Post-pone

Step by step, he approached the towering structure, his sharp eyes scanning its intricate designs from afar. His senses, honed as a sword master, allowed him to take in minute details, even at a great distance.

As he neared the temple, he realized just how massive it truly was. From a distance, one could only grasp its general shape, but now—standing before it—he felt insignificant.

Finally, he reached what appeared to be the front entrance. His gaze flickered to his left, where, just fifty meters away, a staircase lay hidden behind the elaborate exterior. It had been impossible to see from a distance.

But the moment he took a step closer—a wave of fear crashed over him.

His entire body froze. It was as if an invisible force had wrapped around him, rooting him in place.

Seconds stretched into eternity. Each passing moment felt like an hour.

Renher's thoughts spiralled. Every buried fear and regret flooded his mind at once -

The pain of never seeing Kaileen again.

The regret of not eradicating the orcs from his lands.

The sorrow of his childhood loss, when his mother was taken from him.

The endless pain of his training, forging him into a warrior.

And most of all—the terror of the unknown.

His breathing became shallow. His heartbeat pounded like war drums in his ears.

Then—clarity struck him like a blade.

Renher had always lived in the present. He had never dwelled in the past, nor grieved for what had already been lost. He only learned and adapted.

A deep breath. He reminded himself who he was.

A leader.

A warrior.

A man burdened with duty.

One who bore responsibility, love, and courage

A man who commanded countless lives.

The fog clouding his mind began to lift.

As if the temple itself had tested his resolve, the paralyzing fear faded.

And then, he saw it.

A dark corridor stretched ahead, and at its far end, a strange object hovered in the air.

At the centre of the corridor, where time itself seemed to hesitate, a strange object hovered—a sphere of shifting, liquid darkness, swirling with tendrils of spectral energy.

It hummed with an eerie, otherworldly resonance, distorting the air around it like a mirage.

Its surface was neither solid nor fluid, reflecting no light yet swallowing all shadows. As Renher stepped closer, whispers slithered through the silence—a chorus of voices, layered atop one another, speaking in a language long lost to mortals.

The very air grew heavier, thick with an unnatural presence, as if reality itself bent around the artifact's existence.

Renher's fingers twitched—a swordsman's instinct warning him of imminent danger.

He turned sharply—only to realize something disturbing.

The staircase was behind him. But he had no recollection of climbing it.

His heart pounded against his ribs. Had the temple drawn him in? Had he truly walked here of his own will?

He exhaled, shaking off the unease. He had to move forward.

Step by step, his boots echoed in the cavernous space, each footfall swallowed by the consuming silence. The hovering object remained in the same place, yet somehow, it still felt distant. No matter how much ground he covered, it never seemed to get closer.

Then—a sudden shift in the air.

Renher's senses flared, but before he could react, a sharp pain exploded at the back of his neck.

His vision blurred. His legs gave out. The ground rushed up to meet him.

The pain was excruciating, as if a blade had been plunged directly into his spine.

His body refused to move.

What attacked me?! His mind screamed, but his limbs remained unresponsive.

He lay motionless on the cold ground, his strength slipping away.

With the last ounce of his consciousness, he forced his eyes to the strange object one last time.

There—in the centre of the sphere, something shifted.

A wisp of black smoke emerged from within, curling outward in tendrils of eerie mist.

Renher's vision darkened. His breath slowed. His body felt weightless.

And just before his eyes shut completely, one final image burned into his mind—

Kaileen's face.

A sweet smile. A warmth that defied even death. A panacea to all evils.

Then—darkness.

For what seemed like a eternity 

A sudden jolt surged through Renher's body.

His eyes snapped open.

A gasp tore from his throat as he instinctively sat up, his heart hammering against his chest. His breath came in sharp, uneven gulps. The pain was gone. The darkness had vanished.

It took several moments for his vision to adjust.

Familiarity.

He was back in his tent.

The thick fabric of the canopy overhead, the wooden beams supporting the structure, the faint scent of oil lamps burning nearby—it was all real.

His beloved sword lay beside him, resting gracefully on a folded cloth.

But something felt wrong.

The tent was too crowded.

Renher's senses sharpened, and only then did he notice them—his commanders, his warriors, his closest aides.

