That night, Base Camp of Terranova felt cramped and suffocating, as if its walls were holding their breath. The white marble walls, which usually shone impressively, now appeared dull. The carvings of magical maps and ancient protective symbols etched upon its surface glimmered faintly beneath the flickering light of the crystal lanterns, their glow more often dim than bright. Outside, the rain that had fallen since dusk had turned into a storm, cold droplets pounding against the stained glass windows, drowning out the sound of the patrolling guards whose footsteps echoed uselessly in the flooded courtyard.

  Lady Serise stood rigid in the darkest corner of the room, her slender yet sturdy figure enveloped in a commanding cloak of night. Her face resembled a lifeless porcelain mask, but her dark eyes, like obsidian, scrutinized a group of anxious advisors seated across the long table made of black oak. Upon the table, the disorder mirrored their state: sheets of secret letters with broken wax seals, several candles almost extinguished, their hardened drips flowing like tears, and cups containing remnants of cold coffee. The ticking of the old clock on the wall became the sole melody accompanying the tension, each second feeling like a hammer striking the silence.

  With deliberate yet skilled motion, Serise lowered her cloak's hood. The lantern's light illuminated her intricately braided silver hair, though it could not warm the cold expression on her face. When she spoke, her voice seemed to conjure a freezing temperature, sharp as shards of ice, yet beneath it all, a tempest of rage swirled, barely contained.

  Serise: “We can no longer afford to wait idly, Lord Carrel. We have squandered invaluable time with ceaseless debate. The evidence is unmistakable—something foul festers in the heart of Terranova. A blight we have allowed to grow from our own folly and negligence. The Cult of Dalazir has entrenched itself right before our eyes.”

  Carrel, the gray-haired advisor with a wise and creased visage, appeared more unsettled than usual. His slender fingers drummed against the table's surface in an erratic rhythm, a habit that emerged only in times of great distress.

  Carrel: “Lady Serise, for the sake of our Ancestors, are you truly certain? Three leaders of the Intelligence Division have vanished without a trace this week. I have noticed it. However… to accuse the presence of a cult operating within the walls of this city is a claim that could instigate widespread panic. The war at the border with Britannia has already drained our resources significantly.”

  Serise cut off his words without hesitation, her tone shifting from cold to harsh. "Keep all your doubts to yourself, Carrel. Or better yet, prepare for your own funeral. Do you know who Dalazir is? They are not merely a sect. They are a disease that corrodes. The Red Shadow, as they call their leader, never fails to rip apart allies from within. Their network is as slippery as an eel coated in oil, slinking through the tiniest cracks in our defenses. And we have already wasted far too much time pretending to be blind!”

  In the corner of the room, a young sorcerer named Aldyr stood trembling beside the massive closed door. He had just returned from a highly secretive patrol in the eastern district, sneaking through the rat-infested alleys that even the city guards were unaware of. His cloak was drenched, and his face was caked with dust and mud that clung to him. His eyes, once bright with vitality, now appeared hollow and shadowed, marking the toll of sleepless nights and fear. He gasped, struggling to catch his remaining breath.

  Aldyr: “My lady… Lady Serise…” His voice trembled, nearly choked in a whisper, reflecting the exhaustion and deep terror from the horrors he had just witnessed. “I… I found their signs in the underground passage that stretches beneath the old market. Spiral symbols, appearing to spiral inward… painted with something that emits a scent like blood. Someone inside must have granted them access. The meeting chamber of those cultists is sealed with magic that only the council members can unlock. I… I managed to steal a message before they became aware of my presence.”

  Serise displayed no signs of shock. She fixed her piercing gaze upon Aldyr, nodding subtly with her chin, urging him to draw near.

  Serise: “Come closer, Aldyr. Show me what you have discovered.”

  With steps slightly unsteady from nervousness, Aldyr approached the table. His trembling hand presented a small, damp piece of parchment, bearing a black wax seal embossed with a similar spiral carving. Serise took the paper, swiftly scanning its contents. Her eyes narrowed, tracing each word that was inscribed. She then lifted her gaze, scrutinizing Carrel and the other advisors one by one, her stare so sharp it seemed as though she might peel away their souls in search of a sign of error.

  Serise spoke, “Dalazir seeks not only to target Britannia. They are infiltrating our ranks, eroding our strength from within before their main assault is unleashed. This message contains patrol schedules as well as vulnerabilities in the defenses of the port. This is information known only to our council. There are spies among us—and I am certain that at least more than one of us seated in this room tonight is their accomplice.”

