The rest of the journey continued calmly without anything disturbing those spirits already cruelly tested. Day after day, however, the soldiers' exhaustion grew, bent under the weight of endless marches that stretched from dawn to dusk and that, whenever possible, continued in the moonlight interrupted only by brief stops imposed by fatigue.

Finally, at sunset on a gloomy day saddened by a drizzle that seemed made of fog, a dark mass vaguely outlined in the distance. Its gray perimeter merged with the mist, while small flashes inside flickered and disappeared now and then. It emerged from a plateau that rose in the center of a depression surrounded by a watercourse, whose distant splashing, muffled by the mist, arrived sad and dark.

The column stopped, soaked and once again dejected, as the men tried in vain to protect themselves from the penetrating humidity, taking shelter under wet and worn cloaks.

Most of them remained silent, while others sighed loudly at that sight, but if the sighs of the men from the East were a relief for the end of the journey and for the safety they had achieved, those of the men from the West expressed only a tired disappointment: was that, therefore, the City of Stone? And how could it protect them if it did not even seem to reach the size of the citadel that housed the Royal Family in the abandoned capital? They expected much more from a place that boasted such a pretentious name.

The immense fatigue of all those months fell upon those exhausted men, and if the strong ones merely bowed their heads, the weaker ones collapsed to the ground. Even Astor and Sigismund did not appear enthusiastic about what lay before them, but they managed to conceal the impression and they both hastened to thank Robuald for finally leading them to safety. He appreciated the courteous effort and ordered to sound the horns to announce their arrival, but the gates of the city, which was actually only a few miles away, were already opening and a noisy crowd, armed with torches and lanterns, rushed to meet the soldiers, the fortunate survivors of the war.

Such display and joyful calls revived the soldiers, and Astor did not need to intervene to see them all return to ranks and prepare to enter the city in a martial procession, between two wings of a touched multitude. The voices of women and children rose high to praise their captain and loudly invoke the names of their loved ones, eager to pronounce them again. The hearts of the exiles, who in the past had received the same welcome from their relatives, swelled, but now the memory, instead of saddening them, comforted them. Many saw the faces and smiles of their loved ones again in those festive ones surrounding them.

An old man, gray-haired but proud, mounted on a great steed that must have been majestic in its youth and that seemed to have lived as many winters as its owner, came forward to meet Robuald, moving aside the crowd that opened up to pay homage to his passage. When he was only a few steps away, he stopped, and the two men, with similar features and bearing, stared at each other in the flickering light of the torches. In their eyes shone the same dignity. Although he was silent, the old man's joy and pride were clearly evident. The deep furrows that marked his forehead smoothed out and his long beard, pointed at his broad chest, rose, lifted by a deep sigh. Finally, having ensured that the good news was not just a dream fueled by hope or by despair, he spoke gravely, saying, “Welcome back, my son. I have waited for you during long nights of vigil and painful days spent searching the motionless horizon. You have finally returned, and you bring victory and fame with you.” He paused, analysing the knights who stood still near his son, then added, “I see that you return with a noble escort, although, as illustrious as it is, it is not the one I longed for. But my grief does not want to offend your guests. They are welcome, and in their faces, I see vigor and severity, but also a heavy weariness whose origin must lie far away, as it cannot reside solely in the fatigue of the journey. Hence, strangers, from the shadows that veil your gazes, I imagine that you too have been deprived of affections by the same foul hand.

But enough, follow me. It has been some hours now, the sentries had transmitted to us the joyful news of your imminent arrival, previously announced by messengers sent by your leader. Everything is ready to welcome you, at least for that little that war allows us.

Come, and we will speak with the comfort of fire and the shelter of stone, and there you will tell me your story, if you wish.”

