The sky that should have begun to turn blue was instead a dull grey, resembling tarnished steel, while thick fog crept down from the northern mountains, shrouding the fortress like a shroud. Inside, the underground corridors, typically reserved for storing archives and fine wines, had been transformed into emergency interrogation chambers. The air was cold and damp here, laden with the scent of wet stone and lingering fear. The magitek lamps hanging low from the ceiling flickered, casting long, dancing shadows on the stone walls, making every corner appear sinister. In this suffocating silence, each footstep sounded heavy and reverberated— as if anyone walking here could be the next enemy hiding in the shadows.

  Aldyr, with a face that bore the harshness of age beyond his years, led his small team of investigators. The deep hollows of his eyes suggested he hadn’t slept at all the previous night. In his hand, he held a list of names, every stroke of ink felt like a death sentence. Before him, in a small room illuminated by a single lamp, three guards stood tense, watching over their first prisoner: Derren, the logistics officer who had trembled like a dry leaf before Lady Serise the night before.

  Aldyr eyed the stout man sharply, his voice cold and devoid of emotion. “Derren, we will go through this again. For the record. Where exactly were you on the night of the sabotage at the southern docks?”

  Derren did not dare to lift his gaze. He simply stared at the filthy stone floor, the palms of his bound hands trembling violently. “I… I have already said, I was in the command room, with Commander Garet and the late Lord Miravel. I was merely writing a routine shipping report. Nothing more than that. By the heavens, I swear it.”

  Aldyr stepped closer, his voice pressing, each word spoken with sharp emphasis. “Is that all you’re certain of? A report from one eyewitness—a clerk who was working overtime—states that you entered and exited the communications room more than once that night. The communications room is a forbidden area for the logistics division without special permission. What were you truly doing there, Derren?”

  Derren shook his head in panic, the expression on his face reflecting deep despair. “No… I was just following orders! Commander Garet sent me to deliver some documents there! I don’t know what they contained! The codes of war are foreign to me, and all the suspicions you hold against me have no basis!”

  A senior sorceress, Nyssa, stepped forward from the shadows. Her indigo robe seemed to absorb the light, while her pale eyes focused with such intensity that it felt as though she could penetrate any hidden deceit. Known throughout Terranova as a master of illusion magic and an empath—every lie, no matter how small, would create ripples in the magical field that she could easily detect. Nyssa raised her slender, gleaming wand, its tip glowing with a soft blue light. Her voice was calm yet authoritative, fostering an atmosphere that was both soothing and ominous.

  “Forgive us, Lord Derren,” Nyssa said softly, yet with conviction. “However, in a situation like this, a mere oath is insufficient. We must ensure that everything is clear. I will read your emotional waves. If you speak the truth, there is nothing for you to fear. But if there’s even a hint of deception... you already know the consequences.”

  Derren shut his eyes tightly, resigned to his fate. The soft blue light from Nyssa's wand pulsed, circling his head like a radiant crown. Nyssa briefly closed her own eyes, her face contorting in deep concentration. She did not merely see; she felt—a thick wave of fear, desperation, and… something more. When she opened her eyes, her gaze landed on Derren’s face, wet with cold sweat.

  Nyssa furrowed her brow, studying Derren intently. “Hmm. This is quite strange. I don’t sense any lies within you. The fear you feel appears genuinely sincere. However, there’s something else—like a trace of foreign magic pressure. It’s as if you carry the scars of emotional wounds. Has someone threatened you in a truly horrific way, Derren?”

  Hearing that question, Derren’s defenses began to crumble. He stood momentarily paralyzed, his eyes widening in terror as Nyssa unraveled his darkest secret. “I-I… yes, that’s true. Two days ago, I found an anonymous letter in my room. Inside was a lock of my daughter’s hair, and beneath it was a threatening message… if I didn’t keep silent about that night’s covert logistics and obey their every command, they would send me her head.”