Alison, Thymur, the team leaders of the archers and lancers—all stood around him, their faces tense with concern.

A visible wave of relief washed over them as they saw him awake.

Alison, standing closest to Renher, immediately began channeling mana into him, his palms glowing with a soft, golden hue. The archer and lancer captains followed suit, their mana flowing in unison.

Renher, still disoriented, raised a hand weakly. His voice, though soft, held authority.

"Enough. Stop."

The flow of mana ceased at once.

Renher leaned back slightly, his mind racing.

He turned his head, his sharp gaze settling on Thymur, his most trusted general.

A single glance was enough—a silent question passed between them.

Thymur responded calmly, with a slight smile.

"King, you had fallen asleep… and were not waking up."

Renher's stomach dropped.

He did not remember falling asleep.

For him, everything he had experienced—the ominous temple, the whispers, the hovering object, the pain of an unseen attack—it had all felt real.

His hands instinctively clenched the fabric of his blanket. What was that place?

Seeing Renher's expression darken, Thymur continued, his voice composed but firm.

"We had planned to march before sunrise," he explained, "but when we searched for you, you were nowhere to be found near the barracks."

Alison spoke next, stepping forward.

"I assumed you overslept, so I went to your tent." His voice was steady, but the way his fingers twitched at his sides betrayed his lingering unease. "I called for you, multiple times. But you never answered."

Renher's brows furrowed. That shouldn't have been possible. He was a seasoned warrior, a man who could wake at the slightest disturbance.

Alison exhaled sharply before continuing.

"After waiting a few minutes, I left to resume my duties. But then…" He hesitated.

"Horus."

Renher's gaze snapped toward his trusted falcon, perched silently near the entrance of the tent.

"He found me," Alison continued. "He wouldn't leave. He kept screeching and circling above. That's when I knew something was wrong."

Renher remained silent, absorbing every word.

"I followed Horus back to your tent," Alison said. "And when I entered… you were unconscious. Completely unresponsive."

The atmosphere in the tent grew heavier.

"We tried waking you." Thymur's voice was quieter now. "Shouting, shaking you—nothing worked."

Renher's grip on his blanket tightened.

"What did work?" he finally asked.

A brief silence.

Thymur exhaled. "We used a shock spell."

Renher's jaw clenched. That explained the sudden jolt that had ripped him from the darkness.

He turned his gaze back to Horus. His loyal companion. His silent guardian.

The falcon met his eyes and gave a single, slow nod.

Renher gave a small, almost imperceptible nod in return. Acknowledgment. Gratitude.

His thoughts, however, remained tangled.

That place—the temple, the whispers, the sphere—it all felt too vivid to be just a dream.

He inhaled deeply, steadying his thoughts.

For now, the battle ahead took priority.

He shifted his focus back to his generals.

"How long was I unconscious?"

Thymur's expression darkened slightly. "Long enough."

Renher's stomach twisted.

The planned attack—delayed.

Their enemy—likely aware of their movements.

His fingers curled into a fist. He would not let this unknown force hinder their advance.

He forced himself upright, swinging his legs over the edge of the cot.

Alison stepped forward, a warning in his gaze. "You should rest a little longer."

Renher shook his head. "No. The army must march."

Alison sighed but didn't argue further. He turned to the others and gave a nod.

Thymur, however, remained still. Watching. Calculating.

Then, in a lowered voice, he spoke.

"King… what did you see?"

Renher paused.

He could feel the curious gaze of the Mage Team Leader boring into him. The man had been silent this entire time, but Renher knew he was watching. Waiting eagerly for an answer.

A mage's interest in his "dream" was far from reassuring, especially the one whom he personally had not much trust in.

Renher exhaled through his nose.

Finally, he chose his words carefully.

"I saw… something. But I remember very little."

It wasn't a lie—at least, not entirely.

The Mage Leader's eyes narrowed. He was not convinced.

"King, if this was a prophetic vision, it could turn the tide of battle."

Renher's gaze turned cold.

A vision? A prophecy?

He doubted that. Whatever he had experienced, it was something more.

And if the Mage Leader was interested, then he knew something.

Renher flicked a glance at Thymur.

A silent understanding passed between them.

They would deal with this matter later.

For now, there was a war to win.