“Father!” exclaimed Robuald, “my father, welcome back. I have craved for this meeting for a long time, and at times, I have despaired that it could not take place. And that would have happened if the heroes you see in these shadows had not restrained my foolishness, because of which your blood, my brother Romuald, is not among us today. To them, and only to them, you owe the fact that you have seen at least one of your descendants again, although the least deserving of such a reward.” Robuald fell silent, since the memory of his brother suppressed the words in his chest. The father took the opportunity to reply, “You are wrong, son, to speak in such a manner. If he has fallen and you are alive, it can only mean that the one who achieved the victory and defeated death is of greater value, no matter how great my second son's valor was. And I, his father, do not hesitate to proclaim it, since it was known to all.

Do not distress yourself over his death, for only the one who caused it is to blame, and instead rejoice in being able to finally reunite with your home. Now, however, I tell you again: let us leave the darkness of the night, where there is no place to speak of the dead or to fully express our feelings. Let us enter the city.”

“Let us enter, then,” replied Robuald, who had regained his strength thanks to the love of his father, “although I fear that your judgment will be less generous when you will have learned of every event. Let me, however, first introduce you to the Captains of the company that you see shining there, where the flickering light of the torches glows. Even if, in truth, it shines with its own light for the glory that surrounds it, and which has increased in the latest advantageous clashes. So, I am serving as their escort and not as their leader.

To my left is Astor of Fort Unconquerable, Lord of Men and Captain of the Infantrymen with Impenetrable Armor, whose deeds he himself can narrate to you at our table, where I will be forced to admonish him often, due to his modesty which is not inferior to his courage.

The one who rides to my right instead, is Sir Sigismund of Castle Nubilous, Captain of the Knights with Historiated Blades and the last heir to the throne of the Realm of Time, whose Sovereign, alas, fell in defense of his subjects.”

Astor and Sigismund bowed and the old man returned the gesture solemnly, without masking his evident surprise, so much so that he could not help but say, “Well, Robuald, I was not mistaken then in judging your companions, although I could not have imagined receiving such high-ranking Knights. You are welcome to our homeland and our capital!” With that said, he stepped back on his horse and, with a sweeping gesture, invited them to proceed.

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The three knights saluted once again and although Sigismund would have liked to respond to the kind words of the old Lord, he understood that his haste was not motivated by rudeness, but by the common desire to avoid any delay and seal the darkness behind them. In addition, others were surely waiting for them inside the walls.

The crowd, which in the meantime had reunited with their loved ones, almost completely disbanding the ranks of the western men, watched the newcomers with curiosity. They were admiring their renewed boldness and the richness of their weapons and clothing, although they did not reflect but a weak semblance of their original splendor. Nevertheless, they appeared beautiful to the people enclosed in a site which seemed guarded by the guardians of time.

The stretch was quickly covered and when the foreigners, having passed the outer gate and a moat armed with sharp protruding spikes, found themselves facing the mighty wall towering over a large iron gate connected to an ingenious counterweight mechanism that no battering ram could ever break through, they had to partially reconsider their opinions.

That night they would finally be able to rest safely, and only the recurring nightmares would threaten their sleep.

Within the settlement, they found everything necessary to accommodate them properly. Most of it was uninhabited and only used in times of war, and very few men preferred the cold squared stones to the vast stretches of pastures, fields, welcoming forests, or wild mountains. As a result, all the assembled soldiers were able to receive comfortable shelter.

After dismissing their men, Astor and Sigismund left all responsibilities to their officers and were escorted by Robuald to the Government Palace, where the members anxiously awaited them, along with their Lord who had quickly joined them.

The two captains were led into a room with large and simply decorated halls. The stone walls were adorned with animal skins, hunting trophies, and rich armor, which sometimes came to life in figures of ancient warriors, whose bas reliefs rose momentarily from the shadows. Those low, vaulted rooms, made brown by smoky lamps hanging from the walls, though so different from the bright and magnificent halls of their palace, still made the two weary knights feel at ease. For the first time since entering that unfamiliar country, they felt the sensation of being back home. A welcoming home, or at least hospitable enough for wanderers who had been forced to sleep on cold beds topped with branches and dripping foliage for a long time.

Robuald led them silently and they passed from room to room, some empty and some occupied by armed men who scrutinized them motionless, worried and frowning, like living statues used as models for those carved in the pillars.

