“I will get straight to the point,” exclaimed the middle-aged man, glaring sternly at the six people before him from behind his desk. “I summoned you to my office this morning to discuss an important matter. As you surely know, I am the Captain of the guards here in Ravast. It is my duty to uphold the law in this village, to make sure everything runs smoothly, and to guarantee the safety and peace of its inhabitants. Naturally, I keep a special watch over the Ravast family, our lords and patrons. And that is precisely why I wanted to meet you. I want to be certain you are truly who you claim to be, and that your intentions are indeed to leave this place as soon as possible—without causing trouble.”

Tiresio regarded the man with curiosity, surprised by his bluntness and sincerity—qualities he least expected in a land so devoted to appearances. The Captain’s grim, almost threatening look gave his words even greater weight, a meaning that required no interpretation.

“I will be clear with you,” he continued, giving none of them the chance to reply. “Over the years, I’ve learned not to trust anyone—especially those I do not know, like outsiders. And you, above all, are peculiarly strange foreigners. Starting with your appearance.”

Frowning, eyes narrowed, the man once again scrutinized each of his visitors, though in truth he had not stopped since the six had entered his cramped office. The dark-skinned sisters with even darker eyes and hair. The middle-aged man clad in armor bearing the symbol of the Dawn Lord. The young man with elven features, refined manners and poised demeanor. And the strange, towering figure who, standing apart from the others and cloaked beneath a vast hooded mantle, was all but impossible to identify. Gwen, Liris, Goldrick, Lucien and Karak. Each of them was carefully examined under the Captain’s deep, inquisitive gaze.

At last, those same eyes fixed upon Tiresio. Fearless, Tiresio met the man’s stare, impassive. Clearly, the Captain disliked this, lingering on him longer than on the others, yet finding no answer in Tiresio’s expression to the many silent questions that filled his mind.

“You are certainly no merchants,” the Captain resumed, leaning forward in his wooden chair, resting both elbows on the desk and clasping his hands before his mouth. “It is plain enough you are well prepared to face… shall we say, potential adversity. You are well-armed, and from what I hear, rather skilled in combat. I would like to believe you happened by chance upon the road when you aided Lord Lucas Ravast’s carriage. But experience—and my instinct—tell me otherwise.”

Tiresio cast a glance at his companions. Karak remained unreadable, hidden beneath the impenetrable shadow of his hood, while Goldrick and Liris showed, respectively, tolerance and irritation at the Captain’s words—two opposite reactions, yet neither gave voice to them. Gwen and Lucien, instead, were the first to douse the fire.

“Captain Iuliu,” Lucien began calmly, respectfully, “I’m sure you have already spoken with Lord Ravast about this. We harbor no ill intentions. We are but six travelers who happened to be in the right place at the right time to aid his guards in defending him. It was nothing but a coincidence—an exceedingly fortunate one, given how events unfolded. Our plan is to continue our journey to Sethern, and we shall depart soon.”

“First, though,” Gwen added with a reassuring smile, “we will attend the celebrations for Lord Ravast and Lady Anastasia’s wedding. As a token of gratitude, they have invited us to the Children’s Feast and to the wedding itself. We gladly accepted.”

“Of course,” the Captain replied, his tone increasingly annoyed.

“What do you mean? We could not bring ourselves to refuse and disappoint the betrothed,” Gwen countered, still calm and conciliatory.

“You could not bring yourselves…” the man muttered, leaning back in his chair. “How convenient that sounds.”

“In what sense?” asked Goldrick, brows furrowed, stepping into the exchange.

“I thought I had made myself clear,” the Captain growled, scratching his short, bristly beard. “But apparently you are either too foolish to understand or too cunning to drop the masks you have chosen to wear. Allow me to explain further. Few travelers pass through Ravast. Most mind their own business and leave within the day. A minority, fortunately rare, prove to be troublemakers. I call them trouble seekers. Like the group of outsiders who last night harassed poor Fiora at the inn. Nothing too serious—it ended quickly, though in a rather peculiar way. And you know this well, since you were there. This morning, at dawn, the three left Ravast, so that matter is closed.

But the point is this.” He leaned forward again, fixing Gwen and Lucien in particular. “Never before has an outsider arrived here just in time to save the village’s Lord from a bandit attack—thus earning his gratitude and favor. An attack, mind you, that has never once occurred in this region. An event most unlikely. Unlikely—and convenient. One could almost think it was staged. A scheme, sacrificing a few worthless bandits, to win Lord Lucas Ravast’s unconditional trust, especially at such a delicate moment as his wedding preparations. To slip past his defenses, observe him closely—very closely—and then take advantage, perhaps to…”

“To what?” burst out Liris, nearly leaping from her chair, temper aflame. But her sister stopped her with a single gesture, raising her right hand and fixing her with a resolute gaze. Reluctantly, Liris relented.

“Your insinuations are both serious and unfounded,” Gwen declared firmly.

“With all due respect, we cannot accept them,” added Goldrick.

“And why exactly would we be doing all this, Captain? What could possibly be our aim?” Lucien prodded.

