Ashes Of The First Tyrant
Chapter 50: veils of the watch

Chapter 50: veils of the watch

Thalen awoke before dawn, the Citadel’s towers still shrouded in mist and torchlight. The air was heavy with rain-washed residue, faint smoke lingering in the northern wind. Today, they would formalize the Border Watch tenfold the heartbeat of Reuven’s fragile unity. He dressed, sliding the Blade That Breaks into its belt, its faint hum a steely promise against his hip.

At his study desk, parchments waited: Border Watch terms, rotational patrol rosters, mixed-command charters. Next to them, a sealed scroll from the Crown marked "For Ascendant Review Only." He broke it with a steady breath. Inside, crisp ink blurred darker requirements: Crown agents to be embedded in every watch post, full access to intel. Oversight, in Crown hands.

Thalen stared at the paper, jaw clenched. He understood why they requested it they still feared Reuven’s truth-growers but the people needed autonomy. He looked to the window, where torchlight flickered against the gray dawn. He would press for balance at the signing. He would hold this line.

The Council Chamber filled by midday. Thalen took his seat before the long table, Renal beside him. The Nine heroes, senior advisors from both sides, and Crown envoys assembled. Tension rippled like aura-heat between them.

Renal rose first. "Today marks the foundation of the Border Watch. We propose joint patrols with Reuven leadership, Crown oversight."

He passed a copy of the agreement for review.

Thalen unfolded his version. Crown "embedded agents" replaced with "liaison officers," answerable to Ascendant Command with Crown Counsel allowed in review sessions. The crowd murmured. Crown envoy frowned.

"Embedded agents ensure accountability," the envoy said. "We cannot rely on goodwill alone."

Thalen stood, voice clear. "We don’t ask for less oversight only balanced oversight. A liaison can report concerns, but must not impede field decisions. Otherwise, the Watch becomes Crown-controlled, not joint."

The envoy stiffened. Renal intervened. "His point is valid. A liaison model maintains oversight and respect. Recommend compromise: liaison leads sessions no Crown veto in real-time."

Silence. Delegates glanced at each other.

Varos leaned toward the envoy: "Trust earns its place through proven action. No veto only voice."

A captain from Reuven raised a point: "Our villages see Crown guards stationed in homes. Trust may build better with shared meals than polearms."

A Crown colonel shifted uncomfortably. "Maybe liaison presence in watch-tower, not homes?"

The envoy nodded. "Agreed. Liaison quarterly visits."

Thalen inhaled. This was progress. He returned to Renal with a nod.

Renal stood again. "We accept liaison quarterly visits, no veto, full transparency."

The envoy cataloged amendments.

Thalen rose last. "We must protect not just borders, but the public trust. Let today be remembered as the moment we chose shared guardianship instead of dominance."

Heads nodded. The agreement was signed.

A bell rang. The Citadel’s bells tolled as signatures dried.

Outside, the new Border Watch assembled: six posts scarves in half silver, half black; patrols formed of three Reuven soldiers and two Crown liaison officers. Thalen observed quietly from the eastern wall, Renal beside him.

They watched a mixed patrol march into the northern pass a scene repeating across all nine frontier posts.

Renal spoke softly. "This is what partnership looks like."

Thalen nodded. "A fragile truth. Easy to break harder to hold."

They rode down to the courtyard where soldiers and villagers mingled. Families greeted patrols. Scouts exchanged words. Children followed Reuven and Crown soldiers like curious fireflies.

A farmer, Emlyn, approached Thalen. "Ascendant thank you. We felt safer knowing these men stand for us."

He indicated a Reuven soldier patting a Crown liaison on the shoulder. "Trust born when fears are met, not sent away."

Thalen’s throat tightened. "And we will earn it every rotation."

That night, the northern ridge burn journal arrived. Engineers reported that the fissure had stabilized no further aura bleed, no destabilization. Yet, terraforming glyphs activated seems purposeful, aiming to fracture the ridge structure. A mole likely smuggling tools into the site.

Thalen invited mage Ilara into his study at midnight. She arrived by torchlight, hooded and wary.

"I’ve analyzed the runes inside the vessel," Ilara said quietly. "They synched to transient Crown frequencies this sabotage may not be Shadehand alone."

Thalen frowned. "You mean inside our watch?"

Ilara nodded. "Someone feeding them info. Maybe high enough to pass Crown code inside us."

A sick hush. Thalen folded his hands. "We need discreet vetting. Liaison’s trust must be earned beyond signature."

Ilara pulled scrolls. "I’ll cast a Clearveil on liaison roster see if any were compromised. But should we trust even this?"

Thalen stared at the Blade That Breaks. Its glow seemed to pulse faster aware of crisis.

"We must," he said. "But with eyes open. We’ll begin tonight."

By the first hour of midnight, the Clearveil ritual commenced. Lined with crystals, Ilara stood at the center. Around her, Crown liaison officers and Reuven commanders watched and felt vulnerable. The spell whispered through stones and skin alike.

Clearveil produced its vision: one man’s aura flickered starting strong Crown resonance, then skewing violet to

They watched a mixed patrol march into the northern pass a scene repeating across all nine frontier posts.

Renal adjusted his gloves. "It will take weeks before the Watch functions smoothly. Years before people believe in it."

"Belief begins in moments like this," Thalen said. "One watchfire lit by both hands."

A rider approached the gate at speed. Reuven sigil. Dust streaked across his back. Thalen and Renal met him at the foot of the stairs.

