Outskirt Of Kandor
The war tent smelled of oiled leather and cold iron. General Vex stood at the center, her armor dark as dried blood, her grey-streaked hair pulled tight against her scalp. She studied the holographic map of Kandor, the city’s modest walls glowing faintly under the projection.
"With his dying breath," she said, her voice carrying no grief, only cold assessment, "Kael sent a confirmation signal back to the Dark Lord. The son of prophecy resides in this city. Not a rumor. Not a distant threat. Here. Now. Under our boots."
She turned to face her assembled officers. "This is no longer a reconnaissance mission. This is not a suppression action. This is sacred duty. The seers spoke of a child who would undo everything our lord has built. That child breathes the air of Kandor at this very moment. Our duty is to ensure he breathes his last before sunrise."
A captain stepped forward. "The city is fully encircled, General. A quarter of the Dark Lord’s standing army surrounds these walls. No rat could escape without our notice."
Vex nodded once. "Good. We do not assault yet. The boy is a variable. We do not know his capabilities. We do not know if he is aware of his nature. We do not know if he can be drawn out or if we must burn the city to its foundations to find him." She looked at her communications officer. "Send the herald. The city chief will be given one opportunity to comply."
---
Inside Kandor’s walls, panic spread like fire through dry grass.
The evening markets had been bustling when the first reports came. Then the horns. Then the sight from the watchtowers—tens of thousands of dark-armored soldiers ringing the horizon, their siege engines being assembled with mechanical precision. No battle flags. No demands. Just the slow, inevitable tightening of a noose.
People ran through the streets, clutching children and valuables. Merchants slammed shutters closed. The city guard scrambled to their posts, pale-faced and outnumbered a hundred to one.
Chief Aldric stood in the great hall of Kandor, his hands gripping the edge of his council table. He was not a young man, nor a warrior. He was an administrator, a negotiator, a man who had kept this city prosperous through trade and diplomacy. War had never touched Kandor’s walls.
Now war was at his doorstep, and it had not even bothered to knock.
The herald arrived without ceremony. He was a thin man in dark grey, his face expressionless. He did not bow.
"Chief Aldric," the herald said, his voice flat. "General Vex of the Dark Lord’s Fourth Legion extends an offer. Within your city resides a boy of approximately seventeen years. He will be identified by a sigil on his chest, intersecting circles. You will find him. You will deliver him to the general’s tent. In exchange, Kandor will be spared. No siege. No sack. No slaughter."
Aldric’s throat moved as he swallowed. "And if I cannot find this boy? If he is not here?"
"Then your city will be leveled and every soul within it questioned in the afterlife." The herald tilted his head slightly. "You have until dawn."
He left without waiting for a response.
Aldric sank into his chair, his face grey. His advisors erupted into panicked debate—find the boy, hide the boy, fight, flee, negotiate, pray. The chief heard none of it. He was already calculating how many thousands would die before noon tomorrow.
---
The hours passed. Kandor did not sleep.
Guards patrolled walls that suddenly felt terribly thin. Families huddled in cellars. Priests lit every candle in every shrine. And in the streets, teams of city officials moved door to door, asking the same desperate question: did anyone know a boy with a strange birthmark on his chest?
Most people shook their heads. Some lied. A few whispered rumors—a farmer’s son, quiet, unremarkable, lived at the edge of town. The officials wrote down names and addresses, their hands shaking.
---
Merlin sat on the roof of his family’s cottage, watching the distant campfires of the army that surrounded his home. His parents were inside, packing what few belongings they could carry. They had argued. He had won.
He didn’t feel like he’d won.
"Quite the welcoming committee," Elizabeth said, climbing up beside him. She had refused to stay inside, refused to hide. There was a certain grim familiarity in her eyes—she had seen armies like this before, from the other side of the walls.
"They’re here for me," Merlin said. "Everyone in that city is going to die because I lived here."
"Everyone in that city is going to live because you’re here," Elizabeth corrected. "You’re not the reason they came. You’re the reason they can leave."
Merlin said nothing.
A soft sound behind them. Morgana stood on the roof’s edge, her face pale but composed. "I’ve sent word to the chief. Told him who you are. What you are." She paused. "He’s not sure whether to worship you or throw you at the general’s feet."
"Both seem like bad options," Merlin muttered.
"Indeed." Morgana looked at the distant campfires. "What are you going to do?"
Merlin watched the lights for a long time. Then he stood.
"I’m going to go talk to them."
---
At the edge of the siege lines, General Vex reviewed her troops. The night was cold, but her soldiers were disciplined, unmoving. Thousands of torches burned in perfect rows.
A scout approached, bowing low. "General. The city has not responded to the ultimatum."
"They will," Vex said. "Fear is a reliable negotiator." She turned to her lieutenants. "Prepare the forward siege positions. At dawn, if the boy is not delivered, we begin the bombardment."
The officers saluted and dispersed. Vex stood alone at the edge of her command tent, staring at the sleeping city.
She heard footsteps behind her.
Not the measured tread of an approaching soldier. Not the hurried steps of a messenger. These were casual. Unhurried. Three sets of them.
Vex turned.
Three figures stood a short distance away, having appeared as if from nowhere. A man with dark hair and a relaxed posture, hands in his pockets. Another man, taller, with an expression of mild annoyance. And a woman with sharp features and colder eyes, her gaze fixed on the city walls.
"Evening," said the first man. His tone was conversational, as if he’d wandered into the wrong tent at a party. "Sorry to drop in unannounced. We’re looking for a friend. Tall, regal aura, probably very annoyed about being here. You haven’t happened to see her, have you?"
Vex stared at him. Her hand moved to her sword. "Who are you? How did you bypass my perimeter?"
"Walked, mostly." The man smiled. "You’ve got a lot of soldiers. Very impressive. Very organized. The torches are a nice touch."
"You have ten seconds to identify yourselves before I have you arrested and interrogated."
The man sighed. "Always with the threats. Fine. My name’s Adam. This is Alex. The quiet one is Rebecca. We’re here to collect our friend and leave. You can go back to your siege or whatever this is. No hard feelings."
Vex’s eyes narrowed. She did not know these people, did not sense any magic from them, and yet they had appeared inside her command perimeter as if the tens of thousands of soldiers surrounding them were merely decorative. That was not possible. And yet here they stood.
"The only foreign national in this region is the prophecy child," Vex said slowly. "If your ’friend’ is that boy, you will not leave with him. He belongs to the Dark Lord."
Adam blinked. "Prophecy child? No, our friend is a deposed queen from another dimension. Tall, kind of intimidating, excellent posture. You haven’t seen her?"
Vex’s patience evaporated. "I don’t know what game you’re playing, but you are standing in the middle of the Dark Lord’s army, making jokes. Do you understand your situation? You are surrounded. You are outnumbered. You have no authority here."
Adam glanced at Alex. "She’s got a point. We are pretty outnumbered."
Alex rubbed his temples. "Why can’t people ever just talk things through? Why is it always armies and ultimatums and ’you belong to the Dark Lord’? Couldn’t we all just sit down, have some tea, and come to an agreement?"
Vex drew her sword. The blade hummed with dark energy. "You will find no agreement here, stranger. Only death."
Adam looked at the sword, then at Vex’s face, then back at the sword. He sighed.
"Alright. But just so you know, you’re the one who decided it had to be this way."