A map of the continent hung on the wall, a vibrant tapestry illustrating regions, cultural domains, and the vast, varied terrain. Intricate details invited closer inspection. In the far north, Orerha lay nestled between two powerful neighbors. To the west sprawled Heladon, an influential kingdom known for its wealth and grandeur. To the east, Yorothen stretched along the cold coastal expanse ruggedly.
To the south, the massive nations of New Heladon and Yokonland dominated the landscape. These southern powers loomed large not only in size but in their infamy for extreme social inequality, particularly among the poor, somehow worse than Orerha or Heladon.
The map’s trade routes crisscrossed like a spider’s web. Despite their history of hostility, Heladon and Orerha depended on one another economically, each the other's largest trading partner.
Lydus’s eyes lingered on the map a moment longer before dropping to the table where he, Arawn, Everett, and Matthew sat. The silence was heavy, unbroken but for the faint rustle of papers and the occasional creak of a chair. Beads of sweat glistened on Matthew’s temple, though the room’s pleasant draft swept over them. Yet even the simple breeze was inconsequential as footsteps grew louder in the corridor outside. Each beat made them slump a little further into their seats.
SLAM!
The door flew open, crashing against the wall as Adira stormed in. Her hand pressed against her face as if to steady herself, her frizzy hair barely contained by a loose ponytail. The force of her entrance sent Matthew ducking, his head pressed to the table, arms raised like a scolded child. The others stared blankly at the wall as if waiting to be stabbed.
“Surprise—!” Lydus blurted out, his words stumbling over themselves as Adira’s sharp glare silenced him mid-sentence. “Uh... you...”
“Stop,” she commanded and raised a hand. “What happened?”
Lydus started to speak, but Adira silenced him with a sharp gesture, her finger stabbing the air toward Everett. “Him.”
Of course, Lydus thought, exhaling sharply through his nose. His gaze flicked up to the ceiling, jaw tightening as he held back words. Why the hell can’t I give any input? I’m not a fucking child, no more than them.
Everett rubbed his nose slowly, along with an infuriatingly calm posture, the man tilted his head slightly before replying with, “Oh… Me? Why don’t you let someone else explain—not Lydus—but perhaps Arawn?”
“Asshole,” Lydus muttered.
Adira’s eyes narrowed. “Whatever. I know you orchestrated this. Who else would? Matthew’s too scared, Arawn just goes along with anything, and Lydus…” Her gaze lingered on him. “He complains,” she said, “but he'd never openly defy me.”
Everett laughed, a low, mocking sound that grated on the others. “Against?” He repeated the word as if it were foreign. “You’re not in charge. No one is… not since…”
“Don’t say it,” Lydus interjected.
“…Not since your father died. Since all of our fathers died.” Everett leaned back in his chair. “Did you see our haul? We could do even better with more support.”
Adira’s shoulders sagged slightly. She turned abruptly to Matthew as her voice rose. “What happened out there?"
Matthew jerked upright, swallowing hard as his hand darted to his hair, raking through it nervously.
“Happened… what do you mean?” he stammered in a higher than usual tone.
“I know you morons wouldn’t have returned so early,” she scoffed, “What happened?”
Everett’s glare cut across the room at Matthew, and mouthed, stay quiet.
Matthew’s nervous laughter filled the room. “Well… there was a…” He hesitated, glancing at Everett, whose face twisted in disbelief. Almost inaudibly, Matthew muttered, “…soldier.”
The room fell into a heavy silence. Adira’s stared at him with an almost blank look. A second passed, then two. Without warning, she reached for a steel plate on the table, her hand curling around it as she raised her arm to throw. Everett barely flinched, but the sound of a knock at the door froze her mid-motion.
Adira’s chest rose and fell as she took a deep breath, her grip on the plate loosening. Slowly, she set it down and smoothed her hair with one hand.
“Idiot,” she muttered under her breath, shooting a glare at Everett before turning toward the door and pulling it open with a long, grating groan.
A woman stood there in a dirty black chainse, her hands clasped at her waist where the garment was cinched tight. She cast a brief glance at the group before leaning in to whisper something to Adira. Whatever it was made Adira’s eyes widen, her gaze dropping to the floor.
“Shit,” she cursed softly. Then, louder: “This isn’t over.” She threw a dangerous glare over her shoulder at them before stepping out of the room.
