The first light of dawn filtered through his chamber window as Corvus opened his eyes. He could still feel his body healing, though he had absorbed enough Lightstone energy to stand without difficulty. The faint ache in his muscles and lingering wounds were reminders of recent events. But his mind was too occupied to dwell on physical fatigue.

  He was to leave Bahoz by noon. Yet his original plan had been different—he’d intended to stay a few more days to strengthen ties with the people and warriors, to earn their trust. He had hoped to meet not just soldiers and merchants but also Bahoz’s scholars. He knew knowledge was as sharp a weapon as any blade, and defeating enemies required strategy as much as strength. But Sakhaar’s order was clear: they had to return to Sorbaj.

  Suppressing his frustration, he swiftly moved to the writing desk. Pulling out papers, he dipped his quill in ink and began meticulously drafting orders for Baral and Rasur—steps crucial to Rhazgord’s future. These two men were cornerstones of his plans: Baral would manage trade routes and merchant strategies, while Rasur would implement reforms to reshape the city’s inner workings.

  But this task was harder than wielding a sword. The enemy wasn’t only external but internal. Traditionalist warriors would resist change, and younger fighters would need time to grasp the new order. Corvus demanded precision in his commands; even the slightest error could prove costly. Each line was a step toward transforming Rhazgord. Yet Corvus knew every revolution demanded blood and sacrifice. Hours passed before he finished and sealed the documents, carefully tucking them into a box for delivery. Glancing at the sky—the sun nearly at its zenith—he realized it was time to depart.

  He hesitated. He wanted to see Volmir before leaving. Last night’s confrontation gnawed at him. He needed to speak to his brother, to say goodbye. But Volmir had already left at dawn for lessons with the scholars. A strange feeling washed over Corvus. This was Volmir’s choice. Last night’s rage wasn’t just an outburst—it was a decision. Volmir was carving his own path. Corvus didn’t know what his brother would become—a warrior or an enemy.

  Pushing aside his thoughts, he took a deep breath. Before mounting his horse, he cast a final glance at Bahoz’s stone walls, dusty roads, and banners fluttering in the wind. This place would not be the same when he returned.

  As Sakhaar and Corvus strode through Bahoz’s stone streets, a large crowd surrounded them, just as it had on their arrival. But this time, curiosity and tension filled the air. The city had learned of the previous night’s clash. Whispers spread like wildfire, each person weaving their own tale. Some accused Sakhaar of excessive harshness toward his son; others dismissed it as discipline, refusing to make it a spectacle.

  Sakhaar remained stoic as ever, indifferent to both angry glares and respectful nods. Corvus scanned the crowd’s faces—some pitied him, others mocked. Some believed he was crushed under his father’s shadow; others admired his defiance. But Corvus was most unsettled by his own emotions. The fight’s echoes lingered in his mind as much as his wounds.

  They pressed onward in silence. The pair didn’t speak a word until nightfall. Wind whipped dry leaves across the earthen paths, and Sakhaar’s horse trotted with its usual heavy, deliberate cadence. But something else stood out: Sakhaar was moving slower than usual. Though Corvus wondered why they lingered, he didn’t ask. He matched his father’s pace. If Sakhaar did something deliberately, there was always a reason. As stars kindled in the sky, Sakhaar finally halted.

  “We camp here,” he declared, his voice cutting through the wind like flint.

  Corvus paused. He and his father had traveled through countless nights. With Lightstone energy, they could easily push until dawn. And there were no threats here—no hunters without prey. He didn’t understand the order but obeyed without question. Choosing a wooded area, he quickly prepared the camp, gathering dry branches to light a fire. Flames leaped, casting orange and crimson light. The crackle of fire filled the silent night.

  He was hungry. Food would dull his muscle fatigue, physical pain, and mental chaos. As he turned to hunt, Sakhaar’s voice stopped him.

  “Unnecessary,”

  Sakhaar said curtly. Meeting his father’s gaze, Corvus sensed something—not weariness, but a deliberate wait.

  “Dried rations will suffice,”

  Sakhaar added, his tone flat. Yet Corvus detected something unspoken beneath the words. Confused but compliant, he sat by the fire, its sparks deepening the questions in his mind.

  Flames danced, their light etching Corvus’s sharp features. He drew a sword from his belt. The blade gleamed in the firelight. Though his weapons, forged by Rhazgord’s finest smiths, never dulled, sharpening them was a lifelong habit—a way to order his thoughts, trapping chaos in rhythmic motion. Silence fractured by crackling flames. Faces frozen on either side of the fire. The grating scrape of whetstone on steel echoed into the night. Finally, Sakhaar spoke, his voice as sharp as the blade.

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  “Upon our return, you will lead the Tiamat Guard.”

  Corvus’s hand stilled. The scraping ceased. He stared at his father, but Sakhaar kept his eyes on the flames.

  The words struck like a blow. The Tiamat Guard served only the Tiamat bloodline—their loyalty lay not with Rhazgord but familial authority. Their purpose was to protect the tribe from external threats, severing all ties with Rhazgord’s main army. Leading them meant Corvus would no longer be a Sharazir. His rise in Rhazgord’s military would end. His soldiers disbanded, his authority stripped—his access to Rhazgord’s greatest force severed. This was an ancient balance. Every tribe had such units, none holding direct power within the central army, preventing internal wars from spilling into Rhazgord’s forces.

