"Leon?"
Raymond's voice finally broke through the silence. For several moments he had watched his younger brother standing motionless before the mirror, assuming at first that Leon was simply lost in thought. After everything that had happened today, that would have been perfectly understandable. Then Leon's face had gone pale, his breathing had become uneven, and finally his knees buckled.
"Whoa."
Raymond moved instantly, one arm wrapping around Leon before he could collapse completely. The younger man stumbled slightly as Raymond pulled him upright. "Easy." Concern crept into his voice. "What's wrong?"
Leon blinked, his eyes darting around the room—the bed, the desk, the window, the mirror—as though checking that everything was still where it should be. Only after several seconds did he finally answer.
"My vision..." The words came out strained. "It's..." He swallowed. "I could see the city."
Raymond frowned. "The city?"
"The people." Leon's breathing remained uneven. "I could see people."
The confusion on Raymond's face deepened. "What are you talking about?"
Leon opened his mouth, then closed it again. How was he supposed to explain something he barely understood himself? Taking a deep breath, he tried.
"I was looking at the mirror. Just staring." Raymond waited. "Then everything started becoming clearer." His brow furrowed as he searched for the memory. "At first it was small things—scratches on the glass, dust, little imperfections. Things I've never noticed before." His voice grew quieter. "And then it kept getting sharper. The details became clearer and clearer." He shook his head. "No... that's not right. It felt more like the mirror was coming closer. Not physically, but that's what it felt like. The scratches became huge. The dust looked enormous. I could see tiny flaws inside the glass." His fingers tightened unconsciously. "And then the mirror stopped mattering."
Raymond frowned. "What does that mean?"
Leon looked up. "It was like I could see through it." The room fell silent. "I know how that sounds. But that's what happened. I could see the wall behind it." He pointed toward the far side of the room. "The stone, the cracks, the texture—everything." His heartbeat quickened as the memory resurfaced. "And then that started happening too. The wall kept getting closer, the details became clearer and sharper. I could see tiny cracks, grains inside the stone, things that shouldn't even be visible." His voice dropped lower. "Then I started seeing insects."
Raymond blinked. "Insects?"
"Ants." Leon nodded. "I could see them crawling through little gaps in the wall—their antennae, their legs, their mouths. I could see everything." A silence settled between them. "And then the wall disappeared."
Raymond's eyes narrowed. "Disappeared?"
"It stopped blocking my sight." The words sounded absurd even as Leon spoke them, yet they were true. "I could see outside—the courtyard, the guards, the servants, everything outside the castle." His voice trembled. "And then farther." His eyes widened slightly. "The city. I could see the streets, the fires, the soldiers, people moving through the ruins. It was like distance didn't exist anymore."
For several seconds neither brother spoke. Raymond stared at him, trying to decide whether what he was hearing was impossible or merely unbelievable. Finally he asked the only question that mattered.
"Can you still do it?"
Leon looked toward the mirror. A knot formed in his stomach, and slowly, uncertainly, he answered. "...I don't know."
The moment the words left his mouth, a sharp pain stabbed through his head. Leon winced. "Ah..." His hand immediately flew to his forehead as the room seemed to sway slightly. A wave of dizziness washed over him and his knees nearly gave out again.
"Leon?"
Raymond stepped forward as Leon squeezed his eyes shut and pressed a hand against his temple. "My head... it hurts." The pain wasn't unbearable, but it was relentless—a deep throbbing pressure behind his eyes, as though his brain had been forced to process far more than it was ever meant to handle. His thoughts felt sluggish and his entire body felt heavy. Exhaustion unlike anything he had ever experienced settled over him, as if every ounce of energy had been ripped from his body.
Leon didn't argue. The moment he sat down he felt his muscles relax in relief. Raymond studied him for a few moments before speaking. "Rest for now. You don't need to push yourself." He glanced toward the mirror. "Don't try using your powers again tonight. Whatever happened, your body clearly isn't used to it. We'll figure out what these abilities are tomorrow." A small pause followed. "For now, eat something, get some sleep, and let's call today finished."
Leon let out a tired breath. Finished. The word sounded almost absurd. Today had begun with him mourning the death of a dream. Then the city had nearly fallen. Then he had awakened. Then he had discovered he was an Anomaly. And now he apparently possessed eyes capable of seeing through walls. It felt less like a day and more like an entire year compressed into a few hours.
Yet despite the countless questions racing through his mind, he found he no longer had the strength to pursue any of them. Curiosity remained. So did excitement. And fear. But exhaustion overshadowed them all.
Slowly Leon nodded. "Yeah..." His voice was barely above a whisper. "I think I'm done for today." For the first time since awakening, sleep sounded more appealing than answers.
Arthur returned to the council chamber.
Whatever was happening with Leon, it did not change the reality outside these walls. A city lord could not afford favoritism—not when thousands of lives depended on him.
The moment he stepped through the doors, he noticed the atmosphere had changed. The tension that had existed earlier had become something heavier. Something grim. Several officers stood around the war table studying fresh reports, and no one was speaking. That alone was enough to make Arthur's stomach tighten.
He closed the door behind him. "What's happened?"
Every eye in the room turned toward him. General Cedric Vale adjusted his spectacles, his expression unusually severe.
Arthur crossed the room. "Report."
