A Ruse to Play

The ocean wind whispered through the temple's open-air corridor, its salt-laced breath threading between pillars etched with age-old prayers. Far below, the waves gnawed softly at the cliffs, a lullaby for the dead and a warning for the living.

Hiral stood motionless at the edge of a carved stone balcony, the ocean stretching before him like a blade too wide to grasp. 

His eyes narrowed at the horizon where enemy sails once speckled the waters like ivory teeth—an invasion repelled, a message sent.

And now, another message must follow.

Beside him, the soldier tasked with delivering the message to Alexis and his reply waited in uneasy silence.

Hiral didn't turn to him. He didn't need to.

"Tell him…" he said at last, his voice composed, the edges as smooth and measured. "Tell General Alexis to come alone. Bring no one else. Not even his shadow."

The soldier nodded and continued.

"And the terms, General?" the man asked, voice cautious, respectful.

Hiral's gaze remained fixed on the sea, but his tone cooled further, like mist pulling from the rocks at dawn. "Tell him the agreement stands. His captured troops will be returned. Unharmed. But only after he withdraws every last man from the small isle and comes here alone."

He paused. A breeze stirred the flowering trees behind him, petals drifting into the corridor like falling confessions.

"And only after he hears the rest of the plan…" Hiral added, "…from someone who still believes in diplomacy."

The courier blinked. "You will not meet him yourself?"

At that, Hiral turned slightly—just enough for the man to catch a sliver of his expression. His lips curved upward, but it was not a smile. Not quite. 

"No."

Hiral with a sigh, added. "I've already let Alexis see me once," Hiral said. "That was enough."

He moved with slow precision through the arch that led into the inner sanctum, the sound of his steps soft against the ancient stone.

"The small isle," he continued, more to himself than the courier, "was the first breath of the plan. I showed him a glimpse of me. It played nicely with his expectations. Nicely enough for him to look again."

He paused beneath a flowering arch where white blossoms clung to the vines like whispered promises.

"That is how you unsettle a man like Alexis. Not with force. With curiosity that leads to thirst for truth."

He turned one last time, his hair shifting slightly in the breeze as he looked back toward the sea.

"I will not give Alexis the satisfaction of seeing me—not yet. Let him wonder why I remain hidden. Let him wonder when he'll see me again. That uncertainty… will be the key point to coerce him."

The courier bowed, then retreated down the corridor.

And Hiral, alone again, stood beneath the hanging vines of the sanctum's entrance. A breeze lifted the edge of his robe as he exhaled slowly.

Will you resist or play the fool? 

****

The messenger delivered the demand without embellishment.

Alone.

Withdraw the rest.

And then come.

At first, Alexis said nothing. He stood before the gathered ranks of his command, arms crossed, jaw tight.

A storm of protest broke out behind him.

"It's a trap—!"

"You'll be killed the moment you land—!"

"We cannot abandon position, not when we've bled to take it—!"

But Alexis raised one gloved hand—and silence fell.

"This isn't a debate," he said.

His gaze swept across the faces of his men. Some still sick from the sea. Others shaken from the recent deception. All of them trusted him, even now.

"I gave the order to withdraw. So you will withdraw."

"But General," one of his captains whispered, "if you go alone, and we leave, we might never get you back."

Alexis offered a thin smile. "Trust me, your General. I will come back no matter what."

He turned toward the eastern soldier waiting at the edge of the dock, and nodded once. "Let's go."

The boat glided silently through the misty inlet, cutting through reeds like a knife. Alexis stood tall at its bow, his uniform neat, hair pulled back, lips pressed in a neutral line.

He had no weapons on him—none visible, at least.

But his eyes were sharp, calculating, reading every motion, every branch, every sound.

Something about the arrangement unsettled him. Not just the lack of welcome, not even the fact that Hiral himself refused to show. But the method.

Too precise. Too clean. It reeked of intention.

He reminded himself to stay sharp. To stop being a fool—even if a part of him longed to be reckless again, just once more, in Hiral's presence.

They arrived at a landing shaded by centuries-old trees, the temple rising like a dream through the morning fog, carved into stone and swallowed by moss and flowering vines. The smell of incense and rain lingered in the air.