  For a moment, silence enveloped the chamber. The ticking of the clock seemed to pause, creating a tense atmosphere. The cold night breeze flowed in through the gap in the window that was not entirely shut, causing the flame of the lantern to flicker wildly. Lady Serise placed the message in the center of the table, an undeniable proof of betrayal. Her gaze shifted to a military commander of Terranova, Garet. The burly man, marked by a prominent scar on his face, merely lowered his head, avoiding her scrutinizing stare.

  Garet raised his head, his voice reflecting a palpable defensiveness, though a hint of forced shock was evident. “Serise,” he said, his voice trembling, “be mindful of your accusations! You speak as if all present in this chamber have been condemned guilty. We have all served Terranova for years, dedicating our souls and bodies!”

  Serise glared at him with a look of disdain in her eyes. “This matter is not about caution or lack thereof, Garet,” she stated firmly, her voice rising. “This is about war. This is about survival. If we busy ourselves with patting each other’s backs and trust one another too readily, Dalazir will rip apart our entire military network without needing to loose a single arrow. Your loyalty means nothing if you cannot see the lurking threat!”

  Carrel, endeavoring to ease the escalating tension, spoke with a trembling voice. “Perhaps… perhaps we must reexamine our communication systems. There may be a breach. Anyone who has accessed the secret archives in the past three days must be interrogated thoroughly.”

  Aldyr, who stood beside Serise, bowed his head momentarily before raising his voice anew, this time with a more resolute tone, suppressing the surging tide of emotion and barely contained anger within him.

  Aldyr: “What in the name of the abyss has transpired with the treachery at the southern port last night? Two aid ships from the Spiralum alliance, which were to deliver medical supplies and magical weaponry, have sunk under mysterious circumstances. Reports claim it was due to a storm, but I know that is nothing but a lie! Furthermore, one crate containing our war codes has also vanished. Who is responsible for the security of this port, Commander Garet?”

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  All eyes were now fixed on Garet. The large man swallowed hard, his face showing signs of distress, as though he had never experienced such tension before. Garet: “It… was merely a most unfortunate coincidence. The storm that struck was indeed ferocious. The report of the missing war chest only reached me a few hours ago.”

  Serise laughed, yet her voice bore no trace of joy; it sounded cynical and lethal. Serise: “A coincidence? Do you wish for us all to perish due to a series of unforeseen coincidences? Listen, everyone! From this night forth, those who dare to invoke ‘coincidence’ as an excuse for failure shall be deemed in league with Dalazir and executed on the spot!”

  The moment she uttered those words, thunder roared outside, shaking the room and causing everyone to jump in shock. The heavy doors of the hall suddenly swung open with a harsh clang, and a guard rushed in, gasping for breath, his face pale with fear.

  Guard: “Lady Serise! Master Miravel… one of the council members… has been found dead in his private chamber! There are traces of blood magic on the walls, and a spiral symbol… precisely as Aldyr reported!”

  The atmosphere of the room was instantly thick with worried whispers and dread. Serise stood tall, her demeanor colder and more resolute than before. “Seal this chamber at once! No one may leave until we discover who has planted poison among us! Garet, summon your finest guards immediately! And you, Carrel, you hold the key to the magical seal. Should I perish this night, you know what must be done. Activate the Last Bastion Protocol.”

  Carrel stared at Serise in fear, yet he nodded firmly. His voice was low as he responded, swallowing back the bitter bile.

  Carrel:

  “I understand, Lady Serise.”

  As the guards rushed to barricade the doors and windows with iron bars and sealing spells, Serise began to pace slowly around the table, scrutinizing each of the remaining council members’ faces. Each of her glances was a test, an unspoken accusation. No one dared to lift their head to meet her gaze.

  Aldyr approached, his voice a whisper laced with urgency. “We must act swiftly, my Lady. Dalazir does not jest. If their influence has seeped this deep… our time is woefully limited.”

  Garet, who felt continually trapped in a dreadful corner, finally could no longer restrain himself. His voice quivered as he clutched at hope with desperate hands.

  “Serise,” he said urgently, “you have suspected me from the very beginning. Yet, I swear by the name of Terranova and the spirits of our ancestors who watch over us—I have never betrayed this city!”

  Serise halted directly before him, her gaze piercing as if it could penetrate his very soul. In a firm tone, she declared, “You once cautioned me when we were still cadets, ‘blind loyalty will only lead to emptiness.’ You are right, Garet. Tonight, I shall trust no one in this chamber, not even myself.”

  Suddenly, one of the advisors presumed dead, Lord Miravel, astonishingly emerged. It turned out he was still present in this room, while another had perished. Yet, misfortune soon found him. The old man coughed violently, then collapsed from his chair, his body convulsing uncontrollably on the floor. His eyes widened in terror as his mouth began to bleed thick black blood.

  Aldyr rushed to his side, carefully feeling Lord Miravel's throat before turning to Serise, his face drained of color. “Poison,” he declared in a hushed voice, “this black alchemical poison acts swiftly. He… will not survive.”

