Chapter 183: MOVEMENTS BEHIND THE SCENES
The following morning, Rianor made his way toward the western wing of Iron Hearth Castle. His pace was deliberate, unhurried. He had no pressing agenda today, save for one crucial task: a meeting with Riven.
The corridors of the western wing were quieter than usual. The crystal lamps mounted on the walls emitted a dim, flickering glow. Rianor passed several heavy teak doors before finally coming to a halt in front of his brother’s private quarters.
He knocked. Twice. Softly.
A moments later, the door swung open.
Elena stood at the threshold, cradling Kaelven in her arms. The infant beamed upon seeing Rianor, his tiny hands reaching out into the air, fingers grasping at nothing as if trying to catch the light.
"Rianor," Elena greeted him warmly. Her eyes were kind, her smile genuine. "A rare visit. Please, come in."
Rianor nodded and entered. The atmosphere inside was a stark contrast to the cold corridor. Plush, dark brown sofas were neatly arranged in the center of the room, facing a low wooden table cluttered with empty cups and small plates of half-eaten pastries.
Toys were scattered across the floor—colorful blocks, a stuffed horse made of fabric, and a small ball of sheepskin.
Riven was seated on the sofa, engrossed in a book. He was dressed casually in a long-sleeved gray shirt and black trousers. His hair was slightly disheveled, lacking its usual military precision. His eyes moved rapidly, tracking line after line of text.
Rianor took a seat opposite him. The sofa was soft, curving slightly against his back, offering immediate comfort.
Elena set Kaelven down on the floor. The baby began to crawl, his tiny palms pressing against the heated floorboards. He attempted to pull himself up using the table for support. One hand gripped the table leg while the other struggled to maintain his balance.
His left foot shuffled forward. One step. His right foot followed. Two steps.
Then, he tumbled. His bottom hit the floor with a soft thud. He didn’t cry; instead, he let out a bubbly laugh, a pure and innocent grin spreading across his face.
"Kaelven is stubborn," Rianor remarked, his eyes still fixed on the boy, who was already trying to stand again.
"He gets that from his mother," Riven noted without looking up from his book.
Elena smiled, taking a seat beside Riven. "He managed three steps yesterday. Today, perhaps four."
Rianor watched Kaelven, who was now using the sofa to hoist himself up. "He’s growing so fast. It feels like only yesterday..."
"You’ll experience this yourself soon enough," Riven said, finally closing his book and setting it on the table. "But I suspect you didn’t come here just to watch Kaelven play."
Rianor let out a sigh. He leaned back into the sofa, shifting his weight to get comfortable. He glanced at the fireplace for a moment before turning his focus back to Riven.
"Roland received a report. Solari forces are beginning to mass in the capital. Dozens of knights. War materiel."
Riven didn’t flinch. His eyes remained calm, his expression unchanged. He picked up an empty cup, spinning it slowly between his fingers before setting it back down.
"Alistair?" he asked simply.
"Who else?" Rianor rubbed his face. "Roland is still discerning whether they intend to march north or if this is merely a show of force. But a concentration of troops like that... it’s highly irregular."
Riven offered a curt, slow nod.
"I also came just to visit," Rianor added, exhaling again. "It’s been a while since I’ve seen Kaelven." He looked at the baby for a moment, then back to his brother. "Do what you will with the information. I’m just the messenger."
Riven gave a thin smile. "Very well. I’ll handle it."
Elena, who had been listening quietly, finally spoke. Her voice was soft, as always. "Let’s talk about something lighter. This house has been drowned in talk of war and politics lately."
Rianor turned to her. "What would you like to discuss?"
"How is married life treating you? How is Elara? I haven’t had a proper chance to chat with her since the wedding."
Rianor smiled. "She’s well. A bit stubborn, but I knew that from the start."
Riven snorted. "You’re exactly the same. You two are a perfect match. Both headstrong."
"Arvid said the same thing."
"Arvid?" Elena raised an eyebrow, her eyes widening slightly. "Is he still busy with Rhea? I heard her cravings have started."
Rianor laughed. "Rhea is demanding Gorgon Alpha meat. Arvid is nearly losing his mind. His face is more haggard than usual, and his eyes are constantly bloodshot. Apparently, Rhea went into a sulk and didn’t speak to him all night."
Elena shook her head. "All expectant mothers are like that. I used to crave the strangest things. Riven once had to scour the night market for a fruit that only grows in the height of summer."
