The Edge of War

The night was restless, the moon casting a pale light over the distant mountains as the army prepared for the march to the northern border. Xypheron stood alone in the war room, his mind swirling with the weight of the decisions he had to make. The reports were dire, but he had yet to gather enough to understand the full scale of what they were facing. Every plan he had made, every strategy he had devised, suddenly felt fragile in the face of an unknown threat.

Vexaria's presence had been a silent comfort, but now, in the quiet of the room, Xypheron felt the isolation of leadership bearing down on him. His fingers traced the edges of the map, his mind a battleground of doubt and resolve. There had been moments, fleeting ones, where he had almost wished for a simpler life—one without this constant weight of expectation. But now, in this moment, he knew there was no going back. The kingdom depended on him.

His thoughts shifted to Vexaria. She had been unwavering in her support, yet he could sense the same unease in her eyes that he felt in his chest. There were things unspoken between them, but they both knew the gravity of their situation. She would remain behind, managing the affairs of the court while he led the charge. The choice was necessary, but it did not ease the tension between them.

The door to the war room creaked open, and Xypheron didn't have to turn to know who stood there. Vexaria's presence was a constant, a thread woven through his every thought. She had always been more than just a companion in battle; she was his equal in every way.

"I need to speak with you before we leave," Vexaria said, her voice steady, yet there was an underlying tension that betrayed her calm exterior.

Xypheron turned