The gates of Valeborne stood tall, proud, and battle-worn. Nestled in the arms of a narrow mountain valley, it was a fortress of steel and stone, hidden from the world by towering cliffs and whispering forests. Smoke rose from chimneys. Blacksmiths pounded steel. Children played within safe walls while the faint scent of pine and ash mixed with the wind. At the city's heart loomed the Citadel of Flame, a towering command center with banners of the revolution fluttering from its spires—deep crimson with the silver phoenix.
Thierry arrived on horseback, the journey having left dust on his coat and exhaustion in his bones. A pair of guards recognized him instantly.
"Sir Thierry! Welcome back!"
"Report to the Citadel," another added quickly. "The General has been expecting you."
Thierry nodded, dismounted, and handed the reins to a stable boy. Without a word, he followed the guards past busy streets, through the inner walls, and into the Citadel.
The halls were quieter there, lined with tapestries and maps. It smelled of old parchment, oil, and steel. He finally arrived at a modest wooden door, flanked by no guards. He knocked once.
"Come in," came a deep, familiar voice.
Thierry stepped inside.
The room was warm, a stark contrast to the stone halls. A kettle of tea steamed gently beside two ceramic cups. At the window stood a man in his early sixties, his once-black hair now streaked with silver. His eyes were sharp but kind, and despite the wear of war etched into his features, there was something gentle in the way he smiled.
General Harren Voss.
"You've returned," Voss said, walking over and pulling Thierry into a brief but firm embrace. "Still walking upright, I see. That's good."
"I try," Thierry replied, managing a tired smile.
Voss motioned to the chairs. "Sit. The tea's not what it used to be, but it's warm."
They both sat down. The general poured two cups.
"How's your mother?" Voss asked after a sip. "She still sending me that awful homebrew wine?"
Thierry chuckled. "She's well. She still keeps your letters under her pillow."
Voss gave a short laugh and leaned back in his chair. "That woman could outlive the war."
"I hope she does," Thierry said softly. "She deserves peace more than any of us."
A quiet moment passed between them before Thierry straightened in his seat.
"I need to report."
Voss nodded, setting down his cup.
Thierry inhaled. "We ambushed the ruined city ruled by the vampire lord. Had some casualties. I nearly didn't make it."
The general's brow furrowed.
"I was unconscious before the fight ended," Thierry continued. "When I woke… he was dead. Slain by someone else."
Voss blinked. "Who?"
"We don't know. He didn't speak to us. Just appeared, killed the vampire lord with ease, then left."
Voss's fingers tightened around his teacup. "Did you see how he fought?"
"No. But the others said he used blue flames. Said the vampire lord never stood a chance."
The room froze.
"Blue… flames?" Voss echoed.
Thierry nodded. "That's what they told me."
Voss stood slowly, his eyes wide with disbelief. Then his expression cracked into a stunned grin.
"He's alive," he whispered. "The mad bastard's alive."
He began to chuckle—a low, relieved sound. "After all these years…"
He turned, staring out the window like it held the answers. "Why now? Why appear now of all times?"
Thierry tilted his head. "Some of the soldiers said… he fought like someone with a personal grudge. Like it wasn't just a mission. It was personal."
Voss's laughter faded. He nodded thoughtfully. "It was always personal for him."
Thierry sipped the last of his tea. "We're rebuilding the ruined city. It's a mess, but it can be turned into a stronghold. A haven. We'll give it a name later."
"You've done well, Thierry," Voss said, finally turning around. "This is the first real good news I've had in weeks."
Thierry stood. "Then I'll leave you to it."
Voss simply nodded, eyes distant, already lost in thought. Thierry bowed and exited the room.
Alone now, the general walked to the balcony. The wind pulled at his coat and tousled his greying hair.
He looked out over the bustling capital.
Then, with a soft smile and a glint in his eye, he whispered into the wind:
"Richard… You couldn't stay away for too long, huh?"
The wind carried his voice across the rooftops.
"Maybe this time… we'll win."
End of chapter 11