Renard sat in the center of the chamber, wrists bound behind him, his armor stripped away. The once-proud Commander of the Obsidian Hounds was now a prisoner, yet his golden eyes burned with defiance.

  Aelric stood before him, arms crossed, his gaze steady. The warriors of the Veilborn stood around them in tense silence. Kaela leaned against the wall, idly spinning her spear, while Veyne stood at Aelric’s right, fingers grazing the hilt of his newly claimed fire blade.

  Renard had remained silent since his capture. Despite having his wounds treated—a mercy he likely did not expect—he had yet to speak a word.

  Aelric broke the silence.

  “What do you know of the Supreme One?”

  Renard exhaled sharply, unimpressed. “I could ask you the same.”

  Aelric didn’t react. “You won’t answer? Fine. Let’s try another question. Do you know why you lost?”

  Renard’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing.

  Aelric took a step closer. “You and your squad were supposed to be invincible. The Obsidian Hounds have never lost before, have they?”

  Still, no response.

  Aelric crouched to meet Renard’s gaze. “Tell me, Renard—what does it feel like?”

  Renard’s head tilted slightly, as if inviting the insult. “What does what feel like?”

  “Losing.”

  A sharp glint flickered in Renard’s eyes. There it was—the first crack.

  Aelric pressed forward. “The Supreme One’s will is absolute. The Order is unstoppable. That’s what you believed, wasn’t it?” He studied Renard’s face. “And yet, here you are. Your squad is dead. You are bound. Defeated.”

  Silence.

  Aelric leaned in further, lowering his voice. “What do you think that means?”

  Renard finally responded. His voice was calm, but there was an edge to it. “It means nothing.”

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  Aelric tilted his head. “Nothing?”

  Renard’s gaze darkened. “The Supreme One does not lose.”

  Aelric smiled slightly. “Then explain what happened to you.”

  For the first time, Renard looked—not uncertain, but calculating. As if he were trying to reconcile reality with the doctrine he had followed his entire life.

  The Supreme One does not lose.

  And yet, the Order had lost today.

  The silence stretched. Aelric gave him space to think, watching, waiting. The warriors in the room shifted slightly, sensing the shift in atmosphere.

  Then Renard spoke, his voice steady but carrying a strange weight.

  “You are mistaken if you believe this is a victory.”

  Aelric raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

  Renard’s voice remained firm. “We are replaceable.” His golden eyes gleamed. “You think you’ve won, but all you’ve done is invite something far worse.”

  Aelric regarded him thoughtfully. “And yet, you are still here. Alive.”

  Renard scoffed. “Spare me the illusion of mercy.”

  “It’s not mercy.” Aelric’s voice was level. “It’s necessity.”

  Renard narrowed his eyes. “Necessity?”

  Aelric nodded. “You’re valuable, Renard. You’ve been part of the Order for years. You know things we don’t. And as much as you claim this ‘loss’ doesn’t matter, I think we both know the truth.”

  He stepped even closer, his voice almost a whisper.

  “This has never happened before, has it?”

  Renard’s silence was answer enough.

  Aelric straightened, satisfied. “The Order is not invincible. You are proof of that.”

  Renard exhaled, shaking his head slightly, as if trying to push away whatever thoughts had begun to creep into his mind. “You don’t understand the forces at work here.”

  Aelric’s expression sharpened. “Then help me understand.”

  Renard’s eyes flickered to him, assessing, weighing. Then, after a long pause, he finally spoke—not as a commander, but as a man.

  “I was not always a Hound.”

  The room grew still.

  Aelric gestured for him to continue.

  Renard’s voice was measured but distant, as if recalling a memory long buried.

  “I was born in a city that no longer exists.”** “A place erased by the Order’s will.”**

  The warriors stiffened.

  “It was once a prosperous city-state, far beyond the reach of the Order. It thrived in defiance of the Supreme One’s law. But, as you might guess, such defiance has a price.”

  His golden eyes darkened.

  “When I was still a boy, the Order came. They did not conquer—they erased. My home was burned, its people slaughtered. Those who resisted were broken. And those who survived?” He smiled grimly. “They were given a choice. Serve the Order, or be erased with the rest.”

  Aelric remained silent, absorbing every word.

  “I survived. I was chosen.” Renard’s gaze flickered with something unreadable. “The Order does not simply kill its enemies. It makes them its own. The Obsidian Hounds? We are not born—we are made. Every Hound is a warrior who has lost everything.”

  Kaela clenched her fists, looking away. The warriors murmured among themselves, exchanging uneasy glances.

  Aelric, however, remained impassive. “And yet, you fight for them.”

  Renard’s voice was cold. “Because there is no other choice.”

  Aelric met his gaze evenly. “There is always a choice.”

  Renard let out a short laugh. “Then you understand nothing.”

  Aelric didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he studied the man before him. A soldier shaped by war. A man stripped of everything, reforged as a weapon.

  Just like the Order wanted.

  Just like they had tried to do to him.

  The thought burned in his mind.

  Finally, Aelric spoke. “If you truly believed that, you wouldn’t be talking to me right now.”

  Renard didn’t answer. But the silence that followed was different now—not one of defiance, but of something else.

  Aelric turned to the warriors in the room. “We have time. He’ll talk more eventually.”

  Veyne smirked. “Or we make him.”

  Kaela nudged him with her spear. “Patience, brute.”

  Aelric ignored them, already thinking ahead. They had learned one important thing—the Order would send more. Stronger. Soon.

  They had little time to prepare.

  But preparation had never been an issue.

  Because now, for the first time in history, the war against the Order had begun.

  Chapter 16 ends