High above the Trasidar Empire, on the fringes of the Gerominad, Aderon soared through the skies, marking the midpoint of his rendezvous with his companions. For over five relentless days, he had embraced the ceaseless winds that propelled him forward at remarkable speed.

The trees displayed a lavish tapestry of fall hues, their leaves resplendent in shades of golden brown. The sight captivated him, providing a welcome departure from the monotonous tundra and perpetual snowscape of the great white north.

The transition from the verdant landscapes of the Middle Kingdom to the seasonal palette of the imperial outskirts was a refreshing change.

The air, too, held a distinct quality that caught his senses off guard. Accustomed to the biting chill of the frozen north, here, the atmosphere carried a delightful blend of crispness and warmth. It was a subtle embrace, offering a different kind of cold that harmonized with an underlying sense of comfort, creating a unique and invigorating experience for him.

As he descended to a more earthly altitude, a yearning for rest gripped him. Surveying the landscape below, his eyes settled on an inn nestled by the roadside. Eager for respite, he gracefully alighted and made his way inside.

Just outside the establishment, a raucous scene unfolded—a chaotic blend of tethered horses, and brawlers engaging in a tipsy dance — it seemed that they were intoxicated, and an uproarious audience cheering on the alcohol-fueled skirmish. Intrigued, he lingered, drawn to the spectacle that deviated from the commonplace drunken altercations one might expect.

To his surprise, the participants were not mere revelers; they were Imperial soldiers, locked in a discordant struggle. A victorious roar erupted as he approached, signaling the conclusion of the skirmish. The triumphant soldier, met his gaze for a fleeting moment, then right after, he finally went inside of the inn.

The inn exuded a rustic charm, though not without signs of wear that hinted at the passage of time. Despite its weathered appearance, it proved suitable enough for him to rest. The interior, dimly lit by scattered candles, was cast in shadows with slivers of sunlight piercing through windows caked with grime, begging for a polish that had long been neglected.

The attention of the inn’s patrons shifted collectively as he walked through the creaky wooden floors, curiosity ignited by the presence of his kind. Their collective gaze followed him to an unoccupied table where, with deliberate ease, he shed some of his gear before settling into a chair. As the ambient noise resumed its course, an elderly woman in a worn apron approached the bar.

“What can I get ‘ya, lad?” inquired the elderly woman, her toothy smile narrating tales of years etched onto her face. He shifted his attention to her, meeting her gaze without a hint of a smile. Swiftly, he grabbed a handful of imperial gold coins and tossed them onto the table, startling the old lady. Thirty pieces of gold, to be exact.

“Give me the best meal you got,” he demanded, his tone commanding and authoritative. The old lady caught off guard, raised her voice in a panic, urgently summoning assistance. A portly, bald man emerged from the back, visibly shocked at the sight of the coins being counted.

“Take out the finest meat we’ve been saving and the good ale, too! Prepare a grand feast for this generous young gentleman,” the old lady proclaimed, breathing with excitement.

“But Ma! We’re saving that for me birthday!” the chubby man protested.

“Hush! With these, we can buy more food and even leave this dreadful place for the Capital! Come on, help ‘yer mother out, ‘ye good-for-nothing!” scolded the old lady as she smacked him in the head, leading the chubby man toward the kitchen to prepare the special meal.

As the bustling kitchen set to work on his feast, the background chatter persisted. He noticed curious glances from those around him and responded with an unwavering stare, solidifying his presence.

In the midst of the preparations, the chubby man approached, offering a glass and a bottle of matrik. “It’s the best in the house, Milord. Enjoy,” he stammered, a mix of nervousness and hospitality evident in his smile. Returning the smile, the man retreated to the kitchen, leaving him to enjoy his glass.

Pouring himself a drink, he marveled at the surprising quality of the beverage in this somewhat modest establishment. It turned out to be the finest Hawis wine he had ever tasted. As he savored the exquisite flavor, he subtly eavesdropped on the conversations behind him.

“The other provinces are going to hell, I say,” remarked one man.

“It’s because of the Arch-Chancellor, I tell yah! He’s a lunatic!” another exclaimed, with friends struggling to restrain him. A quick glance revealed they were Imperial soldiers.

“Only a fool would believe anything the Capital tells us now. They’ve been taking from every town and city, leaving them dry! Gerominad flourished because of the Middle Kingdom, but whispers from the city suggest everything is dwindling.”

“Yeah, La’Canilenoir is heading down the drain, too. Those wretched bastards deserve it! Hahaha!” another intoxicated voice chimed in, eliciting laughter from the others.

“I pity Huertian; The Prince is pounding them without rest.”

“Eh, I don’t like him a single bit. A bit too goody-goody if you ask me. Watch out for people like him. They’re nuts!” The collective laughter echoed through the room.

