In a clearing between tall trees, a hastily constructed makeshift military tent stood.
Despite its rudimentary nature, its presence dominated the camp, offering shade from the scorching sun.
The shabby fabric of the tent swayed slightly in the wind, as if trying to dissipate the tension in the air.
Eleven men were gathered inside. The atmosphere was stifling, heavy with the bittersweet smell of sweat, lamp oil, and soil soaked into their boots.
The eyes, sometimes suspicious, sometimes calculating, converged on Thales Stefanos, the commander of the center.
He maintained an upright posture, but the rigidity of his face betrayed the growing tension.
Timon, the commander of the rearguard, kept a cold gaze fixed on Thales. It was he who had invoked the Psephema, the ancient manifesto created by the Romakoi to ensure justice in critical decisions.
The mere mention of the document made it impossible to ignore the gravity of the moment. Thales, aware that the situation had already gone beyond repair, took a deep breath before speaking.
"Since Psephema has been summoned, I must say a few words. I hope they will lead us to a resolution."
His voice was firm, but the anguish was noticeable. He looked directly at Timon.
"Timon, I deeply regret what happened in the past with your brother. I held him in high esteem. It was a mistake that I still carry with me. However, your brother died almost ten years ago, and yet you remained by my side. We fought together on countless battlefields, ever since the first time I took up a sword and took a man's life."
Thales paused, analyzing each expression around him.
"That is why I believe that your provocation is not just about the past. There is something more. I hope you will reconsider your position."
Timon remained unmoved, although a slight frown betrayed surprise at Thales's frankness. Still, his decision was made.
"I appreciate your honesty, Thales. But I believe that, in this particular situation, your leadership will be flawed. I stand my ground."
Thales sighed, realizing that rational arguments would not be enough to change Timon's resolve. He then redirected his attention to the other men in the tent.
"Let's get to the point. If the Necros really exist, as reported by Dagmaros, we are facing an enemy impossible to defeat."
His voice was now grave, and he continued.
"They have armies that do not need supplies or rest, as well as powerful and ancient magic. We do not know how to face them. According to the records, only weapons forged from the Romakoi metal alloy, imbued with aether, can harm them. And, among us, I am the only one capable of sustaining aether in a weapon, but that would quickly exhaust me."
The statement created a heavy silence in the tent, broken by the sarcastic voice of Cassandro, the commander of the right flank.
"We already understand that these enemies are scary and that you are terrified, Commander. How about we get straight to the point and start this damned vote?"
Thales felt fury rise in his chest at the insolent tone. For a moment, he considered drawing his sword and silencing any opposition right then and there. But he restrained himself.
"Very well. Those who agree with Timon and wish me to be removed, raise your hands."
Timon was the first to raise his hand, followed by Cassandro. Chares and Epaphroditus, the junior officers of both, did not hesitate to follow their commanders. Thales watched the gesture with disdain.
"Perfect. If they tell you to lie down and roll, you will do it, right?"
Dorian, the vanguard commander, remained motionless, but his junior officer, Laertes, surprised everyone by raising his hand.
Dorian turned to him with an expression of disbelief, but remained silent. The score was tied. Thales clenched his fist as he announced.
"The score is a tie. According to the rules of Psephema, the tiebreaker will be decided by comb..."
Cassandro interrupted him with a sly smile.
"We still have one more person here. He can break the tie."
Thales glared at Cassandro.
"This is absurd! You want to grant a mercenary the right to vote in a noble army?"
"Alexander was also a mercenary and had the right to vote during the Long Night, remember?" Cassandro replied calmly.
"That was different! Back then, kings and nobles were more plentiful than cabbages!"
"It doesn't matter. A precedent has been set, and it will be used now."
Cassandro turned to Dagmaros, the sole survivor of the Bravehearts mercenary group. His tone became persuasive.
"Dagmaros, your vote is crucial. Remember the adventurous spirit that brought you here. Imagine the discoveries we can make together."
Dagmaros hesitated for a moment, drawn to the idea of exploring the mysteries of the Necros. Then he spoke.
"Very well. I vote to continue the expedition and remove Thales from command."
Thales gritted his teeth, fury boiling in his voice.
"This is open rebellion. And for that, I will stab each and every one of you."
He drew his longsword, ready for combat, but was interrupted by Timon, who raised his hand in a placating gesture.
"Calm down, Thales. You will continue to be consulted, and your opinion will be considered. The only difference is that the final decision will be ours."
Thales pondered for a moment. He knew that his best chance of saving the army was to maintain his composure.
