our people,” Lukan whispered, leaning close. “We must strike where they are weak. While their army is marching here, their villages in the West are empty. If we sabotage their homes—burn their crops and their forges—they will have no choice but to turn back to save their families.”

  It was a cold, brutal strategy. Cian, the man who once wanted to build meditation pools, looked at his hands and saw a soldier’s fate.

  “Do it,” Cian whispered, his voice cracking. “Prepare the oil. Prepare the gunpowder. If they want a war of destruction, we will give them ashes.”

  He turned to his son, Kael, who was standing nearby with a look of pure horror.

  “Kael,” Cian said, his face hardening. “Take the vanguard. Lead our archers to the Western border. Do not engage their army. Slip past them. Burn their villages. Burn everything.”

  Kael stepped back, his eyes searching his father’s for a spark of the man he used to be. “Father, please! This is madness! If we burn their homes, there is no coming back from this! Let me go to Dorian, let me speak—"

  “Dorian has my Captain in chains!” Cian roared, the fear finally turning into a blind, hot rage. “Go, Kael! That is my final command!”

  Kael’s shoulders slumped. He looked at Lukan, who gave him a small, sympathetic nod that made Kael’s skin crawl. With a heavy heart, the Prince of the East turned away to gather his men.

  Under the midday sun, a swarm of Eastern archers—not with arrows of stone, but with brands of fire—began their march toward the unsuspecting homes of the West.

  The Western caravan was a long trail of dust on the horizon. From his position on the ridge, Kael watched them through his brass spyglass. His heart was a drum, but his mind was sharp. He saw Dorian at the front, his head uncovered, his hands resting casually on his horse’s mane. No armor. No drawn sword.

  “Hold the line!” Kael commanded, his voice ringing out over the sound of his archers preparing their fire-arrows.

  The Lieutenant rode up, his face tight with confusion. “My Lord? Your father’s orders were clear. We are to slip past and burn the Western villages while they are distracted.”

  “I will go to talk,” Kael said, handing the spyglass to the Lieutenant. “Look for yourself. Does that look like an invasion force to you? Dorian is practically in his traveling clothes.”

  “It could be a trick, sir,” the Lieutenant argued. “We can't let you go down there alone. They’ll kill you the moment you're in range.”

  Kael gripped his reins. “If I stand in front of Dorian and he calls for my head, I’ll kill him myself before his guards can blink. But I will not burn homes based on a whisper from Lukan.” He leaned in, his gaze burning. “If I am not back in two hours... burn it all. Is that clear?”

  The Lieutenant hesitated, then nodded. “Two hours, My Lord.”

  Kael spurred his horse, descending the ridge in a cloud of grit. As he approached, Dorian’s guards tensed, but Dorian raised a hand to steady them.

  “Kael!” Dorian greeted him with a puzzled but friendly smile as he dismounted. “Long time no see, kid. What’s with the dust? You look like you’ve ridden through a landslide.”

  “Lord Dorian, I don’t have much time,” Kael said, his voice shaking with a mix of relief and terror. “I have to know. Is it true? Are you teaching the Giants to use cannons to crush the East?”

  Stolen novel; please report.

  Dorian blinked, then let out a dry, hollow laugh. “Cannons? Kael, the Giants live in a wasteland of ice. They’re lucky if they can find enough wood for a fire. We trade them grain so they don't starve, and they give us ore. That’s it. Why would I give cannons to a race that could step on my own city?”

  “Then why are you here?” Kael pressed.

  “I explained everything in the letter I sent yesterday,” Dorian said, his expression turning grave. “Didn't you read it?”

  “We never got a letter,” Kael whispered.

  Dorian turned to his messenger. “Report.”

  “I delivered it to a man named Lukan at the Bridge of Unity,” the messenger said, stepping forward. “Your Captain was with him. I assumed it reached the palace hours ago.”

  The world seemed to tilt for Kael. The pieces finally fit—the missing Captain, the lies about the Giants, the sudden fear in his father's eyes. “Lukan said you captured our Captain. He’s... he’s manipulated my father. He’s with him right now.”