  Miravel groaned, struggling to utter something of significance. His index finger rose, pointing toward someone across the table, yet his strength had all but vanished. Miravel: “They… are… among us… This seal… is futile…”

  Those were his final whispers before the once-vibrant light in his eyes faded to emptiness. The specter of death laid bare before them transformed everything. The suspicion that had begun as mere murmurs now swelled into an overwhelming sense of paranoia. Serise gripped the hilt of her sword tightly, the protective magic around her trembling softly in the charged air. She fell silent in the stillness, while one by one, the council members exchanged glances, searching for even the faintest sign on the faces of those they had known for years.

  Carrel gazed at Miravel’s lifeless body with a vacant stare, then shifted his gaze to Serise. His voice was hoarse, laden with doubt and emptiness. Carrel: “Who among us shall fall next, Serise? Or… the more terrifying question: who among us still lives by the grace of Dalazir?”

  Serise took a deep breath, standing tall in the tense room, battling the surge of rage and despair that threatened to erupt. Her voice was firm, yet the tension was unmistakable.

  “From this moment forth, no rank or title shall shield us. Only the suspects remain. Every word and action of yours will be scrutinized. We shall form an investigation team from the new cadets, untouched by corruption—never entrust this task to soldiers who are experienced and may be compromised. Aldyr, prepare a list of names for potential replacements for each position within this council. Garet, you shall oversee the communication system. Every message that flows in and out must pass through a double magic seal that only I can break.”

  Garet, still feeling slighted, nodded resolutely. His expression now swelled with pent-up fury.

  “I understand. I am equally eager to unearth the traitor bold enough to challenge us.”

  In the dim corner of the chamber, Selene, the youngest adviser among them, trembled violently. She had joined just months prior after graduating from the academy, her heart filled with ambitions and hopes that blazed within her soul.

  Selene: “If they could infiltrate this deeply… to murder council members in this sealed meeting room… what purpose do all our sacrifices serve? What if—”

  Serise approached Selene, gently patting her shoulder, bringing warmth amidst the darkness that enveloped the room. “We are not defeated yet, Selene. Dalazir shall emerge victorious if we allow ourselves to be ensnared by fear, feeling vanquished even before the battle has begun. Tonight, we shall decide who among us truly possesses the blood for Terranova—and who merely awaits payment from the darkness.”

  The tension within the chamber thickened, as if it could be sliced with a sharp blade. Serise gestured to Aldyr to commence the interrogation they had been anticipating.

  Aldyr unfurled the scroll of notes in his hand, his voice resonating with a newfound assertiveness. “The first name that accessed the harbor archives: Derren. His authority, as the chief of logistics at the western port. Recorded on the 12th; he was present in the command room alongside Commander Garet and the late Lord Miravel.”

  A stocky man named Derren suddenly went pale. His voice trembled as he stammered.

  Derren: “I… I was indeed there, Lady Serise! But I swear, I was only overseeing the delivery of supplies for the eastern front! I had no part in any other dealings!”

  Serise scrutinized Derren's every movement, her sharp gaze examining, searching for any hint of falsity that might slip from his lips.

  Serise: “Are you aware, Derren, of the punishment that awaits liars in the midst of this war?”

  Derren hung his head low, cold sweat trickling at his temples, each droplet as large as a kernel of corn. In the corner of the room, Carrel murmured quietly, more to himself than anyone else.

  Carrel: “Shall we emerge from this storm intact, I wonder?”

  Serise heard him and let out a heavy sigh; her voice had now softened, shrouded in a bitterness long suppressed.

  Serise: “Thou speakest as if the storm visits our lives but once, Carrel. This Terranova was forged upon suffering and betrayal. We have endured storms far mightier than thou canst reckon. This is but one of a series of trials.”

  The night wore on in an oppressive silence. Outside, rain pelted the earth fiercely, while lightning flashed relentlessly, casting the silhouette of the castle trapped in a terrifying illumination. Names were recited one by one, alibis scrutinized with care, suspicion growing into a haunting specter, and the bonds of friendship that had endured for decades began to fracture, slowly but surely.

  Lady Serise understood: to claim victory in this battle, she must have the courage to bear the pain within her—and sacrifice the trust that had taken root for the sake of Terranova's survival. Though the web of Dalazir was not visible upon the surface, its poison had coursed through the veins of their alliance.

  As the grey dawn finally arrived, Lady Serise stood alone in the watchtower, allowing the cold wind to gently sweep across her face. She gazed far to the east, towards the path taken by the enemy. In her heart, she understood that the true war was just beginning—and the darkness that lurked within the walls of her own city was far more perilous than the armies poised outside, waiting for their moment to strike.