The air inside the ruined manor was heavy with soot and silence.

  Charred wood crackled softly beneath their boots as they stepped over the broken threshold. Smoke stains streaked the walls, some still faintly smelling of ash despite the cold. The grand hall, once a symbol of wealth and glory, now looked like the hollowed carcass of something noble and long-dead.

  Viktor moved carefully, one hand brushing the hilt of his knife. Every creak of the scorched floorboards sounded too loud in the hush. Gavril kept to the left wall; axe drawn but low. Kaavi led them forward, eyes sharp, footsteps deliberate.

  They passed through a series of gutted corridors—half-burnt paintings, shattered chandeliers, scorched rugs stiff with frost and soot. What hadn’t been destroyed by fire had been ransacked in the chaos.

  They picked through the wreckage: a half-melted candelabra, its wax frozen in mid-drip; a portrait slashed to ribbons, the face beneath unrecognizable.

  Then—movement.

  A flicker behind a half-collapsed curtain.

  Kaavi raised a hand. They stilled.

  A second later, something small and bolted for the stairwell. Gavril lunged, catching the shape by the collar. A yelp followed—high-pitched, scared. A boy.

  “Let me go!” the child cried, struggling.

  “Easy,” Kaavi said, stepping forward.

  Gavril turned the soot-covered figure toward the light. He couldn’t have been older than ten. His face was smudged with ash, a thin scarf hanging loose around his neck. He stared up with wide, terrified eyes.

  “I didn’t steal anything!” he shouted. “I swear it!”

  Kaavi crouched in front of him. “You’re not in trouble, boy. What’s your name?”

  The boy hesitated. Then mumbled, “Tomas.”

  Kaavi’s voice softened. “Did you see what happened?”

  Tomas shook his head. “No. I was inside. I snuck in before everything started. My friends dared me to explore the manor’s basement and to prove it was not haunted. Then... the screaming started. The fire. I didn’t know what to do, so I hid in one of the old coal bins near the storeroom. There’s a crawl space there. I stayed in it... until everything went quiet.”

  Viktor exchanged a glance with Gavril.

  “How long did you stay hidden?” Gavril asked.

  “Until this morning. I was too scared to leave at night. But it got cold. And I thought maybe... everyone was gone.”

  “You were lucky,” Kaavi murmured.

  “I didn’t see anyone,” Tomas added. “Just smoke. The knights were gone. Some of the rooms were still burning. I tried to go home, but I didn’t know if it was safe.”

  Kaavi stood. “Where do you live?”

  “Just south. Across the gully. My parents have a cottage near the old mill. It’s about half an hour if you walk.”

  Kaavi gave a quiet nod. “We’ll take you there.”

  THE COTTAGE

  This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

  The boy led them along a narrow path through the woods, his soot-blackened fingers clinging to Viktor’s as they climbed the rise. Past the trees, nestled in a shallow valley, stood a modest wooden home with smoke curling from the chimney.

  A woman stood in the yard when she saw them approaching, hand flying to her mouth.

  “Tomas!”

  She ran toward them, dropping the basket she carried. Tomas broke free from Viktor and ran into her arms. She knelt, hugging him fiercely, tears streaking down her soot-stained cheeks.

  Kaavi and Gavril hung back respectfully while Viktor watched quietly.

  A man stepped out of the house a moment later, jaw tight, a woodsman’s axe slung over his shoulder. He stiffened on seeing the strangers—until Kaavi raised an open hand.

  “We found your boy at the manor,” he said. “Hiding.”

  The man lowered the axe.

  “My name’s Kaavi. These are my companions, Gavril and Viktor. We mean no harm. We just want to ask some questions about the incident.”

  The man gave a cautious nod. “Name’s Marek. This is my wife, Ilona.”

  Kaavi inclined his head. “Tomas was brave to survive what he did. He said he hid through the attack. He didn’t see what happened.”

