Page 53 of Warlord’s Plaything

53

XYRON

" W e strike at dawn."

Menias’ voice is rough, his tone all sharp edges and war-hardened certainty.

"We take him before he finishes whatever unholy ritual he’s planning."

His warriors nod, their faces hard, their tusked mouths set in grim resolve.

They are killers. Warmongers.

They know what it means to fight a battle you might not walk away from.

And yet?—

I see it in their eyes.

They fear this.

Not the battle.

Not the bloodshed.

But the thing Kaelith is trying to become.

What we’re facing isn’t a man anymore.

It’s something worse.

Something that should have never been woken.

"He’s gathering power at the altar," I say, my voice steady despite the weight pressing on my chest.

I keep my gaze on the map spread before us.

A crude thing, drawn in the dirt, marked with the places where shadows have already started to gather unnaturally.

"That place was never meant to be used again. My father ensured it."

Hira watches me, silent. Waiting.

I exhale, jaw tightening.

"That altar is not just a place of power. It’s a wound in the earth itself. A place where necromantic magic bleeds through the fabric of this world. And Kaelith is trying to rip it open."

The fire in the center of our camp crackles, embers spitting like angry spirits.

Menias crosses his arms, his massive form silhouetted against the flames. "Then we don’t give him the chance. We gut him before he finishes."

Easy words.

Simple logic.

But I know better.

I know what my father told me when I was young, when he stood over this same map, warning me of what lurked beneath these lands.

"This land is cursed, my son. Our family’s primary duty is not to rule it, but to contain it. If it ever wakes up, the dead will never sleep again."

I drag a hand through my hair, exhaling slow.

"Killing Kaelith won’t be enough."

All eyes turn to me.

"As long as the altar stands, his power will remain."

Hira’s brows draw together, her hazel eyes sharp with something unreadable. "Then we destroy the altar."

"It’s not that simple."

"It never fucking is."

I step forward, pointing to the center of the map. "This place is bound by blood. The magic is old, tied to sacrifice, tied to lineage. The only way to sever it completely is with the blood of someone connected to the land."

Silence.

Then Hira understands.

Her body stiffens, her breath hitching slightly.

"Your blood."

I nod.

"Yes."

A beat.

A slow, dragging moment where I can feel the truth sinking into her bones.

Menias snorts, shaking his head.

"So what? We bleed you a little? That doesn’t sound too bad."

Hira’s jaw tightens.

"Not just a little," I murmur. "It has to be enough. Enough to sever the connection completely."

Her face darkens.

But she doesn’t argue.

Not yet.

Because now is not the time for it.

The meeting ends with final strategies, final orders.

Menias and his warriors retreat to prepare, their voices low, their armor gleaming under the firelight.

But Hira doesn’t move.

She stays, standing at the boundary of the fire’s glow, her body wound tight, her gaze locked on me like she’s trying to solve a puzzle she doesn’t like.

"Say it."

She doesn’t flinch. "You’re planning to die."

I smirk. "I’m planning to win."

"That’s not the same fucking thing."

I step closer.

Close enough to see the way her throat works when she swallows.

We’re only inches apart, the warmth of her body calling onto me.

"Would it make you feel better if I lied?"

"No."

"Then don’t ask me to."

For the first time since this all started, since war became the only thing we could see?—

Hira’s shoulders drop.

She looks tired.

Not just from battle.

Not just from pain.

But from this.

From us.

From what we’ve been dancing around since the beginning.

She lifts a hand, pressing her fingers to her temple. "Tomorrow, we fight. Tomorrow, we might die." Her voice is quieter now. "But tonight ? —"

She doesn’t finish.

She doesn’t have to.

I already know.

This is our last moment.

And neither of us want to waste it.

I reach for her, curling my fingers into the leather strap across her shoulder, pulling her against me.

Her breath catches.

And then she lets go.

Lets herself collapse into me, lets herself forget, just for a moment.

And fuck?—

I do too.

Because tomorrow might be the last time I ever hold her like this.

And if it is?—

Then I want to remember.