Chapter 247: Chapter 247: West

Arion stood by the weapons table, fastening the guard over his forearm with the same steady hand he used to accept birthday congratulations and discover budget fraud in noble petitions. His dark hair was already combed back, the scar cutting across his brow and cheek more visible without the softness of formal lighting. He looked less like the prince from last night and more like the thing underneath him.

Danger, dressed practically.

Dean looked away before that thought could become romantic.

Unfortunately, Arion noticed.

“You’re staring.”

“I’m assessing whether the armor makes you more tolerable.”

“And?”

“No.”

Arion’s mouth curved. “Tragic.”

“Deeply.”

A tablet glowed on the table between them, the western flank marked in hard blue lines and warning red. Their assignment sat closest to the civilian buffer, where evacuated districts pressed against the restricted infected zone and the pheromone wall already in place shimmered through the map as a thin, active barrier.

Behind that wall were civilians, supply crews, sealed shelters, field medics, and the outer evacuation corridor.

Ahead of it were abandoned roads, an old market district, drainage tunnels, the orchard line, and the first suspected insect clusters.

West was not being assigned to them because it was ceremonial.

West was where the risk was most delicate.

If infected insects were truly learning to pass through the weak points of pheromone barriers, then the west flank was where the season could stop being a battlefield and become a civilian disaster.

Dean looked at the map until the lines stopped looking like plans and started looking like what would happen.

Arion’s voice came quietly. “You are ready.”

Dean gave him a dry look. “That is a terrible sentence to say to someone before their first field deployment.”

“It is true.”

“It can be true and still sound like an obituary with morale.”

Arion crossed the room and stopped beside him.

That had become one of Arion’s annoying new habits: knowing exactly when Dean needed space and then standing at the edge of it like patience had personally offended him.

“You passed every field simulation,” Arion said.

“Simulations do not rot.”

“No. But you handled live-beast drills.”

“Contained beasts.”

“And you learned to fight under pheromone pressure.”

“Curated pheromone pressure.”

“You learned to fire projectiles from loose matter at moving targets smaller than a coin.”

Dean looked at him. “I am aware of my curriculum.”

“Then remember it.”

Dean’s jaw tightened.

That landed better than reassurance.

He looked back at the tablet, at the west flank, at the orchard line where the insects had been first suspected. His ability had seemed absurd in the training chamber: turning gravel, broken glass, splinters, metal filings, and even dust-heavy debris into small compressed projectiles.

Anything small enough around him could become ammunition.

Pebbles into bullets.

Glass into needles.

Bone fragments, if the field became ugly enough.

He could make a corridor lethal without drawing a blade.

Then there was the other ability.

The one every scientist had started looking at with hunger, too polite to be called hunger.

One meter of neutralization.

One meter in which pheromone activity flattened, destabilization quieted, corrupted scent pockets became readable, and dominant pressure lost its teeth for just long enough to matter.

One meter was nothing on a battlefield.

One meter was everything if placed at the right breach.

That was why he and Arion were going west.

Not because Dean was being protected behind Arion.

Because Arion could hold the line if beasts pushed through and Dean could stand where the pheromone wall might fail.

The thought was practical enough to be terrifying.

Arion’s gaze stayed on him. “You are not there to prove yourself.”

Dean’s mouth curved without humor. “That is what people say when they are sending you somewhere extremely proof-shaped.”

“You are there because your abilities fit the risk.”

“Worse.”

“Dean.”

“I know.” He exhaled once, controlled. “The insects will test the wall where pheromone saturation thins. If they cross, beta support and civilian personnel become vulnerable first. I neutralize the distortion long enough for containment to read the breach. You kill anything large enough to have teeth. I turn anything small enough into ammunition.”

Arion’s expression softened by a fraction. “Good.”

“Do not praise me like a cadet.”

“I was praising you like my future husband.”

Dean’s face warmed instantly. “That is also banned before missions.”

“Noted.”

“You will ignore that.”

“Yes.”

A knock came before Dean could decide whether to elbow him.

“Enter,” Arion said.

Hendrik walked in without saying a word, holding a tablet in one hand and a coat that was already muddy at the hem. That was all it took to calm Dean’s stomach down. Hendrik didn’t waste time.

“Your Highnesses.”

Dean looked at the tablet. “That expression means the West got worse.”

Hendrik did not deny it. “Scouts confirmed unusual insect concentration near the orchard line. No full transmission proof, but enough to treat the area as contaminated.”

Arion’s posture shifted. “Pheromone wall?”

“Intact. For now.” Hendrik tapped the tablet, sending the updated map to their slate. “But readings along West Point two are unstable. The wall is holding large corrupted beasts outside the civilian buffer. We are no longer certain it will hold smaller carriers if they are following heat or scent leakage through the drainage cuts.”

Dean’s mouth went dry.

He hated that.

He also hated how steady his voice sounded.

“So that is where I stand.”

Hendrik met his gaze. “Yes.”

Arion’s hand flexed once at his side.

Dean saw it.

So did Hendrik.

Neither commented.

Hendrik continued, “You will not be pushed beyond the second marker unless Arion gives direct clearance or I override from command. Your neutralization radius is to be used only at breach points, destabilized dominants, or contaminated readings. No experiments. No field scientists near you inside the first perimeter.”

Dean nodded, because even with all the preparation until now, even with Arion drilling him through every possible failure until Dean had threatened to weaponize the training mats, he was still anxious.

Of course he was anxious.

The line of defense against zombie mosquitoes, as he had privately and viciously named them, was dependent on his ability entirely.

Not the whole front. Not the war. He was not arrogant enough to think that.

But this part?

This narrow, ugly stretch of western flank where the civilian buffer sat too close to the restricted zone and the pheromone wall had begun returning unstable readings?

Yes.

If the insects were truly small enough to slip through the places corrupted beasts could not, then Dean’s one-meter neutralization radius was no longer a medical curiosity or an inconvenient biological scandal for scientists to salivate over.

It was the plug in the hole.

A very small plug.

In a very large, possibly infected wall.

How inspiring.

Dean exhaled once through his nose. “So, to summarize, if the zombie mosquitoes find a gap, I stand there and make biology shut up long enough for everyone else to panic productively.”

Hendrik blinked.

Arion looked at him. “Zombie mosquitoes?”

“That is what they are.”

“That is not the technical term.”

“It is better than the technical term.”

Hendrik’s mouth tightened in a way that suggested he was violently suppressing either a sigh or approval. “They are suspected insect carriers.”

Dean looked at him. “Zombie mosquitoes.”

“They may not be mosquitoes.”

“Zombie flies are worse.”

Arion’s mouth curved. “He has a point.”

Hendrik gave him a flat look. “Do not encourage him before deployment.”

“I encourage him constantly.”

“Yes,” Dean muttered. “It is one of his flaws.”

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