Fragments of Fear
The reports had come in fragments at first, scattered and disbelieving, none of them agreed.
A gate. Larger than any recorded. Forming far to the east, on the Blackwater swamps near the kingdom's border.
Leon stood in the war room with two dozen others - military commanders, senior mages, nobles whose lands bordered the eastern territories.
The Sword Saint stood near the king, back in her full armor, helmet firmly in place. How fast she put it on baffled him, having left for less than a minute. The moment from the training grounds might as well have never happened.
Lord Casimir held a collection of papers, messages that had arrived over the past three days. His expression was troubled.
"The reports are... inconsistent," he said, laying them out on the table. "They came from Mudtown, a settlement in the eastern reaches. Barely qualifies as a town - maybe two hundred people, farmers and fishermen who work the edges of the Blackwater Swamp."
Leon had heard of it vaguely. Mudtown was one of those communities that existed in the kingdom's borders technically but operated with near-complete autonomy. Too remote from the capital to receive regular governance, too poor to warrant much attention. The kind of place that paid nominal taxes and otherwise was left to its own devices.
"What did they report?" the king asked.
Casimir picked up the first message. "A 'crack in the sky' appearing in the far deep of the swamplands. Growing daily. 'Unlike anything seen before.' That was four days ago."
"That sounds like a gate." One of the nobles stated
Casimir set it down, picked up another. "Two days ago, another message.
'The sky looks wrong in the east.'
He set it aside and picked up another.
'The crack is still there.
We thought it was fog. Then shadow. It does not move. We climbed the watch hill.
From the top, it does not end'
Silence.
One of the commanders frowned. "Does not end how?"
"The third message arrived this morning," Casimir continued. "They're abandoning Marshton. Moving west. They claim the sky has been swallowed. They can't see its end."
"It's hysteria," a noble said dismissively. "Swamp folk seeing things. Probably some kind of weather phenomenon they don't understand."
"Or they're exaggerating," another added. "Fear makes everything seem larger."
Leon studied the messages. The handwriting was rough, barely legible in places. The language simple, direct. These weren't educated people trying to impress anyone. They were terrified.
"The gaps in the reports are significant," a military advisor pointed out. "We don't have confirmation from any other settlements. No independent verification. Just one community's claims."
"Exactly," the dismissive noble said. "One settlement that's barely part of the kingdom making outlandish claims. We shouldn't waste resources-"
"We know the danger of gates," Leon interrupted.
Every head turned toward him.
Leon kept his voice steady. "We've seen what gates can do. The first clear cost thousands of lives. The garrisons at all seven current gates require permanent military presence. If there's even the slimmest chance of truth in these statements, we have to take action."
"But the reports are absurd," the noble protested. "That's-"
"The seventh gate was thirty meters wide," Leon said. "The largest recorded is over fifty meters. Why couldn't there be one even larger? We don't understand the mechanism. We don't know what determines gate size or frequency. We're operating on incomplete information and hoping for the best."
He looked around the room, meeting eyes. Some skeptical, some concerned, most uncertain.
"If we ignore this and it's real, we'll face an invasion force on a scale we've never encountered. If we investigate and it's nothing, we've wasted time and resources but we've also put minds at ease." Leon turned to the king. "And if it is a gate - if Mudtown's reports are even partially accurate - we need to begin preparations immediately. Not in a week. Not after we've deliberated. Now."
The king studied him for a long moment. Then nodded slowly.
"The High Archmage is correct. We must verify these reports." He looked at Casimir. "Assemble a delegation. Fast riders, supplied for speed over comfort. I want confirmation within the month."
"Your Majesty," the Sword Saint spoke for the first time. "If this is a gate of unprecedented size, a small delegation may be insufficient. We should send enough force to begin initial defensive preparations."
"Agreed," the king said. "But speed is essential. Lord Casimir, what can we mobilize quickly?"
Casimir consulted with the military commanders in quiet tones. Leon watched the Sword Saint, trying to read her posture. She stood perfectly still, attention focused on the discussion. No indication that anything had happened between them. No acknowledgment of the interrupted conversation.
Professional. Distant. Exactly as she'd been for the past year, with that one brief exception.
"Forty mounted soldiers," Casimir announced. "Best riders we have. Light armor, provisions for three weeks hard travel. Five mages for initial assessment and emergency defense. We can have them ready to depart by dawn."
"Do it," the king said. Then, looking directly at Leon: "High Archmage, you'll lead the delegation. Your expertise with gates is unmatched. If this is real, your assessment will determine our response."
Of course he would. Leon had opened his mouth and volunteered himself yet again.
"I'll go as well," the Sword Saint said.
The king frowned. "Your place is here, protecting-"
"If the High Archmage is leading the delegation, the kingdom's interests require my presence." Her voice was flat, brooking no argument. "If this gate is as large as reported, it represents a threat beyond any we've faced. I should witness it firsthand."
The king looked like he wanted to argue, but something in the Sword Saint's posture - or maybe just the years of trusting her judgment - made him relent.
"Very well. But you will return immediately once the assessment is complete. No unnecessary risks."
"Of course, Your Majesty."
The meeting continued - logistics, supply requirements, contingency plans. Leon participated mechanically, his mind already racing ahead to what they might find.
Could a gate really grow that wide?
His engineering brain insisted it was possible - if gates ranged in width, there was no theoretical size limit. But the scale... the logistics of defending something that large...
The meeting adjourned. Leon headed back to his chambers to pack. Light travel, Casimir had said. Essentials only.
He was halfway there when footsteps caught up with him.
"High Archmage."
Leon turned. The Sword Saint stood a few paces behind, helmet hiding her expression as always.
"We leave at dawn," she said. "Three weeks hard travel, possibly more depending on conditions. Pack accordingly."
"I know how to pack for a journey," Leon said, more shortly than he'd intended.
"Do you know how to survive one where every day might bring an attack? Where we'll be traveling through territory that hasn't seen regular patrols in years?" Her voice remained neutral. "This isn't the march to the capital. This is different."
Leon took a breath. "You're right. I apologize. What do you recommend?"
She stepped closer, her voice lowering slightly. "Bring the minimum clothing. Focus on durability over comfort. Your staff, but leave anything ceremonial. We may need to move faster than horses can carry luxury."
"Understood."
A pause. Leon waited, hoping - irrationally - that she might reference their conversation. The training ground. The moment before everything got interrupted.
"Get rest," she said instead. "We ride before sunrise. The journey will be difficult."
She turned and walked away, leaving Leon standing alone in the corridor.
So that's how it's going to be, he thought.
Back to professional distance. Like nothing happened.
Maybe nothing had happened. Maybe he'd imagined the shift in atmosphere. Maybe the confidence from his lecture had made him read meaning into a routine interaction.
Leon continued to his chambers and began packing.