“There are rumors from the North—Malatur’Aren secretly supporting the Prince.”

“For real? No way.”

“For reals real! That place was once under the Trodonar Empire. Francineil is planning to withdraw. Other former Trodonar puppets, I have no news.” The speaker was abruptly smacked.

“Lies! Filthy lies! We’ll never believe everything you say. This is that red house in the city all over again!” The others agreed but continued to argue.

“It’s true! — Well, only Huertian is more true!”

“But circling back to that scoundrel from Malatur’Aren, he’s doing this on purpose. To oust the royal family and seize the throne!”

“But the Princess!”

“No, the Princess!” The group got rowdy until they calmed down, the chanting of her title fading.

As he listened, it seemed they were veering away from a potentially intriguing topic or valuable intel. Suddenly, he stood up and joined the group of intoxicated soldiers. The trio stared at him as he tossed more gold coins onto the table.

“Can we stay on topic, my friends? Tell me more about the current situation in the Empire,” he requested, his newfound companions either counting the coins or simply looking at him.

After exchanging glances, they collectively nodded, content with the coins they had received.

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“We’re Imperial Scouts, you know. Our role involves delivering news and crucial information,” one of the soldiers explained to him.

“Doesn’t the Empire have owls for that?” he inquired, continuing to drink and pouring some for his new-found friends.

“Aye, but for some important matters, there needs to be physical proof. So, we still traverse town to town, city to city,” the more composed soldier added as he took a sip.

“A bit outdated if you ask me! Such a waste of time!” remarked one of their rowdy colleagues.

“Shut up! Do you want us to lose our jobs?! I’d rather be doing this than be in the front lines!” shouted one of them.

“Okay, so about the Arch Chancellor. Care to share more?” he politely asked as he poured more drinks for the group.

“Well, as my good friend here mentioned earlier, it appears that Malatur’Aren is secretly supporting the Prince,” the soldier, who could still talk coherently, stated.

“No! That’s impossible, you see!” the rowdy one suddenly shouted. Then looked around first before leaning in closer. “They support the Arch Chancellor, actually,” he whispered in a hushed tone.

“Oh? Why is that, you idiot? You just told us that they support the Prince, and now they don’t? Make up your mind!” said the more composed soldier, delivering a swift smack to the rowdy one’s head.

“But isn’t that expected, though? He is an Arenian, right?” the quiet drunk soldier suddenly spoke.

“Yes, yes, but this time is different. So far, the only report I’ve got is that they are requesting Gerominad to do the same,” the rowdy soldier explained once more.

Something significant was on the verge of happening in the empire, and it seemed it wasn’t just the Prince’s rebellion.

It was well into the afternoon when the old lady, accompanied by her son, brought forth his meal. To him, the food presentation fell somewhere between not bad and not good, but it would suffice.

“Please set it up with my new friends here!” he requested of the lady, who gladly obliged, arranging the table for the feast. “And make sure that everyone inside this fine establishment gets what they want. Everything is on me!” he proclaimed, prompting cheers from the crowd. Swiftly, he handed another small purse of gold coins to the owner. “For your troubles,” he whispered, and the old lady responded with a giggle.

“Please, Sir, enjoy your feast. If you need anything, let us know,” the old lady said as she presented him with a sumptuous array of dishes.

“Okay, so tell me more about the Princess then,” he inquired as he began to savor the food he had ordered. “Oh, and help yourselves as well.”

“She is on her way from Remolus, or so I’ve heard. Along the way, I’m sure she witnessed the stupidity of the Arch Chancellor. Hehehe,” remarked the soldier who still held his wits, indulging in his meal.

“If she declares herself as the Queen Empress, I would gladly join her side!” the rowdy soldier suddenly shouted, raising a cup, and in unison, the group rejoiced and chanted her name once more.

It looks like the Empire is about to be undone; he thought. What he got was significantly valuable. They could use this as leverage once he accomplished the mission. “Okay, thank you for that news. How about we dine?” he suggested as the others agreed. “Also, please, talk. Don’t be a stranger.”

The others exchanged glances and one finally spoke up. “Well, it won’t really hurt. The government is treating us poorly, anyway,” the quiet one chimed in.

“Everything’s been going downhill way before the Prince rebelled. I say it was about time, anyway. I just did not expect him to take Xerxecians instead of us,” the more composed soldier said, a hint of sadness in his voice.

“Why so? Is the Prince not satisfied with the current state of affairs?” he asked, curious.

“Satisfied? He’s been advocating for more investments for the people! The cities are a glorious sight, I can tell you that. Some towns are good too, but not everyone is enjoying the luxury the Capital and the cities provide. Heck, there’s even been a growing problem of slums turning up and about in some cities!” the still-composed soldier explained.

