Deynfif and his brothers stepped into the captain’s office – the sweet, citrusy scent of lichtwyrt blue tea did little to soften the rigid postures of the people inside. His gaze swept over the room, a cube of order against the blurred, frenetic activity outside. The waning light, cutting through the window at a sharp angle, illuminated a gleaming axe mounted on the wall. Its polished surface, reflecting a sliver of the Light, spoke of decisive action, a kind of efficiency he could appreciate.

The teacup clinked as the Captain, Zevas Lokspfeil lifted it to his lips. Beside him, Dofydd, the advisor, stood rigid, a finger tapping against his chin in a quick, uneven rhythm. The female rider in front of them fidgeted, her boots scraping against the floor.

Two framed portraits on the wall drew his attention. One depicted a woman with a mischievous glint in her eyes and a smile playing on her lips - the Captain's wife, perhaps. But the other… a little girl with black hair and startlingly bright turquoise eyes, fixed on some point beyond the frame. The intensity of her gaze, so focused and curious. Was that her?

The rider's eyes darted towards him and his brothers, a question lingering in the sharp angle of her brows.

“Speak freely, Lieutenant Siebea.” Captain Zevas’ voice boomed, filling the room like a physical force. “They're privy to whatever you have to say.”

Siebea inclined her head. “As you wish, Captain.” Her shoulders, braced as rigidly as a mountain crag, eased slightly as she spoke. "The Miers Imperial forces have been sighted to the east. Setting up camp near Lake Treffen.”

"So it begins." Captain rumbled; hand tightened around his teacup, the ceramic creaking. "Desperate move, splitting their forces like this, with the Kregennian Alliance breathing down their necks in the north.”

Dofydd traced a finger across the map, stopping at the edge of Lake Treffen. "This doesn't align with their usual strategies. There's another variable at play here, something we're not seeing."

Captain slammed his hand on the desk, making him flinch. "Empress Inaya Duzwaard's grown bolder since Mad King Tevis and their child died."

His fingers tightened on his scarf, worry twisting in his gut like a granite boulder grinding against bedrock. Einntyr's usual boisterous energy seemed subdued. Hirua, tapped a nervous rhythm against his knee. He forced his gaze back to the Captain.

Captain tapped a finger against the desk. “Should we inform Fruman Castle immediately? What if they’re shifting their main force here?”

“A word of warning, Captain.” Dofydd cautioned. “This could be a trap. A ploy to divide our Kregan forces. Siebea, how large is their army?”

Siebea’s gaze was distant for a moment, “Around five hundred, judging by the camp size.”

"Five hundred?" Dofydd's voice jumped an octave, sharp like a fractured stone. He blinked rapidly, then dragged a hand down his face. "Why waste resources on such a meager force?" Dofydd's fingers tapped a staccato rhythm on his chin. "They must have something planned, but with that troop count..." The room, moments ago abuzz with the sounds of the fort, had gone unnervingly quiet.

The teacup rattled as the Captain slammed his fist on the desk. “Exactly! We have nearly triple the number of troops, and this terrain is perfect for ambushes." The Captain's finger stabbed at the map, tracing a path through dense forest and a narrow gorge. "Not much room to maneuver there." He looked up, brow furrowed. "They wouldn’t be foolish enough to attack head-on, would they?”

“They could have a plan in place to overcome the obstacles, Captain.” Dofydd mused.

Zevas stroked his beard. “Then all the more reason to sniff out their intentions. We’ve been entrusted with defending this area for Fruman, and by Solus’ radiance, we won’t falter.” His voice was sharp, like the clang of an axe hitting metal. The Captain's gaze flicked towards his advisor, chin dipping slightly. “Send word to Fruman about their presence. We’ll relay a more detailed report once we have a clearer picture.”

“At once, Captain,” Dofydd acknowledged, leaning closer. His voice dropped, “But perhaps we should employ a more…subtle approach?”

Zevas' eyes darted from the gleaming axe on the wall to Siebea's face. "Would you be up for the task?" he asked, the usual boom of his voice a bit fractured.

Siebea bowed her head sharply. "As you command, Captain.”

"Captain," Dofydd said, "we need someone who can blend in unnoticed. Siebea's skills are exceptional, but some may identify her–"

“We can do it!” Einntyr's voice cracked through the room. Captain Zevas’ eyebrows shot up, lips parting slightly. Dofydd froze, his hand suspended mid-gesture. The metallic clang of a dropped sword, sharp and sudden, sliced through the silence from outside.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

Hirua's head snapped towards Einntyr. A swift jab to Einntyr's arm punctuated Hirua's terse words, “Let them speak their fill first.”

A small smile pulled at the corner of his lips. Einntyr does it again, as constant as a circle. A tiny sigh slipped out as he adjusted his scarf. That is simply who he is.

