Meanwhile, Snowland did not sleep. Not anymore.
The courtyards that once held quiet routines now pulsed with movement. Crates were dragged across stone. Barrels rolled, ropes pulled tight, sails checked and checked again. The smell of salted meat and iron filled the air. Men moved quickly, but not blindly. There was order in it, sharp and practiced.
Edmond stood at the center of it all. Not shouting. Not rushing. Just observing.
His hands rested behind his back as soldiers carried provisions past him. He paused one group with a small gesture, adjusted the way their load was tied, then waved them on. Another group passed. He said nothing, but his eyes followed every detail.
Nothing escaped him..A shadow passed overhead. A flutter. Then a sharp cry. The raven dropped onto the wooden post beside him, its wings folding in with a soft rustle. Edmond's eyes shifted slowly toward it.
He did not look surprised. He stepped forward, reaching for the bird. It did not resist. It never did. His fingers untied the small scroll from its leg with practiced ease.
For a brief second, he did not open it.mThen he did.mHis eyes moved across the words.
Once, then again. A slow smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. Not wide, and not careless. He folded the note carefully and turned.
Robert stood a short distance away, speaking to a group of captains. His voice carried authority without effort. The men around him listened closely, nodding as he spoke.
Edmond approached without interrupting. He waited. Robert dismissed the men with a wave, then turned as Edmond stepped closer.
Edmond held out the note. "Their war plan has arrived." Robert's brows tightened slightly.
He took the scroll without a word and began to read. For a moment, nothing changed. "Black water," Robert whispered.
The words barely left his lips, but they carried weight. His eyes moved faster now, scanning the rest of the note. When he finished, he lowered it slowly. "How did they make such a solid plan?"
Edmond watched him carefully. "Who do you think knows us well enough to predict our moves correctly?"
Robert exhaled sharply. It was not loud. But it said enough.
Edmond nodded once. "Your guess is the same as mine."
A pause stretched between them.
Robert folded the note, his fingers tightening slightly around it. "We have to change the war plan," he said. His voice had shifted. More focused now. "What do you suggest?"
Edmond smiled. This time, it showed. "I will not suggest a different war plan."
Robert's brows furrowed slightly. Edmond continued before he could speak. "We should sacrifice some men."
The words landed clean. No hesitation. No softness. Robert did not react immediately.
He just watched him..Edmond stepped closer, lowering his voice slightly, though no one stood close enough to hear.
"We will lead a few men against them," he said. "We will allow them to exhaust their black water."
His hand moved slightly, like he was already placing pieces on a board. "then the main army will attack from behind."
Silence.
Robert's gaze sharpened. Edmond reached for a goblet resting on a nearby crate. He lifted it slowly, turning it slightly in his hand before taking a small sip.
"That way," he continued, his tone calm, almost conversational, "when they face our main army, they are already out of defense."
He lowered the goblet. Robert stared at him for a second longer.
Then, a smile broke through. Slow, and cold. "That is genius," he said.
There was no doubt in his voice. No hesitation. "Let's do it that way."
Edmond inclined his head slightly. The decision was made. Just like that.
By evening, the sea carried them. Ships lined the shore, their sails rising like a wall against the sky. The sound of waves crashed against wood as men boarded, boots thudding against planks, armor clinking with every step.
Orders rang out. Ropes were pulled.nAnchors lifted.
Robert stood at the front of the lead ship, his gaze fixed ahead. The wind caught his cloak, pulling it back, but he did not move. Behind him, rows of soldiers prepared for what waited beyond the horizon.
Edmond stood a few steps behind. Quieter, and still. His eyes were not on the sea. They were on the men. On the ships. On the movement.
He watched everything.
But even as the ships began to pull away from shore, something lingered in his expression. A thought that had not settled.."I have never lost a war before," he said quietly.
Robert did not turn.
Edmond's gaze shifted toward the darkening horizon. "Maria has also never lost a war before."
A faint smile touched his lips. Not amused. Not pleased. "Now that we are going to face each other," he continued, "one of us will have to lose."
The waves crashed harder against the hull. The wind picked up..Edmond lifted his hand slowly, placing it against his chest. "And it will not be me."
He let the words sit there. Not for Robert. Just for himself.
Cliffland waited. The shore stretched wide, the water calm for now, but no one trusted it. Warriors stood in lines, weapons ready, eyes fixed on the horizon.
No one spoke much..There was nothing left to say.
Maria's maiden warriors stood together, their formation tight, their faces set. The earlier tension had not left them. It had only hardened into something quieter.
Something steadier. Drexo stood among them. The armor felt wrong..Too heavy in some places. Too tight in others. The sword at his side shifted with every movement, unfamiliar, like it belonged to someone else.
He adjusted his grip slightly. It did not help. For a moment, his breath caught.
Not visibly. Not enough for others to see. But he felt it. The weight. The reality.
Then something flickered in his mind. A thought. Sharp, and clear.
"The temple of Ago is in Cliffland.".He spoke it under his breath. "I must go see the priest."
No one stopped him. No one questioned him. He turned and walked.
Not fast, not slow. Just steady.
The temple stood apart from the rest of the city. Old, and worn. Like time had passed over it without care.
The stone walls were cracked in places. The entrance stood open, dark within. No guards. No banners. Just silence.
Drexo stepped inside..The air changed immediately.
Cooler, and still.
The smell hit him first. Dust, and old stone.
Something else beneath it. Something aged. His footsteps echoed faintly as he moved forward.
At the center of the temple, a figure lay on a bed. Still. Thin, and ancient.
The man's eyes were gone. Not closed. Gone. The empty sockets faced upward, unmoving.
Stories had followed this man for years. Some said he was born that way. Others said he had given his eyes willingly, traded them for something greater.
Drexo did not care which was true. He stepped closer. Before he could speak, the man groaned.
A low, strained sound. "You are welcome," the priest said, his voice rough, like it had not been used in years. "Son of fire, blood of Jupiter."
Drexo did not bow. He did not greet him. He stepped forward, stopping just short of the bed. "Will I die in the battle to come?" he asked.
No hesitation. No softness. "Will my house perish with me?"
The priest groaned again. His body shifted slightly, like even the act of speaking cost him something. "I do not see you dying in battles," he said.
A pause followed.
Longer this time. His head tilted slightly, like he was looking at something far beyond the walls. "I see House Dragarian ruling Astarous for the next five thousand years to come."
His voice grew strained. But it did not stop. "I see your name carved on the Golden crown."
Another pause. A deeper groan. "And I see dragons roaming the sky of Astarous once again."
Drexo felt it. The shift. The weight lifting, just slightly. A small smile touched his lips. "That means I will win the war," he said. "And reclaim my throne."
The priest's head turned slightly. "Drexo Dragarian will be carved on the Golden Throne for all to see."
The words settled deep. Drexo's smile lingered. For a moment, it felt real, and certain.
Like the path ahead had already been written. He opened his mouth to speak again. Another question forming.
But then, a sound. Sharp, and loud.
A trumpet.
It cut through everything. Drexo froze. The echo of it filled the temple, reaching even into the still air around them.
His breath slowed. Then stopped. "The enemies are here," he whispered.