The scroll remained in Alexander's hand longer than necessary.
Not because he needed to read it again.
But because the number refused to settle properly in his mind.
Twelve days.
A clean, precise decree written by priests who believed they were controlling fate.
Alexander exhaled slowly through his nose and placed the scroll down on the war table.
No one in the room spoke.
They waited for reaction.
For approval.
For dismissal.
For something predictable.
Instead, Alexander simply turned away from the map.
"The war phase is over," he said calmly.
A commander hesitated. "My King?"
Alexander did not look back.
"Ivanova is no longer a battlefield. It is now a holding state."
Another commander stepped forward cautiously. "And the remaining resistance?"
A pause.
Then Alexander's voice dropped slightly.
"There is no remaining resistance."
That was the end of it.
Not because it was true.
But because he had decided it would be.
⸻