"What did you ask for?" Riven asked, looking at his wife.
Elena met his gaze, her eyes sharpening. "That isn’t important."
Riven didn’t press her. He simply shrugged.
Kaelven, having finally managed to stand, tumbled once more. But this time, he crawled toward Rianor. His tiny hands tugged at Rianor’s trousers, trying to use him as a ladder. His breath was a bit heavy from the exertion, but his eyes sparkled.
Rianor looked down at his nephew. "He’s strong."
"He’ll be like his father," Riven said with palpable pride, his eyes shining as he watched his son stand—if only for a fleeting second.
"Or perhaps like his mother," Elena added.
"Why not both?" Rianor lifted Kaelven, cradling him for a moment. The baby laughed, his hands reaching for Rianor’s face. Tiny fingers poked at his cheeks and nose before giving his hair a surprisingly firm tug.
"Uncle and nephew," Elena said, smiling. "He’s already taken a liking to you despite how rarely you visit."
Rianor set Kaelven back down. The baby immediately crawled away, heading for the wooden toys scattered near the hearth.
"I’ll take my leave," Rianor said, standing up. "I still have business at the lab."
Riven nodded. "Hmm, alright. Leave the Alistair matter to me."
Elena stood to see him out, her hand reaching up to straighten Rianor’s slightly rumpled collar. "Don’t forget to bring Elara next time. I want to catch up with her."
"I will. Next time, she’ll come with me."
Rianor stepped out, and the door clicked shut softly behind him.
In the treasurer’s office, the mood was vastly different.
Rumina sat behind her desk, besieged by mountains of ledgers and yellowed parchment. Spread across the table was a list of supplies that had been crossed out and rewritten several times.
Silas stood by her side, notebook in his left hand, pen in his right.
"Portable tents," Rumina said, reading the list. "Dry rations. Alternative route maps." She looked up at Silas. "Is that everything?"
"Not yet, My Lady. Medical supplies are a necessity. Bandages, salves, anti-toxins." Silas noted them down. "Also, the letter of authority from Duke Lucian. Without it, the trade partners in the Emerald Union won’t take us seriously."
Rumina nodded. "Add it. And stationery. I can’t negotiate without recording the figures."
"Understood, My Lady."
The door swung open.
Raveena entered. Her black hair flowed freely, and her light blue cloak billowed slightly with her brisk pace. She looked directly at Rumina.
"Sister," she greeted.
Rumina looked up, her eyes narrowing. "What is it?"
"I want to go."
Rumina stopped checking her list. Her hand froze in mid-air, her pen nearly slipping. "Go where?"
"To the Emerald Union."
Rumina set her pen down slowly. Deliberately. Her expression shifted—not into anger, but a stern resolve. She stared at Raveena for a long moment.
"No."
Raveena didn’t flinch. She stood her ground, refusing to back down even though she knew her sister was in ’stubborn mode.’
"I want to see the outside world," Raveena said, her voice steady. "To learn about magic and technology in other places. I’m sixteen now. It’s time I saw the world for myself."
"You are only sixteen," Rumina cut her off. Her voice rose slightly—not out of rage, but out of firm concern. "This journey is dangerous. It’s not a vacation. There are monsters, bandits, or worse. I won’t take that risk."
"I can protect myself." Raveena raised her hand. At her fingertips, blue mana pulsed, forming a perfect geometric pattern. A small, glowing orb hovered in her palm, spinning slowly. "The Vector Mana Reflector is perfected. No one can touch me if I don’t wish them to. And I have fully recovered from Mana-Deficiency Syndrome."
Silas, who had remained silent, glanced at Rumina. The older sister’s face remained impassive, waiting.
Rumina fell silent. Her eyes moved from Raveena to Silas, then back to Raveena. She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.
"You truly want this?"
"I do."
"You won’t be a burden?"
"I won’t."
Rumina sighed again, deeper this time. Her hand reached for the pen she had set down, twirling it between her fingers.
"Fine," she said, her voice heavy. "But no nonsense. You follow my orders for the duration of the trip."
Raveena smiled. It was small, but genuine. "I won’t cause any trouble."
Rumina returned to her list. "Silas, prepare another set of gear for Raveena."
"As you wish, My Lady."
From the corridor, the sound of approaching footsteps reached them. A young man with blonde hair appeared at the threshold.
Prince Caelus stood there, surveying the room. His gaze darted from Rumina to Silas, then to Raveena. He hesitated for a heartbeat before stepping inside.