  Ilona looked up; her expression grim. “No one saw it coming.”

  Marek motioned for them to come inside.

  They sat around a small hearth inside the cottage. The house smelled of pine sap. Ilona poured tea into chipped mugs while Marek explained.

  “They came just after nightfall. Ten, maybe twelve men. No warning. They slipped past the outer guard and stormed the place from within. It was fast, brutal.”

  “How did they get past the guards so easily?” Gavril asked.

  Marek looked at him, then at Kaavi.

  “It’s like they knew exactly when the guards would rotate. Where the hidden servant paths were. The secret stair behind the kitchens. Even the escape tunnels under the west wing.”

  Kaavi’s expression hardened. “So, someone must have told them.”

  Marek nodded once. “Had to be someone on the inside. One of the stewards, maybe. Or a footman. No way outsiders knew that much.”

  Ilona added quietly, “We heard the attackers made straight for the study and the library. Didn’t bother looting. Didn’t even try to escape.”

  “They were on a suicide mission,” Kaavi muttered.

  “Exactly, that’s what I was thinking.” Marek said. “It’s like they wanted to inflict as much damage as they could, then die fighting. The Baron's men responded fast—Sir Vilem led the defence. Managed to hold them back and cut them down before they reached the Baron. But by then, the fire had started.”

  “And the Baron?” Gavril asked.

  “Survived. Took a wound to the arm, but nothing fatal. And later, he rode out. Said the manor was compromised. Too vulnerable. He left for a post southeast—Branwyke, I think. Near the border fort.”

  “That close to the front?” Gavril asked.

  “It’s where his oldest allies are. Commander Dave holds the garrison there. They served together back in the Whitehold campaigns. The Baron trusts him like a brother.”

  Kaavi’s gaze drifted toward the hearth.

  “Did anyone see who the attackers were? Anything strange like some flag or tattoos or anything…?”

  Marek shook his head. “No, no symbols. No words. Just steel and fire. But yeah, one of the knights mentioned a tattoo he saw on one attacker—something like a black serpent curled around a broken wheel.”

  Kaavi’s brows furrowed deeply.

  “I know the mark,” Gavril said. “It’s old. Obscure. I’ll explain later.”

  Ilona rose and began gathering items into a small pack.

  “We’re thinking of leaving this place,” she said. “This place isn’t safe anymore.... we can’t risk staying.”

  “Where will you go?” Viktor asked.

  “To Branwyke. Like the Baron. Better to be near walls and soldiers than wait here for another fire.”

  “When are you leaving?” Kaavi asked.

  Marek stood and reached for a bow hanging by the door. “We’ll leave by nightfall tomorrow. We need time to gather necessary supplies and, arrange a cart to carry what little we can with us”

  “You’re welcome to ride with us,” Marek offered, though his eyes flicked to their weapons—assessing, not trusting. “Safety in numbers.”

  Kaavi shook his head. “We can’t wait. The message we carry for the Baron won’t keep.”

  Ilona’s brow furrowed. “Message? After this incident?”

  Gavril cut in; his voice low. “That’s why it’s urgent.”

  Kaavi rose too. “Thank you—for the tea.”

  Ilona placed a hand on Tomas’s shoulder. “And thank you, for bringing him back.”

  Tomas looked up at Viktor. “You’re really going to the Baron?”

  Viktor nodded.

  “I hope you find who did this.” Said Marek.

  “So do we,” Kaavi said.

  By dusk, the group was on the move again—heading southeast toward Branwyke. Behind them, smoke from the ruined mansion still trailed faintly above the trees.

  Kaavi said little, but his thoughts churned like a storm.

  Someone had known the layout of the manor.

  Someone had told the attackers when and where to strike.

  Someone inside had orchestrated it.

  But who? And for what?

  And yet—Kaavi doubted this was the end of it.

  He glanced at Viktor, walking quietly beside him, then toward the darkening horizon.