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SELENE

M orning’s first light filters through the narrow window of my chamber.

I lie still on the small bed in Vaelith’s estate, mind already stirring with plans.

My body has grown accustomed to the early routine: dawn training with Vaelith, bruising skirmishes, grim stares from his loyal men.

But today promises something different—a war council, one that could yield a trove of Orthani’s tactical secrets if I play my part well.

I rise and move to the mirror near my table.

My reflection reveals faint arcs of bruises from recent drills, along with the swirling arcane scars on my ribs, an unfortunate testament to a risky transformative spell in my past. Orthani’s generals would see them and suspect I’m more formidable than they realize, or at least suspect how far my magic goes.

I want that detail concealed for now. If I plan to exploit them, surprise is my best weapon.

I press a hand against my ribs. Warmth trickles through my veins as I summon a trick of flesh-shaping.

The faint hum of my transformative magic stirs.

Carefully, I shift my skin’s texture over the scarred areas, blending them into seamless flesh.

It’s no showy re-creation—just enough subtle smoothing so my attire won’t reveal anything suspicious.

If the wards sense a faint surge, they likely won’t sound an alarm unless I attempt something grand.

This is small-scale, a mere cosmetic shift.

Still, sweat beads along my neck from the concentration. I can’t risk a slip.

When I glance back at the mirror, the scars have vanished beneath a delicate tapestry of unmarked skin. I exhale. The estate’s wards haven’t flared, no guard barges in. My secret remains safe.

A rap at my door pulls me from my thoughts.

A guard steps in, features stony, and informs me Vaelith expects me in the main hall for the council.

I give a curt nod, retrieving the dark tunic and breeches assigned to me.

They’re standard Orthani attire for soldiers, but I add my own flair: leather bracers that conceal faint hints of arcane patterning, plus a belt carrying a single dagger Vaelith allowed me.

He claims it’s for my tasks, but I sense the unspoken tension whenever I wear a blade near his men.

I follow the guard through winding corridors.

Guards stand at intervals, hands resting on sword hilts, eyes flicking to me with caution.

I pay them little heed. My heart pounds with an eager energy.

This war council is a chance to gather intelligence.

Orthani no doubt wants me present to show my supposed “loyalty,” but I intend to glean far more than they suspect.

At last, we arrive at a broad set of double doors carved with Orthani’s serpent insignia.

The guard raps once, steps aside, and gestures me in.

I push through, entering a grand chamber dominated by an oval table cluttered with maps, arcane crystals, and scattered parchments.

A row of tall windows admits the day’s pale light, enough to illuminate half a dozen officers waiting in stony silence.

Vaelith stands at the head, obsidian arms folded, wearing his familiar sleeveless cuirass and a black sash with his family crest. He glances up sharply at my entrance.

His gaze flickers over me, lingering for a breath longer than necessary—perhaps noticing I’ve concealed my scars.

Or maybe the tension from our recent training session lingers.

Heat flares in my chest at the memory of that morning’s clash, the crackle of energy when our weapons locked. I banish the thought. Focus, Selene.

He clears his throat. “Good, you’re here. Step forward.”

I do, keeping my chin level, ignoring the glares from the officers.

Some remain seated, others stand, arms crossed in silent challenge.

One I recognize: the woman with braided silver hair from earlier counsel sessions.

Another is a stern man with a scar slashing his left cheek.

The rest are new, but they all wear the same hardened expressions typical of Orthani’s leadership class.

Vaelith’s voice resonates through the chamber. “We convene to finalize strategies for our southern campaign. The orc threat has grown near the passes, and scouts report sightings of renegade humans among them. We cannot allow them to unify.”

A murmur of agreement ripples across the officers.

Vaelith motions for me to approach the table.

The central map depicts Orthani’s southwestern frontier, dotted with triangular icons for watchtowers, swirling lines for roads, and X marks for potential enemies.

My sabotage from prior days remains, though I only vaguely see the evidence—lines slightly out of place, ridge placements misaligned. No one seems to have noticed yet.

One officer, the scarred man, gestures at the map’s edge. “Commander, we propose sending two regiments through the ravine to outflank any orc strongholds. Our supply wagons can follow once we secure the ridgeline.”

