[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/ZPETHbP.png[/img] Collab between [@The Muse] and [@c3p-0h] [sub]Location: The Aurelian Commander's Quarters[/sub] [i][h1]Part I[/h1][/i] [hr][/center] Standing inside the Commander’s Quarters with Amaya at his side, Flynn couldn’t help but feel a bit off-kilter. He had fully expected to face this day alone. At least, that had been his assumption the night before, when the weight of everything had felt heavier, when he hadn’t been sure if Amaya would want to involve herself in this—[i]in him[/i]. But she was here. Silent and guarded, but present. And he found that he was glad for it. Despite his own relief, the room held a heavy air of unspoken tension, a battlefield of words waiting to be waged. Likely, the war had begun long before Flynn and Amaya had arrived. At the center of the room, a large table dominated the space, a map of southern Lunaris sprawled across its surface, its creases worn, fresh ink marking supply lines and patrol routes. Amaya’s pale eyes studied it, cataloguing all the ways it was unrecognizable — blighted villages, new paths drawn, information she’d always been kept from. She didn’t let her gaze linger. Not when Commander Volkov stood before her, the shadow he cast resembling her father. It set her nerves on edge, a dangerous prickling along her skin. A quiet, familiar warning to give nothing away, even as her energy started twisting painfully in her chest. The two Commanders stood at opposite ends—Volkov with his arms crossed, sharp eyes settling on Amaya for a long, assessing moment before shifting to judge Flynn with equal scrutiny. At the other end, Barrett stood at rigid attention, his eyes only on the Prince, though Flynn caught the particularly fiery glare he shot Volkov’s way when the Lunarian Commander neglected to bow his head or salute upon the royal couple’s arrival. Flynn stifled a heavy sigh, schooling his features into careful neutrality as he strode to the table. He gave Barrett a small nod in acknowledgment before shifting his attention to Volkov, who met his gaze unflinchingly—not quite insubordinate, but close enough to be noted. Flynn didn’t look away. His expression remained calm, waiting. The seconds stretched. No one spoke. Only the crackle of the fireplace filled the silence. Barrett took a step forward, his chest rising as he prepared to [i]remind[/i] Volkov exactly [i]who[/i] stood before him, but Flynn lifted a hand, stopping him before a single word could escape. [color=337d71]"It is fine, Commander Barrett.”[/color] Flynn said, his voice carrying a cool, effortless veneer of politeness. [color=337d71]“It seems Commander Volkov believes that respect is a privilege to be earned rather than a duty of his station."[/color] Amaya’s eyes cut to Flynn and how he carried himself. It was so unlike how she knew him, but disorienting in its familiarity. How he stood, back straight and stance unyielding as he faced the two Commanders — how his was the first voice in the room, how his tone commanded and censured beneath the mask of propriety. He let the words settle, pausing as he searched within himself for the kind of authority his father had wielded so effortlessly—the kind of power that stripped men like Volkov of their defiance and forced them onto their knees with a single glance. The thought twisted something in his chest. He was [i]not[/i] his father. He did not need fear to command respect. Authority did not have to be a hammer held over the heads of others. Swiftly, he reeled himself back in, acutely aware of maintaining his composed, measured expression. [color=337d71]“I suppose I cannot fault him for that.”[/color] Volkov’s jaw tightened, but he did not falter. Instead, the older man tilted his chin upward, unimpressed, arms still crossed as he replied in a gravelly voice, [color=FA8072]"If His Grace and Her Highness are finished posturing, perhaps we can get on with it? I do have a town to take care of."[/color] Eyes like ice fell back on Volkov as Amaya heard the difference in address. Flynn tilted his head, feigning curiosity. [color=337d71]"Is that what you call it?"[/color] His tone carried no humor, the politeness slipping away before he could catch it. [color=337d71]“My wife’s [i]life[/i] was at risk. Two—[i]dead[/i].”[/color] Flynn’s index finger struck the table sharply, each word a weight. Beside him Amaya’s breath caught in her throat. Her gaze unfocused. Frost crept its way over her heart, through her blood — she hadn’t known there was another death. [color=337d71]“And the attacker is still on the loose.”