The retinue slowed their pace, granting Basil a few precious heartbeats to swallow the lump in his throat and prepare for the reunion.

Truthfully, he was more than a bit jumpy. He had smuggled himself into this war like a common thief, and he had seen enough of his father’s brooding to know the Prince was profoundly displeased with the whole affair.

No doubt that displeasure would translate in bitterness from the flurry of letters alone the Princess would intone him, a thought that made Basil shudder as if a cold mountain wind had whistled down his spine. When he finally returned home, his mother would likely raise a hell so fierce the priests would have to invent a sixth circle for it alone.

He suspected his father had already been given a small, blistering taste of that hell via courier, which made the lad more grateful that he had allowed his escapade to continue this long. One word from the prince was all that stood between Basil staying with the army and being sent home in a cage.

As they were led deeper into the emerald gloom of the forest, Basil made a point of studying the camp. In the Oizenian territories, their detached units usually made a home by seizing villages, slaughtering the local headmen, and blending in. It was a strategy that worked in Oizen , but would not here, League would treat every Yarzat village like a pile of kindling.

Here, instead, his father had taken refuge in nature’s own fortress. They hadn’t cleared the land; they had adapted to it. Tent poles were fashioned from living trunks, and the canopy provided a ceiling that no scout’s eye could pierce.

The air was filled with the labor of survival. Basil watched as carcasses were carved up and hung from branches, sausages hung to smoke over low, controlled fires, and mountains of meat were salted for the weeks ahead.

It must be a nightmare to feed an army without a baggage train, Basil realized, his eyes widening at the sheer volume of butchery. It was a feat of logistics far more impressive than ambushing a few half-starved foraging parties.

Everyone was occupied.That he noticed second.

If a man wasn’t butchering an animal, he was butchering a soldier, or he was out in the brush scouting for the next target. Basil felt the familiar itch of uselessness; he was the only one getting a free ride.

Uncle Jarza had allowed him to loose an arrow or two during the night raids, but that was a indulgence for a child, not a contribution to the war effort. He wasn’t conceited enough to demand a man’s task, what could a boy of thirteen truly offer?

They turned left, navigating a narrow path between two long rows of hanging sausages. The rich, savory aroma drifted into his nostrils, making his stomach give a traitorous growl. He briefly wondered if he’d be allowed a bite, before his memory flashed back to the bad history he had with the food.

He cursed Rodry and his supernatural nose; you’d think a man who lived with his face half-submerged in a wine flagon would have lost his sense of smell, but Rodry was a freak of nature when it came to detecting snacks.

Damn him.

The path opened into a wider clearing where the command tents stood, camouflaged by moss and ivy. There, amidst a huddle of officers, stood the Prince.

Alpheo was gesturing sharply toward Edric, outlining perhaps some maneuver on a map that Basil couldn’t see. Edric offered a crisp, snapping salute and turned on his heel, departing with such haste that he nearly knocked over a sentry.

For a moment, Basil wondered what kind of mission required such a hurried exit, but the thought crumbled to ash as his father turned. The Prince’s eyes locked onto his son.

It had been three months since his father had waved him off onto Jarza’s care, and the first thing that struck Basil as he beheld the Prince was the weariness etched into his face. Alpheo looked as if he had aged half a decade in a single season; the lines around his eyes were deeper, his posture a fraction less certain.

Is this what war does to a man? Basil wondered, a cold knot forming in his chest. His uncles always boasted that the Prince worked twice as hard and slept half as long as any Legate in the field. Watching him now, Basil realized those weren’t empty boasts

He looked at his father and saw the curse of the crown.

A flicker of fear touched his heart, a dread that he might one day inherit this exhaustion, before it was swept away by a sudden, fierce embrace.

Alpheo pulled his son in, his arms wrapping around the boy’s back like a bulwark. He buried his nose in the crown of Basil’s head, breathing in the scent of pine and road-dust.

Basil would never truly know the depth of that love; he would never know that his children were his father’s favorite sight and smell upon waking, the very reason the Prince forced himself out of bed when the world felt too heavy to move.

For Alpheo, family was a unique duality, his greatest vulnerability, yet the only well of strength that hadn’t run dry.

Finally, his father released him,hands lingering on Basil’s shoulders. His brown eyes, now rimmed with the grey of sleepless nights, shifted toward the escort.

