The rain had finally stopped, leaving behind a sky the color of cold steel. The roads were thick with mud, and the stench of damp straw lingered in the courtyard. Aldric stood alone outside the stables, staring at the distant hills where Brisach's envoys had disappeared hours ago.
Pierre approached quietly, a cloak draped over his shoulder.
"You haven't slept," the squire said.
"There's no time for sleep," Aldric replied, eyes still on the horizon. "Brisach won't wait for spring to choose sides."
Pierre hesitated, then offered the cloak.
"Renard left a message. One of his men spotted a caravan near the river. No banners. Could be smugglers. Or spies."
Aldric took the cloak and nodded.
"Send a rider to follow them, but keep a distance. I want eyes, not a confrontation."
As Pierre turned to obey, Aldric's thoughts drifted—not to Brisach or the Duke, but to his former life. To chalkboards and lectures, to the quiet hum of modernity. It felt like another world entirely.
But the weight of leadership left little room for nostalgia.
By midday, the hall was filled with the lords of the lesser fiefs. Men who had once ignored Aldric's calls now came with questions, offers, demands. They had heard of the emissaries, of the storm coming from the east.
Aldric stood before them in simple clothes, no crown, no armor—only presence.
"If you've come to wait for Brisach's choice, you're already lost," he told them.
A murmur rose, a few bristled, but none walked out.
Lord Maurel, old and cunning, stepped forward.
"And if we choose you now, and the Duke crushes you, what will we have left?"
Aldric met his gaze. "The Duke doesn't want vassals. He wants servants. And when he wins, he will bleed you dry. Join me, and I promise a council—not a throne. Power shared, not hoarded."
There was silence. Then a younger lord spoke.
"And if you take the throne?"
Aldric's voice didn't waver. "Then hold me to this promise. Tear it from me if I break it."
The silence broke. Some laughed. Others nodded. It was not unity, but it was something close.
That night, Aldric returned to his chamber, exhausted. He opened his notebook and drew a rough sketch of a council chamber—a circle, not a dais. Equal seats. Symbols of the old world clashed with memories of the new.
He didn't hear Charles enter until the older knight dropped a bundle of wet scrolls on the table.
"From the east," Charles said. "Reports. Movement near the river. Possibly the Duke's men."
Aldric picked up one scroll, the wax seal broken. His face darkened as he read.
"He's probing our borders. Testing us."
Charles nodded. "Like a wolf."
Aldric stood slowly.
"Then it's time we sharpen our teeth."
Outside, the wind rose again. But this time, it carried no rain.
Only warning.