The aftermath of the skirmish in the courtyard left Mourning Manor in a state of fragile, breathing silence. Gillian walked through the hallways, his movements heavy and deliberate, every step a testament to the toll the night’s violence had exacted upon his decaying frame. He had successfully repelled the initial wave of mercenaries, but the victory felt hollow, a temporary reprieve in a war he was increasingly ill-equipped to win. The smell of scorched earth and spent steel clung to his clothing, a stark reminder of the fragile line between authority and oblivion. He reached the corridor leading to Ghea’s private quarters, his mind already drifting toward the tactical implications of the attack.
He had secured the estate, but the incident had planted a seed of doubt in his mind. The i
