Graykeep March – Day 9
Dust clung to everything—boots, cloaks, even the air itself. The road had crumbled into jagged stone and gnarled roots, winding through a barren plain under a sky the color of ash.
No birds called. No insects hummed. Just the steady crunch of boots, the clop of hooves, and the groan of cart wheels grinding against the earth.
Reth rode near the column's center, his armor chafing at his shoulders, heavier with each passing day. His sword rested against his hip.
The [System] hadn't pinged with anything meaningful in days—just incremental EXP gains, a fraction of a skill level here or there.
He barely noticed anymore. His mind was elsewhere.
Asthia rode ahead, her silhouette sharp against the gray horizon.
She hadn't spoken more than necessary since the fifth day. Her posture was as rigid as ever—spine straight, shoulders squared, the serpent-etched armor gleaming faintly despite the dust.
But Reth caught the small things: the way her grip tightened on the reins when a scout reported nothing, the brief pause before she dismissed the officers each night. She wasn't just focused. She was bracing herself.
Graykeep was close now. A day, maybe two. He didn't know much about the place beyond its reputation- a rebel graveyard?.
He glanced her way as they crested a low ridge. Her silver hair was tucked under her hood, but a few strands had escaped, catching the dull light. She didn't turn, but her voice cut through the silence, low and dry. "You're staring."
Reth shifted in the saddle, caught off guard. "I'm always watching you."
She tilted her head just enough to show she was listening. "And why's that?"
"Because I'm your bodyguard." He kept his tone neutral, but a faint smirk tugged at his mouth. It was a reflex, a way to test her mood.
Asthia gave him a sidelong glance, her red eyes unreadable. "Clever." She faced forward again, but there was a ghost of amusement in her voice. "Keep your eyes on the road. I don't pay you to admire me."
"You don't pay me at all," he muttered, too quiet for her to hear. Or so he thought.
Her head tilted slightly, but she said nothing. Just nudged her horse forward, leaving him to follow.
She's not as cold as she wants me to think, Reth thought, adjusting his grip on the reins.
But she's not letting me in, either. He wasn't sure if he wanted her to.
Asthia was a puzzle—ruthless one moment, almost human the next. He'd seen her manipulate nobles, outwit enemies, and fall asleep against him after too much wine.
But trust? That was a line neither of them had crossed. Not really.
Camp – That Evening
The fire spat sparks into the night, its smoke curling thin and bitter. The camp was a tight cluster of tents and crates, the soldiers' voices low as they cleaned weapons or diced for scraps of bread.
The air smelled of sweat, leather, and the faint tang of mage-wards simmering along the perimeter.
Asthia stood at the fire's edge, briefing three officers. Reth lingered nearby, close enough to hear but far enough to avoid drawing attention.
He leaned against a supply crate, arms crossed, watching her work.
She gestured sharply at a map unrolled on a makeshift table.
"This," she said, nodding toward the first officer, "is Captain Vance. Ground command. Infantry."
Vance was a mountain of a man, bald and scarred, with arms that looked like they could crush stone. His face was weathered, eyes small and deep-set, like they'd seen too many winters. He gave Asthia a curt nod, then glanced at Reth. His expression didn't change, but there was a flicker of appraisal, like he was sizing up a recruit. "He's the one who killed Varen?" Vance's voice was a low rumble, not accusatory, just curious.
Asthia didn't miss a beat. "He is."
Vance grunted, scratching a scar on his jaw. "Good. Need more blades that don't flinch." He didn't look at Reth again, but the words felt like a grudging approval.
Asthia moved on, gesturing to the second officer. "Ser Knight Alric. Cavalry and knight-operations."
Alric was younger than Vance, lean and sharp-featured, with dark hair tied back and armor so polished it gleamed in the firelight.
He slouched slightly, one hand resting on his sword hilt, his expression a mix of boredom and arrogance.
He barely acknowledged Reth, his eyes flicking over him like he was furniture. "Charmed," Alric drawled, his tone dripping with disinterest.
He turned to Asthia, a faint smirk playing on his lips. "You sure you need a thrall shadowing you, Commander? I could keep you safer. And I'm better company."
Asthia's smile was razor-thin. "I prefer company that doesn't talk back."
Alric chuckled, unbothered, but his eyes lingered on her a moment too long. Reth's jaw tightened, but he stayed silent.
Cocky bastard, he thought. Probably never fought a real battle. Alric's type was familiar—noble-born, trained in tournaments, more charm than grit. Reth had seen men like him break when things got bloody.
"And Magister Elenya," Asthia finished, nodding to the third officer. "Mages. Strategy and internal defense."
Elenya was slight, her dust-gray robes loose but immaculate, a mana pendant glowing faintly at her throat. Her face was calm, almost serene, but her eyes were sharp, like they could peel back your thoughts. She bowed slightly to Asthia, then glanced at Reth.
Asthia stepped back, her gaze sweeping the group. "Get used to each other. Graykeep doesn't offer second chances."
Vance nodded, already turning to bark orders at a nearby soldier. Alric gave a lazy salute, his smirk still in place.
Elenya simply inclined her head, her pendant flickering once before she glided away. Asthia watched them go, then turned to Reth.
------
Graykeep Gates – Day 11
Noon brought Graykeep into view, a jagged scar against the horizon. The fortress seemed to claw its way out of the rock—black stone pitted by centuries of wind and flame, towers leaning like broken teeth. Cranes rusted in the wind, their chains swaying. Half-torn banners fluttered, their colors bled to gray.
A squad of the old garrison waited near the gates, six men on lean horses. Their armor was a patchwork of dents and mismatched plates, their banner a faded blue with a bent flame. They sat too still, watching the Serpent Wing approach like scavengers eyeing a wounded beast.
Reth's horse snorted, sensing the tension. He patted its flank, his eyes on the garrison's leader. The man rode forward, stopping just shy of Asthia's mount.
His armor was ill-fitting, too tight at the shoulders, and his face was weathered, with a crooked nose and a smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"Serpent Wing," he rasped, voice like sandpaper. "Finally." He leaned forward, his gaze dragging over Asthia's armor, lingering on her face. "Commander Asthia, I presume?"
Asthia's expression was stone. "Captain Loram, I take it?"
He nodded, his smile widening, showing yellowed teeth. "Field chief of Graykeep garrison. For now." His tone was mock-deferential, but his eyes were hungry, testing her. He shifted in the saddle, glancing at Reth. The smile faltered, replaced by a twitch of irritation. "And this? Your bodyguard?"
The word came out like an insult, laced with a sneer.
Reth met his gaze, his face blank but his hand resting near his sword. Keep talking, old man, he thought. See how that goes. Loram's bitterness was palpable—a man demoted, stuck in a dying fortress, now facing a younger commander and her "thrall." Reth had seen that look before, on men who blamed everyone but themselves.
Asthia didn't flinch. "This is no longer your command, Captain. We assume full authority before dusk."
Loram's smile returned, tighter now. "Some of the men won't take kindly to that. They've held this pile of rocks together for years. You'll need to earn their respect." He leaned closer, his voice dropping. "Not just parade in with a pretty face and a pet."
Reth's fingers twitched, but Asthia's voice cut through before he could move. "I don't need their respect," she said, her tone cold enough to freeze the air. "I need their obedience. You'll deliver it, or I'll find someone who can."
Loram's face hardened, the pretense dropping. He straightened, his horse shifting beneath him. "Eastern wall's yours. Western's got… problems. You'll see." He turned his mount, but not before throwing one last look at Reth—a mix of disdain and something uglier, like he'd love to see him bleed.
As Loram rode back to his men.
She spurred her horse forward, the Serpent Wing following. Reth stayed close, his gaze sweeping the garrison. The [System] pinged faintly:
[Threat Perception Lv. 1.1 – Hostile Intent: Moderate]
[Subject: Captain Loram – Behavioral Note: Resentful, Likely to Undermine]
Reth dismissed the prompt, his focus on the fortress ahead.