Once again, the room fell silent, everyone lost in their thoughts. Even Esme refrained from elaborating further. At last, the commander took a large sip of her wine, draining the cup and placing it on the table with enough force to make a sound. Without lifting her eyes from the glass, she began:

"It all started when Ashenvale proposed an alliance of sorts. The crowned prince of Ashenvale—his father, the old king—asked for Princess Evrin's hand in marriage. The hope was to unite the two kingdoms through blood and forge an unshakeable alliance for the future. The queen deliberated for months. No one liked the idea. The princess was barely of age, but it was an opportunity. An opportunity we desperately needed to defend ourselves against the Empire's growing power. A few years ago, we wouldn't have even considered such a thing, but in the last ten years, we've only lost ground to the Empire, time and again. Every victory we gained was a mere shadow compared to the lands we lost day after day. Their abominable runic weapons are simply too powerful.

"The Highswords forbade them from using these weapons to invade, but once they conquered the land, it was theirs, and they could defend it however they wished. With each battle, they chipped away at our forces. When we won, we had to defend what was left with everything we had. But when we lost, we lost the land forever. Now, after all these years, the maps of both nations are nothing like they once were."

"Ashenvale gave us hope. Their troops—unoccupied by conflicts of their own—had numbers to spare. With their help, if we couldn't defeat the Empire, we could at least stop them from gaining more land and resources."

She paused, looking up at Damian, who was still confused about what this had to do with not killing Moondancer.

"The princess, like her mother, is brave. She broke the deadlock and accepted the proposal, even though it wasn't favorable for her. As a gesture of good faith, the king of Ashenvale sent a gift—a proof of trust. It was a mana contract, stating that in any conflict between the two kingdoms, their royalty, third-rankers, and certain dukes and important nobles would not be knowingly killed. If they were, the king of Ashenvale would suffer the fate of the damned."

"We hadn't expected that, but it was a relief to know our neighbor was reasonable enough to stay friendly. However, it was also a double-edged sword. If we didn't reciprocate, it would be a sign of distrust. So, Ariandel.. The Queen signed a similar mana contract, sparing their royalty, third-rankers, and select nobles from death in any conflict, directly or indirectly. It was a small price to pay compared to the help we would receive, so we complied for the sake of our homeland."

Damian watched as the elf commander fell silent again, staring at her empty, ornate wine cup, her mind drifting back to the past.

"How did things turn out like this then? How did you it go from potential allies to immediate threats? How could it all go so wrong?" Damian asked, irritated by the slow pace of the story.

The commander looked up, seemingly broken from her trance, but it wasn't her who caught Damian's attention. Surprisingly, it was Tristan. His face was twisted in rage as he crushed the glass cup in his bare hand.

"It all went to hell when the king of Ashenvale fell ill," Tristan growled. "His only son, the crowned prince, became regent. And then... then fool demanded a change in terms. He no longer wanted the princess. He wanted the queen herself. He demanded that her highness leave Eldoris, join their kingdom, and proclaim him the king of both nations.

"Bastard!" Aramis hissed, his voice full of venom.

Damian had never seen them all so united in anything before, but this... this they all seemed to agree on. If they were pretending, they were damn good at it. The emotions on their faces were real.

The commander continued, her voice steady. "He doesn't care if the treaty breaks. He has no love for his father, even though the old king raised him with the utmost care. He thinks he's invincible. But it's probably one of those crafty nobles pulling the strings, orchestrating the downfall of their house. The prince is too blind and arrogant to see it. And now we're all paying for his stupidity. To the Ashenvale nobles, this is just a whim they're following, biding their time until either the old king dies—taking the last remnants of loyalists with him—or the 'Monarch's Trial' comes, and they compete to win the kingdom from the stupid brat."

The commander's gaze locked onto Damian's, her expression not one of anger, but of deep exhaustion. She understood his confusion and frustration—she was feeling the same about this absurd situation.

"And so," she continued, "We can't kill them knowingly. We can't afford to lose our queen. Even though she sent us here to do whatever is necessary to defend our realm, even if it means killing them—and possibly her in the process—she said she was fine with it."

The others looked at Vidalia with conflicted expressions. That was news to them.

"She's always been like that," the commander said softly. "Just like her daughter, she accepted the unreasonable for the sake of her people, for the realm, for Eldoris. That is why she is the queen, and I'm here defending her borders. I am the sword that protects the land of our ancestors. And that is why I can not retreat. If death is written in my fate, then so be it. But I'll be damned if I let those Ashenvale bastards set foot in my ancestors' lands."

Her voice remained calm. She didn't stand or make any grand gestures, but the intensity in her eyes and words was enough to make everyone around Damian rise to their feet, heads lowered in respect. Damian was the only one still meeting her gaze, measuring the depth of her anger and determination, weighing it against the lives of thousands they had lost and finding it short.