The Last Banner

A month had passed since the battle with the orcs, and the Duchy of Thrace was changing—visibly, palpably. Where once the fields struggled to yield enough to feed the populace, now they thrived, the crop rotation system breathing life into the soil. The farmers worked with renewed vigor, their faith in the land rekindled.

Hadrian stood on a grassy hill overlooking the farmlands, the late morning sun casting a warm glow over the scene. He wore a simple tunic and boots, his hands clasped behind his back as he watched the activity below.

"M'lord," came the voice of a grizzled overseer, climbing the hill to join him. "The rotation's doing wonders. Barley, oats, wheat—all thriving better than we've seen in years. The harvest'll be bountiful enough to trade and keep plenty stored for winter."

Hadrian turned to face him, his sharp grey eyes calm but calculating. "Good. Distribute the surplus carefully. No hoarding. We don't need grumbling when everything's just beginning to work."

"Aye, m'lord. And the workers—they're happy. They say they've never had a duke's son come out here to check on 'em so often."

Hadrian offered a faint smile, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Happy workers mean efficient workers. That's all this is."

The overseer nodded, a touch of respect flickering in his gaze before he descended the hill to return to his duties. Hadrian lingered for a moment, his gaze drifting over the golden fields, taking a small measure of satisfaction in how far they had come.

By the time Hadrian returned to the manor, the courtyard was alive with activity. Soldiers marched in disciplined lines, the ring of steel-on-steel echoing as others sparred. His fifty matchlock militia stood out, their uniforms tidy, their firearms polished and slung across their backs with pride. The spearmen practiced in phalanx formation, their new armor and weapons gleaming in the sun.

As Hadrian passed, servants stopped what they were doing to glance his way, their hushed voices carrying just far enough for him to catch snippets.

"Remember last month? The day the young lord collapsed and then stood up looking like a whole new man?"

"Aye, I do. One minute he's barely reaching my shoulder, and now look at him. Nearly as tall as Lord Alexander."

"And handsome too. Have you seen his face? Like a statue come to life."

"I still can't believe it's the same boy. That frail thing from a few months ago—gone. Now it's all strength and presence."

Hadrian smirked faintly, their chatter not lost on him, but he said nothing as he strode toward the main hall.

That afternoon, Hadrian joined Sophia and Cassandra in the garden. The air was filled with the scent of blooming flowers, the quiet hum of bees weaving between petals. Cassandra darted around a tree, her laughter bright as she held a crude bundle of cloth—her self-declared "treasure."

"You'll never catch me!" she taunted, golden curls bouncing as she ran.

Sophia, sitting on a low stone bench nearby, clutched a wooden carving of what might have been a bird. "Don't let her win, Hadrian. She always cheats!"

Hadrian laughed softly, his long legs easily catching Cassandra. He scooped her up with one arm, her shrieks of delight echoing through the garden.

"Caught you, little thief," he teased, spinning her around before setting her down.

"No fair!" Cassandra pouted, though the sparkle in her eyes betrayed her joy.

Afterward, they sat beneath the shade of an ancient oak tree. Cassandra leaned against Hadrian's arm, twirling a small strand of her hair, while Sophia meticulously whittled away at her carving with a small knife.

"Do you think Helena's doing okay?" Sophia asked suddenly, her soft voice carrying a note of worry.

Hadrian glanced at her, his expression unreadable. "She's smart. She'll adapt. She always does."

Sophia hesitated, her fingers pausing over the wood. "But it's so far away. What if she's lonely?"

Cassandra's mischievous grin spread across her face. "Oh, I bet she misses Hadrian. They're so close, after all."

Hadrian arched a brow at her. "Of course I miss her. We all do."

"No," Cassandra pressed, her grin widening. "I think you're in love with her!"

"Cassandra," Hadrian sighed, his tone exasperated but gentle. "Don't spout nonsense like that."

Sophia giggled, her bright blue eyes dancing with amusement. "You're blushing!"

"Am not," Hadrian replied, though his faintly pink ears betrayed him. "You two are impossible. Keep this up, and I'll make you polish the soldiers' matchlocks."

The girls erupted into laughter, their voices filling the garden with warmth.

Hadrian leaned back against the tree trunk, watching them with a quiet smile. For a moment, the weight of his responsibilities seemed lighter, replaced by the simple joy of being with his sisters. But as the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the garden, a faint unease settled in his chest.

He didn't know how long these moments would last. And that thought alone made them all the more precious.

The bells of Thrace tolled solemnly, echoing across the coastal city as word spread—the goblin delegation was approaching. For weeks, the court had prepared for this moment, each passing day tightening the knot of tension that gripped the household. The goblins had been quiet for months, but their silence had never been mistaken for peace.

Hadrian stood on the manor's balcony, the salty breeze from the ocean brushing against his face. The distant sound of hooves and creaking wood reached his ears before the figures came into view. Slowly, out of the horizon's shimmering haze, a grotesque caravan emerged.

The goblin carriage, an abomination of twisted iron and dark wood, was pulled by a pair of monstrous, skeletal horses. Their jagged manes and gaunt frames looked more fit for nightmares than labor. Behind them marched a retinue of goblin guards, clad in mismatched armor pieced together from scavenged battles. Their cruel, blackened spears glinted in the sunlight.

The streets of the city grew quiet as they passed. Citizens who had been going about their day paused to watch, their faces a mix of fear and disgust. Parents hurried their children indoors, merchants closed their shutters, and guards stood at attention, their knuckles white on their weapons.