Genon shared the words they exchanged at the meeting.

Three pairs of eyes found it ridiculous. It was evident in their expressions that even what they had for lunch did not agree with it.

Settled at the far end of the long table was Dyie. A frown marred his temple while he kept to himself and listened, contemplating.

Castellone’s gaze narrowed. “Did the envoy mention why His Majesty wanted these people?”

“Now this is weird but sounded appropriate when he explained. He said they are needed for nurturing. The way he delivered it was in a more dignified manner,” Genon said, “befitting a rehearsed speech of holier than thou.”

“What do we get in return?”

“What the King thought we, ‘the exiled dwellers of the wasteland,’ probably want. Pardon. A chance to go back.” Genon flicked a dead leaf that landed by the window sill.

“And the Archiiral body refused because?”

As if apathetic to the situation, Genon shrugged. “They don’t trust him. For all they know he’s planning something more consequential.”

“This doesn’t make sense,” Blaze interjected, “why only the women and children? What, they have a shortage in Flesperia?”

Sirius, who stood near the door, hand on hip, exchanged a knowing look with Castellone. Like they already knew what the other was thinking. Then he turned to Genon. “I’d have refused too.”

Genon nodded. “First the bounty, and now this? What’s the High King up to?”

Castellone glanced at the floor with a frown.

Sirius caught sight of this and wondered himself.

While Blaze pressed Genon for more details, Dyie read the papers containing the conclave’s transcript.

Sirius approached Castellone. He faced the window, while Castellone faced their companions. He crossed his arms over his chest to appear casual. “What is it?”

Castellone shook his head and responded in a whisper. “It’s something. I don’t know all the details, but the High King is sick? At least that’s what I heard of.”

Sirius wondered to whom he had gotten that information from. “From who?”

“My brother.”

“Didn’t know you have a brother.”

Castellone lowered his head to hide the conversation. ”Had."

Sirius gave an interval of silence to respect that fact. “Sorry to hear that.”

Castellone didn’t respond, but instead, made a nod.

“I appreciate you telling me these things.”

Castellone shook his head. If anything, he seemed to laugh. Well, almost. “I don’t know why I bother. For some reason, you remind me of some power that once gave my family the position it had back then.”

Castellone wasn’t always the type to open up. Sirius appreciated the pieces of information he got when chances presented itself. “Power,” he said. “I take it you’re a maharlika.”

Castellone’s silence confirmed Sirius’s words. “War never changes.”

No, it doesn’t.

It was the product of opposing beliefs. It wrecked territories and stole lives. And what could anyone gain from it? It was a notion to feed the egos of their leaders. To make a point of who was right. Who was powerful. Who needed to stand above all.

When everything was said and done, it was in the hands of its victims to pick up the ashes of those who served. All in the name of their oppressive governors.

And it was because of it that Sirius had no recollection of anything. No true name he could claim, no faces to recognize as his kin, and no place to call home. Until Rastite.

From the corner of his eye, Sirius noticed Dyie shift to the side, facing the windows. His gaze caught something. Sirius turned to look in the same direction.

From outside, the mist swept in one direction. Like a tremor, a shiver ran down his spine forcing its way to alarm him with unease. He felt it first.

Dyie stood, grabbing their attention. With a look of uncertainty, his eyes began searching the grounds outside. The billowing dusk began to rise from the horizon.

Blaze felt whatever passed between Sirius and Dyie. His eyes wandered around the room awakened by a shot of adrenaline. “You guys hear that?”

At first there was silence. Then the slightest crack of a branch. That crack turned into an audible breeze. Until that breeze turned into a howling wind. It rattled the glass panes as it passed through.

In the gray sky, a flight of birds came from the direction of the dead forest. Twigs and leaves spiraled in the air as the wind conducted their direction.

Rain followed after. But knowing it was the dry season, it couldn’t be rain. No. They stood there baffled by it. The speck they saw falling from the sky was actually snow.

“Snow. In Rastite,” Dyie breathed. “This...this is not good.”

And they knew why.

Castellone’s tone was low. “It doesn’t snow in the wasteland mainly because of geographical location.”

Blaze’s eyes widened at the wonder of it. “This isn’t some natural occurrence either.”

Sirius thought about mahiqa. “It’s man-made.”

“Oh shit,” Genon was afraid to finish what he was about to say, so he let it be. They all understood who and what made it.

Unseen to everyone, Sirius clenched his fists. When he spoke, it sounded more like a command than one who awaited orders. “Dyie.”

Dyie started for the door, grabbing the papers on his way out. “Llone, Genon, you’ll help me with contingencies. Ace, Rius, check the outskirts. Report back the minute you see anything suspicious. Be careful, you hear?”

With the four of them on his tail, they acted to mobilize the command.

Rushing for his room, Sirius decided to grab his dagger. Once inside, Saihme was waiting by the couch beside the lone table. He was reading the book that protected his face from conversations.

Sirius headed for the weapon rack on the wall and detached the dagger from the other end of the spearblade. “Seeing as you’re here, you must have something to say.”

“I do,” Saihme answered. “I’m here to extend an invitation. Just in case.”

Sirius sheathed the dagger behind him, at the same time wondering what Saihme meant by that. “To what?”

He’d never hear the answer to that question as he stood alone in the room.