Their armor is lighter than standard field deployment, built for speed over defense, their formation tight, disciplined, eyes scanning the terrain before settling on me.
Recognition comes quickly. One steps forward.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he says.
“Neither should you,” I reply.
His gaze flicks briefly to Aeryn, assessing, then returns to me. “You’ve been recalled.”
“That would require authority.”
A pause.
Then, “You’ve been replaced.”
There it is. Delivered cleanly. No hesitation.
“By whom?” I ask.
“You already know.”
Xalith. Of course.
I let the information settle without reaction, then take a step forward, closing distance just enough to shift the balance of the encounter.
“You’ve been sent to confirm my status,” I say. “Or to enforce it.”
“Both.”
“Then confirm it.”
The messenger straightens slightly.
“By order of House Drazharel,” he says, voice formal now, structured, “you are stripped of rank and command, effective immediately, for failure to secure the artifact.”
The wording matters. Not a battlefield reassignment. A formal council ruling. Recognized under house law and binding across every Drazharel-controlled territory.
The words land without weight. Not because they don’t matter. Because they were expected.
“And in my place,” I say.
“Xalith Drazharel has assumed operational control.”
I take another step forward. The unit shifts in response.
“Deliver the rest,” I say.
The messenger hesitates.
“It's for your ears only,” he explains, watching Aeryn.
She nods without fuss and gives us privacy.
Then he continues, “You are granted a conditional reinstatement.”
That’s new.
“Define it.”