  Kael scrambled back onto his horse, his eyes wide. “I have to go! I have to stop this!”

  “Wait!” Dorian shouted. “We need a plan! If you just ride in there, Lukan will have you killed before you can speak!”

  “What’s the plan then?”

  “Split up,” Dorian commanded, his ‘General’ instincts taking over. “You find Lukan and the Captain. If you can find the Captain alive, the lie is over. I’ll ride straight to the East's wall. I’ll face your father myself. He won't fire on an unarmed man he’s known for twenty years.”

  “Okay, but... I have to stop my archers first,” Kael shouted over his shoulder. “They’re waiting on my signal to burn your villages.”

  Dorian froze, the color draining from his face. “You’re... what?”

  “Don’t worry!” Kael yelled, already galloping back toward the ridge. “I’ll stop them! Just get to my father!”

  The Great River roared between the two nations, a silver ribbon that had suddenly become a border of blood. On the Eastern bank, Cian stood atop his unfinished wall, his eyes searching the horizon. He saw Dorian’s army—but something was wrong. There were no glinting spear-tips, no raised shields.

  “Why aren't they armed?” Cian whispered to himself, his confusion warring with his fear.

  “It’s a trick, My Lord,” Lukan hissed, leaning over the battlements. He pointed a trembling finger at the heavy wooden wagons trailing behind Dorian’s men. “They don't use bows or spears like we do. Those wagons... the cannons are inside. They plan to blast the wall down before we even see their steel.”

  Cian’s throat went dry. He looked at the wagons and saw only death.

  On the other side of the bridge, Dorian dismounted. He looked at the jagged wall and the archers with their notched arrows. He knew every second he stood there, his villages were at risk from Kael’s fire-arrows.

  “I have to talk to him personally,” Dorian told his Captain. He pointed toward a small, stone mansion sitting on a decorative island in the center of the lake adjacent to the river. It was an old summer house from the era of peace. “I’m going to that mansion. One on one.”

  “Sir, it’s a trap!” the Captain protested.

  Dorian pulled the brass flare gun and the silver whistle from his belt. “Listen closely. Stay here. If everything goes well, I’ll walk out that front door. If you hear this whistle—come as fast as you can. We’ll be in a race for our lives.”

  He paused, his hand hovering over the flare gun. His voice turned cold. “But if you see a red flare in the sky... do not wait for me. That is the end of diplomacy. Blast the mortar we brought. Turn their wall to dust.”

  The Captain’s eyes widened. He saluted, his jaw set. “Understood, My Lord.”

  Dorian walked onto the bridge alone. The silence was absolute, broken only by the wind. As he reached the center, Lukan’s voice shattered the peace like a glass bottle.

  “Send our Captain back!” Lukan shouted from the wall, his voice echoing. “Send him back, and perhaps the East will show mercy!”

  Dorian stopped. He looked at Lukan—a man he had never met, but whose stench of rot he could smell from fifty paces. “Silence!” Cian snapped, though his hands were shaking.

  “My apologies, My Lord,” Lukan murmured, bowing his head. “I only want to ensure our Captain is safe before the burning begins.”

  Dorian stepped closer, his eyes locked onto Cian’s. He ignored Lukan entirely. “We have to talk, Cian. Personally. Just the two of us.”

  “Let my Captain go first,” Cian said, crossing his arms.

  “I cannot speak here,” Dorian said, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. “The worm is among us, whispering poison in your ear.”

  Lukan’s skin crawled, a flash of genuine fear crossing his face before he masked it with a scowl. Cian looked between the two men, his heart tugging him toward his old friend. He finally softened his posture.

  “Fine. Where?”

  “The summer mansion,” Dorian pointed to the island. “It sits in your territory, but my builders laid the stones. It is the only neutral ground left in this world.”

  “Just you and me?” Cian confirmed.

  “Just us. Like the old days.”

  They walked down to the water’s edge together, leaving their armies behind. They climbed into a small wooden rowboat, and the only sound was the rhythmic creak-splash, creak-splash of the oars as they moved toward the center of the lake.

  Back at the bridge, Lukan realized his web of lies was unraveling. He didn't wait for orders. He mounted his horse and tore away from the riverbank, heading toward the dense marshlands where the "Hidden Docks" lay.

