Children of the Dawn

As the council chamber emptied, the vast hall felt strangely hollow, the echoes of the King's decree still seeming to hang in the air. The Iron Wolves stood alone in the center of the polished marble, the weight of their new reality pressing down on them. They were no longer just adventurers; they were instruments of a kingdom preparing for a crusade.

Azaël moved to Eirik's side, her steps silent on the stone. "The King spoke of the Tower calling to those it needs," she murmured, her voice low, meant for him alone. "My vision… the silhouettes I saw standing against the spreading shadow… you were the clearest, Eirik. But there was another. For a fleeting moment, I saw him." She nodded discreetly toward Joran Martel, who was speaking quietly with Captain Merek near the chamber doors. "A young man with hair like spun gold, but it was his eyes that held my focus, the clear, bright blue of a summer sky that stood in stark antithesis to the swift, ethereal shadow I perceived clinging to his form. It was a chaotic web of threads, a form that seemed pulled in a dozen different directions at once, as if tethered to something unseen."

Eirik's gaze followed hers. Joran stood with a disciplined posture, but Eirik could see the exhaustion etched around his eyes. Azaël's words sent another chill down his spine, another thread pulled taut in the tapestry of fate he felt closing around him. It was too much to be a coincidence.

Before he could process the implication, Captain Merek broke away from Joran and strode toward them, his expression grim and resolute. "Iron Wolves," he said, his voice a low command that cut through the lingering courtly bustle. "A word. In private."

He led them not to a royal solar, but to a stark, map-lined war room off the main hall. The air smelled of wax and old leather, a place of function, not ceremony. The door clicked shut, sealing them in a bubble of tense, strategic silence. Joran stood at attention in the corner, his presence now feeling deliberate.

"I have just concluded my preliminary briefing with His Majesty," Merek began, dispensing with all formality. "He has granted me full operational command of all military assets assigned to this… incursion. What you say in this room, I will carry to the King. What I command, you will consider his will."

He paced before the massive map of Astoria, his gaze heavy. "Your report is as compelling as it is terrifying. But you are a party of powerful, yet unknown, variables. The Crown cannot build a strategy around a force it doesn't understand. We need a bridge between your reality and mine."

He gestured to the young scout in the corner. "Joran Martel is now the single most important intelligence asset in this city. He is the only official Crown witness to the events at Graystone. His testimony is the only reason the more skeptical members of the council are not dismissing your tale as the exaggerated ravings of frontier mercenaries."

Merek's expression hardened. "He is too valuable to be sent back to a barracks, and he is too green to operate alone in this new shadow war. My primary duty is to secure the King's Highway, a task that will demand my full attention. I cannot personally mentor him." He stopped pacing and looked directly at Darius. "But I cannot let my best witness out of my sight. And your party is now the tip of the spear in this investigation."

He laid out his proposal, not as a royal decree, but as a tactical compact. "I am assigning Scout Martel to your unit, effective immediately. He will act as your official liaison to my command. He will be my eyes and ears within your party, ensuring a constant, secure flow of intelligence back to the Royal Guard. In return," he paused, letting the weight of the offer settle, "you gain a direct, trusted line to the military command structure. You will have legitimacy. When you need support, your word, carried by him, will be my command."

Darius looked at the young scout. He saw the discipline, the quiet competence, and the shadow of the horrors he had witnessed in his blue eyes. He turned his gaze to his team, a silent consultation.

Eirik's gaze flickered to Joran, then back to Merek. He nodded, but his agreement was not as immediate as it appeared. Azaël's words echoed in his mind, the vision of two silhouettes, of Joran as a chaotic web of threads. It all felt too clean, another piece falling into place on a board he couldn't see. A strange, unsettling feeling, the sense of being guided by an unseen hand, prickled at the back of his neck. But he pushed it down. A skilled scout was a tactical necessity, and the advantage of a direct line to Merek's command was undeniable. Whatever game fate was playing, this was a move he had to make.

Lyra offered Joran a warm, compassionate smile. She saw not just a soldier, but another soul scarred by the encroaching darkness, another person to protect.

Finn, ever the pragmatist, gave a jaunty shrug. "A King's man watching our back and cutting through red tape? I like the sound of that. Might keep me out of the stocks." A faint violet spark jumped from his gloved fingertip, betraying his nervous energy.

Azaël's gaze on Joran was piercing and analytical. A flicker of conflict crossed her features. Merek's words felt like a dismissal, a sting to her elven pride. We already have a scout, she thought, the words a sharp, internal counterpoint. The thought surprised her; she had been with these humans for only a few days. Why did their opinion of her skills suddenly matter? Their alliance was merely temporary. Yet, as she considered this, her foresight whispered otherwise. She saw the two silhouettes again, a clear, unshakable vision of Eirik and Joran standing against a great shadow. The threads of fate were pulling them together, weaving a tapestry she could not yet see in its entirety, but whose pattern was undeniable. This human boy was now part of their story, whether she wished it or not. With a quiet, internal sigh that was a surrender to a destiny she did not fully understand, her expression softened. She gave a single, almost imperceptible nod to Darius, her assent silent but clear.

With the consensus clear, Darius turned back to Merek. "We would be honored to have Scout Martel join us, Captain. His skills will be a welcome and vital addition."

"Good," Merek said, a fraction of the immense weight seeming to lift from his shoulders. He looked at Joran, his expression softening. "Your new assignment is to accompany and assist the Iron Wolves. You will answer to Sir Darius in the field, but your ultimate loyalty remains to me, and to Astoria." His face grew serious once more. "Dark days are ahead. We must all work together, soldiers, adventurers, mages, and clerics alike, to ensure light prevails."

The compact was made. The Iron Wolves were now six. As they left the war room, Merek pulled Darius and Eirik aside one last time, his gaze settling on Eirik with a new intensity.

"Thornefell," he said, his voice a low growl. "Keep your wits about you in that Tower. You have painted a target on your backs, and the Abyss will take a special interest in your climb." He then glanced toward Joran, who was speaking quietly with Lyra, and a flicker of something deeply personal, the worry of a father, crossed his weathered face.

"That boy," Merek said, his voice softening just a fraction, "he's the best I've ever trained. But he's still a boy. He follows orders and he's brave to a fault, but he wears his heart on his sleeve. This is his first time this deep in the shadows." He looked Eirik dead in the eye. "Look after him for me. He'll watch your back without question. Make sure you're watching his."

The words, a raw and unexpected plea from the hardened commander, sent a chilling premonition through Eirik. He looked at his friends, his family, now with a new, young soldier effectively placed in their charge. The feeling he'd had on the road, that their choices were not entirely their own, returned with a crushing weight.