The Weight of Orders (3)

The command tent loomed ahead, its fabric stained with soot and rain. Torches flickered weakly, casting long shadows that danced like specters across the ground. The wind whistled softly, carrying the faint crackle of flames from the torches. Veyra's boots crunched against the frost-covered earth, her breath visible in the cold night air. Kael walked beside her, his usual smirk replaced by a rare, contemplative frown. The distant cries of the villagers and the low murmur of the Empire's soldiers filled the silence between them.

As they approached the tent, a guard stepped forward, his spear crossing their path with a sharp metallic clang. "Commander Veyra, Lord Kael," he said, his voice stiff. "General Ren is not to be disturbed."

Veyra's eyes narrowed. "Move aside, soldier."

The guard hesitated, his grip tightening on his spear, the leather of his gloves creaking faintly. "With all due respect, Commander, the General's orders—"

Kael stepped forward, his voice light but edged with steel. "Let me put this in terms you'll understand. Either you step aside, or I'll make sure you're reassigned to latrine duty for the rest of this campaign. Your choice."

The guard's jaw tightened, but after a moment, he lowered his spear with a soft thud and stepped aside. Veyra pushed past him, Kael close behind.

Inside, the tent was dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of incense and something sour—like sweat and despair. The faint rustle of parchment and the occasional clink of glass filled the space. General Ren sat at a table cluttered with maps, scrolls, and half-empty wine bottles. His once-imposing frame seemed shrunken, his uniform hanging loosely on his shoulders. His hair, streaked with gray, was unkempt, and his eyes were bloodshot, fixed on a map he wasn't truly seeing.

"Ren," Veyra said, her voice cutting through the heavy silence.

He didn't look up. "I gave orders not to be disturbed."

"And yet, here we are," Kael said, leaning against the table with a soft thump. "Funny how that works."

Ren's hand twitched, his fingers curling into a fist with a faint creak of leather. "What do you want?"

Veyra stepped forward, her voice firm. "We need orders. The villagers aren't backing down. The men are restless. If we don't act soon, this situation is going to spiral out of control."

Ren finally looked up, his gaze hollow. "And?"

Veyra's jaw tightened. "And I want orders."

"..."

Ren looked at her, then at Kael, then his eyes moved toward the lamp as he started the fire inside. Finally, he let out a sigh, his face darkening.

"...Burn the village"

"..."

"..."

Both Kael and Veyra looked at him with no emotion in their eyes. They knew Ren wasn't the type to joke around in a situation like this... yet they still didn't say a word, hoping he would say anything else. But no words came out of his mouth.

It was Kael who spoke first. "Excuse me, can you please repeat that again, General?"

Ren didn't say a word and took out a scroll, placing it on the table with a soft thud.

Commander Veyra's gauntlet creaked as she clenched her fist. General Ren stood before the war table, his face ashen, the Emperor's seal glowing blood-red on the scroll he just place on the table

"Burn the village at dawn," Ren said, his voice hollow. "No survivors."

Kael leaned against the tent pole, arms crossed. His smirk was gone. "You're joking."

Ren didn't blink. "It's His Majesty's command."

The air turned to ice. No one joked about the Emperor. Not even Kael.

Veyra's throat tightened. She'd seen HIS wrath before—entire garrisons vanished for questioning orders, tongues cut out for whispers. Her eyes flicked to Ren. He looked smaller, like a man drowning under his own armor.

She felt pity for him.

"Ren," she said, the name sharp. "You agreed to this?"

He flinched.

"..."

Kael snorted, but it lacked its usual bite. "That guy has finally lost his mind."

Veyra turned abruptly, her cloak snapping like a whip with a sharp whoosh. "Do it without me."

"Veyra—"

She didn't look back. Outside, the wind carried the stench of pitch-soaked arrows. Soldiers avoided her gaze, their boots shuffling softly on the frozen ground.

Kael lingered, studying Ren. "You know, for a second, I thought you had a spine."

Ren's hands trembled. "Get out."

"..."

Silence

Ren stared at the tent floor long after Kael left. The scroll crumpled in his grip.

Burn it.

He'd led armies for HIM for a decade—through coups and famines and the Siege of Vel's Gate, where they'd eaten rats to survive. He'd never questioned. Never hesitated.

But now?

Outside, a soldier vomited as he stacked kindling. Another muttered prayers.

Ren closed his eyes.

Dawn came too quickly.