  The Western Captain watched him go, his eyes narrowing.

  “Who is that riding like the devil is chasing him?” he asked.

  “That was Lukan, sir,” the messenger replied. “The Eastern Intelligence Chief.”

  “He looks like a rat fleeing a sinking ship,” the Captain muttered. He gestured to two of his best scouts. “Follow him. Stay out of sight. I want to know where that rat burrows.”

  Moments later, a cloud of dust announced the arrival of Kael and his Eastern Archers. They pulled up short, expecting a battle, but saw only the Western guard standing at ease.

  “Captain!” Kael shouted, breathless. “Where is Lord Dorian?”

  “He is in the Summer Mansion with your father,” the Western Captain replied, pointing to the island. “They are talking.”

  Kael spurred his horse toward the water. “I have to get out there!”

  “Wait!” the Captain blocked his path. “They agreed to speak alone. If you burst in there, you might trigger the very war you’re trying to stop.”

  “But I am his son!” Kael insisted, his knuckles white on the reins. “I can’t just sit here and wait for the smoke to rise!”

  “Then make yourself useful,” the Captain said, lowering his voice. “I saw your man, Lukan. He fled down the river path toward the old marshes. My scouts are tracking him.”

  Kael’s eyes lit up. “The Hidden Docks... that’s where he’s keeping our Captain!”

  “Go,” the Western Captain nodded. “Bring him back, and this war ends.”

  Lukan arrived at the rotting wooden piers of the Hidden Docks, panic making his movements jerky. He scrambled off his horse.

  CRACK.

  Lukan spun around. “Who’s there?!”

  From the brush, the two Western scouts froze. One had stepped on a dry branch.

  Suddenly, the doors of the warehouse flew open. A group of Rebels—mercenaries paid by Lukan—poured out, weapons drawn.

  “We have spies!” Lukan screamed.

  The Rebels advanced on the two scouts. “Take them out,” the Rebel leader hissed. “Quietly.”

  But the silence was shattered by a thundering roar.

  “ARCHERS! LOOSE!”

  Kael burst through the treeline, his bow singing. An arrow pinned a Rebel’s sleeve to a crate.

  “Everyone down!” the Western scout shouted, diving for cover.

  “Western soldiers! Defend yourselves!” the Rebel leader yelled, ringing a frantic alarm bell.

  For the first time in history, Eastern Archers and Western Scouts fought on the same side. Arrows whistled past the ears of the Westerners, striking the Rebels who were trying to flank them.

  “Lieutenant!” Kael commanded, cutting down a Rebel with his sword. “Secure the perimeter! I’m going for the Captain!”

  Kael kicked open the warehouse doors. Inside, it smelled of tar and fear. Lukan stood near the back, a dagger pressed against the throat of the bound Eastern Captain.

  “Get back!” Lukan shrieked, his composure gone. “Get back or I open his throat!”

  “Kill that disgusting creature, My Lord!” the bound Captain shouted, his face bruised but his eyes defiant. “I would rather die than let him escape! Strike us both!”

  Kael froze. He couldn't sacrifice a loyal man.

  Suddenly, the Eastern Lieutenant and the Western Scout Leader burst in behind Kael, surrounding Lukan.

  Kael saw the Captain’s Rapier hanging on a rack behind Lukan. He lunged forward—not at Lukan, but at the rack. He grabbed the unique, jeweled weapon and tossed it to the Western Scout.

  “Take this to the Mansion!” Kael shouted. “Show it to my father! He knows this blade—it proves the Captain was captured, not killed! Go!”

  The Scout nodded and sprinted out.

  “There’s nothing you can do, little boy,” Lukan sneered, dragging the hostage backward toward a boat. “Our ship will be arriving any minute. You can watch us sail away, and your father will burn the West for nothing.”

  Just then, a shadow detached itself from the rafters.

  “My Lord, watch out!” a soldier yelled.

  Kael ducked just as a black-clad figure dropped from the ceiling, two daggers sparking against the stone floor where he had just been standing.

