The silver radiance of the moon bled through the narrow windows of the Sanctum, coating York’s obsidian bark in a layer of ghostly frost.

  Inside his wooden frame, York felt the slow, rhythmic hum of the Silver Veil. It was a quiet, intoxicating sensation—like a cool spring flowing through parched earth. Every hour, his vitality ticked upward, a microscopic victory against the rot that had nearly claimed him.

  I am the silent engine powering a broken machine, York mused, his consciousness drifting through the estate.

  He watched Silas leave the hall. The old man walked with a predatory grace that hadn't been there an hour ago. The Reversal of Pill Circulation had done more than just knit bone; it had cleared the stagnant Aether from the Patriarch’s meridians. Silas wasn't just healed; he was a blade that had been reforged and sharpened.

  The investment is paying off, York thought. The cost of the healing—1.0 Vitality—had been steep, dropping him to 5.1. But the moon was already working to fill the deficit.

  But even the sharpest blade is useless if the warrior starves before the fight.

  Three miles away, overlooking the valley of the Forsaken Hills, the campfires of House Lee flickered like the eyes of a waiting predator.

  Inside a command tent that smelled of scorched leather and cheap wine, Lord Varick Lee sat hunched over a map. He was a man of sharp angles and even sharper ambitions. Beside him, a brute named Korg—a captain whose Iron-Rank muscles looked like knotted rope—slammed a blood-stained cleaver into the table.

  "My Lord, the men are restless," Korg growled. "We broke their gates. We tasted their blood. Why wait while the Thornes shiver in their beds? Let us finish it!"

  Varick Lee didn't look up. He traced a finger along the ridge where the Thorne estate sat. "Because of that Revenant, you fool. That ancestral corpse cost us six Bronze-Rank warriors in the last breach. I don't intend to trade more lives for a ruin."

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  "The Revenant is falling apart!" Korg spat.

  "And yet it still swings," Varick countered coldly. "And then there is House Vane. They sit on the eastern ridge like vultures. If we break our teeth on the Thorne's front door, the Vanes will swoop in before the bodies are cold. No. We wait. The Thornes have no grain, and I have salted their springs. We don't kill the wolf by jumping into its den; we wait for it to starve."

  Varick stood, his eyes reflecting the orange glow of the brazier. "When they can no longer lift their heads, I will walk in and claim their secrets. And that 'God-Tree' they worship? I’ll have it hacked down to decorate my new hall."

  Back at the Thorne estate, the morning sun brought no warmth.

  Silas was in his study when a scout stumbled in, breath coming in ragged gasps. The boy’s tunic was shredded, and an arrow wound wept blood onto the floor.

  "My Lord," the scout choked out. "The hunters... we tried to reach the lower valley. But the Lee archers are everywhere. They didn't even try to kill us all. They just drove us back, laughing."

  Silas’s jaw tightened. The vigor he had gained was still there, but his face paled. "The food?"

  "Nothing," the scout whispered. "They’ve burned the thickets. We have maybe three days of grain left, My Lord. Less, if the warriors are to keep their strength."

  Silas looked out the window toward the Sanctum. The obsidian tree stood silent, its single emerald leaf catching the light.

  Ancestor, Silas prayed silently, his knuckles turning white as he gripped his sword. We are being strangled. If you have any more miracles... we need them now.

  In the Sanctum, York felt the ripple of Silas’s desperation through their shared bond. He didn't need to hear the enemy's words to know the truth: the scent of blood and the hollow ache of hunger were filling the estate.

  He looked at his system panel.

  [SYSTEM UPDATE]

  [Vitality: 5.5 / 100]

  [Aether: 1.5]

  [Deduction Points: 23]

  [Status: Siege Detected. Resource Depletion: Critical.]

  [Deduction Suggestion: You have enough points to simulate a "Resource Acquisition" path. Would you like to weave the fate of the next hunt?]

  A resource path? York thought. If this family starves, my roots will have nothing but dust to drink. If they fall, I’m just high-quality timber for the next man's fire.

  "Weave the path," York commanded. "Let's see where the food is hiding."