Putting his sword away, he asked coldly, "Very well. What is the plan? What do you want to do?" Cassandro took the floor and resumed his proposal with confidence.
"I believe we should investigate the ritual. It may contain valuable information about what awaits us in the future, especially if the Necros really are back."
Dorian, with a more cautious tone, intervened. "Yes, but the dilemma remains. If you go there and alert them, we will never make it out of this place alive."
Cassandro frowned, but remained calm.
"Do you really believe that these Necros exist, Dorian? I still think this is the work of the savages."
"For all I know," Dorian continued, "what we saw could be the work of Dagmaros' imagination, as he was separated from his companions and faced the brutal winter alone. This could have affected his judgment."
Dagmaros, visibly irritated, fidgeted in his chair and raised his voice.
"I'm not crazy! I saw them! There were so many of them, marching through the snow! I was just lucky I didn't die!"
Cassandro, with a mocking smile, challenged him.
"Of course, every madman claims not to be crazy. But the fact is simple and undeniable: we must investigate what happened."
He paused, looking around at everyone in the tent.
"And if it proves true, the only thing we can do is run away and inform the Duke."
Thales Stefanos, who had been watching the discussion closely, finally spoke up, his voice calm but firm.
"I support the investigation. Let's organize an exploration squad and find out what's going on here once and for all."
The result of the meeting was a unanimous resolution: the expedition would continue, with the creation of an exploration squad to investigate the events in the village.
However, a significant change had occurred in the command structure. From that moment on,
Thales Stefanos would no longer be the sole voice of authority.
Instead, command would be shared democratically, and decisions would be made by consensus.
After the meeting ended, Dagmaros headed to the village.
"Helena, I have something I want to talk to you about."
Helena, noticing his serious tone, asked. "Did something happen at the meeting, Dagmaros?"
"Yes, you need to prepare to leave this village."
"I agree, but the soldiers have arrived, so everything will be fine now, right?"
"No, they plan to stir up the hornet's nest. They want to investigate the Necros, at any moment they could provoke an incident where the Necros attack us, you are vulnerable."
"You have to think about your son."
When Dagmaros mentioned the child, Helena became resolute and began to gather her things and prepare to leave at any moment.
Athanasios, observed the situation calmly and a little relieved to finally be leaving this dark place behind.
His mother often left him alone to work and gather supplies in the village, and he would get goosebumps all over.
The place seemed haunted, as if something evil was lurking.
When Dagmaros left, his mother continued to shove things into his backpack that she thought would be useful to start a new life away from the village.
Athanasios, was excited to finally see new things instead of being left to soak in his crib.
The day was gray and cold, with thick clouds obscuring the sun and creating an uncomfortable gloom.
Dagmaros led the group, mounted on a dark-coated horse. Despite his humble origins, his posture was resolute, and the firm movement of the reins in his hands showed confidence.
His short sword It swung gently in the scabbard attached to his belt, while his attentive gaze scanned the semi-open forest ahead.
The trees, spaced far enough apart to allow the horses to pass, formed natural corridors. The cold wind whistled between the trunks, carrying dry leaves that danced around the horses' hooves.
Dagmaros felt the wind on his face, but he advanced with determination, without hesitation.
Smelling the vegetation, he felt calm. Right behind him, Cassandro followed, his long dark cloth cape waving gently with the horse's rhythm.
He kept one hand firmly on the reins, while the other rested next to the sheathed longsword. His leather boots beat rhythmically against the animal's flanks, and the cap he wore covered his head, leaving visible only the sharp gaze that observed Dagmaros and the surrounding environment.
The twenty soldiers followed in formation right behind, the sound of their hooves resounding muffled by the damp earth.
There was an air of unrest in the group, with as if the forest, despite its openness, was watching them.
The pale, diffuse light created shadows that seemed to move with the wind, and the silence, broken only by the occasional creak of leather or the snorting of the horses, kept everyone alert.
Dagmaros pulled on the reins, slowing down as he spotted a bend where the trees seemed to close in slightly, creating a natural tunnel.
He raised his hand, signaling a pause, and looked back, meeting Cassandro's gaze.
"We're close to where I found the ritual," he said, his voice low and steady, as if he didn't want to wake anything that might be lurking.
"Then we'd better be prepared," Cassandro replied, his fingers tightening their grip on the hilt of his sword.
With a nod, Dagmaros resumed his march, leading the group toward the unknown.
As they moved forward, the temperature seemed to drop even further, and a thin mist began to form, enveloping them like a veil.
The ritual, or whatever was waiting for them there, was getting closer and closer.