  Vesper rose from her crouch, her mask hiding everything but her cold eyes.

  “No more hiding! No more tricks!” Kael shouted, raising his sword. “Fight like a man!”

  Vesper tilted her head. She spun, delivering a lightning-fast double kick that sent a soldier flying into a pile of crates. She turned to Kael, pulling off her mask to reveal a calm, deadly smile.

  “I am no man, little Prince.”

  She twirled her daggers. “But if you want to dance... let’s dance.”

  Inside the Summer Mansion, the air was stale, smelling of old dust and forgotten memories. Dorian poured two cups of spiced cocoa from a thermos he had brought—a drink they used to share as boys during the winters.

  Cian took the cup, his hands trembling slightly, but he didn't drink.

  “Well, let’s start,” Cian said, placing the cup down with a clatter. “Why are we here, Dorian?”

  “First, the emergency,” Dorian said, leaning forward. “Your Captain is in grave danger. You need to find him as soon as possible.”

  Cian narrowed his eyes. “What do you know? Why do you speak as if you see everything?”

  “I will explain the how later,” Dorian said, his voice dropping to a serious, commanding tone. “But right now, the safety of our people is the most important thing. The Captain was taken.”

  “So where do you want me to find him? In your jail?” Cian stood up, slamming his hand on the table. The cocoa rippled in the cups. “Is this a ransom negotiation?”

  “Calm down, Cian!” Dorian stood up too, holding his hands out. “It wasn't me. It was Lukan, your Intelligence Chief. My messenger saw him with your Captain at the bridge, and then they both vanished.”

  “Lukan?” Cian laughed, a harsh, brittle sound. “Why would he do that? He is my most loyal servant. That is impossible.”

  “Trust your instincts, Cian,” Dorian pleaded. “You know something feels wrong in your court. You’ve felt it for weeks.”

  Cian crossed his arms, pacing around the room. “Stop trying to plant seeds of doubt.”

  He turned back to face Dorian, and his eyes caught the glint of brass on Dorian’s belt.

  “You said you came unarmed,” Cian hissed. Before Dorian could react, Cian lunged forward and snatched the Flare Gun.

  “Cian, stop!” Dorian shouted, panic flooding his veins.

  Cian backed away, pointing the wide, brass barrel at Dorian’s chest. “Stop accusing my people! You’re better off letting my Captain go right now.”

  “That is not a weapon!” Dorian yelled, terrified not for himself, but for the mortar crews waiting on the other side of the river. “You can’t kill me with that, but you will kill us all!”

  “Then let me try,” Cian sneered. He shifted his aim toward the open window. “If it’s not a weapon, then you won't mind if I fire it.”

  “NO!” Dorian stepped forward, his face pale. “You have no idea what that signal means!”

  “Get back!” Cian shouted, his finger tightening on the trigger. Outside, the Western Mortar Captain was watching the window through a telescope, finger hovering over the fuse.

  Suddenly, the double doors burst open.

  “STOP!”

  The Eastern Lieutenant and the Western Scout stumbled into the room, gasping for breath.

  “My Lord, sorry for disturbing, but this is an emergency!” the Lieutenant yelled. He stepped forward and held out a long, jeweled blade.

  Cian froze. He looked at the flare gun, then at the sword. He lowered the gun slowly. “That... that is the Captain’s rapier. He never takes it off.”

  “We found him, My Lord,” the Lieutenant panted. “We followed Lukan to the Hidden Docks. He has hired rebels and mercenaries. Lord Kael is fighting them right now!”

  “Kael?” Cian whispered, the rage draining out of him, replaced by horror. “My son is fighting Lukan?”

  “We must hurry, Cian,” Dorian said, stepping forward and gently taking the flare gun from Cian’s limp hand. He engaged the safety catch with a loud click. “Your Captain and your son are in danger.”

  Cian looked at his old friend, then at the weapon that had almost signaled their doom. He realized how close he had come to destroying everything.

  “Let’s go get him,” Cian said, his voice returning to the strength of the ‘Lion of the East.’

  The two Kings burst out of the mansion, shouting commands to their armies on both banks.

  “TO THE DOCKS!”