As the door clicked shut, everyone exhaled in unison as if the world felt lighter.
Everett shot Matthew a dissatisfied look but held his tongue—something he wouldn’t have done if it were Lydus.
Matthew had always been like this—quick to react, eager to avoid upsetting anyone, yet somehow only managing to make things worse, at least occasionally.
“She’s a mess,” Arawn said finally and broke the silence.
“She wasn’t always,” Everett replied thinly.
Lydus let out a quiet, almost bitter laugh. He’d seen this story play out before; it was always the same.
“She promised her father she’d keep this place together. Now she’s convinced she must control everything, even if it destroys her.”
Arawn sighed. “I wasn’t around for any of that… It must have been hard on you.”
“You have no idea,” Everett murmured, his eyes flickering to Lydus as he cut in.
“Exactly/ Which is why bringing up her father was a dick move.”
Everett exhaled sharply. “It was a point that needed making.”
“Not like that,” Lydus scoffed. “You’ve got a fucked-up way of going about it.”
Everett’s fist struck the table. “Sometimes it’s the only goddamn way, Lydus.” His voice was sharp and loud. “All you do is complain and crack stupid jokes. I mean…” He stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. “…It’s fucking ridiculous.”
He swung open the door and stormed out without another word.
Probably for the best, Lydus thought.
“I better go too,” Matthew said and stood abruptly. “Got things to do.” He left less dramatically than Everett, though the door still slammed shut behind him. Figured.
“Well,” Arawn chuckled. “That’s a lot of drama for one day.”
“Too much,” Lydus agreed, letting silence awkwardly fill the room.
Outside, rain hammered the wooden roof in a relentless, monotonous rhythm, filling the room with its steady percussion. Droplets seeped through thin cracks above in part to the rooms hasty, shoddy construction. It was ironic, Lydus thought—this room, meant for careful planning and strategizing their survival, was barely holding itself together.
“It’s getting worse out there,” Lydus said, shattering the silence as he pushed himself to his feet.
“Wait.” Arawn’s tone shifted, “There’s something I need to tell you.”
Lydus stopped but didn’t turn. “What is it?” he asked, though a part of him already suspected.
“The stone...” Arawn began. “It’s more important than you realize.”
Lydus slowly turned to face him. “What’s that supposed to mean, Arawn?”
“You felt it, didn’t you?” Arawn pressed unevenly. “You saw it—even through the thick of the forest, didn’t you?”
“Yeah.” Lydus admitted uneasily. “I did.”
For a moment, a faint smile flickered across Arawn’s face, only to vanish as quickly as it appeared. “Do you remember how I found this place?” he asked abruptly.
Lydus narrowed his eyes. What does that have to do with anything? he wondered.
Arawn took his silence as permission to continue, recounting a memory they both knew all too well. “Last winter, the snow never stopped. I was lost, with nowhere to turn. Your group found me, took me in—even after Adira warned you not to.”
“No outsiders,” Lydus muttered under his breath.
Arawn hesitated before speaking again. “I never told any of you what I was running from before that.” He paused, biting his lip to think, and gauge a reaction from his face. “That stone—it holds something, something that might help us bring down the monarchy.”
Lydus’s eyes lit up. “Destroy the monarchy?” He stepped forward, placing both hands on the rough wooden table. It groaned under the sudden pressure. “How?”
“I don’t know yet,” Arawn admitted with a lowering gaze.. “But if I can find out more, would you help me?”
“Hell, yeah, I would.” A grin broke across Lydus’s face. “Why didn’t you tell us this before?”
Arawn looked at him carefully. “The stone needs... a connection. I didn’t think anyone here had it—until now.” He nodded toward Lydus. “When I know more, I’ll let you in on everything. For now, you should go.”
Lydus nodded, already heading to the door. He pulled it open, and the rain assaulted him instantly, yet didn’t flinch. “Talk to me soon, okay?”
Arawn gave a wordless nod.
Stepping outside, it seemed as if the world shifted. Storm clouds brooded overhead, thunder rolling like distant drums, followed by a jagged flash of lightning splitting the horizon. Each step sank into the now-slick gravel beneath his boots, the rain pattering briskly on the ground in an erratic rhythm. The droplets were icy, on the verge of turning to snow, and Lydus couldn’t help but wonder why it hadn’t yet. The air certainly carried the bitter bite of winter.
