chapter 13.1

The night sky stretched endlessly above them, adorned with countless stars flickering like shattered fragments of light against the dark expanse. A cool breeze carried the scent of damp earth and dried leaves, whispering through the trees that encircled their makeshift camp at the forest's edge. The flickering flames of the small campfire cast wavering shadows across the ground, offering a fragile warmth against the creeping cold of the night.

Arwen sat atop a thick travel cloak, wrapped in a heavy blanket that shielded her from the biting wind. Her gaze remained fixed on the embers of the fire, her mind adrift in a storm of memories and thoughts too complex to untangle. The distant chirping of crickets and the rustling of branches overhead provided a quiet backdrop, but the silence between them carried a heavier weight than mere stillness.

After what felt like an eternity, Arwen finally spoke, her voice a soft murmur against the crackling flames.

"Alcard," she called, still staring into the fire. "Have you ever heard the name Cevral Hamilton?"

Alcard, who had been seated across from her, meticulously sharpening his sword with slow, practiced movements, paused. He lifted his gaze, his crimson eyes glinting in the firelight as he considered her question. For a brief moment, he seemed to weigh his response before answering, his voice as steady and cold as ever.

"Cevral Hamilton… Prime Minister of Edenvila," he stated without hesitation. "It's impossible not to know that name, especially if you've ever been involved in the politics of Middle Earth."

Arwen took a deep breath, inhaling the crisp night air as if preparing herself for the conversation she had just begun. "That man," she continued, her voice carrying a note of restrained emotion, "he holds more power over Edenvila than anyone else. Even the king bows to him. My father used to say that the Hamilton family has ruled from the shadows for three generations. Everyone knows it. But no one dares to challenge them."

Alcard did not immediately respond. He simply listened, allowing her words to spill freely. His hands resumed their slow, rhythmic strokes along the blade of his sword, but there was a new sharpness to his expression, a quiet intensity settling over him like an unspoken understanding.

Arwen's gaze darkened as she stared into the fire. "I want change, Alcard," she whispered, as if speaking the words aloud made them more real. "I want Edenvila to be free from the Hamiltons' grip. But their power runs too deep. They have eyes and ears everywhere. Sometimes I wonder if I even have the strength to do anything against them."

Alcard slowly sheathed his sword, his fingers lingering over the hilt. His voice, when he finally spoke, was laced with a bitterness that suggested this was not just a passing conversation for him. "Cevral Hamilton… that man isn't just a politician. He's a master of manipulation. He doesn't just control Edenvila; he controls anyone foolish enough to think they can stand in his way."

Arwen turned to him sharply, catching the shift in his tone. "You've met him before?" she asked, her voice sharper now, pressing for answers.

Alcard gave a slow nod, his gaze never leaving the flames. "Yes," he admitted. "Back when I was still the High Commander of Jovalian. One of my final tasks before my downfall… was dealing with him."

A heavy silence settled between them. Alcard's face remained unreadable, but the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers slightly curled into his palm, told Arwen everything she needed to know—this was a wound that had never quite healed.

His mind wandered back to that day in Edenvila's grand council chamber, where Cevral Hamilton had sat at the far end of a long, ornate table, offering nothing but a polished smile. His words had been smooth, almost gentle, but Alcard had recognized the venom hidden beneath them. The prime minister was not just a schemer—he was a man who could make you believe you were winning, only to realize later that you had already lost before the game even began.

Alcard finally muttered, almost to himself, "He was one of the reasons diplomacy between Jovalian and Edenvila collapsed… and, in a way, he played a part in my downfall."

Arwen studied him carefully, seeing the shadows of his past reflected in his expression. She had no doubt that whatever had transpired between Alcard and Cevral Hamilton had left scars deeper than the ones visible on his skin. "Then you understand just how dangerous he is," she said quietly.

Alcard turned his gaze to her, his crimson eyes gleaming with an unwavering certainty. "More than you know," he said. "But I also know one thing, Arwen—no power is absolute. Even someone like Cevral Hamilton has a weakness."

Arwen's breath caught, her eyes widening slightly. "What do you mean?" she pressed, the urgency in her voice betraying her desperation. "What weakness? How do we bring him down?"

Alcard let out a quiet exhale, the ghost of a smirk playing at his lips—one that held no amusement, only the knowing weariness of someone who had seen too much. "Every empire, every dynasty, every tyrant… they all depend on something. Nothing stands alone. If you can find the one thing that holds them up, you can bring them crashing down with a single, well-placed strike. But finding that weak point…" He paused, his tone darkening. "It takes time. Patience. And more than anything… the will to fight something that seems impossible to defeat."

Arwen sat in thoughtful silence, absorbing his words. She lowered her gaze, deep in contemplation, as the fire crackled softly between them. The flickering embers cast fleeting shadows across her face, highlighting the quiet determination that had begun to form in her expression.

The night stretched on, the cold settling deeper into the air. Alcard rose to his feet, gathering a few more dry branches to keep the fire alive. Without looking at her, he spoke again, his voice quiet but firm.

"Get some rest, Arwen. We still have a long road ahead. You'll need your strength for whatever's waiting for us."

Arwen nodded, though her thoughts were far from settled. She lay down atop her cloak, pulling the blanket tighter around herself, but even as she closed her eyes, sleep did not come easily. Her mind replayed their conversation, the puzzle pieces of her plan slowly falling into place.

Meanwhile, Alcard remained where he was, seated near the fire, his watchful eyes scanning the darkness beyond their camp. The night around them was quiet, but he knew better than to trust the silence. His thoughts drifted—not just to their mission, but to the past he had tried to bury and the future that now loomed uncertain before them.

This journey was no longer just about escorting a noblewoman back to Edenvila.

It was the beginning of something far greater—something that had the potential to change the fate of both of them forever.

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