Commander Ezra sat by the window to his stone tent. The raid was a success. His army had pushed the bulk of the Western Alliance out of the forest, at least its surface. Now, they were building walls around the forest, making it improbable for the enemies to regain it. So why did he feel uneasy?

His thoughts were halted when he heard a knock on his door. He released the breath he had not realised he was holding and relaxed his posture. It would not do the men any good to see their commander worried.

"Come in," he called out once he finished collecting himself.

The stone door slid open, and his second-in-command entered. Her armour was on, and her brown hair was neatly tied in a short braid. Her sight reminded him why he made her his second. She was always prim and proper, following his orders to the T.

"Commander Ezra, I am here to provide my daily report," she saluted, hands clasped behind her back.

"At ease, Amaba", he ordered his second.

"Thank you, Commander," she replied, relaxing her stiff posture. "The wall at the front lines is almost complete despite our lack of earth elementalists. The enemy continues to harass us through tunnel attacks, but the frequency has significantly decreased."

Commander Ezra placed his hands on his desk and sighed. "Those are all good news, Amaba. So why is your face scowling like that."

His second shifted her gaze in embarrassment. "A message arrived when I was at the harbour an hour ago. It is for you," she said as she handed him a sealed tube.

Ezra looked at the tube and raised his eyebrows. "Directly from HQ," he said, perplexed by the seal.

"Yes, sir," Amaba concurred. "A ship carrying two thousand reinforcements came with it."

Ezra's raised his eyebrows at his second. He felt them twitch as he processed the number. "Two thousand," he enunciated each word.

"It'll be a logistical nightmare, sir," Amaba said. "Our camp only holds five thousand, which is already pushing it. We are nearing eight thousand with the six thousand that arrived last week. Furthermore, our supplies are running low. We have scavenged what we can, but it is unfeasible to feed that many mouths."

Ezra raised his hand to silence his second and began unscrewing the tube. "Enough of that. Whatever HQ is planning, it better be good."

He dug out the scroll, placing the tube to the side. Breaking the wax seal, he began reading the scroll. His eyes grew wide, and his face grimaced as he read. His expression grew darker and darker.

"What is it, sir?" Amaba asked, noticing her commander's scowl.

"Grand General of the Far North Campaign, Ratar Gornt, has been dismissed. Effective immediately," He read the first line of the message.

"Why?" Amaba asked, baffled.

"They didn't mention 'why.' But I know what it meant." Ezra stood up from his desk and turned to face out the window. He watched his men working about outside. "It's a warning to all of Ratar's commanders. We are replaceable."

"Surely not," his second argued. "Badai would've fallen to our enemies if it weren't for you leading us here."

Ezra did not reply to her comments, his mind whirling. "How's the quality of the reinforcements?" he asked instead.

"As fresh and inexperienced as it can get," he heard his second answer.

"I thought so," he sighed. "We're speeding up the building of the southern port. Another six thousand is on their way."

Ezra was not a sorcerer, but he could swear he felt his second's eyes bulge. She knew him well by now and waited for him to explain.

"Our order is to take control of Sunda with the utmost prejudice," he emphasised the last word.

"Your orders, sir?" Amaba asked after a pause. He noticed the shaking in her voice. Whether it was out of fear or excitement, he was not sure.

He turned and locked eyes with his second. "Summon the others," he ordered.

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She looked at him with an unreadable expression. She stared too long for his liking.

"Now, soldier!" he yelled.

"Yes, sir!" she snapped at his yell, saluting and leaving hurriedly.

Once alone, Ezra unhooked the frame that held the map of the Sunda campaign from the wall and laid it flat on his desk. He had dreaded the arrival of so many more men earlier. He hoped the gods were not listening, as now he wished there were more.

He studied the map. The Sunda archipelago consisted of many islands, most too small to provide any military advantage. The main island where they were, however, was vast.

He rummaged through his drawers and pulled out several green figures representing his army. He placed them in the forest by the southern port they controlled. The Western Alliance had boxed them deep inside the forest for decades. He knew they had achieved a great victory by gaining control of the entire forest, but looking down at the small patch that his army controlled, it felt minuscule. A large mountain sat between his port and the one the enemy controlled in the north.

"Sir," Amaba, alongside five others, saluted across him.

He had not noticed their entrance and felt frustrated by his lack of awareness. I am getting too old, he thought.

"Gather around," he ordered.

They gathered around the map, studying it as he placed brown figures on the Western Alliance's port.

"What are we planning for, sir?" one of Ezra's men asked.

"We received orders to conquer the whole island with extreme prejudice," he answered. He was sure many were surprised, but they had held their tongue. He waited for everyone to nod before continuing. "We currently have eight thousand men with six thousand more arriving in a few weeks."

He pointed at the Western Alliance's port. "That is our primary objective. We take it, and we can prevent our enemies from resupplying. We can force them to surrender or starve."

A few heads nodded in agreement, and the command tent was silent as they thought.

"We could travel around the shorter terrain here," a woman with a scarred face, Isha, suggested. "The mountain will be their domain, and we'll be at the mercy of their rats again. This way, we'll be able to circumvent it."

"Our flanks would be exposed," an eastern man with a shaved head, Zafri, countered. "Any guards we leave will face a high-ground disadvantage."

"What about through here?" another man asked, pointing a path through a swamp on the left of the mountain. "Their rats would be useless underwater."

