The Radiant Empire's capital of Sanctum Lux gleamed.

It felt a promise of salvation told in marble and gold.

General Casmir Valente stood at the window of the Divine Council chamber, looking out at the city that had never known demon footsteps.

White towers rose toward heavens that the faithful claimed watched with approval.

Gardens of impossible beauty sprawled between governmental buildings, maintained by holy magic that made everything grow pristine and perfect.

Even the air tasted clean here—purified by wards that had existed for centuries, filtering out anything that might corrupt or contaminate.

It was beautiful.

It was sterile.

And right now, it felt like a tomb waiting for occupants who didn't know they were dead yet.

"We should have sent more forces."

The voice came from Grand Commander Veyra, her silver-threaded hair pulled back in the severe style of military nobility.

She stood at the war table, staring at reports from Ashard with the kind of intensity that suggested she was trying to will them to say something different through sheer focus.

"Orin was our test," Hero Matthias Keene said from his position near the door.

He'd been silent for most of the meeting, just listening, but now his voice carried the weight of someone who'd seen the implications no one else wanted to acknowledge.

"We sent him to determine if the demon lord was god or pretender. We got our answer when he never came back."

"We got silence," Grand Commander Theron corrected. His massive frame was contained in white armor that bore the scars of decades of holy killing. "Silence isn't confirmation. It's absence of information."

"Silence from Orin is confirmation." Matthias's voice was flat. "He would have sent word if he'd succeeded. If he'd failed but survived, he would have reported back. The only scenario where we get nothing is if he encountered something that killed him before he could retreat or communicate."

The chamber fell quiet with the weight of what that meant.

Grand Commander Orin had been one of their best. A veteran of countless demon purges.

A man who'd killed seven High Overseers and survived situations that should have been fatal. If something in Ashard had killed him without him even managing to send warning...

"The retreat was necessary," General Casmir said, finally turning from the window. "We were overextended. Our intelligence was incomplete. Continuing the siege after losing Orin would have been military suicide."

"It looked like cowardice." Grand Commander Veyra's voice was sharp. "We had them. The Ashard perimeter was failing. Another week—maybe two—and we'd have broken through completely. Instead we pull back because one commander disappears?"

"One Grand Commander," Matthias corrected. "There's a difference."

"Is there?" Veyra's eyes were cold. "Or have we convinced ourselves there is because admitting conventional commanders are expendable makes their deaths easier to justify?"

The theological challenge hung in the air like accusation.

"This debate is pointless." The new voice belonged to Archbishop Thaddeus, who'd been silent until now, his white robes pristine despite the hours of council. "We did not gather to question General Casmir's tactical withdrawal. We gathered to discuss the larger implications of what occurred in Ashard."

He moved to the war table, his elderly frame moving with surprising grace.

"The demon calling itself Lord Azra has fundamentally altered our strategic calculations. Three weeks ago, we classified it as a political tool—the demon queen's desperate gambit to stabilize her failing regime. A talented commander, yes. Dangerous in localized engagements, certainly. But ultimately mortal. Ultimately beatable through conventional superiority."

His weathered hand gestured to the reports.

"Three weeks later, seven outposts secured. Grand Commander Orin dead. Our entire Ashard offensive in full retreat. And witness reports—unconfirmed but consistent—claiming this demon lord opened the gates of Hell itself."

Silence.

"So," Archbishop Thaddeus continued, "we must ask the question that everyone has been avoiding since General Casmir ordered withdrawal. Is Lord Azra what the demons claim? Is he actually the Primordial Demon reborn?"

"No." Veyra's answer was immediate and absolute. "The Primordial Demon is myth. Political fiction the demon empire uses to maintain morale. We've known this for centuries through intelligence that cannot be questioned."

"Then explain Orin's death."

"I can't. But absence of explanation doesn't validate demon theology. It just means we encountered something we didn't anticipate."

"Something powerful enough to kill our Grand Commander," Matthias interjected. "Something the demons now worship as their god returned."

"Something that made you—" Veyra looked at Matthias directly, "—recommend full retreat rather than commit additional forces."

Matthias didn't flinch under her gaze.

"I recommended retreat because sending more Grand Commanders without understanding what killed Orin would have been waste. We don't commit our best assets to situations where we lack basic intelligence."

"So we just abandoned the entire Ashard theater?" Veyra's voice rose slightly. "Gave the demons breathing room to consolidate? Allowed their morale to soar while ours questions whether we can even win this war?"

"We made tactical withdrawal to avoid catastrophic defeat," General Casmir said firmly. "The difference matters."

"Does it? Because the demons aren't interpreting it as tactical withdrawal. They're interpreting it as divine victory. As proof their Primordial god is real and powerful enough to make the Radiant Empire run scared."

She wasn't wrong, Casmir knew.

Intelligence reports from their spies embedded in demon territories all said the same thing.

The Nameless Litany was growing exponentially. Demon morale had shifted from desperate defense to aggressive confidence.

And Lord Azra—whether god or pretender—had become the symbol around which the entire demon empire was consolidating.

Which meant the war they'd been winning three weeks ago had become significantly more complicated.

"What's the status of the Second Summoning?" he asked, changing the subject to something they could actually control.

Archbishop Thaddeus's expression shifted to something between satisfaction and concern.

"The ritual is ninety-three percent complete. Our best estimates suggest another six weeks until the second hero arrives. Eight weeks for the third if we push resources."

"And the First Hero's development?" Casmir looked at Matthias. "You've been training for years. Are you ready to lead an assault against whatever killed Orin?"

Matthias was quiet for a moment. Honest assessment rather than bravado. "Define ready."

"Can you kill Lord Azra if we send you against him?"

"Unknown. I haven't seen him fight. Haven't assessed his capabilities beyond second-hand reports that may be exaggerated by demon propaganda." Matthias's voice was clinical. "What I can say is that I'm significantly stronger than Orin was. Faster. More versatile in combat. If this demon lord killed him through pure martial superiority, I have reasonable confidence I could match or exceed that."

"And if he killed Orin through something else? Through whatever power let him 'open Hell's gates'?"

"Then I have no data to assess probability of success."

It was the most honest answer anyone could give, and Casmir appreciated that.

Heroes weren't invincible.

They were just blessed humans with divine magic and advantages that conventional fighters lacked. Advantages that could still be overcome by sufficient force or unexpected capabilities.

"So our options are wait six weeks for the Second Hero, or commit Matthias now with understanding that we're risking our only fully-developed asset."

"There's a third option," Grand Commander Theron rumbled. His voice was deep enough to vibrate the war table.

"We accelerate the remaining summonings. Commit every resource to bringing all twenty-one heroes simultaneously rather than sequentially."

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