Aurélio was sitting in his office, surrounded by piles of documents and maps detailing military preparations. The environment was austere, with walls covered in dark tapestries and a crackling fireplace that barely managed to ward off the cold that hung in the air. The sky outside was overcast with gray clouds, a harbinger of the approaching winter, but in the duchy's capital, there was still no snow, only a biting cold that seemed to penetrate the thick stone walls.

  He reviewed strategies with a concentration that bordered on obsession, his face furrowed in an expression of relentless determination. The silence in the office was interrupted only by the soft sound of embers breaking in the fireplace and the rustling of the papers he handled. Then, suddenly, a knock on the door broke the stillness.

  Aurélio looked up, annoyed by the interruption. "Come in," he said, his voice firm and authoritative.

  The door slowly opened, and a robust man with a face marked by concern entered the office. It was the Baron of Redgold, a middle-aged man with graying hair and restless eyes. He hesitated for a moment at the entrance, then stepped into the room.

  Aurélio, realizing who it was, forced a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Baron Alban, it's good to see you here. I thought you would arrive in two days," he commented, rising to greet him.

  Baron Alban bowed respectfully, but his expression was one of urgency. "I hurried, Your Grace, the matter is urgent."

  Aurélio raised an eyebrow, still maintaining the smile. "Oh, relax, Baron," he said with a light laugh as he moved to a small sideboard where a bottle of wine stood. He poured two glasses of the ruby liquid, the strong, earthy aroma filling the air. "Here, have a glass of wine. Enjoy it while you tell me what brought you here in such a hurry."

  The baron accepted the glass but did not take a sip. His hand trembled slightly, which did not go unnoticed by Aurélio. The duke handed him the glass and leaned back in his chair, trying to appear unconcerned. "And how is your daughter?" he asked, trying to change the tone of the conversation. "I heard she is flourishing."

  The baron nodded, but his expression remained tense. "She is very well, Your Grace," he replied, his voice low and hesitant.

  Aurélio smiled, satisfied. "That's great. Children grow up so fast, don't they? Soon, I'll have to think about finding a wife and having my own children... but for now, I have to deal with that bastard Miguel," he said, shaking his head with an exasperated sigh.

  Baron Alban pressed his lips together and, with an urgent tone, interrupted the duke. "Your Grace, what I have to say is important..."

  Aurélio snorted impatiently, his smile disappearing. "Then speak quickly," he replied disdainfully, gesturing for the baron to continue.

  Alban took a deep breath, trying to find the right words. "In three villages of my barony, we have cases and reports of the... Mana Disease," he said, his voice trembling slightly.

  Aurélio paused for a moment, his eyes narrowing. Then, completely unexpectedly for the baron, he began to laugh. The sound echoed through the office, resonating strangely in the cold, silent room.

  Baron Alban watched him, astonished, not knowing how to react. Aurélio's reaction was entirely opposite to what he expected, and the duke's laughter reverberated, contrasting with the gravity of what had just been revealed.

  As the laughter subsided, Aurélio leaned back in his chair, his eyes glittering with malicious satisfaction. He observed Baron Alban for a moment, as if savoring the evident tension on the man's face. Then, in an exaggeratedly cordial manner, he spoke: "Forgive me for laughing, Baron. I thought you had something more... relevant to report."

  The baron, still visibly uncomfortable, gripped the wine glass between his hands, the red liquid trembling slightly. "Your Grace, the Mana Disease hasn't been seen in our kingdom for almost thirty years, according to the records. It's an extremely dangerous disease..."

  Aurélio interrupted the baron with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Yes, yes, I know it's dangerous," he said, his voice laden with sarcasm. "But the solution is quite simple, Baron. Do as the old duke did thirty years ago... burn all the villages that had cases and kill everyone who was close to the disease."

  Baron Alban paled, his expression of horror evident. He tried to argue, his voice trembling with emotion. "Your Grace, I can't simply... kill my own citizens. They are not just numbers, they are people, entire families..."

  Aurélio leaned forward, his eyes cold and calculating. "I thought I heard it was a very dangerous disease, Baron. So, follow my orders and do what is necessary. Or, if you prefer, I can find someone to do it in your place. I don't want an infection spreading in the middle of a war."

  Those final words hit Baron Alban like a blow. He remained still for a moment, staring at Aurélio, as if hoping the duke would change his mind. But Aurélio's ruthless gaze left no room for concessions.

  Alban swallowed hard, bowing his head in a gesture of reluctant acceptance. "Understood, Your Grace," he murmured before turning to leave the room.

  ---

  John was sitting in Miguel's chair, the office enveloped in an atmosphere of tension. The soft light of the fireplace cast shadows on the walls as he read a letter that had just arrived, Miguel's royal seal still intact beside it. His eyes quickly scanned the lines, and with each sentence, his expression grew graver. The contents of the letter shocked him deeply.