Vaelith frowns. “We risk entrapment if the orcs lay an ambush in that ravine. We considered a route further west.”

An older officer, wearing a high collar, chimes in. “That route is uncharted. The terrain may be too rough. Our men could lose formation.”

I sense the opening Vaelith has given me. He specifically wants my input. Maybe he suspects I know more about that region, or maybe he wants to test my cunning. I let the hush extend a beat, relishing the chance to impress them—on my terms.

“Commander,” I say, placing a steady hand near the map.

“The orcs aren’t typically strong in siege tactics, but they excel at ambushes in tight spaces.

That ravine is their dream scenario. If you push two regiments through it, you risk them unleashing rolling boulders or hidden archers from cliff edges. Your wagons will be sitting ducks.”

A faint hush follows. The older officer snorts. “You presume we can’t handle orc ambushes? We’ve crushed orcs in open combat for centuries.”

I smile, injecting a hint of condescension. “Open combat, yes. Not hidden canyon ambushes. This region is filled with caves they can use for quick strikes. Unless you enjoy losing men and supplies, reconsider.”

The scarred man bristles. Vaelith, however, watches me intently. “Then you suggest the alternate route? The one further west?”

I nod. “Yes. But you should re-task your scouts to ensure you have vantage points. Identify a ridgeline where archers can watch the ravine from above. If you force the orcs to come out into the open, you’ll have a better chance.”

The silver-haired woman officer narrows her eyes. “An interesting plan. Are you certain the ridgeline is accessible?”

I keep my tone matter-of-fact. “With the right squads, yes. Quick infiltration teams can scale it. If the orcs attempt to flank, your archers handle them from above. Meanwhile, your main force avoids the ravine’s choke points.”

A ripple of grudging acceptance moves through the group.

The older officer flicks a glance at Vaelith, as if seeking confirmation.

Vaelith rubs his chin, scanning the map.

“We’ll update the route accordingly,” he decides.

“And to ensure success, we’ll intensify recon.

We’ll need an infiltration team. Are you volunteering, Selene? ”

The question stirs me. If I volunteer, I might get field freedom away from the fortress, a chance to gather outside resources, or contact Eryx on the sly.

But I risk the wards not covering me. Ai’s fate dangles in the balance if I run.

They might punish her. My jaw sets, frustration churns.

Vaelith’s eyes seem to bore into me, testing my reaction.

I manage a casual shrug. “If you trust me not to vanish in the night, I’m capable. Send me with a small squad, and I’ll confirm the ridgeline’s viability. Otherwise, keep me here. Your choice.”

Vaelith’s gaze flares with tension. “We’ll finalize that arrangement soon. For now, the council must see the updated plan.” His tone implies the conversation’s end, though a flicker of challenge remains in his posture.

Another series of tactical details follow: supply chain routes, garrison rotations, potential threats from other dark elf houses who might sabotage Orthani’s expansion.

I pay close attention, mentally storing each snippet of intelligence.

The older officer occasionally sneers when I speak, but after I defuse two more minor concerns with succinct logic, the rest warm to me—albeit grudgingly.

They might see me as a reluctant ally in this campaign, or a mind they can shape.

Let them think so. The more they accept me, the more intel I glean.

After nearly two hours, Vaelith dismisses the group.

Chairs scrape across the marble floor, officers gather their notes, and the hush of departure settles.

I linger near the table, feigning interest in tidying scattered parchments.

In truth, I want to see any side notes or records they leave behind.

My discreet scanning pays off: I glimpse references to a second orc camp deeper south, plus mention of infiltration by “unknown assassins.” Possibly Eryx’s doings.

My chest tightens. So Orthani is aware of infiltration attempts. Something to keep in mind.

At last, the last officer exits. Vaelith remains, arms folded. The tension between us ripples again, the sense of being alone in a big chamber with him. My heart thuds, reminding me that sparks of antagonistic chemistry have become routine—like a volatile tango we can’t quit.

He levels me with a look that’s part scrutiny, part grudging respect. “You handled yourself well. My officers might not say it, but they see your logic.”

I shrug, adopting a confident tone. “If they took me for a fool, they’ve learned otherwise.”