Then they have sat for a couple of hours, talking, mostly done by the older ones.

They said what they needed to hear, and most of the time they just nodded.

Anita didn’t see Morgana or Darian; she didn’t mention it, but she was angry. She wouldn’t leave this matter aside and will report it to Mother Supreme.

Finally, as the sun climbed higher and the business of the day called, Anita gathered her companions for departure.

Their stop here wasn’t long; it was planned to be brief, just to greet the younger heroes.

For the most part, Anita just stood to the side and watched six of them with the eye of a scrutinising observer.

“We must continue our circuit,” she announced, her voice carrying the authority of someone accustomed to unquestioned obedience.

“We need to return to the front lines.”

Rodney stepped forward, his cheerful demeanour warming the cool morning air.

“Keep up the good work, all of you,” he said, clasping Taeryn’s forearm in the warrior’s grip. “What you’ve accomplished here—holding against such odds, keeping hope alive in these dark times—it’s exactly what the realm needs.”

He moved to shake hands with Baren and Rena in turn, his genuine enthusiasm infectious.

“I see great things in your futures. The kind of deeds that bards will sing about for generations to come.”

Marylla offered more reserved but no less sincere encouragement.

“Trust in your abilities,” she advised, her violet eyes meeting each of theirs in turn.

“But remember that wisdom often lies in knowing when not to fight as much as when to engage.”

Paxton simply nodded to each of them, his brown eyes sharp with professional assessment. “Stay sharp” was his only advice, but coming from someone with his reputation, it carried considerable weight.

With that, the legendary trio departed, following Anita’s column as it resumed its march toward destinations unknown.

The defenders watched them go until they disappeared beyond the hills, leaving behind an odd mixture of inspiration and melancholy.

–

An hour after the departure, Baren, Taeryn, and Rena found themselves in the fortress’s war room, ostensibly reviewing defensive positions but in reality processing their encounter with living legends.

The maps spread across the oak table remained largely ignored as they discussed what they had witnessed.

“Rodney was exactly what I expected,” Rena said, settling into one of the high-backed chairs.

“All that charm and confidence—you can see why he’s become such a symbol of hope for the common folk.”

“Marylla’s the one who impressed me,” Baren rumbled, his draconic instincts having been particularly attuned to the elf’s presence. He could recognize the old powers because of his dragonic lineage.

Marylla comes from the old lines of Elven ancestry.

The elves live in a secluded region of the forest, rarely interacting with humans. Unlike them, other races of people live among humans and have a great history with the empire.

Dwarves have settled in the empire itself, aiding the emperor in his wars, and they have a vast range of smithies all over the empire. Draefolk and other beast races are also a part of the human civilization that has now settled in most of the empire.

“There’s power there, ancient and deep. She’s seen things, done things that the stories probably don’t even hint at.”

“And she is beautiful too.”

Taeryn nodded thoughtfully, absently running his thumb along the grain of his spear shaft.

Baren and Rena frowned, looking at him.

Taeryn shrugged, “It’s true. Didn’t you see how men were looking at her? What’s wrong with appreciating a beauty like her?”

Rena shook her head, and Baren sighed. Then he added.

“And Paxton… something is unsettling about a man who can seem so ordinary while carrying that kind of deadly reputation.”

“They’re what we’re supposed to become, aren’t we?” Rena asked quietly.

“In ten years, fifteen years—if we survive that long—we’ll be the ones arriving at distant fortresses, offering advice to the next generation of chosen ones.”

“If…they are going to be…”

The weight of that possibility settled over them like a heavy cloak.

It was one thing to fight for survival, for their friends, for their immediate goals.

It was another entirely to consider that they might be shaping the future of the war itself.

It was then that Raelana entered the room, her black hair slightly dishevelled from her morning rounds tending to the wounded.

Over the past few days, she had integrated seamlessly into the fortress’s operations, her healing abilities and diplomatic experience making her invaluable to the defence effort.

“Deep thoughts?” she asked, noting their serious expressions as she settled into the remaining chair.

“Just processing our brush with legend,” Taeryn replied with a wry smile.

“It’s not every day you get to shake hands with Rodney Dennholm.”

“Ah, yes, I saw them departing,” Raelana said, her tone carefully neutral.