Finally, they entered a large circular room with a higher ceiling, embellished with ribs and illuminated by many lights and by the flames of a fire burning in an imposing fireplace at the opposite end of the entrance. In the center, a massive square table had been set up. Nine men stood in front of the fire, uselessly trying to speak in low voices while betraying obvious agitation.

In the middle, with his back to the andiron and standing out against the glare of the flames, stood Ronald, Robuald's father and Head of the Lords.

His old age had taken him away from the barren heights where he had lived hunting hoofed animals and raising horses, and where his two sons, Romuald and his older brother Robuald, had been born and become valiant warriors. Because of the trust given to him by the entire people and the love he had for them, he had agreed to accept that position that was almost like a lifelong sentence, being in fact permanent. Only that loving feeling made it bearable for him to stay in a position that forced him as if it were a prison and that, in fact, was considered suitable only for the old and those who were unable to use weapons and to live in the countryside. Until shortly before, he had been supported and comforted by the frequent visits of his children, who, full of joy and young laughter, told him about the lively flowing of the rivers on the highlands, while in their voices he heard echoing the cry of eagles and the roar of deer. And so Ronald perceived the scent of the first spring flowers again and felt the burning freshness of the first snowfall that regenerates nature, taming it, as it happened also to him every time he saw his own offspring again.

But for months his sons had left for a sudden and incomprehensible war, and the weight of the years had assaulted and crushed him.

Now, one of the two would not come back, and part of his energy had died with him forever. Therefore, he welcomed with heartfelt relief the arrival of new friendly forces and the expertise of men accustomed to weapons and command, hoping in his heart that, with their help, any other decision that would bring death to the sons of the East would be spared.

Approaching his father, Robuald bowed deeply, imitated by his guests. Ronald weakly returned the greeting.

Sigismund then understood the pain that the old man – whose power was not yet entirely forgotten – had endured to welcome them, and immediately felt an intense understanding towards him that shook him off the outer cold.

Before introducing the newcomers to the other notables, Ronald opened his arms and soon wrapped them around the shoulders of his son, who had bent down in advance.

Once again, Sigismund appreciated the simplicity of such human habits that seemed to ignore every court protocol.

The embrace lasted long enough for tears to be shed and absorbed by the thick fur coat that enveloped the Head of the Assembly. Then, almost reluctantly, they separated, but Robuald drew great comfort from that embrace, much more than most of those present could understand. The pain of losing Romuald had united the parent and the child even more, and thus the enemy had failed.

Ronald proceeded with introductions, and since numerous issues were pressing, the men quickly took their places at the table, and the feast began.

The dishes were consumed rapidly, but this did not prevent the foreigners from appreciating their taste, and just as Astor was praising the excellent quality of the wine, a crash and a roar, followed by an incredibly long rumbling noise, silenced the diners.

A few moments of uncertainty and suspension passed before a terrified page burst into the room to report, in an excessively high-pitched voice, that a lightning bolt had struck the highest tower of the manor where the castle's standard was flying, causing it to burst into flames. No one was hurt, and the servant was immediately dismissed, but although the circumstance did not seem to be given excessive weight, everyone secretly feared that the power that was pursuing them had greatly increased its strength since the day it had first manifested itself.

A strong wind rose to lash the fortress and the unfortunate sentinels on the battlements, ruffling their cloaks and hurling a biting, icy rain against them, which seemed to soil and encrust the very stone instead of cleaning it.

Terrifying howls joined the wind's scream, and soon every rest was interrupted and every sense awakened. Yet, nothing seemed to be moving outside the walls, except in the distance, at the edge of the wide clearing that surrounded the fort, where the branches of the trees twisted frantically as if they had launched themselves into a pyrrhic dance unleashed by a devastating madness.

Many trunks bent until they broke, and were carried away and hurled with a crash against the towers of the fortress by the fury of the storm. A swarm of demons seemed to have taken hold of the air and all the elements. Only the solid ground and the hard rock still resisted that delirium of water and fire.

The soldiers of the West did not move from their bunks, but an undeniable awareness made its way into their minds: they were being hunted again.