The fire cracked from time to time, making the place warm and the room lit. The Lacerta carefully analyzed his documents one final time as he looked pleased and satisfied with a well done job. He glanced at the bookshelf near his table, took a book he wanted to finish reading, a novel about a few friends traveling the world and solving problems of the small folk, then got himself comfortable, his eyes dancing through the pages.
A young Lacerta came to the room, feeling a bit down. He was grumpy, maybe even angry, but didn't say anything as he put some academic books on the bookshelf.
"Anything wrong, son?", The lizard man stopped reading his book to look at the boy.
"The Noble's Academy is full of...", He stopped to think of something less offensive to describe the students, but failed.
"Full of jerks?", The Lacerta offered, still looking at his book.
"Yes. That.", The Lacerta boy shook his head dismissively, "They just are a bunch of buffoons with no respect or vision. Why must I attend that place if that's what they will do to me for the next five or so years?"
"Now now, don't say that.", He said, disappointed but understandingly, "Your studies are just as important as the career you want. The Academy is like that thanks to the weird culture they have. We are the ones that are different.", He finished with a shrug.
"That's not really reassuring, father.", The boy deadpanned, "I don't want to deal with them. What will they do after? I can't be in a place like that!"
"Son.", He said, closing his book and giving a serious, but tender look, "Thinking about the past leads to anger. You will keep saying 'why did that happen to me?!' and that's not going to help. If you keep thinking about the future, it will lead to worry. Asking 'will it get better or work out?' will make you indecisive, being difficult to take on responsibilities."
The boy looked at his father, his grimace obviously showing that he didn't get what he said.
Even so, the Lacerta offered a smile, "Do like this old timer here. One step at a time.”
The boy sighed, rubbing the back of his neck, still frustrated. "But it’s not that simple, Father. What if I make a mistake? What if they push me too far?"
The Lacerta elder leaned back in his chair, eyes softening as he considered his son's words. "Mistakes are part of learning, son. They shape you, refine you. And as for the others pushing you too far—let them try. Remember, it’s not about avoiding the push; it’s about learning how to push back, wisely."
The boy frowned, his frustration growing. "But what if I push too hard? What if I end up like... like them?"
His father’s gaze became stern, but there was no anger in it—only resolve. "That’s where wisdom comes in, my boy. Knowing when to push, and when to pull back. You won’t always get it right, but that’s why you’re learning. The Academy isn’t just about the books and lessons; it’s about finding yourself, understanding your limits, and knowing your worth."
The boy’s face darkened, clearly not satisfied with the answer. "You always say that, but it never helps. You don’t get it, Father. You don’t have to deal with them every day. You’re here, comfortable, with your books and your wisdom, while I have to face those jerks on my own."
The elder Lacerta’s expression hardened, the warmth in his eyes dimming. "Watch your tone, son. I’m trying to help you. You might not understand now, but someday you will. I’ve faced my own challenges, more than you know. Don’t dismiss my experience just because it doesn’t align with your feelings."
The boy’s mouth tightened into a thin line. "Maybe I don’t want your help if it’s just going to be more of the same old advice."
Silence fell between them, heavy and uncomfortable. The elder Lacerta opened his mouth to say something, but then thought better of it. He sighed, leaning back in his chair and picking up his book again. "If that’s how you feel, then perhaps you should cool off before we talk further."
The boy stared at his father, hurt and anger battling in his eyes, before he turned sharply on his heel and left the room without another word.
The elder Lacerta watched him go, a deep sigh escaping his lips as he returned to his book. The fire still crackled, but the warmth it provided felt hollow, as if a chill had settled in the room despite its flames.
In the end, the man sighed. Not sure of what would entail next.
----------------------------------------
Five days later, The day the Caravan arrives, The Vale, Isodera Forest
Zagul opened his eyes. It's been five days, the time for battle reaching out.
The Vale had been prepared while he was watched by the guards as if he were a caged beast. Every step he took, every instruction he gave, was scrutinized. He could feel their eyes boring into the back of his head, their suspicion a constant weight. But he played his part well, never letting on that their presence bothered him in the slightest. In fact, he found a strange comfort in their vigilance—it meant they were distracted, and he could focus on the more intricate parts of his plan.
The Sylphs had worked tirelessly, turning the Vale into a labyrinth of traps and ambush points. They moved with a sense of desperation, driven by the looming threat of the Waxenians and the uncertainty of their survival. Zagul admired their efficiency, even as he quietly planted the seeds of their downfall.
But as he prepared for the coming battle, his mind kept drifting back to that night—that moment. It was a conversation he’d replayed in his head countless times over the years, each time with a different ending. The boy left that room angry, feeling misunderstood and dismissed. But now, with the clarity that time and experience bring, he could see that the senior Lacerta had been trying to tell.
"One step at a time," Zagul muttered to himself, echoing his words. It was advice he didn't appreciated back then, but now, in the midst of this elaborate game of deception and strategy, it felt oddly fitting. One step at a time. That’s how he’d managed to worm his way into the Sylphs’ trust. That’s how he’d manipulate the Waxenians, the Morepans, and anyone else who stood in his way.
