The sun hadn't risen yet when Liam found Thrak again on the eastern rampart, staring at nothing.

Or maybe not nothing.

Maybe patterns only a three-hundred-year-old mind could see in the pre-dawn darkness—troop movements that hadn't happened yet, tactical probabilities written in the shape of distant hills.

"You don't sleep," Liam observed.

"Sleep is inefficient. Four hours every seventy-two maintains cognitive function. I slept six hours ago." Thrak didn't turn. "You, however, have not slept in forty-one hours. Cognitive degradation will begin affecting tactical decision-making soon."

"I'll sleep when I'm dead." Liam said, perhaps as a joke.

"Statistically probable if current pattern continues." No judgment, just data. "Average survival time for demon commanders in active combat zones: six months. Your current operational tempo suggests accelerated timeline."

Liam almost laughed. Almost. "Comforting."

"Truth is not meant to comfort. Only to inform tactical planning."

They stood in silence, watching the eastern horizon begin to grey. Somewhere out there, the Radiant Empire was calculating too. Running their own probabilities.

Deciding when to test whether yesterday's disruption was real or just lucky timing.

"The fortifications are complete," Thrak reported. "Western rampart reinforced. Supply inventory optimized. Rotation schedules implemented to maximize defensive coverage while allowing minimal rest periods. Scouts report enemy repositioning three kilometers east, estimated force composition: two hundred infantry, forty cavalry, fifteen paladins."

"When?"

"Forty-seven percent probability of assault within twelve hours. Seventy-nine percent within twenty-four hours." Thrak's pale eyes finally shifted to Liam. "I calculate sixty-three percent survival probability for garrison if assault occurs before your departure. Twenty-one percent if it occurs after."

The numbers were brutal in their honesty.

"You're telling me I need to stay."

"No. I am providing data. Decision-making remains your function." Thrak paused.

"However, your stated objective was to stabilize Ashard Perimeter by securing all seven outposts. Remaining at Vor'esh beyond planned timeline creates delay in addressing remaining four outposts. Tactical efficiency suggests maintaining schedule despite reduced survival probability here."

Liam stared at the ancient commander. "You're telling me to leave you to die."

"I am telling you that my survival is less tactically significant than completion of your primary objective." That flat, mechanical voice. "One outpost commander versus strategic stabilization of entire perimeter. Mathematics is clear."

"The mathematics," Liam said quietly, "is that you're worth more than a probability equation."

Thrak's head tilted—that small gesture of confusion. "I do not understand. My worth is defined by tactical contribution. If that contribution is less valuable than alternative allocation of resources—"

"You've held this position for many battles, Thrak. Repeated battles of calculating, optimizing, surviving. That's more than data. That's..."

He trailed off. What was it? Not courage - Thrak couldn't feel brave. Not determination, he couldn't feel anything.

"That's remarkable," Liam finished.

Thrak processed this. "Remarkable is subjective assessment. I simply continued functioning when cessation would have been easier. This is not special. This is basic operational persistence."

"Most people can't do basic operational persistence for that many battles."

"Most people still feel. Feeling creates friction. Makes continuation difficult when outcomes are poor." Those dead eyes held Liam's. "I stopped feeling. Therefore, I continued. This is not remarkable. This is mechanical."

Down in the courtyard, the garrison was beginning to stir.

Demons moving through morning rituals with the same tired efficiency their commander embodied. Checking weapons. Rotating watch positions. Eating rations without tasting them.

The Meat Grinder had made them all into smaller versions of Thrak.

"I'm staying another day," Liam decided.

"Inefficient."

"Probably. But I'm changing the variables, remember? Making the enemy recalculate." He turned from the rampart. "One more day to make sure they understand that Vor'esh isn't following their timeline anymore."

"And if the assault comes during that additional day?"

"Then we kill them. Again."

Thrak was quiet for a long moment. Then: "Your tactical methodology continues to produce data that contradicts my previous operational doctrine. I find this... disruptive."

"Good."

"I did not say it was good. I said it was disruptive."

"Same thing."

"No. Good implies positive value judgment. Disruptive is neutral descriptor of pattern interruption." But something in Thrak's mechanical voice had shifted.

Something that might have been the ghost of appreciation. "However, I will include your assessment in my analysis."

---

The day passed in preparation.

Liam moved through the fortress, watching Thrak's garrison work. They didn't pray like the Nameless Litany. Didn't train with Koth's aggressive intensity. Didn't analyze with Zara's cold precision.

They just worked. Efficiently. Without waste or emotion or any indication they were alive beyond the technical definition.

It was depressing as hell.

"They weren't always like this," Koth said, appearing beside Liam on the western rampart. "Vor'esh garrison. Two years ago, they had songs. Gambling games. Fights over stupid shit." He shook his head.

"Then the grinding started. Forty-seven exchanges. Watching the same ground taken and lost and taken and lost until it stopped meaning anything."

"And they became this."

"Thrak became this three centuries ago. They're just following his example." Koth's molten eyes tracked a group of demons reinforcing a section of wall. "Can't decide if it's survival or surrender."

"Maybe both."

"Maybe." Koth was silent for a moment. "You know the assault's coming. Probably tonight. The Radiant fuckers won't wait long. They'll want to test whether yesterday was real."

"I know."

"And you're staying anyway."

"I'm staying."

Koth grunted. "Good. Because I wasn't leaving either way."

Liam glanced at him. "Wasn't asking you to."

"I know. But figured I'd mention it. Just in case you were planning some dramatic sacrifice where you stay and we all leave." His scarred face twisted into something almost like a grin.

"We're past that shit now, Lord Azra. Where you go, we go. That's the deal."

It should have felt good. Loyalty. Trust. Brotherhood.

Instead, it felt heavy.

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