He slowly realized that the stories of a united Trasidar were a facade, and the fact that these men were too drunk revealed everything he needed to know. Based on what he heard, everything was going downhill for the Trasidars. It was a surprising revelation for him. The stories he had heard were a mask, a lie, at best.

“Interesting. So the Prince had some reservations then?” he asked.

“Yes!” the rowdy one blurted out. “That’s why we are going to the princess right after this!” Suddenly, his two companions slammed his head onto the table to silence him.

He was taken aback. “Why? What’s wrong?” he asked, seeking an explanation.

The soldier who remained composed looked around, drawing near him as the others attempted to calm the rowdy companion. “You see, there are rumors that the Princess is preparing to retake the capital. By force.”

Stunned, he sensed that something significant was unfolding behind the scenes. Before he could delve deeper, a man abruptly slammed onto their table, scattering some of their food. The culprit was another soldier. He got a good look, and he was the victor from the fight outside.

“What are you doing here, and why are you asking questions?” the soldier demanded, his comrades quickly forming a circle around them.

“I am merely a passerby looking to eat and make some friends,” he replied calmly. Desiring no trouble, he could sense that he had no control over the unfolding events.

“A passerby with this many Imperial coins? I don’t buy it!” the arrogant soldier shouted. “And you three! Why are you talking about this like it’s nothing?”

“What is it to you? Mad that you weren’t invited to supper?” the rowdy one taunted. The soldier hurled more food, escalating the tension among the anxious patrons.

“What does a High Eagle punk like you doing here anyway, eh?” the soldier questioned, closing in.

“Leave our new friend alone. You people are the reason I left my post north of here. Crooks, all of you!” the rowdy one shouted, ready to defend him.

“Friend, I think it’s best that you leave,” the composed soldier advised the arrogant one.

“What are you going to do? There are more of us, and there are four of you. Including that High Eagle punk over there,” the arrogant soldier continued to provoke, unaware of the resolve building among his companions.

He drew a deep breath, a man of few words. Swiftly seizing his dagger, he pointed it at the soldier’s neck. “I’m running out of patience. I just stopped by to enjoy good food and good company,” he whispered before tossing the arrogant soldier aside.

The soldiers surrounding them unsheathed their swords, but before they could react, he utilized his wings to incapacitate some, while his newfound friends joined the fray, rendering assistance. The rest of the inn’s patrons rallied to their aid.

“It looks like you will have to learn the hard way to mind someone else’s business,” he calmly remarked to the arrogant soldier. The bravado of the arrogant soldier and his men rapidly waned as they grasped the direness of their situation.

“Close the door,” he ordered, and the others swiftly complied. “I can see that your current dilemma has left the outer regions unprotected. Also, it seems most of these men harbor resentment toward people like you, so they might vent some frustration on you,” he cautioned as he held a grin.

The men exchanged uneasy glances, while the soldiers trembled in a corner. Suddenly, a bystander slammed a cup into a soldier’s head, triggering a brawl. He sat quietly in his chair, indulging in some food before rising again.

Amidst the chaos and at the back, the innkeeper and her son fretted about their establishment. “This giant chicken leg tastes so good,” he remarked, tossing another bag of coins toward them. “I’m sorry for the trouble. Consider it payment for repairs—or better yet, start a new life in the capital or a big city. It’s the least I can do.”

He walked away and headed straight to his table, swiftly gathering his belongings. Afterward, he paused in front of the men he had bested, gazing at the wall instead. With a focused stare, he dismantled it and departed.

“Wait!” called one of his new friends. “Where are you going?” he inquired.

“I’m off to a mission, my friend,” he responded bluntly.

“So it’s true, huh? The Arch Chancellor is up to something?” the good one remarked.

He smirked. “What gave me away?” he asked with a sly smile.

“A loaded High Eagle like you? Come now. I have High Eagle friends in the army. They’re not as well-off as you, but they’re straight shooters,” said the good one.

“Us northerners don’t like to waste time,” he chuckled. “It looks like what we were called upon wasn’t so secret at all, now is it?”

The good one chuckled before spitting blood. “Well, we don’t trust him, that’s why. But you look like a good lad, so you won’t really follow through with his request, would you?”

He just smiled, withholding an answer for the moment.

“Well, off you go. Just remember, you didn’t hear it from us, okay? We’ll take care of the lads for you,” he pointed out before returning inside.

“The innkeeper and her son. Help them clean up,” he requested as he began to hover.

The good one saluted and bid him farewell. He shook his head and, as he ascended into the imperial skies, smirked at the thought of his newfound friends and how the day had become more eventful for him. Breathing deeply, he soared into the twilight, Luna rising behind a distant mountain, shadows of the day enveloped by the approaching night.

His mind dwelled on the revelation he had uncovered about the empire—everything was crumbling. What it meant for the High Eagles of the north, however, remained to be unveiled.

End of Chapter XX