The Shattered Crowns

"Mirak," Akash began, "he's shorter than me. He's got scruffy, dark brown hair, with bangs that hang around his eyes. But his most striking feature…" Akash paused, eyes softening briefly. "His eyes are completely black. No whites, no pupils—just black. He always carries a book, reading about Sorcerers and Atta. You'll know him when you see him."

Dante frowned, leaning back in his chair. "Pray that he's not in Reem," he said grimly. "The God King's court doesn't take kindly to Sorcerers or their kind. They're always plotting something—and they're unwelcome here. I met one once." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Couldn't sleep for days after. I don't mind swords or steel, but those invisible lines of death? That's a different beast entirely."

Akash narrowed his eyes. "He's not dangerous."

"Maybe not," Dante replied, his tone measured. "But the court doesn't care. Anyone who dabbles in that kind of knowledge is branded as a threat. Let's hope your friend stays far away from Reem."

Akash bristled but let it drop. He shifted his attention back to Dante. "Daenys," he continued. "She has light brown skin and white hair—short, just above her shoulders. Matches the glow of Rhea when the moon's at its peak." His lips curved slightly at the thought. "She's almost my height, strong—more muscle than most—and she's never without her bow. Her voice… it's sharp, like a whip. Her face is narrow, but her eyes—"

"Sounds like someone you'd notice in a crowd," Dante interrupted with a nod. "That'll help." He stood, his hands resting on his hips. "I'll ask around the capital and let you know if I hear anything."

"Thank you," Akash said again, sincerity etched into his voice.

"Don't thank me until I find them," Dante muttered. He turned to the corner of the tent, where a folded shirt lay draped over a small stool. Lifting it, he held it out to Akash. "Let's see if this Mooneye silk fits you."

Akash stared at the black, short-sleeved shirt in Dante's hands. The fabric shimmered faintly in the dim candlelight, as if it absorbed the glow rather than reflecting it.

"You know what Mooneye silk is, don't you?" Dante asked.

"Yeah," Akash said, his voice uncertain. "It's expensive. Why are you giving this to me?"

Dante laughed. "Well, I am trying to convince you to join my company. But I wouldn't call it a bribe." He tossed the shirt onto Akash's lap. "Think of it as a gift. Just remember who gave it to you."

Akash stared at the shirt for a long moment, his fingers tracing the fine threads. It didn't feel like a gift. It felt like a tether—a tie to something larger than himself. If he accepted this, he'd be stepping into a world far removed from the adventures he'd promised his friends. Yet… wasn't this also an opportunity? One that could keep him alive long enough to find Mirak and Daenys?

His hand drifted to the hilt of his blade, seeking its familiar comfort.

Dante, ever observant, pressed on. "I'll even get you a sword teacher," he said casually. "You'll learn to use that resin-infused blade better than a blind man swinging a club. Give it a few years, and you could be a blade master. Who knows? Maybe you'll end up leading a battalion of your own."

Before Akash could respond, the tent flaps rustled. A man stepped inside, his movements precise and deliberate. He wore armor the color of old blood—dusty red with a polished sheen that caught the light. Despite its bulk, he carried himself with an effortless grace, like every step was calculated in advance.

"The Sovrans have been talking, Commander Fress," the man said, his voice calm and clipped. "They wish to hold an accord in the coming days."

"Ah, Veneres," Dante greeted, his tone lighter than before. "Glad you could join us. Meet our newest member. He reminds me of you when you first joined."

Veneres's gaze shifted to Akash, assessing him with a single glance. His golden eyes, visible through the slits of his helmet, lingered just long enough to convey quiet disdain. "An accord, Commander," he repeated, ignoring the introduction entirely.

Dante waved a dismissive hand. "I heard you the first time, Veneres. But you should at least try to welcome our new recruit. It took quite a bit of convincing to get him on board."

Akash bristled. "I haven't agreed to anything yet."

Veneres didn't so much as blink. "A single recruit?" he said, his tone flat. "The guild arranges these meetings for a reason. This is a waste of time."

Akash pushed himself to his feet, wincing as his wound protested. "Hey! I just said I haven't decided yet. And what do you mean by 'a waste of time'?"

Veneres turned his head slightly, his gaze settling on Akash once more. The white markings on his helmet gleamed faintly in the low light. "I'll hold the meeting as required, Commander," he said, addressing Dante. "But time is not on our side. The Hopekiller draws closer."

Dante sighed, his earlier humor fading. "I'll call for a meeting in the next few days," he said. "I need to inform the Sovrans of some new developments anyway."

Veneres nodded sharply. Without another word, he turned and left, the flap of the tent swaying in his wake.

"Forgive him," Dante said, turning back to Akash. "He's a good kid—just a little too serious for his own good. His duties as a Knight weigh heavily on him."

"A little too serious?" Akash asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Fine," Dante conceded. "More than a little. But there's more to him than that. Anyway," he continued, his voice shifting back to business, "we've gotten off track. Will you accept the offer?"

Dante folded his arms and waited, his posture straighter now, his expression sharper. This was no longer the easygoing man Akash had been dealing with. The air in the tent grew heavier as Dante's blue eyes bore into Akash, demanding an answer.

Akash hesitated, his mind racing. This was it—a crossroads. To take the offer would mean tying himself to Dante's mercenary company, giving up the freedom to chase after Mirak and Daenys at his own pace. But refusing would mean venturing into this unfamiliar world alone, without allies or resources.

"I'll join your army," Akash said finally, his voice steady.

The tension broke instantly. Dante's face split into a grin, and he clapped Akash on the back, earning a grunt of protest from the injured boy.

"Wonderful news," Dante said, already moving toward the exit. "You'll need to meet the rest of the company soon, but for now, let's get you set up in your tent."

Akash followed, pulling the Mooneye silk shirt over his head. The fabric was cool against his skin, fitting snugly but comfortably. "What about Elys?" he asked, gesturing to the tiger at his side.

Dante shrugged. "Plenty of fish for your pet here. He can stay with you or by the mounts—though I might just have a saddle made for him."

"A saber-toothed tiger in battle?" Dante mused, grinning. "Now that's a sight to see."

They stepped outside, and Akash's breath caught. The Lunar Storm had begun.