Warlord of the Beast Legion

Echoes in the Stone

"The crown fits perfectly, Commander Grey, but your hands are shaking."

Jesse Grey snapped his head toward the voice, his fingers tightening around his golden chalice. The Great Hall was a blinding sea of laughter and clinking crystal, a lavish celebration thrown entirely in his honor. He was the newly anointed Supreme Commander of the Royal Vanguard, a title Jack had worn for nearly a decade. Yet, looking out at the adoring nobles, Jesse felt like a ghost.

"The wind in the north courtyard is bitter tonight, Lady Cynthia," Jesse replied, forcing a smooth smile. He took a long swallow of wine to hide the tremor in his jaw. "Nothing more."

"Of course," Cynthia murmured, her eyes narrowing. "Though some say you look like a man who expects the floor to open up and swallow him. Is the taste of victory too rich?"

"I am simply exhausted," Jesse said, his tone sharpening. "If you will excuse me, I have matters of state to discuss with the scouts."

He didn't wait for her reply. He walked away from the music, each step heavier than the last. Inside his head, the only sound playing on repeat was the wet, awful crack of tree branches breaking in the fog.

Jesse practically threw his body into the quiet sanctuary of the war room, slamming the heavy oak door behind him. He leaned his back against the wood, his chest heaving as he let out a jagged breath. He closed his eyes, but the moment the darkness hit, he saw it again. Jack’s bloody face. Jack’s broken hand reaching out for him.

"He's dead," Jesse muttered into the empty room, gripping his own hair. "He fell three hundred feet. He has to be dead."

"Commander?"

Jesse jumped, his heart slamming violently. Captain Vance, the head of the elite border scouts, was standing by the stone map table.

"You look pale, sir," Vance said, shifting in his leather armor. "The council is looking for you."

"Let them drink," Jesse snapped, walking toward the table with frantic strides. He slammed his fist down onto the map, right over the dark region labeled the Whispering Woods. "Why haven't the hourly reports from the canyon rim arrived?"

Vance blinked. "Sir, the weather in the valley is abysmal tonight. The fog is rolling heavily. It’s entirely normal for the couriers to be delayed."

"It is not normal!" Jesse roared, his eyes wide as he stared at the captain. "I want a triple guard on that ridge. Do you hear me? Triple the watchmen. I want scouts monitoring every single foot of that forest border."

Vance sighed. "Sir, with all due respect, that forest is a death sentence. Nothing survives a fall into the abyss. Commander Cole himself knew that we don't need to waste resources guarding a natural graveyard."

"Do not speak his name to me!" Jesse hissed, lunging forward and grabbing Vance by the collar of his uniform. Jesse’s breath was shallow and hot. "Jack Cole is gone. I am the Supreme Commander now. You obey my orders, Vance, not the ghost of a dead man."

"I apologize, sir," Vance choked out, alarmed by Jesse's unhinged demeanor. "I only meant—"

"I don't care what you meant!" Jesse interrupted, shaking the captain slightly. "You listen to me very carefully. If a single rock falls down that cliffside, I want an entire legion down there. I want absolute, undeniable certainty that nothing is moving in those shadows."

"Jesse, please," Vance said softly. "You’re acting like the forest is going to march up the mountain. It’s just trees and wild animals."

"You don't know what's down there," Jesse whispered, his grip loosening just enough for Vance to pull away. Jesse turned his back, his hands pressed against his temples. "You didn't see the way the fog swallowed him. Until I have confirmation that his bones are bleached white in the mud, no one sleeps in this capital."

Vance adjusted his collar, his expression hardening with growing suspicion. "Is there something you aren't telling the council about what happened on that ridge, Commander? The official report stated that Jack Cole was ambushed by enemy insurgents."

Jesse stiffened, his entire body going rigid. He turned around slowly, his expression morphing into a cold, lethal stillness. "Are you questioning my official report, Captain?"

"No, sir," Vance said quickly. "I am just trying to understand the sudden strategic shift."

"The strategic shift is that I am in charge now," Jesse said, his voice flat. "And if I suspect for even a single second that your loyalty is wavering, I will find a captain who can follow a simple order. Do we understand each other?"

Vance swallowed hard, stepping back and saluting. "Perfectly, Commander Grey. I will organize the unit immediately."

"Good," Jesse breathed. "Go. And do not come back until you have confirmation that the valley is silent."

The captain hurried out, leaving Jesse in the suffocating quiet. He walked over to a mirror hanging on the stone wall, staring at the golden crest pinned to his chest. It was everything he had ever wanted. The power, the respect, the safety. So why did he feel like he was standing on the edge of the cliff all over again?

"He's dead," Jesse whispered to his reflection. "Nobody survives that."

He walked back to the map table, tracing his finger along the jagged border of the kingdom. The golden light of the candles flickered violently as a sudden draft swept through the stone room. Jesse shivered, pulling his ceremonial cloak tighter around his shoulders.

Before his fingers could touch the table, the heavy oak doors of the war room exploded inward, splintering against the stone walls with a deafening crash.

Jesse spun around, his hand instinctively flying to the hilt of his sword. "What is the meaning of—"

The words died in his throat.

A young scout stumbled into the room, collapsing heavily onto his knees. The boy’s uniform was completely shredded, his leather chest piece torn open by what looked like massive, jagged claws. Dark, thick blood was pooling rapidly underneath his body, staining the pristine marble floor. He was gasping for air, his fingers clawing at the stone table for support.

"Commander," the boy choked out, a thick stream of blood escaping the corner of his mouth. His eyes were wide with a primal, paralyzing horror.

Jesse rushed forward, dropping to his knees beside the dying soldier. "What happened? Where is your unit? Speak to me!"

"Gone," the boy sobbed, his fingers gripping Jesse’s golden cloak, leaving bright red streaks across the expensive fabric. "All of them. Gone in minutes."

"An ambush?" Jesse demanded, his voice rising in pure panic. "Was it the northern tribes? Did they cross the river?"

"No," the scout gasped, his head rolling back as his strength failed him. "Not men, Commander. The shadows. They came out of the fog."

"Who came out of the fog?" Jesse yelled, his heart hammering so loudly against his ribs he could barely hear his own voice. He grabbed the boy's face. "Give me a name!"

"The wolves," the boy whispered, his eyes rolling back as the final breaths left his lungs. "The wolves are marching. And there was a man walking among them. He didn't use a blade. He just... he just watched us burn."

The scout’s body went completely limp, his fingers slipping from the golden cloak and hitting the marble floor with a dull, heavy thud.

Jesse scrambled backward, detaching himself from the corpse, his boots slipping in the fresh puddle of blood. He hit the stone wall, his breathing turning into panicked, ragged gasps. The silence of the war room returned, broken only by the distant, ironic sound of the nobles still cheering for his name in the Great Hall.

Jack was coming back. And he wasn't alone.