The rider slid from his horse. "Report from Watchpost Seven. A civilian caravan was halted by armed strangers on the pass refused inspection, attacked a patrol."

Renal raised an eyebrow. "Casualties?"

"One liaison wounded, three civilians injured. Strangers fled into the pine ravine."

Thalen tensed. "Shadehand?"

"Unconfirmed," the rider said. "But glyph traps left behind. Black smoke, aura pulse similar to canyon breach."

Thalen looked at Renal. "This is our test."

Renal nodded. "We respond together."

Orders were issued instantly. A unit of twenty from both sides deployed to Watchpost Seven. Thalen insisted on joining. Renal rode with him.

As they galloped north, the wind sharpened. The pine trees grew taller, denser. It was not yet sunset, but shadows clung between trunks like spilled ink. When they reached the post, they found five soldiers treating wounds under torchlight.

A Crown liaison greeted them, saluting despite blood on his sleeve. "The caravan’s guards wore no faction sigil. They drew swords at the pass checkpoint well-trained, but unmarked."

Thalen inspected the remnants of the trap: sigil-etched shards embedded in a pine root, dripping faint violet residue.

Ilara arrived moments later by skystep glyph. She hovered over the residue. "Same glyphwork as the canyon breach," she confirmed. "Not just Shadehand this was refinement. Experimental."

Renal crouched beside a scuffed wagon track. "They fled west. Into the ridgeline tunnels."

Thalen surveyed the path. "Too narrow for cavalry. We go on foot."

Renal hesitated. "No escort?"

Thalen unsheathed the Blade That Breaks. "The fewer we are, the more silent we can be."

A party of seven entered the ravine: Thalen, Renal, Ilara, two Reuven scouts, and two Crown infantry. The pine trees closed in overhead, muting light and sound. The air grew colder, heavier. The ground sloped downward as the forest gave way to stony pathways and broken earth.

Ilara raised her stave. The air ahead shimmered.

"A veil ward," she murmured. "They’re masking something."

Thalen nodded. "Strip it."

She drew a runic circle midair. Aura cracked the veil and behind it, a tunnel mouth opened, marked with sigils carved in rough haste. Smoke curled faintly from within.

They entered.

Inside, the tunnel walls pulsed faintly with residual glyph heat. Broken lanterns hung crookedly. Farther in, they found signs of habitation: torn bedding, scorched pages, half-constructed aura crystals the makings of a field lab.

Ilara crouched over a rune circle burned into the floor. "They were testing aura conduits. Drawing energy from deep veins. Tyrant signatures."

Renal muttered, "They’re refining something. Sharpening their strikes."

Thalen reached the center of the cave and found a blood-marked sigil that pulsed faintly. "This wasn’t a camp. It was a forge."

He turned to Renal. "They’re weaponizing aura ruptures. Not just bombs focused breaks."

The words felt heavy. A strategy designed to destabilize, not just destroy.

From deeper in the tunnel, a voice called out.

"Ascendant. Crown blade. You come quick but not quiet."

Thalen whirled. A figure stood in the darkness. Cloaked. Pale eyes catching the shimmer of Ilara’s light.

"Show yourself," Renal ordered.

The man stepped forward. His robes were weather-worn. No sigil. But the scent of aura on him was unmistakable raw, unfiltered, volatile.

"I am no priest," the man said. "Not Shadehand. Something older. Something they fear."

Ilara raised her stave. "You speak in riddles."

"Because riddles are safer than truths," the man replied. "But know this your Watch is built on borrowed time. They already work beneath your foundations. There are roots that reach past your walls."

Thalen stepped forward. "Who are you?"

"I was once like you. Believer. Knight. Then I saw the first fracture the Tyrant’s cradle. Now I warn those I can."

He tossed something onto the ground: a glyph-etched disc, cracked.

Ilara picked it up. Her expression shifted. "This is old. Forbidden tier."

"Burn it if you like," the man said. "But that won’t unmake what lies beneath."

Renal moved quickly, sword at the ready. "You’re coming with us."

The man raised his hand and in a flare of pale smoke, vanished.

Ilara cursed, scanning the aura trail. "Teleportation glyph self-consuming. I can’t trace him."

Thalen’s eyes lingered on the glyph disc.

"Roots beneath," he murmured.

"Shadehand is just a symptom," Ilara said. "There’s something deeper."

They searched the tunnels for another hour. Found three more sigil remnants. Traps deactivated, notes burnt. But the warning lingered like cold on the skin.

They returned to the Citadel under moonlight.

That night, Thalen stood at the summit tower alone. Below, the new Watch patrols moved like slow currents of light. All nine towers were lit. Border strong.

But what lay beneath them?

Varos approached. "The Crown’s liaison has already filed a joint report. The Watch will hold."

"For now," Thalen said.

"The man in the tunnel?" Varos asked.

"Not Shadehand," Thalen replied. "But not alone. He said ’roots beneath.’"

Varos frowned. "Subterranean forces?"

"Something old. Something everyone buried."

He handed Varos the cracked glyph disc.

"Ilara said it predates even the Crusades," he added. "Maybe even pre-Spirit."

Varos looked at him. "Then we have more to uncover."

Thalen’s gaze lingered north, where the pine ravine curved out of sight.

"We built the Watch for the border. But now we must look inward into the ground beneath us.

Varos’s voice dropped low. "Into the ashes of the first Tyrant?"

Thalen didn’t answer.

He only turned his eyes toward the horizon, where night flickered with strange fire.