Alexander sat at his desk, the dim glow of a single lantern casting shadows across the worn oak surface. His white hair gleamed faintly, a stark contrast to his face—lined and weathered, yet still sharp, hovering near forty in appearance despite his divine blood. The old tome before him lay open, its yellowed pages dense with script, but his focus wavered as he traced a finger along a faded rune. The air in the room thickened, a prickle of heat stirring the silence.

  A flicker sparked near the desk’s edge, and an ember serpent coiled into view. Flames licking its scales, eyes molten with rage. Alexander didn’t flinch; he knew this trick. The serpent shimmered, an illusion, and its form rippled into Vira’Kath’s towering presence. The troll demi-god’s jagged tusks and smoldering glare unmistakable even in this ghostly guise. The room seemed to shrink under his fury.

  “We had an alliance,” Vira’Kath snarled, his voice a guttural echo that rattled the lantern’s flame. “The necromancers swarm like flies, and your Ascalonians sit idle. Why haven’t you struck?” His illusion loomed closer, embers flaring from his clenched fists, the heat a phantom sting against Alexander’s skin.

  Alexander leaned back, closing the tome with a deliberate thud. “Patience,” he said, his tone cool, unshaken.

  “Patience?” Vira’Kath raged, his voice a guttural roar that shook the lantern’s flame. “My warriors have died, and you ask for patience?”

  Alexander rose from his chair, meeting the illusion’s molten glare with cool resolve. “And whose fault is that?” he countered, his tone sharp. “Didn’t your spiritwhisperers claim the siege was as good as won? That we should attack, and Tyre would fall by dawn?” He stepped closer, his gray eyes piercing through the haze of embers.

  Vira’Kath’s anger faltered, hesitation creeping into his hulking form. “They can be vague,” he growled, “but never wrong.”

  Alexander tilted his head, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “While you might have blocked their portals, it seems they’ve blocked your spiritwhisperers’ powers.”

  “That’s impossible, and you know it,” Vira’Kath snarled, his illusion flaring brighter, sparks scattering across the desk.

  “I deal in facts,” Alexander replied, unmoved, folding his arms.

  This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

  “Then you won’t attack?” the troll pressed, his voice thick with frustration.

  “Winning is easy,” Alexander said. “What you do after a loss defines a great leader.”

  “We haven’t lost yet,” Vira’Kath snapped. “The necromancers barely muster five thousand. That’s nothing.”

  “And if more are coming?” Alexander countered. “Your spiritwhisperers are blind now. We can’t trust their visions.”

  “Then what? Give up? Crawl home after one setback?” Vira’Kath’s illusion loomed, embers swirling.

  Alexander’s patience held firm. “I warned you we advanced too quickly. Our supply lines are nonexistent. If they harass our rear, we’ll be eating conjured scraps on the retreat. We need to accept this setback and pull back.”

  “If we retreat, they’ll seize the initiative,” Vira’Kath argued, his tusks glinting in the firelight.

  Alexander smiled, a cold, calculated curve. “You’ve done your part, ravaged the countryside. Now it’s my turn. Every refugee fleeing to their capital strengthens my religion. Their new alliance, surprising as it is, won’t last. Not with my agents sowing chaos.”

  “So I keep the eastern lands?” Vira’Kath asked, his tone shifting to calculation.

  “Yes,” Alexander said. “But let the humans escape to the capital. I need every last refugee.”

  “Not everyone,” Vira’Kath chuckled, a dark rumble. “Their fear makes them tasty.”

  Alexander’s gaze hardened with disdain, but he let it slide. “Besides, there is another reason to avoid taking the city.”

  The troll’s laughter faded, curiosity sparking in his eyes.

  “Ever heard of Bendis?” Alexander asked. At Vira’Kath’s blank stare, he pressed on. “A young god, under Sedeus’s wing.” The name ignited recognition in the troll’s gaze. “She knows why our realm was destroyed.”

  “Why?” Vira’Kath demanded.

  Alexander’s cool gaze didn’t waver. “Obviously, Bendis won’t share that knowledge for free. It concerns a certain Alira Ashwynd.”

  The troll’s eyes narrowed. “The diplomat who slipped your city?”

  For the first time, Alexander’s composed mask slipped, a flicker of irritation crossing his face. “Yes. She’s surprisingly powerful, even resisted my influence. We need her alive to uncover what she knows. No sense letting her die in the siege.”

  Vira’Kath’s tusks glinted as he leaned closer. “What if this Bendis is toying with you?”

  Alexander’s lips curved faintly, unperturbed. “She has her own agenda, no doubt. Her information’s patchy at best, but she didn’t lie. She’s across the continent, needing our resources. We need her intel.”

  The troll’s growl softened, realization dawning. “We need answers. They are more importance than any city.”

  “I’ll order the retreat,” Alexander said, his voice steady once more.