  Miguel described the situation in disturbing detail. He had identified a possible outbreak of the Mana Disease in one of the villages near the coast of Drakmoor. Miguel explained that the disease, which hadn't been seen for a long time, was spreading, and he suspected that beasts were involved in its propagation. The letter also mentioned that Miguel intended to contain the outbreak as best he could, but the situation was critical. He asked John to mobilize all active military personnel and volunteers, making it clear that urgent action was needed.

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  John finished reading the letter and remained silent, his mind racing to try to process what he had just discovered. He was perplexed, feeling the weight of responsibility falling on his shoulders in Miguel's absence. Amélia, who was beside him, noticed his pale and worried expression.

  "Let me see that," Amélia said, extending her hand to take the letter. John, still speechless, handed it to her. Amélia read quickly, her eyes scanning the lines with increasing intensity. When she finished, she swore, "Holy shit!" almost not believing what she had just read.

  "This can't be real," Amélia murmured, looking at John in disbelief. "It's been years since the last case was recorded in Ardia."

  The room, despite being warmed by the fireplace, suddenly seemed colder. The fire's glow reflected in Amélia's eyes, which still held the letter, now with clenched fingers. She looked up at John, the concern evident in her voice when she asked, "What are you going to do now, John?"

  John took a deep breath, trying to remain calm amidst the whirlwind of thoughts running through his mind. "I'm going to follow Miguel's recommendations," he replied, his voice firm but tinged with worry. "This letter took almost a week to get here. Miguel may already be trying to resolve the issue on his own."

  Amélia bit her lip, restless. "That worries me even more," she confessed, turning to the fire in the fireplace, which danced slowly. "The only way to eradicate this disease is by destroying the villages and killing everyone who had contact as quickly as possible..."

  John raised his head, his face illuminated by the orange glow of the fire, absorbing Amélia's words. "Miguel would never do that," he said, with a note of certainty in his voice. Both knew that Miguel's compassion for his subjects would prevent him from making such a drastic decision.

  The two stared at each other for a long moment, aware of the dilemma they faced. Amélia, usually firm and confident, now seemed torn, as if she were trying to find a solution to an impossible problem. John, on the other hand, knew he needed to act quickly, but what troubled him most was what Miguel might be doing at that exact moment, out there, in an isolated village, facing a threat they barely understood.

  John observed Amélia closely. Although she maintained her firm posture, he could see the small tensions in her face, the way her shoulders were slightly stiff, and how her eyes seemed focused on a distant point, perhaps fighting against the storm of thoughts passing through her mind. John realized that, despite the mask of determination, she was also deeply worried.

  He stood up from the chair, the creaking of the leather breaking the heavy silence that hung in the office. The light from the fireplace cast dancing shadows on the walls as he took a few steps toward Amélia. She was still holding Miguel's letter, her fingers gripping the paper as if within it lay the solution to all their problems.

  "Amélia," John said, his voice soft but laden with understanding. She looked up, surprised by his sudden proximity. "Don't be too hard on yourself," he continued, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. "We'll find a solution. We always do."

  Amelia tried to hold his gaze, but the worry in her eyes was evident. She wanted to maintain control, but the situation was critical, and the weight of responsibility was beginning to take its toll. “I just...” she began, but the words failed her, and John realized how much she was struggling not to break down.

  Without a second thought, John pulled her into a comforting embrace. At first, Amelia seemed to resist, keeping her arms by her sides as if trying to maintain her composure. But after a moment, she relented, allowing her arms to wrap around John in return. The warmth of the embrace, contrasting with the cold outside, brought brief relief to them both.

  For a moment, the outside world, with all its cruelty and uncertainty, disappeared. It was just the two of them, finding solace in each other amidst the storm brewing outside. Amelia sighed against John's chest, feeling the weight of the past hours begin to lift, even if only momentarily.

  John pulled away slightly, just enough to look into her eyes. What he saw in them was a reflection of what he felt himself: a mix of fear, determination, and something more, something unspoken but present in the subtext of every conversation they’d had so far.

  Without any more words, he leaned in, his lips finding hers in a soft, almost hesitant kiss, as if both were testing the waters of something they knew was dangerous but inevitable. Amelia returned the kiss, first cautiously, then with more fervor, as if at that moment, nothing else mattered but that contact, that shared moment between them.

  When they pulled apart, both remained silent for a time, still close, their foreheads almost touching. John smiled, a small but sincere smile, as he looked into her eyes. “We’ll make it,” he whispered, his voice filled with promises and hope.

  Amelia simply nodded, feeling a bit lighter, as if the kiss had lifted some of the weight she had been carrying. They slowly pulled away, aware that there was still much to be done, but also knowing that, at least, they weren’t alone in this.