Even though he didn't follow it to the letter, since he was still very much worried about the future, it helped.
Again, he doesn't agree with it.
And fuck off anyone who says otherwise.
Anyway…
He stood up, shaking off the lingering thoughts of the past. The Vale was ready, and so was he. The game was about to reach its climax, and Zagul intended to be the one standing when the dust settled. The guards, ever watchful, followed as Zagul made his way out of the tent. The sky was a deep indigo, the first hints of dawn just beginning to creep over the horizon. The Sylph warriors were already assembling, their faces grim but determined.
Banary approached him, her eyes narrowed with a mixture of suspicion and begrudging respect. "It’s time," she said simply.
Zagul nodded, his expression calm and unreadable. "Indeed. Let’s see if all our preparations will pay off."
As they moved toward the front lines, Zagul couldn’t help but glance back at the Vale, now a deadly playground of his own design. The Sylphs thought they were ready, but they had no idea of the full scope of what was about to unfold.
"One step at a time," he whispered again, a small, humorless smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
On the other side of the battlefield, Arsi had a concerned, but brave face. He looked at the small army of his and the enemy's, judging that there was no way he'd loose, especially in the Vale, a well rounded place that gave disadvantages to both parties. The idea that they sent a letter to fight here and not drag anyone else was… something, but the Waxenian Chief is not going to complain about it. Everyone that isn't a fighter is safe, be them friends, enemies or bystanders, and that was enough to make him focus on what's at stake.
The logistics for this battle and the overall resources were low, their experience and tactical knowledge being the pillar of their strategy. Wanting to believe it or not, the knowledge that Nate and Zagul gave him prepared them better then they expected it, the insight being so valuable that they have high chances of winning with not as many resources needed. The Caravans might appear soon, so they need as much trading power as possible. Time to finish this, make up for the mess Talia made and go home, prepping for another day.
Still, the Lacerta left a mark, a kind of delusion or paranoia on the Young Waxenian. He offered help, so much help that it was incredibly suspicious, even going as far as use a shard that could control somewhat the Nature of the environment. Arsi was so focused on the war and on gathering as much details of the enemy as possible that he never considered where the gecko might have been. He overlooked that, and if his gut feeling is telling him something useful, is that leaving him by himself, was a mistake.
“Chief?”, A guard asked, “We are ready to start the assault.”
Arsi nodded, his hands shaking slightly, “Good. We can formally start the battle.”
Arsi stood up, leaving the tent they made on their side of the road. The warriors all gathered, armor made on the leather and skin of their prey, weapons as sharp as a razor, all traded with the previous visits of the merchants. Better equipped, better informed, and way more experience in battle than the Sylphs. Everyone is anxious and excited to fight, but they waited, patiently so, as their Chief got forward. Arsi picked up the small Toten from his pockets, raised it on the air, a mist, a thick fog raising to the sky. Zagul and Quadähd on the other side saw the smoke screen, forming a symbol of the Elk they worshipped, a declaration that there is no going back.
Banary tensed as she held her spear, “This is it.”
“You better have done your work, Lacerta.”, Quadähd said, his tone aggressive, but not towards him exclusively.
“Don't worry. The Vermillion Stones are ready.”, Zagul assured with a determined nod.
“Then we wait for them.”
----------------------------------------
Quadähd, Sylph Chief.
The battlefield gave me chills. I've never been in such a dangerous battle before in my life, not one of this scale at least.
The Sylphs were always a peaceful people, relying on our magic and cunning rather than brute strength. But here we were, facing an enemy that was as ruthless as they were relentless.
As I stood at the front lines, watching my people prepare for the fight of their lives, I couldn’t help but feel the weight of every decision I’d made leading up to this moment. The tension was thick enough to cut with a blade, and I could see the fear in the eyes of my warriors—fear that mirrored my own.
I glanced at Henry, standing beside me with that infuriatingly calm expression. I never fully trusted the Lacerta, but his advice and strategic input had been invaluable. The Vermillion Stones, as he called them, were supposedly our secret weapon, capable of turning the tide of battle in our favor. But there was still a nagging doubt in my mind. What if Henry had his own agenda? What if we were just pawns in a much larger game?
"Stay focused, Chief," Banary’s voice cut through my thoughts. She was sharp as ever, her gaze never wavering from the enemy lines.
"Easy for you to say," I muttered under my breath. "You’ve always been eager for a fight."
She gave me a sidelong glance, a small smirk playing on her lips. "Maybe so, but I’m not the one who has to worry about leading an entire tribe to victory."
"Thanks for the reminder," I replied dryly.
That's Banary alright.
The smoke signal from the Waxenian camp still lingered in the air, the symbol of the Elk ominously marking the beginning of the battle. I could feel the ground beneath my feet humming with energy—the Sylphs’ connection to the earth, amplified by the stones Henry had strategically placed around the Vale. I only hoped it would be enough. He said that it was too complicated to explain, but that it would help us in the end. Not really reassuring, but I can't spare resources.
Not after failing to secure alliances.
