Randevous

By the time Hiral returned to the command camp, the sun had already begun to dip behind the hills. 

The long shadows of soldiers moving in rhythmic order stretched across the field like silent sentinels of discipline. 

The tension of the duel, the thunder of cheers, the steel's ringing—all had settled into memory.

Inside the command tent, his commanders were already present, scrolls unrolled and plans laid out. The scent of ink and sweat filled the space as tired but determined faces turned toward him.

Seran stepped forward, posture sharp and resolute, a sheaf of parchment in hand.

"General. You've returned just in time," he said with a tired grin. "We've finalized the return route."

He handed over the parchment, and Hiral scanned it quickly.

"We'll divert northeast first," Seran continued, "through the villages affected by last season's wildfire. They're still rebuilding homes, and many of the veterans' families live there."

"Good," Hiral murmured. "Go on."

"Then, we'll assist with the early harvest—rice and barley mostly, some wheat further west. Several platoons will break off to help, particularly those with families in the area. After two weeks, they'll reconvene with us on the road to the capital."

Hiral's eyes lingered on the numbers. "This allocation is just enough to be effective without halting our pace. Well done."

Seran's smile turned proud. "The men trust your guidance, General. Even when we return from war, they know your battles don't end."

Hiral nodded, quietly pleased. "What else?"

Seran grew serious again. "Supplies are thin. Between corrupt merchants and the high officials skimming off trade, we're running leaner than we should be. We've bartered with trusted farming communities and loyal administrators for extra provisions. Not much, but it will stretch."

Hiral's jaw tensed. "So long as we keep pulling what we can out of the rot."

It was never enough to erase the corruption, but every small effort mattered. A roof restored. A barn rebuilt. A harvest saved. And for Hiral, that was worth more than gold.

He finally looked up, voice softer.

"Thank you. Dismiss the officers. They've done enough for today."

The commanders bowed and trickled out, their boots muffled against the carpeted floor. Only Seran lingered.

"You're sure General Alexis didn't try anything?"

Hiral raised a brow, amused. "You think he'd ambush the second-in-command right after a formal treaty?"

Seran didn't answer.

Hiral gave a small shrug. "He only asked questions. Nothing too sharp."

"Hm. Still…" Seran's frown lingered. "You should be careful, General. People who smile with their eyes are often hiding the sharpest teeth."

Hiral's smirk was faint. "I could say the same about you."

Seran rolled his eyes and finally turned to leave. "Rest well, sir."

****

Later that night, the camp had fallen into a lull, the only sound being distant murmurs from night guards and the low croon of the wind.

Hiral, now dressed in darker, travel-worn garb, made his way silently out of camp. The guards saluted him in the shadows but did not question his destination.

With a small satchel of tools and a lantern wrapped in cloth to dampen its glow, he headed toward the cliffs.

He arrived just before midnight. The moonlight bathed the jagged rock face in a soft silver, and as he drew closer, his heart thrummed—not from excitement, but gravity.

He chipped at the stone with a small tool, brushed the dust away, and found exactly what he suspected.

Diamond ore. Pure and potent.

He exhaled slowly, grounding himself. 

Then, something caught his eye—a shadowed ridge beneath the cliff. A narrow drop—unnaturally clean. A sliver of a canyon hidden from casual view.

Hiral's eyes narrowed. 

With practiced ease, he scaled down, using crevices and footholds until he reached the lower ravine.

There, half-swallowed by time and stone, he saw it.

Veins of jade, glowing faintly in the moonlight where the canyon cracked open.

Not just any jade—imperial-grade, the kind once used for royal artifacts and war medallions.

He crouched down, touched the stone, and felt his stomach twist.

Diamond. Jade. What else lies beneath this "barren" land?

He didn't feel triumphant.

He felt cornered by fate.

If word of this spread, the treaty would be undone in hours. The Kingdom of Ro would invade, and the Eastern court would claw and tear at each other for control. 

The tribal communities, who had trusted him, would be crushed between greed and steel.

I've discovered a treasure trove… and unleashed a curse.

He stood slowly, gaze toward the dark cliffs rising behind him.

"I wanted funding," he whispered. "But not like this."