Cedric nodded. "The situation is worse than we estimated." Silence settled over the chamber. "The orc horde is significantly larger than our initial projections." He paused, then delivered the real blow. "Every village surrounding Ashborne has been destroyed."
The room grew still. Even those who had spent their lives on the frontier visibly stiffened.
Arthur's eyes narrowed. "All of them?"
"Every settlement beyond the city walls. The scouts found nothing but ruins." The words landed like a hammer. Those villages had fed Ashborne for generations—farmers, hunters, woodcutters, families who supplied the city with food, timber, and labor. Many of the soldiers stationed on the walls had been born there. Some still had relatives living among those settlements.
Arthur's jaw tightened. "Survivors?"
Cedric slowly shook his head. "None confirmed."
Marshal Gareth cursed quietly beneath his breath. "The bastards are cleansing the frontier."
"They aren't raiding anymore," Cedric said. "They're systematically destroying everything. Our scouts found only ruins—defensive walls destroyed, settlements burned, no organized resistance remains."
Arthur's jaw tightened. "Reinforcements?"
Cedric's expression darkened further. "Uncertain." He pointed toward the map spread across the war table. "We have received no messages from several eastern frontier cities." His finger moved across a cluster of marked locations east of Ashborne. "If the horde struck them as well, they will be fighting for their own survival."
A heavy silence followed. No one needed the conclusion explained. If the frontier was collapsing everywhere, no help would come. They would be alone.
Commander Darius Thorn folded his arms. "So why haven't they attacked again?"
"Because they appear to be concentrating their forces." Cedric tapped a location on the map, his finger settling upon a large city marked northeast of Ashborne. "The latest reports suggest the horde is gathering here. Their objective appears to be Highcrest."
The room immediately grew more serious. Highcrest—the largest military and trade hub between the frontier and the kingdom interior. Every major road north eventually passed through it. If Highcrest fell, the road to the capital would lie exposed.
"Yes." Cedric nodded. "They're thinking strategically."
Marshal Gareth’s expression hardened. "Or someone is thinking for them."
The implication needed no explanation. Ordinary orcs did not coordinate campaigns on this scale. Arthur's eyes narrowed. "An Orc Emperor."
No one contradicted him. The title alone carried enough weight to darken the room. Such beings appeared rarely—sometimes generations passed without one emerging—but whenever they did, entire kingdoms bled.
Arthur's gaze drifted across the map. To the west stood the Frostfang Range, a wall of snow-covered peaks that had protected Ashborne for generations—no army could realistically cross those mountains. To the northeast lay Highcrest, the kingdom's shield. And to the southeast, Stonehaven.
Arthur's eyes lingered on the marker. The city guarded Ashborne's southeastern frontier and had served for decades as a buffer between Ashborne and the dangers lurking beyond. The last message they had received from Stonehaven had been a distress call—a request for reinforcements, a plea for aid. At the time Arthur had every intention of sending support, but before any troops could be mobilized, Ashborne's own frontier erupted into chaos.
The orcs attacked. Not with their usual probing raids. Not with border skirmishes. They came without warning, without preliminary deployments, without any signs their scouts could detect beforehand—like a tide crashing against a shore. Every available soldier had been needed to hold Ashborne's walls, and by the time the battle ended, Stonehaven had already fallen silent.
No reports had arrived from the city in weeks. Every messenger sent toward it had vanished. Every scout dispatched to investigate had failed to return. Nothing—only silence, an uncomfortable silence that grew heavier with each passing day. Whether Stonehaven still stood, whether it had fallen, or whether its people were still fighting somewhere behind closed gates, no one knew.
Arthur silently memorized the map. The kingdom was losing ground, one city at a time.
"Has the Mage Association responded?"
General Elara Voss broke the silence. The general's lips curled slightly—not quite a smile, closer to disgust. "A response was received."
"The usual response," Cedric said, and several officers immediately looked irritated.
"What did they say?" Gareth asked.
Cedric opened a document, his voice becoming noticeably more mocking. "'The containment of orc incursions remains the responsibility of regional military authorities. The Association's current resources are committed to matters of greater strategic importance.'"
Silence.
Then Commander Lucian Thorn slammed a fist against the table. "Greater strategic importance? They say that every time." Cedric tossed the report onto the table. "The border burns. Cities vanish. And the Association hides behind bureaucracy. They call the orcs a military matter—they call every frontier crisis a military matter." His eyes hardened.
Marshal Gareth let out a bitter laugh. "Brutes should fight brutes. That has always been their excuse." The giant warrior leaned back in his chair.
Elara's expression darkened. "The Dark Tide."
Several officers nodded grimly. The Dark Tide was the Association's answer to everything—whenever aid was requested, they pointed toward the endless threats lurking beyond civilization and claimed their strength was needed elsewhere. Sometimes they were right. Sometimes they weren't. The problem was that nobody outside the Association could challenge their decision.
Arthur stared silently at the map. If the reports were accurate, the situation was far worse than they had feared. The previous battle alone had nearly broken them—their soldiers were exhausted, supplies were dwindling, their defenses had been damaged. And now they were being told the true war had not even begun.
For several moments no one spoke. Finally Arthur broke the silence. "How much time do we have?"
Cedric studied the reports, his finger tracing several routes across the map, calculating, estimating. Then he looked up. "One week." The room remain ed silent. "Nine days at most."
Arthur stared at the map.
Nine days. That was all the time standing between survival and annihilation.