  Corvus stifled his rage. This wasn’t a promotion—it was exile. His father sought to neutralize him, reducing him to a family guard. But why now? Just as he began gaining influence?

  Sakhaar’s expression shifted as he sat across the fire. He had noticed the impact of his decision on Corvus. It was impossible to miss the fury blazing in his son’s crimson eyes. The way Corvus slightly swung his sword toward the flames before pulling it back seemed like an attempt to quell the rage boiling inside him.

  Sakhaar softened his tone slightly and continued:

  “I know you wish to change Rhazgord. You’ve already begun molding Bahoz into something resembling other kingdoms.”

  Corvus narrowed his eyes. He knew his father wasn’t offering praise. On the contrary, the words filled him with unease. Sakhaar had always viewed change as unnecessary. For years, he had opposed anything that threatened the established order. Without taking his eyes off the fire, Sakhaar spoke again:

  “Do as you please once you become Sanguinar. But for now, we must preserve order—and you are one of the few I can trust.”

  Corvus’s face tightened. This was exile. Yet Sakhaar framed it as trust. How could leading the Tiamat Guard help? A horrifying possibility struck him. Before he could suppress the shudder rising within him, his voice spilled out:

  “Do you want me to crush the other tribes?”

  His voice was hoarse, laced with shock, fear, and anger. The Tiamats hadn’t warred with other tribes in years. Was he being asked to destroy, not reform? Worse—was Sakhaar, the staunchest defender of order, now seeking to shatter it himself?

  Sakhaar turned his gaze to him, his face cold and unyielding, but his voice carried a trace of impatience:

  “No. Do not indulge such absurd notions!”

  Corvus clenched his teeth, struggling to rein in his anger.

  “Then why? Why strip me of all my power?!”

  His voice rose. The firelight flickered in his crimson eyes, casting distorted, menacing shadows. He felt mocked, as if his father were playing a cruel game to humiliate and break his will. Years of silent obedience shattered. This time was different—his fury eclipsed his fear.

  Sakhaar’s voice cut through the night, heavy and sharp as a blade:

  “You do not yet lead the family, so you cannot know… The Tiamat Guard’s duty is not solely to protect our bloodline.”

  Corvus gritted his teeth unconsciously. There was weight in Sakhaar’s words—not mere information, but the shadow of a long-concealed truth.

  The Tiamat Guard had many responsibilities, and Corvus was aware of them. They guarded not only the Tiamat lineage but also the sacred Mount Rhaz as the leading tribe. The mountain housed ancestral tombs, monks, and some of Rhazgord’s most ancient secrets. They also trained young Tiamats, teaching Rhazgord’s deadliest combat arts. Internal disputes, blood feuds, rebellions—all were suppressed by the Guard. But Sakhaar was hinting at something beyond this.

  Corvus studied the shadows on his father’s face. Sakhaar’s expression remained inscrutable, but a sharp glint flashed in his eyes. A sliver of doubt pierced Corvus’s mind like a thin blade. He dreaded what his father would say next but forced himself to wait. Sakhaar continued, his eyes fixed on the flames:

  “The Guard has another duty—unknown to all. To monitor the other tribes and ensure they pose no threat.”

  The night’s cool breeze seemed to still abruptly. The forest’s whispers fell silent. Even the crackle of the fire dimmed beneath Sakhaar’s voice. Corvus narrowed his eyes.

  “Gathering intelligence…”

  The words felt strange even as he uttered them. Rhazgord had no formal intelligence unit. But clearly, the Tiamats did. This implied other tribes might have their own spies. Sakhaar’s revelation followed recent turmoil. Rhazgord’s lands were more vulnerable than ever. Greed and ambition had driven some tribes to collude with external forces, secretly trading Lightstones. But the betrayal ran deeper—enemy agents had infiltrated Rhazgord’s heart, nearly costing them Bahoz. The gravity in Sakhaar’s eyes underscored the mission’s importance. Clearly, he believed Corvus was the only one capable of untangling this web.

  Corvus fell silent for a moment. The firelight cast trembling shadows across his face as he gauged the atmosphere. Collecting his thoughts, he broke the silence with a deep, resolute voice:

  “What would you have me do?”

  Sakhaar answered without blinking:

  “Find the Lightstone traders. Observe or detain anyone involved—no matter who they are. But all of this must be done in secrecy. No attention, no noise. And remember—the entire Guard is now under your command.”

  Corvus wasn’t surprised. He had expected to lead the Guard, but this authority was no mere transfer of power.

  The Guard were not just Rhazgord’s warriors. For years, they had operated as a covert intelligence network. Their eyes lurked in shadows, their ears caught every whisper. While the Tiamats were known as fearless battlefield champions, the Guard were different—they eradicated internal enemies before war could even begin. Now Corvus held this shadowy web in his hands. What he had initially seen as a punishment, he was determined to wield as an opportunity.

  Corvus locked eyes with Sakhaar. His voice was dark and steady, like deep, powerful waters:

  “I request your permission to expand the Guard’s influence and numbers.”

  He pressed further, his gaze hardening:

  “And I will not limit myself to internal affairs. We’ve seen how enemies rot us from within. I cannot allow this to repeat. Grant me leave to gather intelligence beyond our borders.”

  Sakhaar weighed his words in silence. Only the crackle of torches filled the air. This was no simple investigation—it was the start of a far greater maneuver. If permitted, Rhazgord’s shadows would stretch into distant lands.

  Perhaps it was now a necessity.