And so, beneath the moon's cold gaze, General Hiral began plotting not a conquest—but a containment. A way to guard this land's secret long enough to build protections, alliances, and power.

The gods had handed him a miracle.

And with it, a burden that could crack kingdoms.

****

Hiral's boots landed soundlessly against stone as he scaled the canyon wall once more, body moving with a predator's precision despite the fatigue in his limbs. 

The night wind scraped against his skin like cold cloth, rustling his cloak in whispers. 

He made no sound, not even a grunt of exertion, as he reached the cliff's edge and pulled himself up.

The wide expanse of the barren land lay below, bathed in a cloak of pale moonlight. 

From his perch, the arena looked like a scar across the earth—silent now, empty of warriors but echoing with the memory of blades. 

Beyond it, the dust-veiled plains stretched out endlessly, broken only by the jagged cliffs and windswept shadows.

Hiral sat, arms resting on his knees, expression unreadable.

His thoughts were far from the peaceful night. 

His mind turned back to the diamond glinting in the rock, the imperial jade gleaming below like the gods themselves had hidden wealth inside the bones of the earth.

He exhaled, slow and heavy.

"The gods truly know how to twist a man's fate."

A faint smile ghosted his lips, bitter and wry.

Just as he let his gaze drift across the moonlit plain, a presence stirred behind him—soft as breath, but to Hiral, as obvious as thunder.

He moved instantly.

In one fluid motion, he spun, his blade unsheathed in silence, already angled at the vulnerable neck of the figure behind him. 

His knee pressed the figure down, hand gripping their shoulder with precise force—

Then he saw the face.

Alexis.

Hiral froze. The dagger's edge still kissed the other man's throat.

"...You?" Hiral murmured, breath steady but taut.

Then he drew back, just as smoothly as he'd attacked, stepping away in a controlled retreat. His blade vanished back into its sheath as if it had never been drawn.

"My apologies," Hiral said, voice neutral. "I didn't expect company."

Alexis rubbed the spot where the dagger had hovered, an amused glint in his eyes despite the chill in the air.

"You didn't just move fast. You moved like a ghost trained to haunt generals." He gave a soft laugh. "How fortunate you recognized me before I lost a pint of blood."

Hiral didn't smile. Instead, he opened a pouch and tossed a small tin of herbal balm to Alexis, who caught it with a raised brow.

"You're still not denying it, you know," Alexis said. "That you're not the grand general everyone fears."

"I'm giving you medicine," Hiral replied, tone utterly nonchalant.

Alexis laughed aloud at that, shaking his head. "So you're sticking to the mystery act. Fine. Be the elusive shadow man with a dagger in the dark."

Hiral only tilted his head slightly, eyes half-lidded in thought.

"Why are you here?" he asked. "And alone, no less."

Alexis leaned back against a boulder, the balm tin still in hand, fiddling with the lid. "Guess."

"I have no time for riddles."

"You're leaving already?" Alexis frowned.

"I came here to think. Your arrival disrupted that," Hiral replied, already turning his back.

"Oh, come on," Alexis said with a half-annoyed chuckle, pushing off the boulder to follow. "Can't you stay a while longer? It's a nice view."

Hiral glanced over his shoulder with a smirk, eyes sharp in the moonlight. "Strange—when I was here alone, it was quiet."

That earned a full laugh from Alexis, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. He watched Hiral's form retreat, the edge of that moonlit figure merging with shadow once more.

Alone again, Alexis stood under the cliff's starlight, rubbing the balm between his fingers and looking out over the arena and beyond.

So it was reminiscing about a fiancé, huh…?

Something about that gnawed at him. The kind of gnawing that wasn't jealousy, but wasn't not jealousy either. He didn't like the feeling.

He didn't like that he wanted to know more.

"Damn it," he muttered into the night. "You could've at least talked to me a little longer…"

But the only answer he got was the wind across stone, and the fading silhouette of Hiral vanishing once more into the darkness.

****

After returning from the moonlit cliffside and locking his thoughts behind a measured expression, Hiral finally allowed himself a few hours of sleep—his body weary, but his mind never still. 

As the dawn crept in, casting faint gold over the eastern banners outside his private tent, he rose with practiced ease, already moving before his thoughts could catch up.

