Meeting

{Lars POV}

[Kingdom Of Joceus]

[The Knight's Order Headquarters, Lower Level Chamber]

Within a high-sealed chamber at the lowest underground level of HQ, Knight-Captains of Joceus were assembled. They sat at the round table in silence as Xabi Boateng, the Head of Commanders, surveyed them all with patience.

[Head Commander Of Knights: Xabi Boateng]

"Seven years," The Commander rasped, his voice raw with weariness. "Seven years we've bled against the armies of Bak, watching allies fall one by one. The butchers of Lazarath still hang fresh in our memories." A ripple of anger ran through the room.

"Yet, news reaches us that may finally turn the tide." Boateng paused, "King Bak proposes a truce. An end to the bloodshed, replaced by the farce of diplomacy. A delegation will arrive within the 6 months, seeking an audience with our own King Joceus."

Mutters of disbelief filled the chamber. Lars, among the Captains, felt a twist of disgust – these were the same men who'd slaughtered innocents. Yet, duty outweighed his personal feelings.

[Knight Captain Number 2: Sabia Macellen]

"False hope," Knight-Captain Sabia Macellen scoffed, her voice cutting through the murmurs. "Bakians want only one thing – blood on their swords."

[Knight Captain Number 3: Richard Herald]

Another Captain, Richard Herald, nodded grimly. "Why believe the words of a Bakian snake?"

[Left Hand, Commander Knight: Lucio]

A tense silence fell. Then, Lucio, a Commander Knight known for his even temper, spoke. "We owe it to our people to consider this proposal. It bears King Joceus's own seal."

[Right Hand, Commander Knight: Viera]

Viera, another Commander Knight, a man whose face bore the scars of past campaigns, added.

"Our king is right. This could be a turning point. Bak's relentless advance threatens to engulf the neighbouring kingdoms. Exhaustion weighs on them too. A truce may pave the way to lasting peace."

The chamber echoed as conversations passed through the tables, broken only by Xabi Boateng's voice. "We may despise King Bak and his butchers," he declared, his words measured and deliberate. "But as knights, our allegiance is sworn first and foremost to King Joceus. If he believes this offers even the slimmest chance to stem Bak's tide of conquest, we must give this attempt our full support."

A sense of reluctant acceptance settled over the assembly. Lars remained outwardly impassive, but a knot of unease tightened in his gut.

Peace treaties were the games of kings, while true battles were fought in mud and blood. These past years had ingrained within him a deep distrust for Bak's brutality. 

Lars glanced around the room. Many of these faces, hardened by endless campaigns, mirrored his own skepticism. Yet, they wore it masked beneath a soldier's discipline. There was a path forward here, however dubious, and it was theirs to follow.

"We all know what this means," Boateng continued. "Our role shifts. Every soldier and every captain must be honed to perfection. King Joceus's safety is important. Drills, formations, escort strategies...we will leave nothing to chance. For if these 'diplomatic relations' prove a sham…We shall show no mercy" 

Boateng's gaze swept the room, landing on Lars. "Dismissed. Prepare your Battalion. We have work to do."

The chamber emptied, leaving behind only Lars and Xabi Boateng. The Head Commander's gaze stayed on Lars, battling with something more serious.

"A rare sight, you gracing us with your presence, Captain... Yassin."

Lars returned a dry smile. "Must've slipped my mind," he drawled, "that our esteemed leaders still value the input of someone relegated to training young pups."

Xabi's smile faded slightly. "So, have you considered what I asked years ago?"

"Considered what?" Lars shot back, his tone mocking lacing his voice.

Xabi sighed. "The position, Lars. Head Commander is yours, should you want it."

A cold laugh escaped Lars. "Head lapdog, you mean. I'm not one for pointless titles and bowing to those who've never lifted a sword in their lives."

Xabi's expression hardened. "Seven years ago, that title should've been yours. You were – still are – the strongest soldier this kingdom has." He paused. "Perhaps your pride eclipsed your ambition, but your skills haven't dulled, despite the bitterness the Order has bred within you."

Lars met his gaze unflinchingly. "You were always the ambitious one, Xabi. You climb the ladder, I'll forge the weapons to cut it down, if need be." He turned towards the heavy wooden door. "Now, if that's all…"

"Think about it, Lars." Xabi's voice held a note of genuine plea. "Please."

Lars paused, hand on the door handle, but he didn't turn. After a long moment, he left without another word.

Exiting the Headquarters felt like breaking free of a suffocating weight. Lars took a deep breath, savouring the cool air. Never, he thought with bitter satisfaction. He'd never be a chained lapdog like Xabi, no matter how much respect the man held for him. He was a soldier, not a courtier.

His footsteps echoed on the cobblestones. The guards at the gate acknowledged him as he passed,

Out the gates, A small, dark figure huddled near the wall startled him, then rose as he approached.

"Knight-Captain Lars," Sabia Macellen greeted her voice a sharp difference from the Head Commander's. "We haven't talked in a while."

"Just passing through." Lars eyed her warily. Sabia was a formidable swordswoman Lars had taught, but her ambition lacked the conviction behind her words.

"Strange," she continued, ignoring his curtness. "I've sent you letters. Updates on…certain matters. Yet, you never replied."

"Been busy." He attempted to move past her.

Sabia wouldn't be discouraged so easily. "Too busy even for a Commanders' Meeting, apparently. It's none of my business, you say. Yet, I do care…about the things you might risk with your disregard for protocol."

He stopped, anger bubbling within him. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Sabia's gaze was unnervingly direct. "The boy," she said. "The one you're raising. How is he?"

"You've been spying on me?" Fury threatened to overwhelm his caution.

"Observing, for everyone's sake," she retorted coolly. "I hope, for his sake, he doesn't inherit your…tendencies. Your refusal to see the bigger picture makes you a danger, Lars. To others, and yourself."

"If he was like me, I'd have abandoned him already," Lars ground out, each word a stone flung at her composure. He turned on his heel and moved away.

Sabia muttered something under her breath – "Miserable bastard" – but Lars barely heard her.

His thoughts stirred, ruining his already dark mood. What if she wasn't the only one? What if he'd walked straight into a trap the moment he decided to show Elio's face to the city? His every move, every interaction with the boy – dissected, judged. 

Elio was more than a burden, more than a responsibility. He was a weapon Lars himself might not fully understand. If the Order decided he was more useful to them than to a bitter, disgraced Knight-Captain... there was nothing Lars wouldn't do to get him back.

He reached his home with a speed fueled by dread, not anticipation. He needed to see Elio.