  Aldyr stiffened, his sharp gaze filled with newfound suspicion. “Who do you suspect among the council? Who knows that you have a daughter?”

  Derren swallowed hard, tears slowly dampening his cheeks. “I swear… I truly don't know who sent it. Almost everyone knows I have family. However… however, I did see Commander Garet speaking for a long time with someone wearing a red hooded cloak in the back corridor of the barracks, just before the night of the sabotage. I couldn't see the person's face, but the aura they exuded felt cold and terrifying.”

  Aldyr nodded slowly, jotting down something on his parchment. His eyes sparkled with intensity, focused on the name that lingered in his mind—Garet. In the adjacent room, the more spacious archives, Selene— the idealistic young advisor—was undergoing interrogation, directly by Lady Serise. Serise sat calmly in a simple iron chair, her gaze sharp, as if she could pierce straight to the bone.

  “Selene,” Serise's voice was soft yet firm, “you’ve only been with this council for a few months. Your perspective has not yet been tainted by the harsh realities of the world. What did you hear or witness during your night watch just before Lord Miravel was found dead?”

  With her head bowed, Selene's fingers twisted nervously in her lap. Her voice was barely a whisper, “I... I heard soft whispers in the corridor near the meeting room. It wasn’t a language I recognized. I caught words like ‘spiral’, ‘shadow’, and ‘gateway opening’... as though part of a strange incantation. Yet, when I tried to approach the source of the sound, all I saw was a flickering shadow that vanished. I... I felt hesitant to report it, my Lady. I feared it might all just be an illusion in my mind.”

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  Serise fell silent for a moment, scrutinizing Selene with a sharp gaze. Her voice remained cold, yet did not carry judgment. “There is nothing shameful about fear, Selene. Only a fool never feels it. However, your fear can claim many more souls if you choose to remain silent. Your silence is a weapon that favors your enemy.”

  Selene lifted her head, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “Forgive me, Lady Serise. From this moment on, I vow to report anything suspicious, no matter how trivial it may seem.”

  “Good. From this moment on, you will be under my personal supervision—and you will only communicate with me through the secret channels I have prepared. No more meetings or conversations with other council members without my permission. Do you understand?”

  Meanwhile, in another part of the underground corridor, the weary Mr. Carrel was conducting an interrogation of the two guards stationed at the communications tower on the night of the incident. Carrel’s voice was soft yet filled with patience, though a hidden threat lingered behind each word he spoke. “You both have been tending to that tower for over a decade. Now, I want the truth. Who last accessed the communication archives before the emergency seal was placed?”

  The first guard, a thin man, responded with a stammer. “It was me, Mr. Carrel. But I swear, I was only checking the routine messages from the outpost. There were no suspicious messages, aside from the usual weather reports.”

  The second guard, younger and more robust, interjected with a strained tone. “Sir, I found that the physical key to the data room had been moved! When I began my shift, the key was in the left drawer, but when I finished, it was in the right drawer. I swear, I didn’t move it. Someone must have entered while I was patrolling on the roof of the tower!”

  Carrel took a deep breath, carefully noting the details in his ledger. “Very well. You both are forbidden from leaving this tower for the time being until the investigation is complete. We will send food for you. If it is proven that either of you is involved with the cult of Dalazir, the punishment will be commensurate with the treachery of wartime.”

  Aldyr stepped back into the main council chamber, now eerily quiet, bearing the news of his interrogation’s outcome. He handed his notes to Lady Serise, who was intently studying a map of the region. “As we suspected, my Lady,” he said, his voice steady yet urgent. “The network runs deeper than we anticipated. At least three more individuals in the lower levels claim to have been coerced by threats against their families. And all signs point to one figure as the source of this pressure: Commander Garet. He must be isolated at once before he can destroy further evidence or make his escape.”

