The moment Kroq-Gar took his seat, silence fell across the clearing.
Neither the Elves nor the Humans spoke.
Elyndra broke the silence first.
In a calm, concise voice, she recounted everything that had happened over the past few days.
She described the first meeting at the edge of the rainforest.
Lysandor’s reconnaissance squad being ambushed.
Everything they had witnessed inside Golden Tower.
And finally, Kroq-Gar’s proposal.
A temporary ceasefire in exchange for intelligence.
Across the table, Human Commander Orik sat with his hands folded before him.
When she mentioned the Lizardmen city, his brow furrowed.
When she spoke the word Chaos, the frown deepened.
After a long silence, he finally spoke.
“So…”
“You Elves have known for several days that an army of Lizardmen exists in the rainforest.”
“And while we were inside Clermont chewing mouldy bread…”
“…you were already negotiating ceasefire terms with them.”
“You simply chose not to tell us.”
Elyndra met his gaze without hesitation.
“Until this morning, I wasn’t certain they would actually come.”
“I didn’t keep it from you to gain leverage.”
“I kept silent because I had only met them once myself.”
“They possess crucial intelligence about the Dark Enemy.”
“I suspended the siege and requested this meeting because…”
“…there wasn’t enough time.”
Orik slowly unfolded his hands.
One remained resting on the table.
The other drifted unconsciously to the hilt of his sword.
It was not a threat.
Simply an old habit he had developed whenever exhaustion threatened to dull his thoughts.
Then he turned toward the immense blue figure seated opposite him.
“And if we refuse the ceasefire?”
Kroq-Gar’s slit pupils shifted toward him.
For the first time that morning, those ancient eyes focused entirely upon Orik.
Earlier they had swept over the Human cavalry with the detached precision of a battlefield assessment.
Now…
They were watching him alone.
The hairs on the back of Orik’s neck stood upright.
Yet his posture never changed.
“The Elves have already agreed to suspend their assault.”
Kroq-Gar’s deep voice rolled across the clearing.
“Your city possesses less than ten days of food.”
“Without the ceasefire, Clermont will not survive another month.”
“If you reject this agreement…”
“…you deny civilians safe passage through your defensive lines.”
“You prevent refugees from travelling south.”
“You obstruct my campaign to purge Chaos from the Human frontier.”
He paused.
Then spoke with complete calm.
“A race that obstructs the Grand Design…”
“…will be removed.”
The words settled over the triangular meeting ground like a stone dropped into still water.
Elyndra’s fingers froze around her teacup.
She had lived nearly five centuries.
She had seen Dwarf ambassadors crack tables apart with war hammers while declaring war.
She had witnessed Chaos vanguards stand in silent formation merely to let defenders appreciate their overwhelming numbers.
But never…
Never had she heard anyone utter the words,
“will be removed,”
with such absolute certainty.
There was no anger.
No intimidation.
No theatrical menace.
Only a statement of fact.
The colour drained from Orik’s face.
Months of siege and starvation had already left him pale.
Now he seemed even paler.
As though the blood itself had withdrawn beneath his skin.
His hand slowly left his sword.
Both palms rested flat upon the table.
His fingers remained slightly curled.
“I’m not refusing.”
His voice had become much quieter.
Not from submission.
From the instinctive caution of someone who had suddenly realised he might be standing in the path of something far greater than a single war.
“I only need confirmation.”
“If my people head south…”
“…when they reach your lands…”
“…your people won’t lock them inside cages.”
Images surfaced in his mind.
Ten years earlier, on the northern frontier, they had occasionally liberated prisoners from the cages of horrors whose names no one even knew.
Those cages had never been prisons.
They had been slaughterhouses.
He would never allow the people of Clermont to suffer the same fate.
Kroq-Gar’s pupils narrowed before widening again.
“My cities already shelter Human refugees.”
“They came of their own will.”
“They live in proper shelters.”
“They have food.”
“They have salt.”
“They receive medicine.”
Orik stared into those ancient eyes for a long time.
He found none of the emotions he expected from a military commander.
No ambition.
No greed.
No fear.
No hesitation.
Those eyes resembled a mirror.
They reflected every question back upon the one asking it.
At last…
He reached his decision.
“I agree to suspend hostilities.”
“The civilians of Clermont who wish to travel south…”
“…will not be stopped.”
“But I have one condition.”
“They must reach your territory alive.”
“My walls are still watched by three thousand soldiers.”
“If Elven archers fire upon unarmed civilians leaving the city…”
“…that is beyond my control.”
“From this day forward…”
“…the siege archers will not fire upon civilians leaving Clermont.”
“So long as they are unarmed…”
“…wear no military uniform…”
“…and depart through the designated gate.”
She turned toward Kroq-Gar.
“Your forces will receive the refugees at the edge of the rainforest?”
“They will.”
Kroq-Gar answered without hesitation.
Orik rose from his chair.
He wiped his damp palms against his trousers.
Not from nervousness.
His sweat had left dark marks upon the polished tabletop.
“I’ll dispatch messengers to inform His Majesty.”
“Until we receive the King’s reply…”
“…Human forces will launch no attacks.”
“No arrows.”
“No actions that interfere with the continuation of these negotiations.”
He paused.
Almost speaking to himself.
“…assuming His Majesty is still able to send a reply.”
Then he turned and walked back toward his cavalry.
Elyndra stood.
She approached Kroq-Gar.
Standing before the towering Lizardman, she looked impossibly small.
Her Royal Guard remained thirty paces away.
Their spears stood upright.
None assumed a combat stance.
She tilted her head upward.
When she spoke again, her voice was softer than it had been throughout the negotiations.
“I have one more request.”
“It isn’t about the Humans.”
“It’s about the Dark Enemy.”
“One of my senior advisers oversees the northern front.”
“She wasn’t able to attend today.”
“The intelligence you possess concerning Chaos…”
“…must be shared directly with my military council before we can decide how to reorganise our northern defences.”
Her tone remained composed.
But she had chosen one particular word.
Request.
An Elven commander who had besieged a Human city for weeks was now requesting aid from the leader of a civilisation she had met only days ago.
In Elven diplomacy…
That wording was reserved only for trusted allies.
Or for those whose knowledge surpassed their own.
Kroq-Gar looked down at her.
His slit pupils widened slightly beneath the morning sun.
Then he nodded.
He offered no further words.
Only a single, deliberate tap of his tail against the grass.
Watching from the edge of the clearing, the commander of the Cold One Riders lowered his voice and spoke in the Lizardmen tongue.
“The Lord has accepted.”
His deputy immediately relayed the order.
The Skink scouts reached into the leather pouches fastened to their saddles, retrieved their carved navigation markers, and began plotting the return route home.