Waiting at the top of the steps was a tall figure in white robes, eyes warm but unyielding, hands folded over his staff.

The High Priest.

He smiled—profound, unreadable, ancient.

"General Alexis," he greeted, his voice melodic and low. "Your cooperation is… deeply appreciated. For blood should not be spilled for a conquest shaped by fools."

Alexis raised an eyebrow, then gave a short laugh—half-resigned, half-amused.

"So it's that kind of meeting."

He offered a formal bow. "Then I suppose I should've brought wine."

The High Priest chuckled, already turning to lead him deeper into the temple, where the true plan would finally be revealed.

And Alexis followed, heart braced, knowing—this was only the beginning.

****

The temple hall smelled of ancient wood, burning herbs, and earth-soaked stone. Light filtered through latticed windows, casting intricate shadows that danced across the polished floor as the High Priest led Alexis into a chamber dressed in simplicity—no guards, no chains. 

Only a low table between two cushioned seats and a scroll, freshly unrolled.

The High Priest gestured gracefully for Alexis to sit.

"I assume you are ready to hear the rest?" he asked, voice smooth as running water.

Alexis sank into the cushion without answering immediately. He studied the priest's expression—too serene, too unreadable—and gave a faint nod.

"I've come this far. Might as well hear what madness I've walked into."

The High Priest's eyes gleamed with amusement.

"Then let us begin."

He gently tapped the scroll in front of him. "The plan is simple in design, yet complex in execution. It requires your cooperation—and your patience."

Alexis leaned forward, one brow lifting.

"You will remain here for half a year, as a captive. Officially, that is." The High Priest smiled with subtle mischief. "You will not be harmed. In fact, you will be treated with all the respect due a foreign general of status."

"But?"

The priest's smile deepened. "But your diet shall be strict. No meats. No wine. No stimulants. Only island-grown vegetables, roots, and broth. You will appear leaner. Humbled. As a proper prisoner should."

Alexis blinked, then coughed a laugh. "You're fattening up your illusion with starvation. Brilliant."

"We are preparing for the inevitable visit from eastern envoys," the priest continued. "They must see a defeated, well-treated Ro general. Nothing more. Nothing suspicious."

"And I assume that's not the whole picture," Alexis said dryly.

"Indeed not." The High Priest unfurled the second part of the scroll and passed it to him. "You will write this letter. A secret message to your king. One that says this was all part of your plan. That you allowed yourself to be captured so you may infiltrate the eastern enemy's ranks. That you plan to deceive them. Topple them. And claim victory from within."

Alexis skimmed the draft. It was beautifully worded—boastful, bold, believable. And laced with prideful strategy the Ro court would devour like wine after battle.

"You intend to lie to both nations?"

"Control the perception, General, and you control the outcome."

"And if my king believes me too much?" Alexis asked, his tone deceptively light. "What if he sends rescue troops and ruins your lovely ruse?"

The High Priest chuckled. "He won't. He'll celebrate your brilliance and bide his time."

He leaned forward now, voice lowering.

"There is more. You will not sit idle during your captivity. You will help the islanders—teach them, innovate their tools, improve their quality of life. In return, the other Ro soldiers we currently hold will be released in waves."

Alexis narrowed his eyes. "And their task?"

"To spread the rumor that you, General Alexis, are captive because of them. That they failed you. That they escaped while you remained behind to cover their retreat. A tale of loyalty. Of sacrifice. Of helpless pride."

Alexis slowly leaned back, a grin curling at his lips.

"That's... impressively twisted."

He laughed softly, running a hand through his hair.

"Whoever wove this plan has a mind for the long game. Even I'm impressed."

The High Priest gave a graceful nod, his smile never fading.

"As am I. It was proposed by an eastern general with no love for direct conquest, but deep respect for precision, deception… and outcomes without bloodshed."

Alexis's smile faltered for a beat, but he masked it with a cough.

"Let me guess. You're not telling me which eastern general."

"I'm not," the priest said kindly. "But I trust… you already know."

The weight of that truth settled in Alexis's chest like a silent storm. Of course it was him.

Hiral.

Alexis looked toward the open window, where the ocean wind whispered through the trees. A smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth.

"A captive, huh?" he murmured. "Let's see who ends up outplaying whom."