The burden of a Lord

Under the hush of a fading twilight, as the main Ember force tended to wounds and re-strung bows, Lyrus stood apart, facing west where the Serpents had withdrawn. The final battle had ended with the Serpents' retreat, a moral victory for the Ember Circle. Yet, in the quiet aftermath, Lyrus weighed the risk of letting the Serpents endure—intact, embittered, and possibly plotting revenge.

He recalled the Whisperers of the Horizon, his secret shadow unit trained not only to thwart foreign meddlers but to operate beyond the ken of even his closest allies. Only he knew their true depth of skill and purpose. To the Circle, they were subtle guardians against external threats. To Lyrus, they could also serve as a silent blade cutting away potential future horrors.

As Ember soldiers rested, believing their hard-won integrity enough to keep the Serpents at bay, Lyrus knew better. The Elders had shown no signs of remorse or reform—just frustration. Could the Serpents return stronger, craftier, once the Ember Circle let its guard down? The world craved stability. Another prolonged cycle of intrigue and bloodshed would undermine all they had built.

Quietly, Lyrus slipped into a secluded grove. There, three figures awaited him: the core of his shadow members, faces hooded, weapons and tools meticulously chosen for silent kills. He explained the mission in a calm, even tone: track the Serpents to their hidden enclaves, leave no survivor of their leadership. This was a grim measure, a secret coda to the honorable victory. No trial, no mercy. The Serpents must vanish for good.

The Whisperers bowed wordlessly. They understood this assignment was dire. They asked no questions. Lyrus said nothing about morality now—this was necessity to ensure lasting peace. He steeled himself, knowing this act would never be celebrated. The main force would never know. The Circle must remain pure in spirit, believing the Serpents' retreat ended the threat. Lyrus alone bore the burden of truth.

As night deepened, the Whisperers melted into darkness. Lyrus returned to camp, a gentle smile for his captains, a steady nod for his generals. He had chosen a path of ruthless finality, trusting that history would vindicate him if peace endured and new generations lived free of the Serpent's shadow.