The dream returned.
A pale tower. Stretching beyond clouds. Carved from stone older than time, glowing faintly under a silver moon. Its peak pierced the sky, and yet I still tried to reach it—hands extended, breath caught, the ground falling away beneath my feet.
I almost touched it.
Almost.
Then—
"GET UP, NOBLE SCUM!"
I woke with a jolt, breath ragged, my body still locked in the echo of that otherworldly dream.
A thick shadow loomed over me—broad, scarred, and scowling. It was the squad leader, Captain Herrick.
He threw a shovel at my chest.
"You think you can sleep like a prince while the rest of us build camp?" he snarled. "Get your ass moving!"
My hands clenched around the wood, and I rose, jaw tight. Around me, the rest of the unit had already started raising tents, collecting firewood, and digging earth for trenches.
"You want special treatment because of your little cursed bloodline?" Herrick growled, stepping closer. "I served the Kira family for twenty damn years and never got a single thank-you. So believe me, brat, I owe your kind."
He shoved me backward with his boot. "Tonight, you dig. No magic. Just muscle."
I turned away before my eyes could betray me. The cold metal of the shovel grounded me more than I cared to admit.
As I dragged myself to the edge of the camp, a quiet voice joined me.
"You'll want to pace yourself," Brenn murmured, carrying two bundles of wood. "He's not letting you sleep until dawn."
I didn't answer.
"He's always been like that," Brenn added. "Resentful. Not because you did anything… but because your father did."
That made me pause.
Brenn's gaze stayed on the fire ahead. "Your father beat him bloody once. Years ago. Herrick was caught pocketing estate funds. Instead of dismissing him, Lord Darius dragged him through the mud in front of the whole court. Said, 'Let this dog know its place.' Ever since… well." He nodded at the shovel. "You're his revenge."
I dug without complaint.
The weight of dirt was lighter than the weight of bloodlines.
The campfire burned low by the time I'd finished. Sweat soaked my shirt, and my muscles ached with a dull burn. I told myself it was better than magic—at least no one could claim I'd cheated this.
As I wandered toward the water barrels by the tree line, the forest around us whispered in low winds.
Then I heard a sound—too rhythmic, too breathy to be wind.
I followed it cautiously, weaving between tents and brush, toward a small clearing behind the supply cart.
And then I saw them.
The vice-captain—Malric. And Aylen, Herrick's lover.
Her laugh was breathless as he pinned her against the wooden frame, her moans muffled by his calloused hand. His voice followed, low and dark.
"At the end of this mission," Malric muttered, breath hitching, "I'm taking that bastard's credit, his command, and you. He'll die in the field, and no one will even blink."
Aylen grinned, arms coiled around his neck. "Don't forget the bonus. They'll think you're the hero."
My stomach turned.
I backed away, careful not to snap a branch.
Malric and Aylen. Scheming. Plotting murder.
And I had just become a witness.
The firelight flickered between the trees like the reflection of something watching.
Not a soul would believe me if I spoke.
But I had a choice now.
Keep digging.
Or start planning.
//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
Three days passed.
Three days of routine shaped like punishment.
Every night, Brenn and I rebuilt the camp—him hauling stone and timber, me trudging back and forth with water buckets. My shoulders burned, my palms blistered, and still I didn't complain.
Brenn, despite his sun-scarred skin and bent back, never uttered a word of frustration. He only worked. In silence. Like someone who'd made peace with pain.
I respected that.
Herrick, meanwhile, wore the air of a man in control. Bellowing orders by day, sipping his share of rations by night. The men obeyed him—some out of fear, others from habit.
But beneath that steel facade, the cracks showed. You just had to look in the right places.
Like at Aylen.
The way she laughed a second too long whenever Malric, the vice-captain, walked by. The way his hand would rest a beat too long on her lower back. The way her eyes darted toward him in the quiet moments between duties.
They thought no one noticed.
They were wrong.
I didn't sleep much those nights. Not because of the work—but because I knew something vile was being brewed behind those polished uniforms and thin smiles.
They weren't just planning a betrayal.
They were waiting for a stage to perform it.
On the fourth day, we reached the base of a jagged mountain range.
Dark stone jutted from the earth like the ribs of a giant beast, reaching skyward and blocking out the sun. Mist clung to the cliffs like old curses, and a cold wind howled between narrow ravines.
Captain Herrick stood before us, his hand on the hilt of his sword, his voice gravel.
"This is it."
He turned toward the gathered squad, eyes narrowed.
"Three days ago, Lady Valyra received word from one of her spies. A group of mountain bandits—no more than fifteen—raided one of her secret convoys. They stole something important. Something valuable."
He paused for effect.
"A sealed chest."
The men shifted uneasily. Even Brenn's expression darkened.
Herrick continued. "We don't know what's inside it. And it doesn't matter. What matters is that we retrieve it. If possible, alive. If not... leave none breathing."
He gestured toward the mountain pass behind him.
"They're up there. Buried in the rocks. Hiding in the fog. We move before sunset."
Malric stepped forward with a smug grin, eyes scanning us like a wolf among sheep. "Captain," he said, "we should split into two strike groups. Pincer formation. Cut off any escape."
Herrick nodded slowly, clearly pleased by the suggestion. "Smart. I'll lead the main force. Malric, you take the left ridge. Circle wide. Cut them off when they try to flee."
"And the noble brat?" one soldier called out, nodding at me. "He's green."
Herrick's eyes landed on me like a hammer.
"He goes with Malric."
I didn't flinch.
Malric only smirked.
"Of course," he said smoothly. "I'll keep the boy safe."
Safe. Right.
That same night, as we prepped supplies and weapons, I caught Malric and Aylen again. This time only a glance—his fingers brushed her wrist while she handed him a blade.
That was all.
But it was enough to make my gut twist.
They weren't done scheming.
They were just waiting for the perfect kill.
And that mountain would be their perfect grave.
For someone.