[/color] His green eyes narrowed, searching Volkov’s weathered face. [color=337d71]“All under [i]your[/i] watch.”[/color] Volkov’s nostrils flared, but he didn’t look away. [color=FA8072]“You constructed a town on the edge of a warzone, Your [i]Grace[/i].”[/color] he said, steel blue eyes narrowed on the Prince. [color=FA8072]“We don’t have the manpower to—”[/color] [color=337d71]“[i]Failure[/i] of command.”[/color] Flynn interrupted, his voice sharp. [color=337d71]"[i]Not[/i] lack of manpower.”[/color] Volkov’s lips pressed into a thin line, and heavy silence descended upon the room again. Amaya was no longer paying attention. With a placid face and unseeing eyes, she retreated into her chaotic flurry of thoughts. Who had died? The other soldier? A civilian? Had they suffered? Screamed like Sir Abel had? Did their blood coat the snow, a violent spray of ruby against white? Had there been witnesses? More innocents with memories as stained and gruesome as hers were? As [i]Elara’s – Why hadn’t Flynn told her?[/i] [color=FFB19A]“The losses are… regrettable, Your Highness.”[/color] Commander Barrett’s voice broke the quiet, his tone calm and measured, light brown eyes flicking from Volkov to Flynn. [color=FFB19A]“But we are handling the situ—”[/color] [color=337d71]“Poorly.”[/color] Flynn countered, turning his searing gaze onto the Aurelian Commander. Barrett averted his eyes, nodding once and falling silent—taking the hint. [color=337d71]“How yesterday was handled was a disgrace,”[/color] Flynn said, attempting to steady the fire in his tone and replace it with the composure he’d been trained to maintain. He’d sat through countless councils beside his father, weighed in on debates, and navigated the sharp edges of politics with practiced care. He’d danced through noble galas, shared drinks with dignitaries, learned to choose every word like a weapon and read the truth buried beneath theirs. But nothing could have prepared him for this. He was still learning to navigate it—with emotional involvement and real, tangible lives at stake now. [color=337d71]“A complete breakdown in the chain of command. Patrols neglected, protection compromised…”[/color] He paused, shifting his gaze back to Volkov. [color=337d71]“King Jericho may not have sent many of [i]your[/i] men, but King Auric sent an army of Aurelians here.”[/color] Flynn’s gaze sharpened, searching for any sense of yielding in Volkov’s eyes—any sign of acknowledgement to the truth of it. The sound of her father’s name snapped Amaya back into herself. Blinking rapidly, she tried to reorient – the conversation, the men, [i]Flynn[/i]. But beneath her skin something stirred – her magic, finally beginning to wake after its deceptive slumber. Her hands curled into fists in the folds of her skirt. As subtly as she could, Amaya forced a slow breath in and out. [color=337d71]“Put them to use.”[/color] Flynn turned back to Barrett, [color=337d71]“Procedures need to be streamlined. No more miscommunication. We can’t afford it.”[/color] Barrett met his gaze, a flicker of thoughts stirring behind his eyes. [color=337d71]“Or do you intend to tell me that you two cannot function as a single unit?”[/color] Barrett opened his mouth to respond, but Volkov’s gruff voice thundered over him, cutting him off. [color=FA8072]"Perhaps, Her Highness might request the assistance of more soldiers from the King."[/color] Amaya’s eyes snapped to the old Commander – a man who had been on the periphery of her life for years. He leaned forward, planting his hands firmly on the table as he spoke, his tone unwavering, as though his suggestion were the only logical solution. [color=FA8072]"We need more Lunarians who know the land. Who know what it's like to fight blight-born in this cursed weather. At the very least, that much would be useful."[/color] His words hung heavy in the air, his gaze settling on Amaya, though his expression was unreadable. She stared back, unflinching even as her heart pounded. She wore masks as well as he did – she wore them [i]better[/i]. There was no hint of respect in his voice, only practicality—and perhaps a subtle jab at the lack of readiness he perceived in the current forces. Yet, beneath the surface of his words, a subtle tension simmered. Volkov understood all too well that Amaya’s influence over her father was minimal at best. The chances of her persuading him were next to none. Flynn's eyes narrowed, the weight of the Lunarian’s words sinking in. He knew exactly what Volkov was getting at, and the