The smell of scorched earth still hung in the air, thick with the coppery scent of blood and gunpowder. Bodies littered the outer grounds of the Braunian castle—some charred beyond recognition, others twisted in contorted positions as though death had caught them mid-scream. The once-pristine moat surrounding the fortress was blackened and cracked, its waters evaporated in places by fire hotter than any natural blaze.
Sir Brian walked among the remnants of the battle with a silence that demanded reverence. His black armor was scorched and dented in several places, his long hair now tied into a knot behind his head. The soldiers still standing made way for him without a word.
He paused at a row of stretchers where surviving soldiers, those maimed or burned but still breathing, had been laid out. He exchanged nods with a physician, then turned his gaze to a high balcony overlooking the carnage.
General Andros stood there, flanked by three high-ranking officers.
"Sir Brian," the General greeted him as he ascended the final stair.
"General."
They exchanged a brief salute. Brian's face was unreadable.
"We're accounting for the dead. Two hundred and seventeen soldiers—dead. Fifty-two more critically wounded. And we've lost three artillery pieces."
"Any civilians?"
"Some collateral near the eastern ridge. Nothing compared to what we lost." The General's jaw clenched. "Whatever that boy is… he's not human."
Brian said nothing. His gaze fell to a large burn mark that stretched from one end of the courtyard to the other—where Bravae's final eruption had scorched the earth.
"Do we have any solid assessment on the energy type?" asked one of the officers.
Brian replied, "Thermal magic. Highly unstable. Not elemental—it's spiritual. The boy was channeling something deeper."
The General grunted. "And the others? The girl with spells, the boy with him?"
"They're a unit. That much is clear. The girl—she's trained, probably from the mountain orders. Her magic was defensive, controlled. She kept him alive long enough to unleash whatever that was."
"And your personal assessment?"
Brian turned to face them. "I underestimated him."
There was a pause. The General raised an eyebrow.
"I should have killed him in the tower," Brian continued. "I had the chance. I chose to test him instead. I wanted to see what we were dealing with. What I saw was more than I expected."
"You're saying you failed."
"I'm saying the threat is larger than we calculated."
Another officer, one of the older captains, scoffed. "You let a half-baked warrior set fire to a whole battalion, and now you're suggesting we escalate?"
"I'm not suggesting. I'm insisting," Brian said, calm but firm.
There was a long silence.
"Then we escalate," the General said with a sigh. "Let's go to the headquarters in beiamy. The governor will want a report."
Hours later, deep inside the fortified capital headquarters of the Braunian Empire in beiamy, the war council had been assembled.
The council chamber was circular, with a large stone table carved from a single slab of white granite. At the far end of the room sat Governor calvin, tall, gaunt with large cheeks and piercing silver eyes. His robe was a deep crimson, threaded with gold, and his signet ring bore the seal of the empire—a roaring lion over a sunburst.
Sir Brian stood at attention before the governor and the twelve seated council members, each representing different branches of the military and administration, with many other officers sitting in stools around the chamber.
"You may begin," calvin said.
Brian gave a brief but thorough recount of the events—the infiltration, the unexpected firestorm, the impossible resistance by the three fugitives, and the final eruption of spiritual energy that nearly leveled the castle's eastern battlements.
There were murmurs across the room. One councilman leaned forward. "And you are certain this boy—Bravae—is the source of this power?"
"Yes," Brian replied. "The sword he carries is not ordinary. It's fused with an ancient force. A will of its own. And when activated... it becomes a conduit."
"A conduit for what?" another asked.
Brian's lips tightened. "Something I've only seen once before. In the archives of the Old Wars. This is the beginning of something large. Perhaps even prophetic."
Calvin leaned forward. "And what do you suggest we do?"
"I request a petition to summon five members of the Pan-Amfuan Order of King Thrane."
The room exploded in protest.
"What?!"
"That order is reserved for war!"
"We haven't called upon them since the Siege of Korthal!"
"The empire cannot afford to display panic to the outer provinces!"
Brian remained still.
Governor calvin raised a hand and slowly the room quieted.
"Explain your reasoning."
Brian stepped closer to the table.
"We are not dealing with a rebellious town or a rogue mage. We are facing a convergence of myth and rebellion. This Bravae—this fire spirit—was nearly unstoppable. He will not remain dormant. With allies, he will grow stronger. If we wait, we risk facing a god instead of a boy."
"And the others?" the governor asked.
"The girl is a battlemage. And the other boy, Orvae, though not magically inclined, has the instincts of a tactician. Together, they form a triad. A dangerous one. And now the Pylae are involved."
Another murmur followed.
"The Pylae…" someone whispered. "That mountain sect…"
"We cannot afford to make the same mistake twice," Brian said. "If you want me to neutralize this threat, I need the Order."
The room was still.
Governor calvin looked around the table, then turned back to Brian.
"If we do this… there is no turning back. You'll have full command. But if you fail, the fallout will be catastrophic."
"I understand," Brian said. "And I will not fail."
"Do you have a plan for tracking them?" another council member asked.
Brian reached into his satchel and pulled out a small bundle wrapped in protective wax cloth.
He unwrapped it and placed the object on the table.
It was a half-burned piece of cloth—ragged, blackened at the edges.
The council stared.
"What is that?"
"Part of Bravae's clothing," Brian answered. "Recovered from the battlefield."
"And what use is it?" someone asked.
Brian turned to the guards at the door.
"Bring him in."
The doors opened.
A second guard entered, holding the leash of an enormous grey dog with silver eyes, thicker than a wolf and nearly as tall as a man at the shoulder. Its snout was long and narrow, its fur coarse like armor.
The creature padded into the room, silent but radiating power.
There were gasps around the chamber.
"A Bremhile Sun Hound," Brian said.
The creature sat at his side, calm but alert.
"They can track across dimensions, across deserts, cities, even the veil between planes. With this cloth, he will find Bravae."
"Where did you get a Sun Hound?" one council member demanded.
"From the Emperor's vaults in Nembakar," Brian replied. "This is why we keep such beasts. For threats like this."
Silence settled again.
Governor calvin stared long at the dog, then at the cloth, and finally back at Brian.
"I will grant your request. The petition will be drafted tonight. The Order will be summoned."
Brian bowed his head. "Thank you, Governor."
"Do not fail me."
"I won't."
The large grey hound growled softly, already sniffing the cloth.
The hunt had begun.