the era of calamities-Chapter 108: refugees

Under the declining sun, the gallop of horses raised clouds of ochre dust.

Wagon wheels plowed through the dry earth with a constant grinding sound, while hurried footsteps, muffled whispers, and the stifled sobs of young children blended into a dull murmur.

Even the air itself seemed to weigh upon the travelers’ shoulders.

This was how the people of Orion advanced.

They left their city behind, fleeing a threat whose name had yet to be spoken.

Their hope fragile yet stubborn converged toward a single figure: the one walking at the front, opening the path for them.

Arnaud led the column.

His features drawn tight, he studied a crude map hastily assembled by Fidri.

The clumsy lines and approximate landmarks betrayed the urgency in which it had been drawn.

After examining it one last time, he folded it carefully and turned toward one of the knights riding at his side.

"Have we received any news from the city?"

The knight hesitated for a moment before answering.

"No, young leader. Your father and the knights who remained behind have given no sign so far."

He paused briefly, then continued in a heavier voice:

"Wouldn’t it be time to tell us exactly what we are fleeing? It’s not that I doubt you or the city’s leader, but we have been marching without rest for an entire day now.

We still do not know what is forcing us to retreat, nor where we are headed.

As knights of Eterniti, we are prepared to brave hell itself. What could be so grave that you cannot reveal it to us?"

Arnaud remained silent.

They had marched day and night without rest, determined to leave the duchy’s territory as quickly as possible.

Without the massive presence of initiates among them, they would not even have covered half that distance.

Yet while their bodies could endure such a pace, ignorance gnawed at their minds and eroded morale.

("What am I supposed to do? Should I reveal the threat of the duchy to them?")

He parted his lips, searching for words.

However, before he could speak, a scout knight returned at full gallop, his face tense.

"Young leader! Ahead of us... several crowds. Same direction."

"Explain yourself calmly. Breathe before you speak."

The scout obeyed, catching his breath before continuing:

"About one kilometer ahead, several groups have been spotted. Based on their trajectory, they are heading toward the same destination you indicated to us."

Arnaud thought for a brief moment, then asked:

"What do they look like? Allies or enemies?"

The messenger stammered slightly before replying:

"Neither. Judging by their appearance, they seem to be citizens of Eterniti, coming from other cities. They are accompanied by individuals belonging to the same group as those who came to our aid during the battle against the Mercury clan."

("Could it be...?") Arnaud thought before making his decision.

"Show me the way. I will go meet them."

"Yes, young leader."

---

It did not take long for Arnaud to reach them.

Hundreds of silhouettes moved forward on foot, dragging their steps as one drags an unbearable burden.

Exhaustion was evident but that was not what struck Arnaud.

No.

It was something else. Something deeper.

Lifeless gazes, drained of all spark.

Skin smeared with soot and charcoal.

Clothes in tatters, clinging to emaciated bodies.

Faces, hair, hands everything was coated in dust and filth.

Men and women bore the unmistakable marks of abuse and famine, as though life itself had ceased to regard them as human beings.

They were survivors.

Those whom the Mercury clan had exploited, broken, drained down to the very last drop of will.

Although the clan had been annihilated barely a week earlier, the drugs injected into them had not yet faded.

Addiction still held them insidious, persistent, embedded in their flesh and minds.

Arnaud’s gaze lingered on them longer than he would have liked.

("This is the price of renouncing the sacred values of tradition. Had they remained faithful, they would not be in this state. I have no reason to feel the slightest pity for traitors to the King.")

He turned away nonetheless, his hands clenching despite himself.

"They are nothing but renegades," he declared coldly. "They deserve no attention. We continue on our way without concerning ourselves with them."

"At your orders."

---

After that, Arnaud held a brief discussion with the candidates accompanying them, and the column resumed its march.

The remainder of the journey unfolded without major incident.

Little by little, other processions from neighboring cities joined them.

What had begun as an exodus became a human tide.

Dense crowds, silent and desperate.

Within a few days, more than forty thousand souls found themselves cast onto the roads, torn from their homes, marching without certainty and with no possible return.

Three additional long days were required before the inhabitants of Orion the swiftest among them finally reached their destination: the border of the State of Mirage, the nation affiliated with the Order closest to them.

---

At the same time, leagues away, in a lavish office in the capital of the State of Mirage, the president sat behind a large desk of dark wood.

Stacks of reports were piled before him, bound in leather and marked with official seals.

He skimmed through the documents with weariness, mechanically affixing his signature here and there.

Three knocks on the door made him grimace.

He slowly removed his glasses. Working late into the night as he often did, he hated being disturbed.

Three knocks meant an emergency. Nothing less.

"So... what is so urgent?" he asked curtly.

One of his advisers, a man seasoned in the mechanisms of power, entered without losing composure.

He laid out the situation with precision, describing the crisis unfolding at their borders.

When the account ended, the president clasped his fingers together.

"What procedure do you recommend?"

The adviser took a moment to organize his thoughts.

"I have already scheduled a meeting with our generals," he replied.

"But it would be pointless. We have neither the manpower nor the resources to contain such an influx. The presence of numerous awakened individuals further complicates the situation."

He paused deliberately.

"My recommendation would be to hand this matter over to the Order. According to our information, candidates for their examination are escorting these refugees. We could organize a televised intervention, present the event as an incursion caused by Calamities. After the recent incidents in the Empire, international media will seize upon it immediately. The affair will be blown out of proportion, as though the world itself were teetering."

A discreet smile stretched across his lips.

"The Empire and the Republic of the Palm Groves will not miss the opportunity to denounce the Order’s security failures, forcing it to intervene personally."

The president remained silent for a moment, then his gaze sharpened.

"Very well. That is how one washes their hands of the problem." He leaned slightly forward. "Now tell me how we can profit from it."

The adviser let out a cynical laugh.

"By turning it into a magnificent fireworks display."

He spent nearly an hour detailing his plan. When he finished, the president stood, took out two glasses and a bottle of vintage wine. He poured, then handed a glass to his subordinate.

"To our fortune," he said calmly. "And misfortune to those poor animals who dared to knock on our door."

---

Despite all these events, Sirius, kept apart, still rested beneath the gentle sleep of sedatives.

Until a presence broke the silence.

Iris approached his bedside. The flickering light reflected on her face, a smile on her lips. She leaned closer and murmured, in an almost playful voice:

"It’s time to play the big bad wolf."