Viktor's Wrath

Kaavi watched the flame catch, his thoughts a whirl of uncertainty. He turned to face the Joren, his voice low but firm.

"We need to speak to the Baron," he said.

Joren hesitated for a moment before responding. "Now?"

Kaavi nodded. "Now."

Later that night - Baron's private study

The cold clung to the walls of the Baron's private study like an old memory. The fire in the hearth crackled weakly, its glow dim and fading, as if the room itself held its breath.

When the Baron entered, his cloak heavy with the weight of the storm coming, he paused at the threshold. For a long moment, his eyes scanned the dark corners of the room. The silence was oppressive, thick with tension. His gaze finally rested on the two figures standing in the shadows, half-lit by the dying fire.

The Baron said nothing at first, the two figures waiting in the shadows didn't startle him, he had expected them. Even if not consciously.

"Kaavi. Joren."

Kaavi, his presence commanding even in stillness. Joren, leaning casually but with an air of readiness, his eyes sharp.

Baron simply removed his cloak and placed it over the back of the chair, and walked toward the desk, where a small wooden box sat unopened. He didn't look at it. Not yet.

Kaavi stepped into the light. "We've just returned from interrogating the prisoner," he said carefully.

The Baron turned slowly to face him. "And?"

Kaavi exchanged a glance with Joren, then said, "He was being controlled. Spoken through, and used like a puppet."

The Baron raised an eyebrow. "So, the enemy has a necromancer?"

Kaavi shook his head. "No. This wasn't necromancy. The body was alive, breathing and eating like a normal human but completely hollow inside. No memories, no will. A living, soulless puppet. Easier to control, easier to blend in."

Joren added, "And harder to detect. No stench of death. Nothing to arouse suspicion."

The Baron didn't respond immediately. Instead, he turned to his desk and stared at the small wooden box resting on it. He opened it with a deliberate slowness, as though acknowledging its presence gave it power.

Inside, four fingers lay neatly.

"I received this box three hours ago..." he said, his voice low but cold. "Along with a message - 'Surrender without resistance', or they'll start cutting off everyone in Whitehold... My son is among them."

Kaavi's face was still. "I expected something like this. They want submission, not negotiation."

"They're moving fast," Kaavi continued. "Whitehold was just the first step. They're using fear and infiltration to take over cities without open war. But they're not just after land."

"They want you?" the Baron said. It wasn't a question.

Kaavi gave a slight nod.

The Baron's gaze hardened.

Joren stepped forward. "Then we fight back." Trying to change the topic.

The Baron's tone grew sharper. "Not with recklessness."

"So, what's our move?"

Baron didn't hesitate. "We split. I will lead our forces and move openly, banners high and swords drawn. A direct advance toward Whitehold. Loud enough to draw every eye."

Kaavi's brow lifted slightly.

The Baron said. "And while they watch me, you slip in from behind."

He crossed the room and unrolled a map on the table. His fingers moved with precision, tracing a jagged route through forest and crag.

"Joren," the Baron said without looking up, "you've worked these lands before. You know the forgotten roads?"

"I do," Joren replied. "There's a narrow valley up north of the frost line...barely used, but it cuts around the outer ridge. If we keep low and fast, we can be inside Whitehold's outer perimeter before their scouts catch the noise of your march."

 "And once we're in."

"You disrupt," the Baron said coldly. "You find their command structures...supply runners, lieutenants, anyone giving orders and erase them. Quietly. Thoroughly."

Joren nodded. "I can guide us. I know the weak points."

The Baron's gaze lifted to Kaavi. "The Hollow Swords are already under your command. Use them well. They're loyal, precise, and invisible when they need to be."

Kaavi nodded once. "I won't waste them."

"See that you don't," the Baron replied. "There will be no rescue. No second push. Be careful. If you're caught, you die behind enemy lines."

He folded the map slowly, pressing the weight of silence into every crease. Then he placed his son's signet ring beside the box of fingers, staring at both as if weighing the cost.

"Whitehold cannot fall. Not to ghosts wearing flesh."

Kaavi stepped back. "We'll move before first light."

The Baron looked to the fire again, eyes hard. "I will give them a storm they can't ignore. While you slip through the dark and cut out their spine."

Joren glanced at Kaavi. "We'll be ready."

Kaavi gave the faintest nod. "Then it begins."

As Kaavi and Joren stepped out of the study, the Baron remained still, watching them disappear down the dim corridor.

Joren adjusting his cloak against the cold draft, his eyes flicking briefly toward Kaavi, an old soldier gauging the measure of the strange new man beside him. The Baron's gaze lingered.

He did not say farewell. Instead, he offered a silent hope…for their safe return, and for the sliver of resistance they now carried with them.

A stranger had arrived in his fortress days ago. But tonight, the Baron found himself praying for the survival of a friend.

He turned back to the fire, jaw clenched, shoulders straightening beneath the weight of what lay ahead.

"They think they've broken me", his eyes locked on the flickering flames. "I have buried my loved ones again and again, while protecting this land. I will not stop now."

And in the firelight, alone with his silence and steel, the last wall of Whitehold stood.