***CONRY***

The night stretched too quiet. I sat alone in my study, staring at the candlelight as it melted down. The flames danced over the books and maps spread on the table before me.

War was coming. I could feel it in my bones. It was only a matter of time before it reached our doors.

The room smelled of ink, old paper, and burning wax—the same air I’d been breathing for days, so much that it made me sick. My head ached from sleepless nights and choices that demanded bloodshed. I leaned ...