For a few moments, Iuliu studied the young man, his furrowed stare heavy with silence. Then, with a deep sigh, he rose from his chair and turned his back to them, gazing through the small window behind his desk. Tiresio observed him in silence, as he had throughout. The Captain’s profile, traced by faint sunlight filtering through dirty panes, revealed an imposing, massive frame—larger than most men of his age. His worn yet well-kept leather armor and mud-stained reddish cloak, trimmed with dark fur, did little to conceal his strength. He stood well over six feet tall, and from his bearing, Tiresio could tell he was a capable swordsman. His blade and scabbard, strapped to his belt, were impeccably maintained—polished, oiled, and ready.

But there was more to Captain Iuliu. He was intelligent, sharp, steadfast—a man of education, no stranger to words or wit. No fool, and certainly no naïve simpleton. Yet his sharpness tipped into mistrust, a suspicion so great it was bound to cause problems.

“Lucas Ravast, as both a member of his noble house and Lord of this village, is a man of influence,” Iuliu began without turning, eyes still on the landscape beyond the glass. “And like all powerful men, he has interests, goals, and plans—as well as friends and enemies. His triumphs and failures, in a land where noble families are bound by delicate balances of diplomacy and power, determine not only the growth or loss of influence but also alliances, conflicts, even wars. The line between victory and ruin is thin, and sometimes it takes very little to cross it. From his position, Lord Ravast has far more to lose than to gain. Many would benefit from his downfall. Some, driven by this, might shape events—even from the shadows—to place both him and his house in jeopardy. To act in ways that grant them advantage. And perhaps,” he turned suddenly, facing the six head-on, “an advantage permanent enough to strike Ravast a blow from which he may never recover. For example… killing the Lord.”

At those words, Tiresio’s companions cried out in indignation. Only Karak remained still, though Tiresio alone caught the low hiss of displeasure that escaped him. Had others heard, it would only have worsened the situation.

Tiresio, however, found himself slipping into the Captain’s perspective. Iuliu had not summoned them merely to learn who they were—he had summoned them to warn them. And Tiresio could not fault him. The reasoning was not unfounded; such strategies, if not so extreme, were hardly unheard of in the Valley. If they wished to dismiss his insinuations, they would need to be far more convincing.

But his reflections were abruptly cut short as the Captain suddenly seized his sword from his belt and slammed it upon the desk. The sound silenced the room, drowning it in a new, deafening quiet.

“You are seasoned fighters, that much is clear,” the man growled, his expression twisted with hostility, almost disgust. “Which leads me to think you are mercenaries—hired for a precise task, one I have already spelled out and will not repeat. I do not know who sent you, nor do I care. But if you think you can act freely here in Ravast, you are sorely mistaken. Were it up to me, I would have already thrown you out of this village. But instead, I will keep watch over you—even against the Lord’s wishes, blinded as he is by gratitude. I will stop you from carrying out what, until proven otherwise, I believe you were sent here to do. And if I must give my life for that, so be it. It will be an honor to die for Ravast and for the Lord.”

Unfazed, Tiresio continued to stare at the Captain and the sword lying threateningly across the desk, beside an innocent inkpot and quill. By now, he understood there was only one way to gain Iuliu’s comprehension, acceptance, and respect.

“You want the truth, Captain?” he asked, seizing the moment without hesitation, locking eyes with the man. “The truth is you credit us with a subtlety we do not possess. According to you, we are players in an elaborate conspiracy—absurdly convoluted at that.” He paused, sighing with the weariness of someone forced to explain the obvious.

“If we had wanted to kill Lord Ravast,” he went on, “we would have done so at the bridge, alongside those brigands. It would have been effortless. Or am I wrong? Not to mention the hours we spent in the same carriage with him—just us and him. Later, we were welcomed into his residence. We had more than one opportunity to end his life, had we wished it. And truthfully, given your threats, even now we would have no trouble disposing of you, Captain. Would we? After all, here in this room it is only the seven of us. And afterward, it would hardly be difficult to deal with the Lord.”

A faint smile touched Tiresio’s lips, a subtle ripple that perhaps no one else noticed. But the Captain’s stunned expression—stripped of all his previous fire—was satisfaction enough. For the first time in their exchange, Iuliu was speechless, caught unprepared, eyes wide with confusion, doubt, and the frustration of having no effective retort—aware too that if these six chose to strike, he could not stop them.

“Therefore, Captain Iuliu,” Tiresio concluded, lifting his chin slightly, “I believe the facts speak for themselves. We are not here to conspire against the Lord or to do him harm. We are not trouble seekers. We merely saved his life and accepted his invitation. Nothing more. We ask only to be left in peace during our brief stay here in Ravast. Surely, you would not contradict your own Lord, or act against his will…”

The Captain’s clenched jaw, brimming with repressed anger, was more eloquent than words. At last, lowering his gaze to the desk where he still gripped his sword, Iuliu seemed defeated.

“As I thought,” Tiresio said quietly. “I trust our position is now clear. With your permission, Captain…”

He rose from his chair and left the office, his companions staring after him in stunned silence.