Now, it was a village ofmourning.
We came upon a funeral procession in the central square.
Rows of people in soot-stained cloaks lined up on either side of a long trench, freshly dug, with eight bodies laid out beneath white shrouds. The scent of charred flesh clung beneath the incense burning in chipped iron braziers. A young girl clutched a wilted bouquet of field flowers, her knuckles white.
No one looked at us.
Not even the children.
It wasn’t disrespect.
It was fear.
They watched the bodies, not the dragons. Not the soldiers. As if meeting our eyes might bringmoredestruction.
As ifwehad brought it with us.
Dorian stepped out from one of the few standing buildings, the scorched door groaning behind him. His dark cloak was streaked with ash, and he looked more worn than regal, strands of hair clinging to his temple from sweat and smoke.
He spotted us immediately, his brows drawing together.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, voice low but clipped.
Zander stepped forward before any of us could answer, his expression unreadable. “I could ask you the same question.”
Dorian glanced back toward the wreckage, the smoldering remains of a community still trying to breathe beneath its ashes. “I was following a lead,” he said. “There were rumors this had become a Varnari outpost. But now…”
He motioned subtly toward the funeral procession. The way the townspeople moved, silent, hollow-eyed—said enough.
“I think this was the Crimson Sigil. They are looking to take it by force.”
Zander’s gaze followed the line of mourners, the smoke curling through the square like a veil of grief. “We heard the same rumor, that this place had fallen to the Varnari. But I’m curious how it could have passed into the hands ofeitherthem or the Sigil without notice.”
Dorian sighed, rubbing at the back of his neck. “These outposts… they’re not well-policed. You know that. Too remote. Too easy to forget. The Order has always had…representativesstationed here for that very reason.”
My brows furrowed. “Representatives?”
Zander crossed his arms. “As long as they keep their thievery toacceptablelevels, the crown looks the other way.”
Dorian nodded grimly. “That’s the unspoken rule. Let them keep a presence, and in exchange, the lines stay quiet. No assassinations. No sabotage.”
“That’s true,” Zander said. “The Order has… agents in most outposts, as far as I know.”
We all stood there, silent for a moment, while the air around us crackled with the scent of charred wood and rot. The funeral pyres burned low, and the people never turned to look at us.
We weren’t saviors.
Not here.
Just witnesses, arriving far too late.
Zander’s expression darkened as he stepped closer to Dorian, his voice low but edged with intent.
“Did you find anything useful about the Varnari? Who’s behind this?”
Dorian’s gaze shifted toward the burning remains of the outpost before settling on us again. There was a weariness to him—not physical, butpolitical. The kind that came from watching cracks splinter through a kingdom’s foundation.
“They’ve infiltrated the castle,” he said bluntly.
