The strategy hall was dim. Flickering torches cast long shadows across the war map, making kingdoms look like ghosts. I leaned over the table, my fingers drumming against the carved wood. They thought I was calm. I wasn't.
"You know", said Kaleid from behind me, "for someone who claims to hate tea, you sure drink a lot of it when you're plotting."
I didn't turn to face him. "It keeps me from strangling the lot of you."
"Ah", he said. "A noble brew indeed."
I heard the scrape of a chair. Kaleid sat. Across the room, Lucien was sharpening a dagger he didn't need, probably to make a point. Veyra was pretending to be interested in the map but hadn't looked away from me since I entered.
They were waiting for me to speak. To reveal what fresh devilry I'd cooked up next.
I exhaled. "The Holy Alliance is splintering. Their morale is down, their supply lines thinning, and their scouts are chasing shadows I fed them last week."
Lucien snorted. "And yet they haven't broken. Why?"
"Because humans are stubborn", Veyra said, stepping forward. "Like Rin used to be."
There it was. That little dig. It didn't hurt. Not much.
"I'm still human", I said, with a smile that didn't reach my eyes. "I just stopped being stupid about it."
Lucien's lips twitched. Veyra's did not.
"I want the next strike to feel like betrayal", I said. "Not from us, from within their own."
Kaleid raised an eyebrow. "You planning to dress up as one of them again? Because last time, we nearly lost an entire village to your impersonation of that priest."
I gave him a look. "No. This time we let them do the damage. I've planted seeds. In rumors. In glances. In the terrified eyes of the scout we sent back. They're already doubting each other."
"Delicious", Kaleid said. "A slow stew of suspicion."
Lucien finally looked up. "What do you want us to do?"
I turned to him. "Hold the lines. Quietly. We don't attack unless provoked. Let their imagination do the bleeding."
Veyra frowned. "You think that's enough?"
"No", I said. "Which is why I'm inviting an old friend for tea."
They all stared.
"Rin", Veyra said. "Please tell me this is metaphorical tea."
I smiled. "Oh, it's real tea. Laced with tension, of course."
Kaleid laughed. "I'll prepare the fancy cups."
I walked to the side of the room, where my old satchel from the slums rested. The leather was cracked, faded, but it still smelled of dirt and ink and desperation. Inside was the first letter I ever received from my teacher.
Master Raen. Strategist of nothing. Drunk by noon. Genius by nightfall.
He once told me: "Rin, wars are won not by the strongest sword, but by the soldier who believes their enemy will stab them in the back."
I whispered the line to myself, fingers tracing the faded ink.
"He was right", I said aloud.
Lucien approached me. "You okay?"
"Define 'okay'", I replied, not turning.
"You're doing that thing again", he said.
"What thing?"
"That thing where you're silent and dramatic and everyone's too scared to ask if you're plotting murder or just reminiscing."
"…Yes", I said. "To both."
He blinked. "Oh."
"Get some rest", I told them. "We move at dawn. Not with swords, but with silence."
As they shuffled out, some hesitant, some smirking, I was left alone with my memories.
And the map.
And the sound of cracks.
Because even if they didn't see it yet, I knew, the cracks weren't just in the enemy's army.
They were in us.
And I would either hold us together…
…or weaponize the break.