“Impressive group. Though I confess I’m more concerned with the friends who aren’t here than the ones who just left.”

The mention of their absent companions cast a shadow over the conversation.

Morgana and Jaenor had been gone for a while now, with no word of their progress or even their safety. While all three trusted in their abilities, the silence was becoming increasingly difficult to bear.

Raelana wasn’t informed of Jaenor and his abilities, and the three of them said that they weren’t completely aware of where she was going.

“Any word from the southern roads?” Rena asked hopefully, trying to mask her worry about Jaenor.

Raelana shook her head.

“Nothing definitive. There are rumours of strangers passing through various villages, but nothing we can confirm as relating to our friends.”

“Morgana knows what she’s doing,” Baren said firmly, though his tone suggested he was trying to convince himself as much as the others. “Whatever path she’s following, whatever allies she’s seeking, she’ll succeed. She always does.”

“Of course she will,” Raelana agreed, though worry flickered in her eyes.

“I just wish we knew more about where that path was leading.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, each lost in their own thoughts about absent friends and uncertain futures.

Outside, the sounds of the fortress going about its daily business provided a reassuring backdrop—the clash of weapons in training yards, the calls of sentries on the walls, and the everyday bustle of a community that had learned to thrive even in the shadow of war.

–

The corridor atop Berdhshire Fortress’s outer wall was a place of solitude, where the wind carried whispers from distant lands and the view stretched endlessly toward horizons shrouded in uncertainty.

It was here that Darian preferred to read his correspondence, away from the bustling activity of the fortress below and the curious eyes that seemed to follow him everywhere since Morgana’s departure.

General Kaider had been generous with his help, keeping the secret of her departure from the Lady Nightwhisper and the others.

He couldn’t quite tell why Raelana or Elizabeth had come here. He couldn’t ask them because of his status as a Black Knight.

The letter in his hands bore no seal, no identifying marks—just the careful script he had learned to recognise over years of faithful service.

Morgana’s words were characteristically brief and cryptic: Reached the duchy safely. Plans are proceeding as hoped. Keep them safe. Will send word when able. Trust no one else.

He read it twice before walking to the iron brazier that provided light for the night watch.

The parchment caught fire immediately, curling into ash that the evening breeze scattered across the battlements.

As he watched the last fragments disappear, Darian felt the weight of responsibility settle more heavily on his shoulders.

For the first time in years—perhaps since the war began—he allowed himself to truly consider how drastically everything had changed.

The ordered world he had known, where his duties were clear and his loyalty had a single, unwavering focus, seemed to be crumbling around him.

Now he found himself guardian to three young heroes whose power exceeded his understanding, while his lady pursued mysterious paths in distant duchies.

He exhaled heavily, his breath visible in the cool evening air.

The horizon line stretched before him like a dark promise, hiding threats and opportunities in equal measure. There was endless darkness just at the end of his sight, and he felt like it would engulf him if he did not stay vigilant.

Nothing would ever be the same again.

That much was certain.

His brooding was interrupted by the soft whisper of silk against stone.

Footsteps approached with the careful precision of someone trying to appear casual while actually being anything but.

Darian didn’t need to turn to know who had found him in his moment of contemplation.

“Such a brooding figure you make, standing here alone,” Elizabeth’s voice was honey over steel, pitched to carry just the right note of concern mixed with interest.

“One might think you were composing poetry about the sunset.”

Darian turned slowly, his expression carefully neutral as he regarded the red-haired witch.

Even in the fortress’s practical setting, Elizabeth had managed to maintain her elegant appearance. Her midnight-blue dress was perfectly fitted, her red hair arranged with artful precision, and her dark eyes held depths that promised both pleasure and peril.

Though she was aware of his presence in the fortress, she didn’t tell Anita about why he was here, and she couldn’t see Morgana in the castle. She didn’t exactly know what was happening with them. She had only met with the young heroes, and her fascination with them had stopped her from probing further about Morgana.

But it didn’t stay that way for long.

“Lady Elizabeth,” he said with formal courtesy.

“I trust your quarters are comfortable?”

“Quite good,” she replied, moving closer with delicate grace.

“Though I confess, I find myself restless in the evenings. So much excitement during the day, so little… stimulation once the sun sets.”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep