Ancus settled back into his chair, his expression blank as he looked at the bedridden Marcus. Ancus placed his silver rings on the table beside Marcus, trying to relax his fingers.

Taking a deep breath, Ancus spoke, "As you know, this bandit incursion is far from simple."

He raised a piece of paper adorned with the distinctive clay seal of an eagle wing. He resumed, "This seal is from Arbela, one of the other seven great states of Lacarta."

He then presented another piece of paper marked with the seal of Aboa, followed by others from Verano, Iria, Vienorte, Tigris, and finally, Avalon.

"I received each of these letters by pigeon throughout the night yesterday," Ancus said with a sigh, tapping the arm of his chair.

"I trust you won't share this information, so I'll reveal its contents."

"All of them, include a message about bandits making their way through the country. They started from Arbela, near the gap of the Aboa Mountains, where the border between the Kingdom of Tyrus and Lacarta meet. The bandits then spread to Verano, Tigris, Vienorte, Iria, and Avalon."

"Their path began west, then moved east into the heart of Lacarta, and finally south," Ancus explained further.

"The council suspects this is a scheme by Tyrus to destabilize our cities, possibly in preparation for a larger invasion starting from Arbela. Tyrusi forces have indeed become more aggressive, overstepping their boundaries at the border."

"It is said that they sent small portions of their numbers to raid and pillage surrounding villages and towns, sustaining themselves."

Marcus clenched his teeth, recalling the slaughter of Meru. He thought about Helena, Aelius, and all the villagers. Marcus shook his head before returning his focus to Ancus.

Ancus paused, seeing the fury in Marcus's eyes. "I am deeply concerned about this prospect of war," Ancus continued. "My son is stationed near the border, and I have only 500-800 men garrisoned in Ventenia, ill-prepared to handle even a few hundred of them. Our city is known for protecting caravans and trade, not for war."

Changing the subject, Ancus turned to Marcus. "You encountered bandits bearing a five-pointed cross on their armor, correct?" Marcus nodded.

"Indeed, we found many, dead, scattered throughout the city, east, west, and center. This star symbol belongs to a mercenary group originating in Eastern Tyrus, known as the Richter."

"It's clear to anyone paying attention, war looms, and our country is ill-prepared. We can't match Tyrusi War Drakes or their elite military."

Marcus interjected, his curiosity piqued. "I thought Drakes were just tales to scare children into behaving?"

Ancus chuckled softly. "They are real, reptilian creatures with long necks, tails, four limbs, and large horns. They don't breathe fire, but their razor-sharp teeth and claws are enough to tear apart their prey. They seem to have struck a deal with the people of Dracon of the eastern continent."

"Many beast handlers died on the journey to bring the Drakes to Tyrus. Seven, seven drakes in their royal army."

"The Tyrusi king, Casimir Mozam, has set his sights on reuniting the western continent, as it was hundreds of years ago under the rule of Lacam the Great."

Ancus paused, letting Marcus digest the information.

"Your adoptive mother taught you to read but I doubt she knew a lot about the history of this world. Lacam the Great, despite his accomplishment of uniting the west into one, left unrest and blood in his shed. That's the reason the western continent separated into 6 independent countries."

"It is impossible to hold the entirety of this realm as one, the land will separate. I pray to the seven gods I never live to see the times when Lacarta becomes a part of Tyrus."

Marcus shuddered at the thought of the Tyrusi Army and Continental unification.

Ancus sighed before delivering his statement, "That's why, I, along with the other great states, have been summoned to Avalon for meetings that will last several weeks.

It's challenging to leave Ventenia at this time, especially amidst our rebuilding efforts. But it's unavoidable,"

"Usually, Gaius would oversee matters in my absence, but he perished in the battle."

Marcus looked surprised. "Gaius? That colossal man? Did you find his body?

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Ancus nodded. "Yes Gaius, and no, but he has yet to report back to the estate"

Silence hung heavy in the room, each moment stretching into what felt like an eternity.

"Well," Ancus continued, putting his hand on Marcus's shoulder, "the acting lord in my absence will be Anca. I trust you'll look after her.

"I leave in three days," Ancus concluded, rising from his chair, his business for now finished.

Marcus's gaze followed Ancus. He tried talking about his battle with a Richter, but he hesitated. Before he could let his words spill out, Anca entered the room.

"Anca," Marcus said, his voice filled with fright and something deeper.

"Ancus was just leaving."

Anca nodded, acknowledging Ancus with a respectful bow. "Excuse me, father." Ancus put his hand on Anca's shoulder before swiftly excusing himself.

The room felt suddenly quieter, the atmosphere charged with unspoken emotions. Marcus and Anca stood facing each other. Anca stepped closer, her eyes searching Marcus's face.

Anca twirled a loose strand of hair around her finger, glancing at Marcus with a mischievous glint in her eyes. "You know, if bandits start raiding our stores, I'm hiding in the wine cellar. At least we'll have a good time before they find us."

Marcus chuckled, his grin widening. "Ah yes, the age-old strategy: drown them in wine before they drown us in trouble. I like your thinking, Anca."

Their laughter filled the room, momentarily dispelling the seriousness of the situation. As their eyes met, a warmth passed, unspoken words dancing in the air.

"Marcus," she voiced softly.

For a moment, they stood there, the world outside fading away. Anca squeezed his hand, a silent reassurance. Slowly, she stepped even closer, their breaths mingling.

Before he could respond, she leaned in, her lips meeting his. The kiss was gentle, filled with unspoken promises and shared fears. A moment of vulnerability and power, a connection spoken louder than words.

As Ancus walked down the corridor, he realized he had forgotten his silver rings. He retraced his steps, his mind preoccupied with the weight of impending war and the safety of his city. Reaching the door, he paused, hearing the muffled voices inside.

He opened the door slowly, not wanting to startle them. What he saw left him frozen in place. Marcus and Anca were locked in a tender kiss, their hands intertwined. For a moment, Ancus stood frozen, a mix of shock and anger rising within him.

"What is this?" Ancus's voice cut through the room like a blade.

Marcus and Anca broke apart instantly, turning to face Ancus with wide eyes. Marcus sat up, his face flushing with guilt. Anca looked down, her cheeks burning.

"Ancus," Marcus began, trying to find the right words, "this isn't what it looks like."

"Isn't it?" Ancus's voice was low, controlled, but seething with anger. "I leave you with the responsibility, and I find you... distracted."

"Please, Ancus," Anca said, stepping forward, "this isn't Marcus's fault.

Ancus raised his hand, silencing her. "I trusted you both to act with honor. Ventenia is on the brink of war, and this," he gestured between them, "this is how you choose to spend your time?"

He turned back to Marcus, his face hardening again. "You have put me in a difficult position. I cannot allow this... this indiscretion to continue. You will leave Ventenia."

Marcus felt his world crumbling. "Leave? but, Sir-"

"Enough!" Ancus barked. "You will report to the military outpost in Arbela immediately. Then, maybe you will learn discipline. I bought you when you were a slave, I gave you work, I gave you shelter. I should have you killed but instead, I don't out of respect for your Mentor."

Anca gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. "Father, no! Please, don't do this!"

Ancus ignored her, his gaze fixed on Marcus. "This is my decision, Lucius the laborer will take your place as steward, do you understand?"

Marcus's mind raced. He wanted to protest for Anca, but his respect for Ancus left no room for argument. He lowered his head, his heart heavy. "Yes, Sir. I understand."

Ancus nodded curtly. "Good. You leave with the first caravan heading to Arbela."

As Ancus turned and left, Anca rushed to him, tears streaming down her face. "Marcus, no! We can't let this happen, You are still injured."

He took her hands in his, his eyes shining with unshed tears. "I have to, I'm sorry."

During the cold night, Marcus boarded a caravan wagon, struggling while clutching at his wounds. He piled next to goods and equipment. He fidgeted with the last gift Ancus gave him, a written document affirming his status as a free man. He lightly hovered his hands over the paper, the writing and signature still fresh.

The journey to Arbela would be long and difficult. What awaited him there? Would he find redemption or merely further punishment for his lapse in judgment?

He twisted and turned uncomfortably, the rough fabric of his robes chafing against his wounds. Yet, it was the ache in his chest that consumed him most—a mixture of regret, longing, and a profound sense of loss. Anca's tear-streaked face haunted his thoughts, her plea echoing in his ears. "Father, no! Please, don't do this!" He had failed her, failed Ancus, and in doing so, had forfeited his fragile hope of a future in Ventenia.

As the caravan clattered along the road, Marcus's head filled with thoughts of regret. The pain from his wounds ticked with every bump in the road. Beside him, other travelers murmured their voices distant backdrops to his racing thoughts.

Marcus knew he had jeopardized everything. Ancus had taken him in when he was nothing but a slave, offering him a chance at a new life in Ventenia. He had earned respect and a position of trust, only to throw it away with a moment of weakness.

Outside, the world passed by in a blur of great fields and winding rivers, the beauty of the Ventenian countryside mixed against the turmoil within him. How had everything unraveled so swiftly? Just days ago, he had stood beside Ancus, discussing strategies and defenses. Now, he was outcasted, his fate sealed by his blunder.

The caravan slowed as they approached a small town, the morning sun casting long shadows across the dusty road. Marcus peeked out from the wagon, his eyes scanning the unfamiliar faces of merchants and travelers. Each passerby, oblivious to his internal turmoil, their lives continuing uninterrupted while his own hung in the balance.

Hours passed, the horses galloped, and the caravan rolled onward. Marcus wrestled with his emotions. Guilt gnawed at him, along with a deepening sense of loss. He had found something meaningful with Anca, a connection beyond duty or obligation. Now, that was lost to him.

As the caravan pressed onward, Marcus closed his eyes briefly, seeking solace in the rhythmic sway of the wagon. His thoughts drifted back to Ventenia, to the familiar streets and bustling marketplaces he might never see again. He wondered if Ancus would ever forgive him if Anca could ever understand the depth of his remorse.

Dawn broke over the horizon, casting a pale light over the flush grass landscape. The road stretched endlessly for weeks, winding through valleys and climbing over hills, each mile marking his journey farther from the life he had known. Marcus would face whatever awaited him in Arbela with humility and acceptance, striving to prove himself worthy of the second chance he feared he might never receive.

As the days passed, the landscape shifted around the caravan. The lush, green fields of Ventenia region began to give way to hardy terrain. The green fields and rushing rivers that once intrigued Marcus's view were replaced by rolling hills of dry grass and scattered patches of rocky soil.

The air grew drier, and the vibrant colors of the countryside faded to muted browns. The trees became sparse, their leaves sparse and brittle, in contrast to the dense forests of Ventenia. The familiar scents of blooming flowers and fresh earth were replaced by piles of dust and the faint odor of decay.

As they ventured further, the terrain grew harsher. The rolling hills transformed into jagged outcrops of stone, the ground beneath the caravan wheels becoming rough and uneven. The vegetation grew increasingly sparse, with only hardy shrubs and resilient nopal plants.

His fellow travelers dwindled one-by-one, arriving at their destination, until it was only Marcus.

He longed for the shade of the forests. There was no rest from the elements. The days were long and grueling. Each mile felt like an eternity as the caravan pressed through the arid wasteland.

At night, the temperature plummeted. The day's heat gave way to a biting cold that seeped into Marcus's bones.

Weeks passed, and as the caravan approached the stronghold of Lesser Arbela, a couple of miles away from the border and Greater Arbela. The barren landscape seemed to stretch infinitely, a seemingly endless stretch of rock and dust.

Marcus looked into the city, uneasy, with a grave suspicion about his future in the fortress.