He resumed his morning routine, sparring briefly with a few soldiers, breaking fast with barley bread and dried fish, and checking each unit's readiness. 

The soldiers were awake, alert, and aware that today marked the first leg of their journey back—but with purpose, not just retreat. 

The route back would bring them through ravaged farmlands and hollowed-out villages, and as always, Hiral would make war serve the people.

Inside the command tent, Hiral addressed his senior officers. 

"Seran," he said, rolling up the latest route map, "you'll lead the main body of troops. Prioritize helping villages with damaged infrastructure and coordinate with local leaders about harvest needs. Make sure soldiers with families in the region get time to rest."

Seran gave a firm nod. "Understood. We'll make every march count."

Satisfied, Hiral clasped his shoulder, then stepped out to his chosen delegation team—a handpicked group of sharp minds and loyal hearts—before mounting his horse to ride toward the temporary joint camp where both eastern and western representatives would remain.

If I manage the policies well here, he thought, this land might yet avoid becoming a pawn in future wars.

As they approached, Hiral already braced himself for resistance. 

With General Alexis likely having returned to Ro to report their "victory," Hiral expected to be met by suspicious diplomats or over-proud commanders ready to posture.

But before he could even fully dismount, a loud, too-familiar voice rang out like a bell in the air:

"General! Or—sorry—Second-in-command! What a glorious surprise!"

Hiral's brows drew together in a tight frown. 

He turned slowly, instinctively adjusting the collar of his traveling coat—and saw Alexis, casually waving, half a grin plastered across his sun-kissed face.

"…You didn't leave?" Hiral said, tone far too calm for the look in his eyes.

"Nope!" Alexis beamed. "Took a gamble. Decided to stay one more day… just in case I got lucky."

"You're ridiculous," Hiral muttered, but bowed slightly in greeting, earning a mock gasp of offense from Alexis.

Hiral began passing thick, detailed notebooks to both his and the western delegates—complete with protocol breakdowns, parley law enforcement guidelines, and dispute mediation procedures. 

His delegation set about their tasks immediately, professionally and quietly.

Alexis sauntered closer. "Well then, now that you're here, want a tour?"

Hiral gave him a side glance. "A tour?"

"Of the whole joint camp. Eastern and Western sides. See it all, understand the dynamic better. C'mon—won't kill you."

Hiral handed the last notebook off to his secretary and gave his delegation a nod. "I'll return shortly."

He followed Alexis, hands clasped behind his back, surveying everything with the eyes of a strategist—not just the placements, but the layout, supply flow, even the quality of food wagons. All noted.

"So," he said at last, "why aren't you personally leading your army back?"

Alexis flashed a wolfish grin. "Told you. Took a gamble."

Hiral stopped mid-step, turning slowly to face him. "You stayed just on the chance of seeing me?"

"Exactly." Alexis grinned wider. "And look, it paid off."

Hiral looked at him like he was mentally unsound.

"…You've lost your mind."

Alexis laughed so loudly that a few western soldiers glanced their way in alarm.

 He waved them off, still chuckling as he led Hiral behind a supply tent, away from prying eyes.

"I swear," Alexis said, still amused, "you just existing makes my day."

"I'm not trying to."

"Exactly! That's what makes it worse."

Hiral's smirk was tiny, but present, as he turned to observe the camp's mechanisms. Alexis pointed at a strange stone device near the cook's tent.

"Hot stones," he explained. "Invented by a scholar in Ro. Heat them by fire, they hold warmth for hours. We use them for field baths, keeping stew hot, even warming cold tents in winter."

Hiral tilted his head slightly, already filing that away for later.

Alexis gestured toward another contraption—a portable sanitation unit crafted with wheeled frames and smooth-sliding waste drawers.

"Portable toilet," he said proudly. "Less trench digging, better hygiene. Our soldiers call it the Iron Throne."

Hiral huffed a small laugh at that, eyes glinting with interest as he examined the craftsmanship. "Efficient. I'll give it that."

Alexis leaned slightly closer, voice dropping just a bit. "So, what are you thinking now, general-not-general?"

Hiral didn't answer right away.

Instead, he kept looking around—the work, the mechanisms, the people.

