The gates of Kubu Fort creaked open in the dead of night. Cold wind swept through the courtyard as three worn-out figures stepped inside.
Yvette didn't slow her pace. Her legs ached, her throat dry, but there was no time to rest.
They needed to report to Dyeva. Now.
Ourri's eyes scanned the silent fort with a rigid calm, his hand never leaving the hilt of his sword. Runa followed closely, cloak fluttering in the wind, her face pale and strained.
They entered the central building. At the end of the hall, lanterns flickered above the strategy table. Dyeva stood beside Gerrard, poring over a series of scribbled reports and old maps. They turned as the door slammed open.
Yvette stepped forward. Her voice trembled, but she forced it out.
"We were set up. Evan... Evan's been captured by the Clares Kingdom."
Dyeva didn't speak at first. Her eyes locked onto Yvette's, and for a moment, there was nothing but silence and pressure—like the air itself was waiting.
"…So that's how it turned out," Dyeva finally said, her voice low. Concern was written across her face, but it wasn't panic. It was calculation.
Runa stepped up. "We thought we were helping."
Gerrard folded his arms, letting out a slow breath. "Clares doesn't play games like this unless they're desperate. The fact they let you go tells me they don't believe we're the culprits… not yet."
"Then why take Evan?" Runa asked sharply. "Why not just question all of us?"
"They needed a name. A face. Someone with authority," Gerrard said. "They didn't capture him to punish—at least not yet. They want to confirm something. That's what worries me."
"You think they were looking for a scapegoat?" Yvette asked.
"No," Dyeva said. "They already have one. Us."
She moved to the window, gazing out at the dark sky.
"This whole mission was supposed to be simple. Scout, report, assist. But now? We're tangled in someone plot…."
"King Durren's not going to wait," Gerrard added. "He'll want answers. And if he finds out we've lost a captain and gotten accused of Elf royal member kidnapping..."
"This guild will burn," Dyeva finished. "And we'll be the first to feel the heat."
There was a long silence.
"Rest, all of you," Dyeva said finally. "Leave Evan to me. We'll find a way."
The next morning came with thick clouds and tension in the air.
The guards spotted a lone carriage approaching the fort. The flag on it bore the mark of Janma, Human Capital. An envoy.
He was a thin, nervous man with too many medals for a messenger. He stepped into the center courtyard, scroll in hand, and called out for the leaders to gather.
Dyeva and Gerrard arrived first. The rest of the squad watched from the sides, silent and anxious.
The envoy raised the scroll and began to read:
"By decree of the Royal Council of Janma, one member of the Golden Sun guild has been executed—on the grounds of attempted assassination of a palace official."
The air shifted. The crowd gasped.
Dyeva didn't speak. But the wind around her began to howl, swirling with invisible pressure. The torches around the walls burst to life, even though no one touched them.
Cracks spread beneath her feet. Magic bled from her in waves—pure emotion, unrestrained.
Gerrard quickly stepped in. "Dyeva," he said low. "Not here. Control it."
Her breath was uneven. The power surged one last time—then collapsed. The air stilled.
She walked forward, her boots tapping on the cracked stone. The envoy had fallen to his knees, trembling.
"Keep reading," she said coldly.
The man nodded rapidly, holding the scroll with shaking fingers.
"His Majesty… calls for the presence of all Golden Sun leaders and captains. You are to appear at the Royal Council Hall in Janma… within one week. Failure to comply… will be considered rebellion and conspiracy."
The envoy lowered the scroll, eyes refusing to meet Dyeva's.
"Leave," she said.
He fled, nearly tripping over himself on the way back to the carriage. Even the horses reared as if sensing something unnatural.
Silence fell again.
"This is a setup," Gerrard muttered. "Timing's too perfect. First Evan taken by Elf Kingdom, now this?"
"If they really executed someone," Yvette said, stepping forward, "we need to know who. They didn't name the body."
"I don't believe it's Ourra," Dyeva said. "If he was dead, they'd have paraded the body. They want us rattled."
Dyeva turned to Gerrard. "Two fronts. We can't handle both at the same times."
"I'll go after Evan and go to Clares," Gerrard said immediately.
Dyeva gave a small nod. "Then I'll go to Janma."
She turned to Ourri, who had stood like a statue the entire time.
She said. "Listen. Do nothing until we confirm the truth. Don't lift your blade without knowing who lies beneath the shroud."
Ourri didn't reply. But his jaw clenched. His eyes… were full of fire.
Something was boiling inside him. Silent rage. Unlike the calm and loyal knight they all knew.
Runa and Yvette exchanged looks. Neither said a word.
So much had happened in just a few days—and it was only getting worse.
The guild stood at the edge of something far greater than a failed mission.
A war of shadows. A kingdom's secret.
And now… they were all part of it.