"Lord Thalek," Alpheo said, his voice a gravelly rasp. "I am glad to see you still among the living."

Thalek snapped a crisp, iron salute, his chin held high. "The honor is mine to behold you, Your Grace."

"I trust my son hasn’t been a thorn in your side?"

"He has been the pride of the troops, Your Grace," Thalek replied without a moment’s hesitation. "It was our distinct honor to host the princely blood. He is a sharp, calm lad, those are the words of my Legate, and I found them to be true."

Alpheo let out a short, dry huff of a laugh, his eyes cutting back to Basil. "If he were half as calm as Jarza claims, he wouldn’t be here in the first place. You’ll find he’s twice as stubborn as a mountain mule once he sets his mind to a folly." He sighed, though a ghost of a smile touched his lips. "It seems some men truly cannot master their own weaknesses. It was foolish of me to relent and let him stay."

Basil’s stomach felt as if he had swallowed a handful of broken glass.

"I didn’t mean to be a weakness, Father," Basil murmured, his voice small against the backdrop of the camp’s industry.

"You are my heart, Basil," Alpheo said, his tone turning sharp, "and a man with his heart outside his ribs is a man easily killed. But," he paused, squeezing Basil’s shoulder one last time before dropping his hand, "since you’ve seen fit to cross the province in a grain cart, I suppose I should put that stubbornness to use. Thalek, see your men fed.I believe there’ll be much use for you here.

The Primogenia had done their work well in Oizen, now however there are task to be tended over here.’’

Thalek offered a bow and retreated into the shifting shadows of the pines, leaving Basil alone with the man who was both his father and his sovereign. The silence of the forest seemed to press in, broken only by the distant, rhythmic thunk of an axe and the crackle of a nearby cook-fire.

Basil swallowed hard, the sight of his father’s hollowed cheeks emboldening him to speak. "Are you well, Father?"

"No," Alpheo answered. The honesty came so sudden in the air. He looked at his son, his gaze piercing. "You cried when I lied to protect you thinking you a child.That was my mistake so I will not insult you with a lie now."

The Prince turned, his eyes tracking the swaying canopy as if deciphering a secret script hidden in the leaves. "The war has taken its toll on me, as it has on every soul from here to the Bastion. Sleep is a stranger, and the work is a mountain that grows even as I climb it.

But that is my burden. It is my duty, and I will not shy away from it . I have fears, Basil, every man does, but only a weak one allows himself to be ruled by them."

He placed a heavy, grounding hand on Basil’s back, guiding him through the camp. "One day, I fear, you will understand these words in your very marrow. But not today. Today, it is your time to learn, not to lead."

"Is that why you called for me?" Basil asked, his voice small and reverent, the sound of a son seeking the truth from a giant.

"Indeed."

Soldiers snapped into rigid salutes as they passed, their eyes following the two of them. Alpheo took a deep, bracing breath, as if drawing strength from the very earth of the forest.

"I have labored long and hard in the shadows. For three months, we have had to fight like ghosts, biting at the heels of our enemies in the dark while they pounded at our gates in the light."

He stopped at the edge of a high ridge, where the trees parted to reveal a panoramic view of the valley below.

"No more of that," Alpheo whispered "We have finished our labor. We have sown the wind, and now... now we reap the harvest.In these next days you shall watch and learn, I’ll be forced to do things that I do not like, but that I nonetheless are forced to do. Not that I will be the first to do so, nor will I be the last.

Priests always go on about how the Father judges us all. If he were to be so good as to topple over and crush those bastards that seeks my head like a cockroaches with an iron hell, I might even believe it.’’

’’People think you are the son of the Warriors...’’ Basils suddendly piped up

Alpheo watched at him strangely as he had said something queer, then he laughed ’’You think I am?’’

Basil shook his head.

’’Eh. People believe what they want, you can say and do everything to show them wrong, but they are wanton on seeing the truth if it doesn’t align with theirs.

This is not the realm of gods, there are no fairies that grant wish, nor dragons that spit fire, this is the realm of men, and what one does another may undo.That is the only truth that exist.

Always remember that, expect only what you can achieve with your own hands, never look up at the heavens for a miracle for all you’ll get is shit under your foot while you are to busy looking up.’’ He chuckled then ’’Gods only know how much of that I was given in my life...still we are going through the most importnat part of this war." His eyes settled on that of his son’s

’’I wanted you to be part of this moment’’