"Our men would more likely receive an infection by the time we face the enemies if we go through there," Amaba countered.

Ezra watched his knights grow more frustrated as they discussed. The desperation in the air was thick.

"Actually, we may have more support from the locals than we thought," someone spoke up.

Nakri, Ezra remembered his name. He was the youngest of them, but he made up for his lack of experience with the sheer brilliance of his mind.

"I've made preliminary contact with the fuzzies we captured or surrendered. It seems they hate the Western Alliance more than they hate us," Nakri continued.

Ezra sighed audibly, regretting the praises in his thoughts.

"Fuzzies?" Amaba asked, unamused.

"Their hair," Nakri gestured at his hair, mimicking the locals' curly hair. "Can't call them mudmen once they joined us, can we?" He waved his hand. "That's not the point. The point is the Western Alliance enslaved them. Most of their families are currently being held hostage. They know what we are fighting for, and with enough reassurances, I think we'll be able to get them to help. Maybe not fight our enemies outright, but provide information about the terrain and their tunnel systems."

Ezra did not like it. They had been fighting the local population ever since the war started. Centuries of blood are not forgotten that easily, but he was desperate.

"Can we trust them?" he asked Nakri, " that they won't stab us in the back or lead us to a trap?"

Nakri thought for a while, and everyone waited patiently for him.

"Yes," Nakri finally said. "Their tribes are as divided as any other nations. I'm sure we can convince most to join our side. With our visioners filtering who we can trust, of course."

Ezra still disliked it. "Good enough for me," he said against his thoughts. He watched the other knights in the room. They all nodded in agreement.

"Alright then, Nakri, I'll want you to remain in contact with the locals. Find out who we can trust," He ordered.

"Yes, sir," Nakri replied.

Ezra returned his gaze to the map and their pitiful control on the island. However, he did not feel as hopeless as he previously had. "Let us plan."

------------

Lycan stared at the air in front of him. When he focused long enough, he thought he could make out the fluttering dust. He gripped the power stone, draining the collected tenaga into his core. He felt sick. He had already taken a brother from Loran; now, he was about to take her parents.

He remembered when Alez handed him their names and the mask he wore. It hid his uncertainty behind impassivity. Alone, the mask had crumbled, leaving his abhorrence exposed.

"I fight to save the weak," he muttered to no one. It felt right, he thought. He shifted his thoughts to his brother, Rama, alone under the merciless mercy of his parents. He remembered holding him as a baby in his arms. He knew then, as he knew now, that he would swallow any vitriol and atrocities to keep his brother safe.

He returned the power stone to the crate once his tenaga was replenished. Seeing the dozens of empty stones in the crate, hours must have passed, he realised. There were no windows in the training hall, but he reckoned the sun had already risen. Alez would call for him soon.

He gazed at the metal wall. He was sure it was not average steel, as he remembered the hinges he had melted. The most he could do to the wall was make it glow.

He transmuted his tenaga and blasted his flames. He focused on burning the dust and the leftover soot, using them as fuel for his flames. The wall glowed, but it never melted. He put his hands on his knees, panting as his tenaga ran out.

"That's enough for today," Alez said behind him.

He turned and saluted. "Ma'am."

"Any more, and you'll be useless on the mission," she said as she looked into the crate of empty power stones. She tossed her healing stone at him, and he caught it with one hand. "Five seconds, not any longer," she warned.

Lycan placed the healing stone at the back of his neck; the soreness in his muscles disappeared. After five seconds, he returned it.

"I can do more," he assured her. "The power stones can replenish my tenaga, and your healing stones can fix the strain on my tenaga veins."

"Tschk," Alez kissed her teeth. "If only it works that way," she sarcastically mused. "No. The healing stones will heal damage but won't do anything for your tenaga veins. And if you use it too long," she shrugged before adding, "it'll kill you."

She picked up a power stone and propelled it to her squire with her telekinesis. He caught it and began draining the tenaga.

"Was that why you took my training slow?" he asked. "What changed in a month?"

Alez smirked. "You grew stronger."

Lycan eyed the power stone in his palm. "The Ronans, they created the power and healing stones. How did they achieve it?" he asked. "They never received any gifts from a god, did they?"

"The answer is lost to history, I'm afraid," she answered. "The secret of the healing stones is only passed down to their monarchs. Some said that the gods favoured them with the secret once upon a time. The power stones, however, they stole the third gift from us to make them. Same with the canons."

Lycan raised his eyebrows.

"We got it back, of course. But the secret of their creation had spread by then," Alez explained.

There was a knock at the entrance of the training hall. She turned and saw it was one of her guards.

"Bhayangkara Alez," the guard saluted.

"Commander Fajar," Lycan saluted.

"Yes, Commander?" Alez asked the guard.

"Your transport has arrived, ma'am," replied Fajar.

"Alright, we'll be out shortly," she informed the guard.

"Very good, ma'am," the guard said. He saluted once more before leaving.

"At ease, Lycan," Alez said to her squire.

Technically, Commander Fajar had not ordered him to be at ease, so Lycan decided to be safe and waited for her. "Yes, ma'am," he said as he relaxed.

"Gather your things," Alez said as she turned to leave. Her stride paused by the entrance. "You have cleaned my armour, have you?"

Lycan paled.

The silence was enough of an answer.