Rain clawed at the shutters like a starving cat.
Inside Whitemoor's manor hall, the candles glowed in their waxy light, casting tall, flickering lines across the chamber's high walls.
Ferdinand paced. Boots clicking on the polished floor. Hands behind his back. Not looking at the mayor. Not really looking at the letter resting on the desk either. He'd read it five times already.
Nakamura leaned in his chair, legs crossed, sipping something far too calm for the occasion.
Ferdinand stopped pacing. "This is a joke."
Nakamura arched an eyebrow. "Is it?"
Ferdinand turned sharply, his eyes narrowing, a flash of something volatile in his gaze. "You think this is funny? Forty men dead in the woods and they send us that—a message like it's some diplomatic gesture?"
Nakamura's calm was a fortress, untouched by Ferdinand's fury. He set his drink down slowly, eyes never leaving the nobleman. "It's a message, yes. But whether it's a joke or not depends on how we respond."
Ferdinand took a step forward, fists clenching at his sides. "Do you hear yourself? 'The chosen ones have decided to enter diplomatic talks with Davra.' What does that even mean? How are we supposed to interpret that after this?" He slammed his hand down on the desk, startling the silence.
Nakamura remained unflinching, his voice low but steady. "It means they are offering us a seat at their table. Whether you want to believe it or not, their message is clear. They've sent us their terms, and we must decide how to proceed."
Ferdinand shook his head, pacing again, his boots scraping the floor as the storm outside continued to rage. "A seat? A seat? After slaughtering forty of our men? What's next? A personal invitation to their throne?"
Nakamura finally stood, his movements smooth and deliberate, a stark contrast to Ferdinand's frantic energy. "Ferdinand, we are at a crossroads. They are not playing by the same rules. If we want to avoid more deaths, we need to stop reacting out of fear."
Ferdinand's voice cracked, frustration rising. "Fear!? This? this isn't just a diplomatic challenge. It's a warning. They want to see how far they can push us. By the gods, I won't sit in silence!"
Nakamura remained unphased, but his voice dropped lower, harder, like a blade slowly being unsheathed. "What they're telling us is clear, Ferdinand. We are at the edge of something bigger than us. If you think this is about your pride, or the loss of your men, then you've already lost the game."
Ferdinand's nostrils flared, his breathing coming quicker, more shallow. "You talk as though they aren't the ones provoking this. How much more should we take before we fight back? They killed forty men like it was nothing. They didn't just send us a message, Nakamura. They sent us a challenge." He clenched his fists, voice thick with barely-contained anger. "Do you even feel it? The weight of this threat?"
"Remind me, who attacked whom here? This is the third assault that I am aware of, and yet they did not retaliate once. Let's stop this before they do. I am the one who is leading this, and while I am aware of your standing, you won't judge Whitemoor to its demise."
"Nakamura—they challenged us! Their mere existence is a challenge!"
Nakamura's expression hardened, but there was no anger in it, only calmness. "I'll have no part in starting another war, not over something we can still avoid. This attack of yours, Ferdinand, was the last one. We talked about it, and I won't send any more mercenaries just to pay their grieving mothers and wives.
You want vengeance? Fine. But you'll do it by your own hand and pay the price for it."
Ferdinand's chest tightened, his pulse quickening. "And what, you think that's enough? You think sitting on our hands will change anything? They'll just keep pushing us until there's nothing left. How many more men need to die while we 'avoid conflict,' Nakamura?"
Nakamura's gaze was unwavering, his voice cold and final. "You asked for the bounties, you paid for the bloodshed. But this... this ends now. I won't let you drag us into something worse than we can control."
Ferdinand's teeth gritted, his anger boiling over in a vicious surge. "You think this is me dragging us into something? You're the one who'll let them win without a single blow struck! You'll sit here, calm as always, and watch us burn."
Nakamura's eyes narrowed slightly, but his stance remained grounded. "This is your mess, Ferdinand. And I won't let it become the ruin of Whitemoor. This has nothing to do with this city, and their existence has been proven to be neutral, let alone friendly. To even consider negotiating... I do not doubt that Fujin is the one who backed them into a corner to even consider that. He is one of the best mages we have around this place, and he is the one who protected your farms 3 years ago when the boar herds reached Whitemoor."
Ferdinand sneered. "Fujin is a sentimental fool. Always has been. He cares about honor more than strategy, so I forgive me if I don't trust his vision for this conflict."
Nakamura's eyes narrowed just slightly enough to signal the thin line Ferdinand was walking on. "I think," he said evenly, "that Fujin has a better understanding of the battlefield than you give him credit for. He sees the game three moves ahead, while you're still shouting at the board after the king's already fallen."
Ferdinand scoffed. "Don't patronize me."
"I'm not," Nakamura replied coolly. "I'm reminding you that this isn't a tavern brawl. It is the start of a very delicate situation that none of us wants the royal courts involved in."
Ferdinand stepped closer, voice low and sharp. "And what if it's already too late? What if that message is bait?"
"Then let them be the ones to strike first. At least the history books won't say Whitemoor fired the opening shot."
Ferdinand barked a laugh with no humor. "History? Is that what you care about now? Legacy and pretty lines in old books? Our people are scared. Our soldiers are dead. And you're playing diplomat with monsters."
"They weren't monsters when they spared the merchant convoy last week. Or when they let Fujin walk back from that forest with all his limbs, surely they didn't attack him. You want to call them beasts? Fine. But beasts don't speak."
Ferdinand's jaw clenched, and for a moment he said nothing. The storm outside howled louder, like it too wanted in on the argument.
"They're stalling," he said finally. "Buying time for whatever power they're building out there in the woods. I know the type. I've read about them more than enough. You can't reason with people who believe the gods actually chose them."
"You and I both know that the chosen ones represent the gods will, and if we continue fighting it like we have been doing for the last couple of centuries, where does it end?" Nakamura said simply.
Ferdinand looked at him. Really looked at him.
"You're scared of them."
Nakamura didn't blink. "Yes," he said. "Because I know what happens when people like you stop listening. The gods are not blind, and this is just the start."
Ferdinand turned, stepping away. "Then I guess we'll see whose fear is right."
Nakamura sat back into his chair nonchalantly, his tea finally at a sipping temperature.
"If you act without my consent again, I will have you arrested. Not as a noble, but as a warmonger. This city bleeds for no man's pride, not even yours."