The group of soldiers approached the clearing, most wearing confused looks, while a couple were visibly annoyed.

"Where the fuck's the cargo?" one—the leader, potentially—groused.

He sent a withering look back toward what must be an aide, considering how he rode the commander's heels.

"Sir, there is no mistake—this is the correct time and day. I triple checked before we set out," the aide assured, sweat visible on his brow.

"Then where the fuck is it? It's always been here on time," the leader complained.

"You the leader, then?" Julia called, suddenly appearing, lounged atop one of the mostly-intact crates.

"Wha—who the fuck—identify yourself!" the leader shouted, spinning around and drawing his sword to level at her.

"Didn't answer my question. You the leader of this motley band?" Julia repeated, making a show of being completely unbothered.

"I am, now identify yourself! I won't ask again! And know that it is Vazreth herself you insult when you disparage my men!" he barked.

"Here," Julia replied, languidly floating the note Margreth had given her to the soldier, where it hovered in front of him, just out of arm's reach.

Her adventurer ID was presented before the letter, and the combination of a Lord's seal and an Adamantine ID made the soldier's eyes go wide. Sweat appeared on his forehead, and he immediately straightened, giving what Julia assumed was the most by-the-book salute possible.

"Ma'am! Forgive me for my ignorance!" he yelled, the soldiers of his platoon saluting and standing at attention as well.

"At ease. I'm an adventurer. All this pomp and circumstance isn't really my speed," Julia said placatingly.

She rose and meandered over to the man, who had 'relaxed' into a parade rest: legs wide, hands clasped behind his back. She genuinely meant for him to relax, but whatever. The tension he still clearly held would work in her favor, probably.

"As an adventurer, I'm a little more…flexible, you understand? You can see why my Lady would be interested in having one working directly for her, yes?" Julia asked, retrieving the letter—damn that thing had come in handy—and her ID.

"Yes ma'am!" the leader affirmed, followed by his entire platoon—Julia was surprised the horses pulling the carts didn't salute as well.

"Now, why would she require an adventurer in this specific instance, hmm?" she asked, stopping in front of the leader, who looked straight ahead, as if focused on the horizon.

"I couldn't fathom, ma'am!" he said.

"I was actually following a caravan, you see. I followed it for days to ensure it arrived at the amb—" Julia explained—before the soldier cut her off.

"Ma'am!" he shouted, flinching as Julia directed a sharp look his way for the interruption. "Forgive me, ma'am," he said at a near whisper, "I am the only one that knows the—uh, details—of the entire operation."

"I see. Thank you for the clarification—Captain?" she asked, continuing at his relieved nod. "Captain. Anyway, the source of the cargo was eliminated—entirely."

The captain's face paled, his pupils dilating.

"How—who could've…" he stammered.

"Adamantines—an entire party of them," Julia revealed.

"Wha—why would—" the captain gasped, growing increasingly insensate.

"Indeed, that is the question, Captain. Why would there be Adamantines assigned to guard such a small, insignificant caravan, and why didn't we know about them?

"This little…operation is important to my Lady, so I have been tracking many caravans as they leave the city. Each instance has gone exactly as planned, yet today, the entirety of the operation was eliminated in one fell swoop—as if the perpetrators knew what to expect.

"You see where I'm going with this?" Julia explained, raising her eyebrows.

"We didn't—I assure you, no one in this platoon would betray the city," the captain assured almost pleadingly.

"I'm sure, Captain. But here's the thing—someone did. You understand why you and your men are the logical first step in this investigation, right?

"But I believe you, Captain. You and your men seem like good sorts, so here," she said, handing him a quill, ink, and paper withdrawn secretly from her dimensional storage.

"Write down exactly what you did from the moment you left your barracks all the way until now. I will consider this your written testimony and deliver it to my Lady personally.

Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.

"Leave nothing out. If we discover the leak is not from your platoon, no problem. If we discover the leak is from your platoon, but we discover this from what you've written, that's good.

"If we don't see anything suspicious in your report, but the leak is later discovered in your platoon…well, then we might have an issue. So leave. Nothing. Out."

The captain looked between Julia and the papers in her outstretched hands with his mouth agape.

"You do know how to write, yes?" Julia asked in feigned exasperation.

"Y-yes, of course. Thank you," he said, walking over and placing the papers on top of a nearby crate to write.

It took an almost distressing amount of time for him to write his entire report, not only due to the report covering the span of several days, but also because he didn't seem confident in writing his letters.

However, he did eventually finish and hand several sheets of paper back to her, his demeanor having grown more confident. Apparently, he was confident in his report—or he was simply relieved to finish writing.

"Thank you, Captain. Now, return to Vazreth, and report the situation. However, leave my involvement out of your report, per the Lady's orders. We cannot rule out one of your superiors as the leak, so merely report that you found the loading zone empty," she said.

