Chapter 6: Little undercurrents
The lounge smelled faintly of smoke, a reminder of the battlefield outside. The leather sofa creaked as Tor dropped onto it, stretching lazily, flip‑flops slapping softly against the polished floor. Shadows from the hearth fire danced across the walls, sparks leaping and dying in rhythm with his movements.
"How boring. It wasn't even worth a workout," he muttered, voice casual, almost mocking the chaos that had unfolded hours earlier.
"You did drag it out a bit, Tor," Uncle Mike said, sitting beside him and handing over a warm hamburger. Grease shimmered faintly under the lounge lights.
Tor grinned, biting into it. "Mhm. It's not every day people come gunning for my life, you know."
Mike, burly and bearded, dark‑skinned and quiet, was both Chief of Security and butler. Loyal to Tor, but never treated as beneath him. He hated sharing food with anyone but Tor, and tonight was no exception.
"For most people, that's a good thing, young lord," Mike replied with a low chuckle.
"Ha? No way. Uncle Ter says only important people are worth assassinating." Tor smirked, grease dripping onto the plate. "So this means I'm slightly important now. Not Elder‑important, not fortress‑important… just enough to make idiots drag tanks up a mountain."
Mike nodded unconsciously. "In some twisted logical way, that makes sense."
"Doesn't it? Those words sum Uncle Ter up perfectly." Tor laughed, remembering the torturous training Ter had forced on him since childhood. The fire crackled faintly in the hearth, smoke curling upward.
"And what about you?" Mike asked, tone calm but probing.
Tor leaned back, eyes gleaming mischievously. "Hohoho. I'm leaving the mountain tomorrow, so that makes me more sane than you."
Mike only smiled faintly. At twenty he had been a lieutenant; now at twenty‑five he commanded special ops, head of Tor's security, and overseer of the cottage. He never seemed to leave, as if guarding something unseen.
"I know you wish to protect me, but Uncle says it's a learning experience. I can't bring you to school with me — you'd scare the little pets." Tor's voice was joking, but his eyes were serious. "Think of it this way: you own all this till I'm back." He gestured toward his video games, drones, and the vehicles parked outside after the fire. The drones blinked faint blue lights, silent sentries under Mike's watch.
"But I still used those when you were here," Mike said calmly, betraying a hint of interest in going with him.
"Well, now you have unlimited control. Also, make sure to protect Uncle Ter. You're the only one I trust here to do that." Tor swaggered out of the hall, flip‑flops slapping softly against the polished floor.
"Okay, I understand. At least tell me who attacked you!" Mike shouted after him, still puzzling over where Tor had sent the remnants of the tanks and fire.
"It's a secret," Tor replied, vanishing from the hall.
Mike frowned, muttering under his breath. "What's he being all mysterious for? 'It's a secret,' he says…" Then he too disappeared, leaving the lounge empty save for the faint hum of drones.
Somewhere in the Fire Villa
"It seems the assassination attempt failed," the Fire Chief said, voice echoing through the chamber of fire. Flames licked the walls, casting long shadows across the elders' faces.
"What gave that away?" Crow asked lightly, tone calm, almost amused.
"Well, the tanks dropped on Mak's castle chambers. And the rain of fire, for one," the Chief replied.
"We gave you the best technology and mercenaries, yet you failed to kill even a ten-year-old boy," the Fire King said sharply, voice slicing through the heat.
Crow let his gaze linger on the flames, expression unreadable. "Interesting. Even with all your toys, you still managed to impress no one but yourselves."
The Fire King's jaw tightened. "We are allies—"
"Of course," Crow said smoothly, voice soft, carrying an edge only someone paying close attention could feel. "But allies still need to know their place."
A subtle, cold silence fell over the chamber. The Fire King's eyes flickered, caught between pride and the sting of insult. Crow's quiet, superior air left no room for argument; the message was clear. They had failed, and their failure reflected on them, not on Mak.
Crow leaned back slightly, expression casual, but every word dripped with understated power. "Next time, perhaps measure your limits before offering advice on execution. It might save a few egos."
The Fire King said nothing, the flames reflecting off his face, pride bristling against the subtle humiliation.
Mak's Sector — The Spatial Abyss
Deep in the abyss, the fortress groaned under the weight of scattered wreckage. Burned tank husks and twisted machinery lay strewn across the outer halls, smoke curling upward where fire had licked the walls. The acrid stench of plasma fuel hung thick, faint embers glowing in cracks along the stone.
Yet at the heart of it all, Mak's castle gleamed untouched. The golden throne room shone as if the chaos outside had never existed, ornate pillars reflecting light in defiance of ruin beyond.
Crow entered, removing his mask and bowing slightly. "Lord Mak, I have reassured our allies. There is no need to fear. Their failure changes nothing."
Mak's favored student and trusted guard stood at his side, ignoring the faint smoke drifting in from the corridors. Mak himself leaned back on his throne, expression calm, unshaken.
"Good," he said finally, voice smooth and deliberate. "Tomorrow will be the first day the Great Elder tastes defeat. I hope he enjoys it. After that, politics — not brute strength — will decide the continent."
Crow chuckled softly, though unease flickered in his eyes. The abyss still bore scars from Tor's defiance. The wreckage was real, the fortress had been tested, but Mak's arrogance refused to admit it.
Inside Tor's Cottage (Later that night)
Tor leaned against the wide window sill, looking at the recovering forest below. Tiny green shoots pushed through blackened soil, mocking the battlefield that had raged hours earlier.
Uncle Mike appeared silently behind him. "You really make a mess of everything," he said, voice low, almost admiring.
Tor smiled, leaning back with arms crossed. "They made it fun. But honestly… I wasn't challenged. Next time, bring someone who can actually make me sweat."
Mike shook his head. "You're impossible."
Tor smirked. "I know."
Outside, the forest hummed with life again. Trees healed, smoke dissipated, and the battlefield faded, leaving only charred reminders of the night's chaos. The drones blinked faint blue lights, keeping watch, silent witnesses to a boy who had dismantled armies without breaking stride.
Tor turned back toward the lounge, flipping the window shut as if the night had been nothing more than a minor inconvenience. "Boring," he muttered again, tossing his hoodie over a chair. "I expected more."
The cottage settled into quiet, the hum of drones the only sound. The night was over — but the war, in every sense, was far from finished.