The Night Before the Royal Palace

Clusters of fire flared in the front hall, their light and shadow dancing across the rock walls, casting uneven, shifting pools of illumination over the black stains left by acid. Wind poured in from the cracks above, carrying dampness and the raw stench of stone. Residue still seeped from the cleared daytime passages, emitting wisps of fine white smoke upon contact with heat. Voices were few, but movements were dense. The reinforcements dispersed in small squads, taking turns guarding three key points: the entrance, the side gorge, and the front hall, everyone stepping as lightly as possible for fear of shaking loose the gravel from the cave roof.

Chairman Netero stood at the outer edge of the fire, his hands behind his back as he gazed into the deeper darkness. The old man said nothing, merely shifting the tip of his foot half a step forward before pulling it back, as if memorizing some invisible distance. Morel stood to one side, his pipe lighting, going out, and lighting once more, a thin layer of white fog spreading out near his feet—neither obstructing vision nor too thin to immediately thicken into a wall if needed. Knov sat cross-legged on a dry patch of rock, eyes closed, drawing out his breathing while his fingertips twitched from time to time, as though placing the positions and angles of one door after another within his mind.

The outer three changed into clean bandages. Knuckle leaned against a rock pillar, stretching his shoulders and elbows, his joints clicking softly as he worked them. Shoot sat across from him, dismantling his monocle to wipe it clean before reassembling it with meticulous precision, just as he did before every battle. Linas propped his equipment beside him, using a cloth to wipe away the residual acid stains inch