CHAPTER#15:More trouble

The Commander's Dilemma

Erebus sat on his high chair, positioned at the head of the great stone hall. The air was heavy with silence, broken only by the crackle of fire torches that lined the walls. The hall, adorned with intricate tapestries, was a monument to both history and conflict. The woven designs depicted the perpetual struggle between holy beings and demons—a tale that inspired neither reverence nor pride in humans, who despised both sides. Reds, blacks, and whites dominated the imagery, though hints of yellow, green, blue, and brown added subtle depth to the narrative. Such artistry was a rarity in Amenécer, a land not known for frivolities.

The wooden shutters of the tall windows were flung open, allowing the night wind to sweep in. It carried a chill that mingled with the heat radiating from the flames, making them flicker and dance. The crescent moon cast a pale glow through the windows, but Erebus paid little attention to the beauty of the night. His thoughts were consumed by grievances.

The townsfolk had bombarded him with complaints about the destroyed harbor—a casualty of yet another meaningless battle. Trouble seemed to gravitate toward his territory from every direction. As the commander of the demon emperor's forces, Erebus bore the brunt of the chaos, but his patience was wearing thin.

Jafar, his loyal steward, approached silently, balancing a tray laden with hot leek soup and blood sausage. "Master," Jafar began, his sharp black eyes glinting in the torchlight, "fretting over these matters will only wear you down. You must visit the Imperial Palace. If you don't, they'll cut off our budget entirely, leaving us to fend for ourselves."

Erebus sighed deeply, his eyes meeting Jafar's. The flickering firelight reflected in his steward's gaze, casting warm hues of orange against the black irises. The chill of the stone hall was offset by the subtle heat of the underground springs that coursed through the granite walls, a gift of the hellish terrain.

"They take the soldiers I train and use them for their schemes," Erebus said, his voice edged with disdain. His brow furrowed further as he leaned back in his chair, visibly exhausted.

The soldiers and assassins under Erebus's command were molded into weapons of war under his relentless supervision. The demon emperor had bestowed upon him the title of commander, though Erebus knew it was little more than a façade. His role served the empire's needs, not his own ambitions. His efforts secured a meager budget and kept him informed of the inner workings of the military. Yet, the weight of these responsibilities often felt insurmountable.

Freshly bandaged from a wound he'd sustained in the last battle, Erebus shifted uncomfortably in the chair. Pain flared in his torso, and he let out a string of curses under his breath. The physician had prescribed rest, regular bandage changes, and an herbal ointment, but Erebus had little patience for such routines.

"Have you heard from that bastard?" he asked suddenly, his voice dripping with irritation.

Jafar set the tray down on a small wooden table beside him. "No, Master. But you'll need to address the issue soon. The palace grows impatient."

Erebus grimaced, his thoughts momentarily drifting to Luciana. She had been found in her room earlier, surrounded by seamstresses and maids who were busy taking measurements for a wedding dress. It had been Jafar and his younger sister, Mina, who had insisted on preparing a proper gown for her. They believed a brief ceremony might bring a semblance of joy to the grim citadel.

Luciana had refused at first, her voice tinged with nervous protest. "I was in my wedding dress when I left Amenécer," she had argued.

Erebus had raised a skeptical brow at her words. "You mean those tatters you were wearing?"

Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "It wasn't tatters. It was my nightgown," she admitted, recalling the moment of her abduction.

Erebus had fallen silent at this revelation, his lack of understanding about clothing evident. Jafar, ever the attentive steward, had taken it upon himself to manage the wardrobe details.

"Besides," Erebus had continued, "do you think that dress survived? Looters would have sold it off along with the jewels."

"Master," Jafar interrupted now, pulling Erebus back to the present. "What about the wedding rings?"

"What do we need those for?" Erebus snapped irritably.

"Proof, Master. The empire will demand respect for their customs, especially given that your bride-to-be comes from a noble lineage."

Luciana, standing nearby, felt a mix of confusion and unease. Was this meant as a compliment or an insult? She dared not ask.

Jafar, unbothered by Erebus's temper, placed a stack of yellowed papers on the table. "Here, Master. The accounts for the lady's wardrobe."

Erebus barely glanced at the documents before tossing them aside. "What is this nonsense? Dresses? Shoes? Jewelry? I have mouths to feed, Jafar!"

"Master," Jafar replied calmly, "you should be grateful. The lady does not complain or demand luxuries like most noblewomen. She's been remarkably modest."

"I've had enough." Erebus stood abruptly, wincing as the movement aggravated his wound. Ignoring Jafar's protests, he descended the wide stone steps of the hall, his boots echoing against the cold floor.

"Master, at least eat something!" Jafar called after him, but Erebus didn't look back. He slammed the heavy wooden doors behind him and stalked through the dimly lit corridors.

Snow had begun to fall outside, the heavy clouds obscuring the moon. As Erebus passed by various chambers, a soft melody caught his attention. He paused, inclining his head toward the sound.

The voice was delicate, singing a lullaby with gentle warmth:

"Mother is here~ Mother is here~

Don't worry, I will stay by your side~"

A quiet laugh followed, and Erebus realized who it was. "She's with that child again," he thought, lingering for a moment. The melody resumed, weaving a tender atmosphere in stark contrast to the harshness of his world.

As the song faded, a maid emerged from the chamber, carrying a bundle of small clothes. Erebus stopped her. "What are those?" he asked, his tone gruff.

"The lady requested clothes for the boy," the maid replied, bowing respectfully.

"Where did they come from?"

"She repurposed some old garments, my lord. She redesigned them herself."

Erebus raised a brow. "A fake princess sewing?" he muttered under his breath.

"Pardon, my lord?" the maid asked, confused.

"Nothing," Erebus replied curtly before turning on his heel and walking away.