And then, without looking at Alexis, he said quietly:

"I'm thinking how much we waste… simply because no one wants to listen to good ideas if they come from the other side."

Alexis's grin softened into something more genuine. "Then maybe next time… we fight the real enemy together."

Hiral didn't reply.

But his silence was not rejection—it was consideration.

****

The eastern sun had barely climbed past the horizon when Hiral stood before the gathered delegates, both eastern and western, his expression composed and commanding. 

The air was crisp, filled with the tension of new alliances and cautious cooperation. 

A temporary command tent stood open behind him, filled with maps, scrolls, and hastily drawn blueprints of the joint outpost.

In his hand, a stack of meticulously written reports, and on the ground before him, attentive faces—some eager, some wary.

Hiral stepped forward, voice clear. "This station will be the cornerstone of stability. 

It is not glory we're maintaining here, but peace. I expect precise documentation, updates by the week, and cross-border transparency."

He handed out slim bound ledgers to each delegate. "Inside you'll find assigned sectors, supply flow logistics, and a clear chain of command for dispute resolution. You will record only what matters—don't bloat the reports with irrelevant formality. Prioritize clarity, facts, and projections."

Several western delegates eagerly began flipping through the pages, eyes wide as they realized how much faster and simpler this system was compared to their kingdom's drawn-out documentation style.

"This… this is incredible," one of them muttered, scribbling notes as if a new doctrine had been handed to him.

Another leaned toward his colleague and whispered, "We could trim hours off our reports. Days, even."

From the side, Alexis leaned lazily against a pole, arms crossed, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

But his eyes… his eyes were sharp and contemplative.

Watching Hiral like a man watching a storm steer ships to shore.

There was no hesitance in Hiral's answers—just calm authority. No disdain when western officers asked for clarifications. 

No favoritism toward his own. 

He addressed them all the same, firm yet patient, his presence knitting together two factions once ready to spill blood.

Alexis tilted his head, musing silently:

If I had a man like this in Ro's command… the entire army might rise to a new level. Efficient. Visionary. Principled. And damned untouchable.

But then, as if the gods themselves enjoyed dangling what couldn't be had, Hiral straightened and gave a slight bow.

"I can only stay this long," he said. "There's still work ahead. I must rejoin my troops. But I'll look forward to your reports—and the peace you'll maintain."

With that, he turned, nodding to his eastern delegation, and walked toward his horse. The sunlight caught on the hem of his traveling cloak, turning the fabric gold for a moment.

Alexis exhaled heavily. 

A sigh laced with a strange regret.

Back in his tent, he rummaged through his trunk. 

He pulled out a small pouch of dried fruits—figs and apricots—and a satchel of ointment, the same one he'd been gifted by a desert tribe, known for healing faster than most battlefield salves.

"This is foolish," he muttered.

Still, he went.

By the time he rode out of camp, Hiral was already a dwindling shape in the distance, his cloak flapping behind him as his horse surged forward.

Alexis clicked his tongue, spurred his own steed, and caught up. Wind whistled past him as he called, "General! Or second-in-command! Or whatever title you're hiding under!"

Hiral heard him. 

For a heartbeat, his fingers twitched on the reins—a thought to ride faster, to disappear again into the role and road he always chose.

But instead, he slowed.

Alexis galloped beside him, then tossed the small pouch in a clean arc. Hiral caught it effortlessly.

"What is this?" he asked, voice low.

Alexis gave a half-smirk. "Dried fruit. And balm. You're always running off like you won't get scratched."

Hiral narrowed his eyes, clearly unconvinced.

Alexis shrugged. "To remember me by."

That earned him a long, unreadable stare—as if Hiral were trying to decipher the man before him down to the last flicker of his intentions.

Then Hiral looked away.

With a shift of his heels and a flick of his reins, his horse shot forward, galloping with sudden speed, wind trailing behind him.

Dust clouded the path where he'd been.

Alexis coughed, fanning away the kicked-up dirt and muttering with a grin, "Every damn time."

Still, there was no anger in his voice. Just the amused defeat of a man chasing a wild star across borders.

He turned his horse back toward the camp, slouching into the saddle with a resigned chuckle. "See you again, Shadow General."

He didn't know when.

But part of him already believed—they would meet again.