THE GENERAL'S DISGRACED HEIR-Chapter 322: SECRET MESSAGES

David chose not to respond to Luna's observation about Elara. Instead, he remained by the window, watching until the Archon disappeared around a distant corner. The silence between them stretched, heavy with unspoken implications.

In the quiet room, something changed. The air grew dense, charged with a primal energy that raised the fine hairs on David's arms. He didn't need to turn to know what was happening behind him—Luna's true nature emerging, the carefully maintained human facade slipping away.

A subtle growl vibrated the air, too low for ordinary human hearing but perfectly audible to David's enhanced senses. Warmth bloomed against his back as Luna drew closer. He remained still, feigning calm despite his quickening pulse.

Cold, sharp points traced delicately along the side of his neck—claws that could tear through armor now barely grazing his skin. Luna's breath brushed his ear, carrying the scent of winter forests and something ancient that defied description.

"You've grown quite daring," Luna whispered, her voice layered with harmonics no human throat could produce. "So different from the weakling who faced me in battle."

David's lips curved into a confident smile. In one fluid motion, he turned and caught her by the waist, pulling her against him with firm hands. Luna's eyes widened momentarily—golden irises expanding until they nearly eclipsed the whites, pupils contracting to predatory slits.

"That weakling defeated you," David reminded her, his voice low and steady. "And made you his lover."

Her Fenrir aura flared—a ghostly suggestion of massive jaws and ancient power surrounding her human form. For a heartbeat, murder and desire balanced on a knife's edge in those inhuman eyes. Then, like mist before sunlight, the killing intent dissipated, replaced by something equally hungry but fundamentally different.

Luna's claws retracted as her hands slid up his chest. "So he did," she conceded, pressing against him with sinuous grace. "Though I sometimes wonder who truly captured whom."

David's grip tightened, fingertips pressing into the small of her back. "Does it matter?"

"No," she breathed, just before their lips met.

The kiss deepened, carrying the dangerous intensity that defined everything between them. There was nothing gentle in their exchange—each touch a contest, each embrace a reminder of the predator and prey dynamic that had transformed into something neither had anticipated. Luna's fingers tangled in his hair, pulling with just enough force to skirt the boundary between pleasure and pain. David responded by backing her against the wall, his hands mapping the contours of her body with possessive familiarity.

When they finally separated, Luna's eyes had regained their more human appearance, though the gold still burned with unnatural brightness. She studied his face with an expression that might have been wonder on anyone else.

"The others don't understand what you truly are," she murmured, tracing his jawline with now-human fingertips. "What we are together."

"They don't need to understand," David replied. Their relationship defied conventional explanation—the bond between a reincarnated human and an ancient destroyer, forged first in combat and then in something that approximated love, if either of them were capable of such an emotion in its uncomplicated form.

Luna's expression shifted subtly, a flicker of annoyance crossing her features. "Those inferiors dropped something for you," she said, her tone carrying undisguised contempt.

"You mean your sisters?" David asked, a knowing glint in his eye.

Luna growled, the sound rumbling deep in her chest. Her reaction wasn't surprising—the complex relationship between Luna and her "sisters" was fraught with jealousy and territorial tension, particularly since they all shared more than just a familial bond with David.

"They are not my equals," she muttered, reaching into the shadows that pooled in the corner of the room. She retrieved something that hadn't been there before—a folded parchment sealed with unmarked wax. "They left this while you slept. As if I wouldn't notice their scent in my territory."

David accepted the letter, examining the nondescript seal. "You've opened it."

It wasn't a question, and Luna didn't bother denying it. Her loyalty to David was absolute, but her methods remained her own.

"Of course," she acknowledged without a hint of remorse. "It contains a message you'll find... interesting."

David broke the seal and unfolded the parchment. The message was brief, written in a flowing script he didn't recognize:

The moon has risen with Direction.

He read it twice, his expression revealing nothing. The code was one he knew—established during the aftermath of the Leviathan's Abyss mission. Five simple words that carried layers of meaning understood by only a select few.

"Salomonis is on the move," David translated, refolding the letter. "And he's bringing the others with him."