insinuation pricked at him like a thorn. Anger sparked within Flynn’s chest, a fiery frustration building with every passing second. His jaw clenched, but he bit his tongue, willing himself to stay composed. Instead of letting the tension spill over, he forced his gaze away from Volkov and turned his attention to Amaya, his expression softening, though the anger still churned beneath the surface. The weight of every eye in the room pressed against her skin, both distraction and warning. Her icy magic only grew more restless – or maybe that was just her building nerves, growing more frenzied the tighter she made her grip. Flynn’s attention blazed like a wildfire next to her, but she didn’t look at him – she couldn’t. Instead all her attention was on Volkov and his [i]stare[/i]. His familiar slate eyes, greying hair, weathered face… his soldier’s bearing. Amaya watched him and her father watched back, just as he’d watched her through the eyes of every councilmember and guard and servant in the palace. His shadow was vast and imposing on the wall behind him — but it was only a shadow. And it had always been easier to shield herself when she’d found a proper threat. Her nerves sharpened into a familiar, impulsive anger. [color=d15e5e]“If His Majesty has not been receptive to your requests for more soldiers,”[/color] she finally said, [color=d15e5e]“then I will of course consider writing on your behalf.”[/color] Across the table, Volkov’s eyes narrowed into a cold, slitted glare. Amaya’s face remained calm, despite the blade’s edge focus of her eyes meeting his. She’d taught herself this song, with its wicked edges and coy softness. It had been her only defense in the palace other than quiet, practiced stillness. If the old man wanted to trade veiled words with her, [i]fine.[/i] Amaya’s voice was no louder than it needed to be to cross the distance between them. It was as careful and gentle as her mother’s had been – but without her warmth. Volkov, frigid and stony as he was, wouldn’t tolerate it, as anyway. He wouldn’t find it [i]useful.[/i] [color=d15e5e]“Though, forgive me Lieutenant Volkov, perhaps I misunderstand the chain of command.”[/color] There was no edge to her voice, no blistering cold, even as she misaddressed him. No, that was all carefully folded beneath the surface, where ice continued to build. Amaya tried to calm it, even as she kept her same measured tone. [color=d15e5e]“Did you not reach your station because of your wealth of experience and knowledge? Is it not within your capacity to train soldiers to face unfamiliar threats and survive our kingdom’s landscape?”[/color] Then, just to [i]piss him off,[/i] Amaya gave him a soft smile. [color=d15e5e]“I regret my ignorance on this matter, but I trust you as the arbiter of your own limitations.”[/color] Flynn watched her in silent awe. Everything about her was measured. Each word chosen with surgical precision, her tone controlled down to the last syllable. Not reckless. Not volatile. Just... exact. The kind of control that had been honed over time, not born overnight. And that smile—[i]goddess, that smile[/i]—soft as snowfall, sharp as glass. A quiet, elegant slap across the Commander’s face. This wasn’t improvisation, he realized. This was instinct. She wasn’t just holding her ground—she was navigating the tension like she’d done it a hundred times before, as if she knew exactly where to cut and how deep. She’d fought this war of words long before she’d ever set foot in Dawnhaven. And she was damn good at it. Though his expression didn’t change, something in him shifted. The fire of his own anger dimmed, replaced by a pride that burned deeper. Because she didn’t need him to shield her. She wasn’t looking for rescue. She’d already turned the blades back on them with nothing more than her voice and expression—turning the battlefield to ice beneath their feet. [color=FA8072]“Well, Your Highness,”[/color] Volkov drawled, pulling Flynn’s focus. There was a flicker of amusement in the Commander’s eyes, the barest hint of a smile half-hidden beneath his beard, as though he’d been expecting a pointed rebuttal. As though he were used to enduring volleys of all kinds. [color=FA8072]“Even with all my years of experience, His Majesty can be unshakable once he has made a decision. As I am sure you are well aware. I had simply assumed—considering the fate of the world lies in your…[i]capable hands[/i]…that perhaps you might hold influence over him. That we may…[i]“streamline”[/i] ourselves, as the Aurelian Prince put it.”