Captain's gaze landed on him, a weight settling in his gut. "Ah, earlier this waxlight, I finished the report on your mock battle. You performed better than some of our seasoned men." The Captain leaned back, a finger tapping against the chair's armrest. "Are you confident undertaking a discreet mission behind enemy lines?"

He reached for his scarf, fingers twisting in the familiar fabric as if seeking answers in its weave. Better than seasoned men... discreet mission... enemy lines... The words repeated in his mind, a measured rhythm against the pounding of his heart.

He met the Captain's gaze, his own mind calculating angles and probabilities. Could they, three untested points, form a triangle strong enough to withstand the pressure of the unknown? This wasn't a training ground. This was a web of shadows, where one wrong step could mean a snapped thread.

Einntyr, ever impulsive, erupted again, slamming a fist against his chest. "If it's the three of us, Captain, we'll handle it! Count on us."

He sighed as he tugged his scarf tighter. The knot felt like a noose around his neck. Einntyr's booming voice reverberated, echoing off the walls. Three points. Hirua, Einntyr, himself, a triangle. Well, the triangle was set, points sharp and ready.

His chin lifted a fraction. "Captain, you can send us three. We'll bring back valuable information." A quick glance at Hirua earned a sharp nod of confirmation.

Einntyr, a burst of sound, loud against his own quiet focus. "We won't let you down, Captain!"

His fingers twitched. Could he truly promise that? Safe return? The weight settled, heavy. Duty. Fear, a thin line cutting through. But even the most complex problems... there was always a solution.

Captain threw back his head, “KHAHAHA-KHAHAHA!” a high-pitched cackle erupting from him like a flock of startled birds. "That's the spirit!" The Captain's eyes, sharp as flint, settled on them. "Pythair raised three brave men, that much is clear.”

The lines around the Captain’s eyes deepened as he leaned forward. “We know this is dangerous, but the intel you bring could prevent their advance.” A thud echoed as Captain's fist struck the table. "Dofydd, prepare the men. We attack before shroudlight."

His fingers tightened around his scarf, a familiar anchor in the sudden rush of adrenaline. Infiltrate the enemy ranks. It was a plan as bold as the angles of a fortress wall.

The weight of Zevas' next words landed like a shifted tectonic plate. “One last thing. This mission is important, but your lives are paramount. If things go wrong...get out." The silence stretched, thick and heavy.

His gaze darted to the floorboards, each line and knot a stark reminder of the lives at stake.

"Your safety is our top priority. But remember, lives and livelihoods are at stake here. Do you understand?” the Captain stressed.

"Aye, Captain!" His voice, though loud, wavered slightly. A tremor ran through the room as their hands snapped up in the Kreginnian salute. Even Einntyr's usual boisterousness seemed subdued.

Dofydd stepped closer, the folds of his dark cloak shifting as he jabbed a finger at the map. "...And should things go awry," Dofydd said, his gaze fixed on a point beyond the lines and symbols, "Siebea can offer support from the perimeter." Hirua and Einntyr nodded, their eyes glued to the map as if memorizing every crease of the parchment. His own gaze followed Dofydd's finger, mapping the potential escape routes, calculating angles and distances, committing them to memory.

The air thickened as they stepped out of the captain's office, the scent of lichtwyrt tea replaced by the metallic tang of sweat and leather. The courtyard pulsed with a frenetic energy. Each clang of a blacksmith's hammer reverberated through his bones, a jarring counterpoint to the measured rhythm of his thoughts.

Einntyr, a whirlwind of nervous energy, bounced ahead, his heavy boots striking the stone with a force that made his teeth ache. Even Hirua, usually as steady as a granite slab, ran a hand through his breeches' pocket, fumbling inside.

"First mission, lads! Time to show 'em what we're made of!" Einntyr's boisterous voice boomed. He slammed a fist into his palm, the sound sharp and sudden. His laugh, though, came out a touch too high, a fractured note in the clangor of the fort.

Hirua's fist bumped Einntyr's arm. "This ain't a bowl of berries, you goof. We mess up, that camp becomes our last meal together."

Einntyr puffed his chest, mimicking Captain Zevas. "Not on my watch! I won't let anything happen to you two." His words were bold, but his fingers fidgeted with the edge of his garb.

Uncertainty pricked at him, sharp as a shard of obsidian. He countered it with angles, with the solid reassurance of strategy. A plan. They needed a plan – a series of interconnected steps leading to a solution. "Hold on," He interrupted. "We need a strategy. Roles. Let's think this through calmly."

They huddled close, Einntyr's usual boisterous energy subdued to a nervous hum, even Hirua's playful jabs gave way to a restless fidgeting, his fingers drumming an erratic rhythm against his thigh.

The chill of the stone floor seeped through his trousers, a physical reminder of the task ahead. Their first mission. Not a training yard, but the real thing.