He saluted and thanked her as she walked away before turning to his men, preparing to set off immediately.

Dumbass. Julia thought with a smile.

At the same time, the sunset cast Vazreth in dazzling shades of red-gold, compounded by the reflections from the golden chains of Orichalcum dangling overhead.

The city was astir with activity, despite the waning light. Couriers rushed here and there, leather bags marked with the official stamp of the city's Lords. Criers drew huge crowds in market squares, townsfolk listening to their reports with uncharacteristic interest and passion.

Bars and taverns across the city hummed with a constant stream of conversation, the establishments filled nearly to bursting. Citizens whispered quietly to cohorts in dark corners, drunkards slurred their words loudly at bars, their faces flushed with the drink. Fights even broke out here and there, fists flying for what would otherwise be small grievances.

Such sights were not unusual in a city so large, but the fervor tonight couldn't be explained merely by 'business as usual'.

"You think it's true?" a woman whispered over her stew.

"What d'ya mean, 'do I think i's true'? The Lords said it they'selves!" a woman across the table whispered much louder than she probably meant—the drink adding volume without her conscious thought.

"All's I'm sayin' is, it don't make no logical sense," a man across the room declared loudly, holding his hands up placatingly.

"Fuck's sense gotta do wit' it? It's them elves we's talkin' 'bout! Sense ain't nothin' ya can e'er count on wit' 'em!" a large man shouted, intimidating but also wobbling on his feet. Though his voice was loud, his posture was relaxing, indicating the other man's placating had likely avoided another drunken brawl.

Across the city, in another district, restaurants with gilded edges and silk drapery across the windows buzzed with energetic, but polite conversation.

"Well, that does explain our record losses this year. My barrels went out last year, but the profits never returned. I thought the caravan must have been assailed along the road, but the journey is so long! How could I possibly know where they were assaulted?" a man exclaimed from behind a hand that twirled the corner of his thick mustache.

"Agreed. While the news is not pleasant, it is a relief to have the cause identified," a man across from the first assented, sipping from his ornate, crystalline glass.

"I am surprised to find you so relieved. Your children are of-age, yes?" the first man asked with a raised brow.

"Indeed. However, a quick coin in a pocket here, another there—you know how it goes. It is no concern of mine," he explained, both sharing a chuckle.

In another district, two youths sat atop the ridge of a house, staring into the setting sun with a mixture of emotions decorating their faces. Their legs swung back and forth as they dangled over the edge of the tiled roof, though they barely seemed to notice the distance to the ground below.

"Are you gonna volunteer?" one boy asked without looking away from the fading sun.

"Dunno. Dad says there are ways to avoid it, if you know the right 'palms to grease'; says we should have enough coin. If he can't figure it out, I probably will," the girl beside him said flatly, her neutral tone belying the obvious emotion in her eyes.

"It's not a guarantee, right? If you don't, you might not—" the boy started.

"Yeah, I might not—but I also might, ya know? At least if you volunteer, you'll get better benefits and placement," the girl explained sourly. "What about you?"

"Definitely!" the boy declared proudly, as if suddenly oblivious to the girl's complicated emotions. "This is a chance to make a name for myself, ya know? Do something that's remembered by everyone!"

"Well, at least we'll join together, then," the girl said with a sad smile.

"But…you don't have—" the boy once again started, his enthusiasm fading as quickly as it arrived.

"To volunteer? What, and leave it to chance? Why is it fine for you to volunteer but not me?" she asked with a raised brow.

"...but…what if…you know…" the boy stammered, his hands together in his lap, fingers fiddling.

"Do you think I don't have the same concern for you? You're so enthusiastic about potentially marching to your death and leaving me all alone, but you're against me doing it? Why? Because suddenly you're the one left alone?' she snapped.

The boy flinched and, clearly unable to find something appropriate to say, returned his gaze to the horizon. The two sat staring in silence as the last rays of light brushed their faces.

In a square not far from the tiled roof, a young boy stood on a makeshift stage cobbled together from discarded wood. He stood on his toes, as if it would give his voice extra volume.

"Hear ye, hear ye! Marsh elves responsible for missing trade caravans! Attacks ongoing for the past year!

"Attempts at restitution ignored by the elves! Military draft begins next week!" he cried into the square.

Onlookers clutched loved ones' arms, though some merely shook their heads before moving on with their evening.

Across the Blue, among the crumbling and decaying infrastructure of the South Quarter, elves hobbled out of factories and warehouses, their steps determined but slow. Many looked up to the sky just as the last light faded.

Night had fallen, and it was as if the air was vibrating. Many had a sudden sense of foreboding, though they couldn't trace the source. It was as if the city itself had turned a great eye upon them. Though the sun had just set, many wondered if it had set for good.

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