[/color] Amaya faltered, something flashing through her eyes. She’d been frantically cursing herself and her sharp tongue — they were meant to be encouraging cooperation, not [i]antagonizing[/i] the Commanders — as her magic flickered at the borders of her control. But the Commander’s tone – his [i]expression[/i] – cut through her thoughts. Instead of anger at her disrespect or a thoughtless dismissal, stern, grizzled, disdainful Volkov met her words with… something perilously close to entertainment. His gaze flicked briefly to Flynn before returning to Amaya. [color=FA8072]“For if the Crown cannot move as one, how can the sword beneath it?”[/color] He straightened, his posture growing even more rigid. [color=FA8072]“But, of course, your consideration is…[i]most[/i] appreciated, Your Highness.”[/color] Crossing his arms over his chest, he let the weight of his words settle in the air—an unspoken jab at the many divides they stood to cross. Aurelians and Lunarians. Blight-born and humans. King Jericho and his daughter. Flynn and Amaya. Despite the restraint in Volkov’s voice—beneath his patronizing tones—Flynn saw the truth of it. To Volkov, these divides were not meant to be crossed. Bridges that could never be built. Amaya kept her eyes on the Lunarian Commander, trying to reevaluate. She’d felt off-kilter and ill-equipped for the entire short duration of this meeting, but somehow Volkov’s behavior was the most disorienting experience yet. The condescension was expected… but [i]engaging[/i] with her was not. It was nearly enough to disarm her. [color=d15e5e]“However I may assist,”[/color] she said slowly, eyes still watching Volkov as if he might strike. [color=d15e5e]“As you say, we should strive for better unity at all levels.”[/color] Amaya held his gaze for another beat then forced herself to look away – to let her eyes drift around the room, taking in the Aurelian banners and insignias scattered about. Sea green and summer gold. [color=d15e5e]“Should we start with combining your quarters?”[/color] Her expression was innocent when she returned her attention to Volkov – but the sharpness in her gaze had dulled somewhat. In its place was something more searching and evaluating, as she tried to understand exactly what sort of opponent she was facing. [color=d15e5e]“It would certainly make it easier for our forces to ‘move as one’ if they had the example of their Commanders to follow.”[/color] Her eyebrow raised slightly. [color=d15e5e]“And just think of the efficiency.”[/color] Volkov’s gaze hardened on Amaya, frost etched into stone. Her eyes sharpened again, latching onto his shift. There was the satisfaction of something clicking into place – she’d found a crack in his composure. His jaw set, muscles tensing, but he said nothing at first. Beside him, Commander Barrett shifted–equally uncomfortable with the notion. [color=FA8072]“I do not think it wise.”[/color] Volkov said at last, his voice flat. [color=FA8072]“My men need a place they can speak freely.”[/color] A lie–anyone in the room who knew his command style would recognize it. Volkov ran his ranks like a blade; sharp, unyielding, and without tolerance for dissent. “Free speech” had no place under his roof–only obedience. [color=337d71]“I think it’s a great idea,”[/color] Flynn said, his diplomatic tone slipping back into place. The authority in his tone rang through Amaya like a cathedral bell, loud and discordant as it crashed through the careful song she’d begun. [color=337d71]“Amaya is right. We need to present a unified front. It should begin here.”[/color] Amaya froze. Suddenly, her veiled words were made entirely too solid. Commander Barrett, ever the more careful one, cleared his throat. [color=FFB19A]“Your Highness, I understand the intent, but combining our quarters might cause confusion. Our soldiers have only just begun settling in. There’s hierarchy, protocols, chain of com–”[/color] Flynn’s gaze snapped onto the brown-haired commander, his expression turning to steel. [color=337d71]“Create a new chain of command. Perhaps–one that doesn’t get people killed.”[/color] People had been killed – Amaya saw Sir Abel ripped apart, her attacker made feral by the impact of her careless words. Bloody images flashed in her mind, of an unknown soul murdered a dozen different ways. She was still, her expression neutral, as a storm started building under her skin. Barrett’s expression tightened, holding Flynn’s gaze, but he said nothing. [color=337d71]“If either of you intend to keep your positions, things need to change. Immediately.”