Luna's eyes narrowed. "I dislike the timing."

"Agreed. Something must have happened at court." David tucked the message into an inner pocket of his vest. "We need to accelerate our plans."

Disappointment flickered across Luna's features—a remarkably human expression on her otherwise alien countenance. Their moment of privacy had been brief, interrupted by the ever-present demands of their mission. Such was the pattern of their relationship, stolen moments between strategic necessities.

A soft sound from the bed drew their attention. Sylindra stirred, her eyelids fluttering as consciousness began to surface. Luna immediately stepped back, melting partially into the shadows by the wardrobe—present but less immediate, giving David space to handle the awakening elf.

David approached the bedside, watching as Sylindra's breathing pattern changed. After days of unconsciousness punctuated by delirium, she was finally emerging into true awareness. Her recovery would be complicated at best, but this was a significant milestone.

"Water," he instructed Luna, who materialized a cup from somewhere in the shadows and handed it to him without comment.

Sylindra's eyelids lifted slowly, revealing violet irises clouded with confusion. Her gaze darted rapidly around the unfamiliar room before fixing on David with sudden, intense focus. Fear and suspicion instantly replaced disorientation—the instinctive reaction of someone who had learned through brutal experience to expect cruelty from others.

She tried to speak, but her parched throat produced only a dry rasp. When David moved the cup toward her, she flinched away despite her obvious thirst.

"Sh'maera vani el'thalas," David said softly, repeating the elven phrase for "you're safe" that had calmed her once before. "Quel'dora ni shendra." You are under my protection.

Recognition flickered in her eyes—not trust, but perhaps a degree of comprehension. With tremendous effort, she pushed herself up slightly against the pillows, keeping as much distance between herself and David as the bed allowed.

"Where?" she managed, her voice barely audible.

"Valemir. An inn called The Crooked Spire," David answered, keeping his tone neutral. "You're no longer a slave. I purchased your freedom yesterday."

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Sylindra's expression didn't change, but her hands clutched at the blanket covering her. "Why?" The single word carried volumes of justified suspicion.

David considered his response carefully. The truth—that he recognized her as Princess Sylindra Elanthrial from knowledge carried from another world—would sound insane even if he were inclined to reveal it. A lie about simple compassion would ring equally false.

"You have knowledge I need," he stated simply. "And I dislike waste."

At least this much was true, if incomplete. Sylindra seemed to appreciate the practical explanation more than she would have a pretense of kindness. Some of the tension left her rigid posture.

"What... knowledge?" Each word appeared to cost her considerable effort.

"That can wait until you're stronger," David replied, again offering the water. This time, she accepted it with trembling hands, though she watched him warily as she drank.

Luna had retreated further into the shadows, but her presence remained palpable. Sylindra's eyes occasionally darted to the darkened corners of the room, suggesting she sensed something there without fully understanding what.

"Rest," David instructed as he took the empty cup. "You're severely malnourished and dehydrated. Recovery is your only task for now."

Sylindra's gaze remained fixed on him, her expression a complex mixture of suspicion, calculation, and fragile hope. "No one helps... without price," she whispered.

"I already named my price," David countered. "Knowledge. When you're capable of providing it."

A ghost of something that might eventually become a smile touched her cracked lips. "Fair exchange," she murmured, her eyelids growing heavy again as exhaustion reclaimed her. "Will remember."

As she drifted back to sleep, David retreated to the window, considering the implications of the message from his patners alongside Sylindra's awakening. Their timeline was compressing from multiple directions. The Eye of Ternion, his deteriorating condition, Salomonis's unexpected movement, and now an elven princess whose recovery would take precious time they might not have.

Luna emerged from the shadows once more, coming to stand beside him. "The stranger has entered the inn," she reported. "Male. Armed. Asking questions at the front desk."

David nodded, his mind already calculating probabilities and contingencies. "Describe him."

As Luna provided details, David's expression hardened. The game was accelerating, pieces moving across the board with increasing speed. Somewhere above Valemir, the Eye of Ternion was approaching. Within his own body, dimensional fractures continued to spread.

Time was becoming their scarcest resource, and David had no intention of wasting a moment of it.