A Fool

For two weeks, Alexis worked in silence. Not the kind born from indecision or brooding—but a coiled, patient quiet that clung to every movement of his body, every calculation made over maps and measured paces through camp, every whisper shared in war councils under veiled tents.

What Hiral had done—appearing like smoke, vanishing like a ghost, and slicing through his supplies—was both an insult and an invitation.

He wouldn't rise to the bait with emotion alone.

He'd answer with action.

Scouts were sent ahead in staggered rotations, always at dusk or just before dawn. 

Not in formation. Never more than two together. 

They scouted the southern cliffs, the dense jungle ridge, the winding rivers that cut through the island like coiled snakes. 

They mapped sentry patterns, smoke signals, bird traps, and strange rhythmic bells hung in trees—clever alarms.

He catalogued them all.

He rerouted.

He adapted.

By day, his army still seemed to lounge on the small island. Soldiers fished, drilled, joked, and mended sails. Fires burned lazily in the open, and the scent of grilled seafood drifted over the water like a careless lull.

By night, men vanished in increments.

Boats set off without fanfare, cloaked in black tarps and muffled paddles. Each boat carried small squads—stealth-trained, hardened, loyal. 

Their orders were specific: secure key structures inland, sabotage signal lines, and blend into the terrain until called upon.

He wanted leverage.

And he knew how to gain it: Time. Attention. Deception.

When all was in place, Alexis stood on the deck of the largest ship, clad in armor polished to a militant gleam. 

His cape snapped like a war-banner in the salt wind, and the sigil of the royal family gleamed at his back, unmistakable even from a spyglass's distance.

Drums beat behind him in ceremonial fanfare.

Three banners were raised. Trumpets sounded. The entire crescent camp moved like an official war parade, all eyes turned toward the island as the main fleet finally launched.

The show had begun.

From afar, it would seem like a full advance—Alexis bringing the might of Ro's army to bear in force and arrogance.

But only a fraction of his men were on board.

The rest were already there, hidden, silent, waiting.

Standing at the prow, Alexis looked toward the looming island. Mist clung to its midsection, thick as velvet. The trees were still. Too still.

He narrowed his eyes.

"You're watching, aren't you?" he murmured to the air. 

His smile returned—slow, satisfied, razor-edged.

"I'll see you soon, Hiral."

In the jungle high above the shore, unseen among the leaves, a signal string trembled once.

Then went still.

The trap had been baited.

Now came the game.

****

The first day on the island was… too easy.

Alexis felt it in his bones—the silence was wrong. The air didn't hum with tension, the trees weren't restless with watching eyes. 

There were no arrows in the dark, no trip wires hidden beneath leaves. Only damp soil, strange birds, and a brittle quiet that cracked louder than battle drums.

His men, sensing the same, whispered restlessly behind his back.

Still, they advanced.

Camps were made. Tents pitched in cautious formation. Watches rotated every hour. Yet, nothing came.

And that was what made Alexis uneasy.

By dawn of the second day, Alexis stood atop a dune overlooking the northern shoreline, his arms crossed and jaw tight. The sun cast copper over the horizon—but it wasn't warmth he felt. It was a warning.

Then, it hit him—visceral, sudden, and absolute.

His gut twisted. His mind screamed.

Pull back. Now.

He barked the command without ceremony. "We're withdrawing. All units, regroup at the shore. We're pulling out."

There was confusion, resistance, disbelief—but none dared challenge the glint in their general's eye.

They moved. Quick. Disciplined.

By dusk, Alexis stepped foot once more onto the small island they had departed from just days prior. His heart pounded, not with exhaustion—but with dread.

And that's when he saw them.

Three of his scouts—men he'd sent ahead during the first phase of the infiltration—were tied to spears driven deep into the earth. Their mouths gagged, but their eyes wide with silent panic.

Surrounding them were his own soldiers, men from the small island detachment—subdued, disarmed, cowed. They looked up at him with unease.

At their center stood a man in foreign armor—sleek, embroidered with Eastern motifs. A soldier of the eastern nation.

One of Hiral's own.

He didn't grin smugly. Didn't threaten. Instead, the soldier bowed—deeply, respectfully—and held out a sealed letter in both hands.

Alexis took it. His fingers twitched as he broke the wax seal.

To General Alexis of the Kingdom of Ro,

You have proven yourself sharp, clever. So I offer you this: withdraw now, and your men—all of them—will be returned unharmed.

I do not wish to see good soldiers wasted on politics masked as conquest.

I trust you to decide what is worth preserving.

Alexis cursed under his breath. A sharp, hot laugh escaped him before he could stop it.

He clenched the parchment, the edges cutting into his palm.

He had walked into Hiral's trap, just as Hiral wanted. There were too many angles he hadn't seen, too many decoys and false signals. He'd played into the illusion of control—and now stood bare.

He looked at his men. Some confused. Some ashamed. All afraid.

He couldn't afford to let the fear take root.

He turned toward Hiral's soldier, his voice ironed smooth despite the pressure building in his chest.

"Tell your master—" Alexis began, then paused, considering the weight of his words. He took a breath, letting his pride falter just long enough to forge something better.

"Tell him I will withdraw. But if he wants this retreat to remain quiet… if he wants my men spared the punishment that Ro will surely demand for this… embarrassment…"

He met the soldier's eyes, sharp with unshed fire.

"…Then he better come up with compensation. Something worthy enough to calm the storm I'll face when I return."

The soldier didn't flinch. Merely bowed again.

"I will convey your message, General."

As he turned and walked away, Alexis exhaled slowly.

"I knew," he muttered under his breath, "dealing with you was trouble."

His fists clenched at his sides, the phantom of Hiral's gaze still pressing against his neck like a brand.

"…But gods, I must be a fool. Because part of me still wants to see what trap you set next."