[/color] Silence followed—tense and stifling. Until finally, Volkov exhaled, the sound more frustration than a concession. [color=FA8072]“Surely, there are better ways to foster unity,”[/color] he said, his eyes flicking to Barrett—an unspoken alliance sparking between them. Neither eager to loosen their individual grip on power. [color=FFB19A]“The soldiers need training, Your Highness,”[/color] Barrett spoke up, his jaw tight, but his voice held firm. [color=FFB19A]“His Majesty may have sent us numbers, yes—but not veterans. These soldiers are green. Most have never fought blight-born. They don’t know the terrain, nor each other. Volkov’s right about that much.”[/color] His gaze drifted between the three of them—Volkov, then Amaya, and finally Flynn. [color=FFB19A]“They need structure. Discipline.”[/color] Flynn’s brow furrowed. [color=337d71]“Forgive me, Commander,”[/color] he said slowly, gesturing vaguely to the fort around them, [color=337d71]“but is that not the purpose of all this? What, exactly, have you been doing with all your time?”[/color] Barrett’s gaze narrowed slightly, patience fraying. [color=FFB19A]“Trying to keep order,”[/color] he replied, [color=FFB19A]“They don’t want to work together, much less trust one another. Half of them won’t even speak to the other half. You can’t undo blood-deep hatred overnight.”[/color] From across the table, Volkov’s voice slithered in, smug and unbothered. [color=FA8072]“If you have a plan, Your Grace,”[/color] he said, tilting his head slightly, [color=FA8072]“then by all means—enlighten us.”[/color] Somehow, [i]somehow,[/i] Amaya still had the presence of mind to hear Volkov’s continued refusal to address Flynn properly. Flynn didn’t blink as he shifted focus to the Lunarian Commander. [color=337d71]“You will combine your quarters,”[/color] he said, voice firm, flat. [color=337d71]“Make them cooperate. Build morale between them. [i]Set an example[/i]. That is your charge. Your station.”[/color] No softness. No empathy for their strife. Just command. Amaya heard the finality in his voice, saw how it rippled through the room and committed them all to their new reality – one that [i]she[/i] had started them on, with borrowed authority that she had no experience wielding. It was too real, too solid, too immediate — a far cry from the careful, incremental persuasion she’d always relied on. The dissatisfied faces of the two Commanders were sharp and ominous, a prelude to consequences Amaya could already feel pressing down on her. Barrett drew in a long, frustrated breath, dragging a hand over his neatly trimmed beard as if it might keep the words biting at his tongue from spilling out. Across from him, Volkov let out a scoff—quiet, but sharp enough to be heard. Flynn’s gaze swept over them, his own jaw tensing. His thoughts spun—not because he wanted to solve this for them, but because he [i]had[/i] to. Clearly, if he didn’t step in, then no one would. The Commanders had made it clear enough that they had no intention of combining their strengths any time soon. And the burden of leadership meant finding solutions, even for those who refused to think beyond their own pride. [color=337d71]“Gather your best,”[/color] he said. [color=337d71]“The most capable, the most respected. Start running regular drills to train the rest. Together. As one unit.”[/color] He let the words settle before adding, [color=337d71]“Surely, between your combined forces, there are some qualified to lead—if not yourselves.”[/color] Both commanders exchanged a brief, silent glance, weighing their words. Seemingly choosing their battles. Despite themselves, they had found common ground. [color=337d71]“I expect progress within the week,”[/color] Flynn said, his voice firm. [color=337d71]“That will be all.”[/color] Barrett’s gaze steadied on Flynn again. After a moment of hesitation, he dipped into a low, respectful bow. [color=FFB19A]“Very well, Your Highnesses.”[/color] Volkov remained still, his expression unreadable. He didn’t move from his place, his eyes shifting instead to Amaya, silently studying her. It was all she could do to hold his gaze, expression neutral. Her heart pounded in her ears as ice lashed against her tightening grip. King Jericho watched her from Volkov’s shadow. Without another word, Flynn turned toward Amaya. He reached for her hand, fingers gently intertwining with hers, the chill that had settled along her skin seeping into his. His grip tightened slightly, offering her his warmth as they left the room—side by side, appearing unified to anyone who saw them.