"I wish to go as well."
Rumina turned to him, her eyes narrowing further. "You?"
Caelus nodded. "I wish to aid Northreach. It is my way of showing gratitude for the protection I’ve received all these months. It’s time I repaid the debt."
Rumina stared at him intensely. Her gaze shifted to Raveena, who was wearing a faint smile, then back to Caelus. She was suspicious—deeply so.
But she didn’t refuse.
"Whatever," she said flatly. "As long as you aren’t a burden."
Caelus smiled. "I won’t be."
Raveena remained silent, a small smile playing on her lips. She didn’t comment or protest. Her eyes occasionally flickered toward Caelus before looking back ahead.
Rumina returned to her list, crossing out lines and adding new ones.
"Silas, prepare one more set of gear for our... guest."
In the War Room, the atmosphere was deadly serious.
Located on the third floor of Iron Hearth Castle, the room was encased in thick stone walls with no windows. Its iron door was soundproof; nothing whispered inside could be heard from without. In the center sat a massive, ancient wooden table, its surface scarred by knife marks and the nicks of sword tips.
On the wall hung a giant map of Northreach, hand-drawn on thick parchment, its colors vivid despite the years. Small red dots marked the border outposts: Torshavn, Oakhaven, and the southern entry points.
Riven stood before the map. His face was a mask of gravity. No smiles. No jokes. His hands were clasped tightly behind his back.
Four men stood before him.
Borch, leader of the Ghost Squad, stood on the far left. His posture was rigid, his face a blank slate, his eyes unblinking.
Thorne stood beside him, the Captain of the Infantry. His chest was puffed out, his gaze locked straight ahead.
Leofric was next to Thorne. The Cavalry Commander. Normally, he was prone to shouting and slamming tables, but now he was silent. Deadly serious. His hands were clenched at his sides.
Kaelen was on the far right. Commander of the Sky-Slayer Wing. He was calm, as usual, his eyes darting across the map before focusing forward.
They had assembled before Riven arrived. They knew. There was no need for explanation; a summons to the War Room never heralded trivialities.
Riven met their gazes one by one.
"You know why you have been called."
No one answered. They waited.
Riven walked to the map, his finger pointing to Sol-Regis in the south.
"Reports from the south. Solari forces are massing in the capital. Dozens of knights. Heavy war gear."
He pointed to Torshavn, then Oakhaven, then the arterial paths connecting the south to Northreach.
"We do not know if they will march north. But we cannot wait until they are at our gates. We must be prepared."
He turned to face them fully.
"Borch."
Borch nodded. "My Lord."
"Deploy the Ghost Squad south. I don’t need everyone—just a small, elite team. You choose them. Monitor the Solari movements in the capital. I want to know every step they take. Who is leading them. How many. Where they move. What they carry. Let nothing slip through the cracks."
"Understood, My Lord."
"Use the communication system. Reports every twelve hours. If anyone moves north, I must know before they reach Torshavn."
Riven turned to Thorne. "Thorne."
"Ready, My Lord."
"Order the infantry at Torshavn and Oakhaven to tighten patrols. I want no infiltrators. I want no surprises."
"Understood, My Lord."
"Don’t involve the entire garrison. Just the border units. The city troops stay in reserve. Do not cause a panic among the citizens."
Riven looked at Leofric. "Leofric."
Leofric straightened his back.
"Ready the tanks near the Southern Gate. Do not move them yet, but they must be primed. I don’t want you just warming up the engines when the order comes."
"Understood, My Lord."
"Select the three best tanks. Your most experienced crews. The rest stay in the hangars."
Riven looked at Kaelen. "Kaelen."
Kaelen nodded calmly. "My Lord."
"Prepare the Sky-Hunters for aerial reconnaissance. I want eyes in the sky. If Solari forces move, I want to know before they even see Torshavn."
"Two helicopters will suffice. No more. Keep it fast and undetected."
Riven looked at them all one last time.
"You know your duties. No mistakes. This isn’t a drill."
The four captains saluted simultaneously—not a stiff parade salute, but a swift, professional nod—then turned and exited. Their footsteps echoed against the stone floor, slowly fading behind the closing iron door.
Riven remained before the map.
His eyes were locked on the red dots of the southern border. His finger tapped the table slowly. One. Two. Three. Stop.
"Alistair," he muttered, his voice barely a whisper.
He said nothing more. He simply stood there, staring at the map, calculating the moves to come.