Azarios lingered by the map as the lieutenants filed out, their determined expressions masking the trepidation they surely felt. Only Calen remained, his sharp silver eyes scrutinizing the map alongside his commander.
"You notice it too, don't you?" Azarios murmured, his voice low.
Calen hesitated. "The silence in the Northern Reaches, the flickering wards, and the seismic activity—they're too coordinated to be coincidence. It feels like a feint, a diversion to mask something larger."
Azarios nodded, the faint hum of bioluminescent polyps filling the silence. "The Shadowborne don't waste energy on scattered tactics. Every movement, every absence is deliberate. They're testing us."
Calen frowned, his clawed hand tracing the dark spot on the map representing the Abyss. "And Theros is walking right into their game."
Azarios's jaw tightened. His brother's bravado and resilience were legendary, but the Abyss was no arena for swagger or charm. "Theros isn't reckless," he said, more to himself than to Calen. "But he does tempt fate more often than I'd like. If the Shadowborne are active, they'll sense him."
Calen regarded his commander for a moment before speaking. "You could have gone with him."
"No," Azarios said firmly, straightening. "Our enemies would take my absence as a weakness. My place is here, ensuring the kingdom stands while he scouts the unknown." His voice softened. "Besides, he needs the freedom to lead without my shadow over him."
Calen smirked faintly. "And yet, you've assigned Vaelora and Cualen to back him up. A subtle kind of shadow, your highness."
Azarios allowed a faint smile, rare and fleeting. "Even Theros needs someone to drag him out when things go awry."
The moment passed as quickly as it came. Calen stepped back as a messenger entered, her coral-blue armor glinting with water. She bowed low, her expression urgent. "High Commander, a coded message from the Principality. It bears the double-seal of the Queen herself."
Azarios took the scroll, breaking the wax seals with a practiced hand. The translucent parchment glowed faintly with encoded runes, which rearranged themselves into legible text as he scanned it. His golden eyes darkened.
"Out with it," Calen said, sensing the shift in the air.
"Their scouts detected Shadowborne movement near the Stygian Sink," Azarios said, his voice colder than the waters around them. "Small, isolated figures, but too deliberate to be mistaken for wild entities. They believe it may be an advance force."
"The Sink is dangerously close to the capital's eastern trade routes," Calen said, his tone grim. "If they move in greater numbers—"
"They won't," Azarios interrupted. His gaze hardened. "Send reinforcements to the Principality under the guise of trade envoys. Quietly. We can't afford to show our hand until we're certain of their intentions."
"Understood." Calen saluted and left the room, leaving Azarios alone with the glowing map once more.
For a moment, he allowed himself a rare moment of vulnerability, his fingers brushing the dark blot of the Abyss. He could still hear his younger brother's laughter echoing through the palace corridors, the mischievous tone that always followed some act of rebellion. Theros thrived in chaos, but Azarios knew the Abyss was chaos given form—a place where charm and strength might not be enough.
His gaze drifted to the faint marks representing Theros's squad. Vaelora and Cualen were more than capable, but even they had their limits. The thought of losing any of them, let alone his brother, gnawed at him like an unseen predator in the depths.
A voice interrupted his thoughts. It was the adjutant, hesitant but insistent. "Commander, the war council convenes in an hour. Should I inform them of the latest developments?"
Azarios straightened, the weight of his role settling back onto his broad shoulders. "No. Not yet. Let the council debate contingencies. I need confirmation before we act."
The adjutant bowed and left. Alone once more, Azarios drew a deep breath, willing away the weariness that clung to him like the chill of the deep.
As he turned to leave the war room, his eyes fell on the Abyss one last time. His golden antlers glinted faintly in the light of the map, a symbol of power and duty.
"Stay alive, Theros," he whispered, the words barely audible against the hum of the citadel. "If you fall, we all do."