  Serise did not lift her gaze from the map. Her voice was firm and uncompromising. “Do it now. Take him to the isolation cell located in the deepest level. Do not give him a chance to escape or communicate with anyone, even if he has been hailed as a hero of the Terranova war.”

  In the deepest and coldest holding cell, Garet was forcibly seated in an iron chair. His hands were shackled with glowing red runes, drawing in every ounce of energy that approached him. His scarred face bore a hardened expression, and he stared at Serise standing before him with unwavering resolve.

  Garet said, “So this is how it ends, Serise? You truly no longer trust me? All our years of shared devotion on the battlefield, spanning two decades... does it all mean nothing to you?”

  Serise clenched her fists at her sides, holding back the burning anger and disappointment. “Loyalty is tested in critical moments like this, Garet. Not in times of peace. Answer my question. Did you meet anyone wearing a red hooded cloak two nights ago?”

  Garet fell silent, lost in thought, his jaw tightening further. At last, a heavy breath escaped his lips, as if all hope had slipped away with it. “Yes. I met with him. But not in the way I had hoped. He appeared out of nowhere in the alley near my home—like a specter lurking in the dark. He knew my wife’s name, the names of my children, even the school where they learned. In a voice that chilled my very soul, he threatened to hurt them all in the most cruel way if I did not provide him with information about our supply routes.”

  Serise felt as if a cold knife had pierced her heart, yet her expression remained impassive, masking the pain that gnawed at her. “What information have you given them, Garet?”

  Garet finally lowered his head, his voice a gentle murmur, laden with deep regret. “Only the patrol routes of the guards at the harbor. I thought it was just trivial information, that it wouldn’t pose a threat. I swear, I never imagined they would sink the aid ship from Spiralum…”

  Serise's voice now sounded more bitter and weary. “Any mistake, no matter how small, can shake the foundations of this war, Garet. You should have come to me. Now, you will be isolated here until we can ensure your family's safety and until you prove yourself truly free from their influence.”

  One by one, the interrogations continued relentlessly throughout the day. Some confessed under the pressure of Nyssa's magic, while others fought with all their might, weaving a web of lies and half-truths that was intricate and dark. The Dalazir network was highly skilled at covering their tracks, employing threats and psychological manipulation rather than magic that could be traced.

  As dusk approached, Aldyr returned to report to Lady Serise. His face appeared etched with exhaustion, as if he had aged a decade in a single day. “Their network has rooted itself too deeply, spreading like a cancer, Lady. We cannot rely solely on interrogation. We need counter-spies—someone unknown to anyone in Terranova, or if necessary, someone from outside.”

  Serise gazed at the alliance map that dominated the wall, her fingers slowly tracing the boundaries that crossed into the Spiralum territory. Her voice was soft yet firm, conveying the weight of the decision that must be made. “You are right. Contact the alliance in Spiralum at once. Recruit their two finest Shadow Rangers. Starting tonight, they will infiltrate our city, disguising themselves as merchants or refugees. I do not care how it's done; the Dalazir den in this city must be found and burned to the ground before they manage to spread this poison of betrayal throughout the alliance.”

  As the second night crept over the fortress of Terranova, every corridor and hall was filled with suspicious glances that met one another, whispers echoing in the chilling darkness. The guards watched the movements of the nobles with alertness, while the servants eavesdropped on every note in their masters' conversations. Friendships that had formed over decades shattered in an instant, broken by doubt and fear that haunted them. Behind the walls they thought were secure, Dalazir and his followers might be waiting with cynical grins, delighting in the hope left lying in the chaos they had wrought, watching for new gaps to infiltrate the trust of the world’s leaders.

  However, Lady Serise swore she would not allow them to achieve victory. Every interrogation, every flicker of doubt that arose, and every sacrifice made that night came at a cost to Terranova. This is the price for survival in a war that involved not just clashes on the battlefield, but also a battle within their own hearts and minds. A warfare against the darkness and betrayal that threatened to topple everything.