The town lay eerily empty. The few figures he glimpsed moved quickly, huddling under what little cover they could find or sprinting through the storm. Even indoors, the wind howled, cutting through cracks and crevices persistently
Skidding to a stop, Lydus overshot his turn, and doubled back, slipping around the corner and heading left. At last, his home came into view: humble, weatherworn, and imperfect in every way that mattered—yet it was his.
He climbed the creaking steps to the door, grasping the cold metal of the knob. The door groaned as he pushed it open, and the familiar scent of aged wood and damp earth greeted him. He paused, listening. The house was silent. Too silent.
Lydus crept down the narrow hallway, his shoulders hunched. Peering into one of the small, barren rooms, he noted the window still boarded up after all these years. No light filtered through, leaving the cottage bed in the back corner half covered in shadows.
"Alex?" he whispered. No answer. His eyes darted across the room, scanning for any sign of movement, but it was still. He pivoted and checked his own room. Nothing.
"Shit," he cursed. "Alex? Emmelia?" Lydus called louder this time. Only silence replied.
Heart pounding, he bolted back down the hallway and shoved the door open, not bothering to close it behind him. The rain greeted him with icy fingers, drenching him further as he scanned the path ahead.
"Idiot!" Emmelia’s voice echoed through the rain. She stood farther down the path, waving one hand in the air. Her vest, reinforced with patches of leather, clung to her frame, though it still resembled the chainse she’d worn before.
Lydus sprinted toward her, his boots slipping slightly on the muddy ground. "Where’s Alex?"
Emmelia stopped abruptly and furrowed her brow. "I was on lookout. Alex wanted to come," she said, brushing wet strands of hair from her face, then stepped past him. "He's with Matthew. They’re still up there."
Relief washed over Lydus like the rain. "Good," he exhaled. "You should’ve told me."
Her eyebrow arched, unimpressed. "How? You were... gone."
"That’s, uh..." He chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. "...a good point. I was thinking—"
"Alex told me something," Emmelia interrupted, something she rarely did. She stepped under the sparse cover of a lone tree, its thin branches offering little reprieve from the rain. Water dripped steadily from her soaked hair.
Lydus raised an eyebrow. "Told you what?"
She hummed thoughtfully, then flicked him on the forehead with a wet finger. "You better listen, too."
"What?" He laughed nervously. "I always listen."
"Well, listen harder then," Emmelia said in that soft voice of hers, and with those expressive green eyes, locked onto his. "Your brother asked me what I actually wanted from life. That all I do is support you and him."
Lydus laughed. "He did?" Then, noticing her serious expression, added, "He’s a kid, Emmelia. Doesn’t know any better."
She sighed, brushing a strand of wet hair from her face. "That’s not the point... it’s that he’s right. I don’t know what I want, but... it’s not this place. At least not the state it’s in right now."
"Tell that to Adira."
"Lydus..." She tilted her head gently. "I don’t want you putting those thoughts in Alex’s head."
"And why not?" Lydus asked, his brow furrowing. "I don’t want him listening to Adira and her delusions."
"She’s trying her best," Emmelia countered.
"By commanding us like... like we’re her dogs."
Emmelia took a step forward, but stopped herself, exhaling slowly. There was no point in being harsh. "Adira’s doing everything she can. She doesn’t want to lose this place, just like the rest of us."
"Well, she’s—"
"But it’s more than that, Lydus," Emmelia interrupted again. "She wants to rebuild. To fight against the kingdom again."
"And that will never happen," he said flatly.
"I know." Her voice softened. "So, you need to help her."
"How?" he muttered.
At that, Emmelia hesitated, her gaze dropping briefly. "I don’t know," she admitted, drawing a deep breath. "But you’re on lookout soon. Maybe start by... actually doing it?" She smiled faintly.
"If I have to," he replied sarcastically. "And don’t worry—I don’t complain about Adira to him."
Emmelia nodded, a playful grin tugging at her lips. "I know," she replied and raised her hand. "Otherwise, I’d take this fist" —she balled her hand into a mock punch— "and use it."
"Right, right," Lydus mocked, grinning. "I’ll see you later?"
"Sure," she responded with a nod.
With that, Lydus walked off, leaving Emmelia standing under the tree. Its thin branches and sparse leaves offered little protection from the rain, but hardly noticed, and in truth, wasn’t entirely sure that the conversation was helpful. Most in life were not.
ns 15.158.61.8da2