The Waxenians are tough, and their Chief, Arsi, was no fool. He’d clearly been preparing for this, just as we had. But this wasn’t just about winning a battle; it was about survival—ours and theirs. The outcome of this fight would determine the future of our people.
"All right," I said, raising my voice so the nearby warriors could hear me. "This is it. We stand here today not just as warriors, but as protectors of our way of life. We’ve prepared, we’ve trained, and now we fight. For our homes, our families, and for everything we hold dear. Remember—one step at a time. We face them together, and together, we will prevail."
A murmur of agreement rippled through the ranks, and I could see a flicker of determination return to their eyes. It wasn’t much, but it was something.
The Lacerta stepped forward, his voice low but steady. "I’ll activate the stones once they engage. The Waxenians won’t know what hit them."
I nodded, my heart pounding in my chest. There was no turning back now. "Let’s just hope it works, Lacerta."
"It will," he said with a confidence that I envied.
We watched as the Waxenians began their advance, their warriors moving with a disciplined precision that made my stomach churn. This was it—the moment that would decide everything. I could only pray that our preparations were enough to counter the onslaught that was coming.
I caught a glimpse of something unexpected—Arsi, the Waxenian Chief, standing back from the front lines, his eyes scanning the battlefield with a calculating gaze. He wasn’t just a warrior; he was a strategist, just like Henry. He looked perplexed, surprised or something in between. Don't know why, but that doesn't matter.
What matter is: who would make the final move?
As the silence stretched on, I found myself thinking back to Cantler, my son. His idealism, his belief that we could avoid this war through illusions and tricks—it was foolish, but I envied his hope. I wondered where he was now, if he was safe, or if he’d be watching from the shadows, trying to understand why his father had chosen this path.
The fog began to lift slightly, revealing the faint outlines of the Waxenian warriors. My grip on my weapon tightened. The moment of truth was here.
“Hold your positions!”, I ordered, my voice steady despite the fear gnawing at my insides. “Wait for the signal!”
The Sylphs around me shifted, readying themselves for the fight of their lives. I could sense their fear, but also their resolve. We would not go down without a fight.
A sudden, eerie silence fell over the battlefield as the fog began to clear completely, revealing the Waxenian forces in their full glory. They were fewer than I expected, but their presence was overwhelming, like a force of nature. Arsi stood at the front, his expression hard and unreadable, the totem still clutched in his hand.
And then, without warning, the first arrow was loosed, cutting through the silence and signaling the start of the battle.
“Now!” I shouted, raising my own hammer as the Sylphs surged forward.
The battle was on.
Henry immediately set some of the Vermillion Stones, their explosions taking a few of them down, maiming or slightly injuring them. Banary lead the first assault alongside me, spears ready to pierce any flesh that had the displeasure to be in front of it.
The Vermillion Stones erupted with a thunderous roar, their fiery explosions sending shockwaves through the battlefield. The ground shook beneath our feet, and for a moment, it felt like the very earth was splitting apart. I saw the Waxenians stumble, some of them torn apart by the blasts, others knocked off balance or wounded. But they were relentless, their determination unwavering despite the chaos around them.
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Banary charged forward with a ferocity that matched the intensity of the explosions, her spear a blur as she thrust it into the chest of the nearest Waxenian. The creature let out a guttural scream, its eyes wide with shock as it collapsed to the ground. I was right behind her, my own spear cutting through the air, meeting flesh and bone with a sickening crunch.
The clash of weapons and the cries of battle filled the air, a deafening cacophony that drowned out all thought. We fought like cornered beasts, driven by a primal instinct to survive. The Sylphs around me were a whirlwind of motion, their bodies moving with the grace and precision of a well-practiced dance. We were outnumbered, but we had the element of surprise, and we were determined to make every second count.
Henry, working from the rear, continued to set off more of the Vermillion Stones, each explosion carefully timed to create maximum damage. He was a blur of motion, his hands moving with practiced efficiency as he triggered the next blast. The Waxenians, disoriented and scattered, struggled to regroup, but Henry's relentless assault kept them on the back foot.
Despite the chaos, I could feel the battle slipping from our grasp. The Waxenians were beginning to recover, their superior prowess and brute strength gradually overwhelming our defenses. Banary fought like a demon beside me, but even she was starting to tire, her movements slowing as the weight of the battle took its toll.
Just as I felt the tide turning against us, a sharp whistle cut through the din of battle. I turned to see Henry standing on a rise, his eyes blazing with intensity. He raised his hand, signaling something. Something I wasn't prepared for.
"Fall back!" I shouted, realizing too late what he had in mind. But the signal was given, and it was too late to stop it.
Suddenly, the ground beneath the Waxenians shifted, the earth crumbling away to reveal deep pits lined with sharpened stakes. The traps Henry had meticulously set were now sprung, and the Waxenians, caught off guard, plummeted into the deadly pits. Their screams filled the air as they were impaled, their bodies writhing in agony. But it wasn't just enemy casualties, a lot of our own perished as well, maybe for our lack of coordination, but also because he used that gem I specifically told him not to use.
It was that “Earthshard”, I believe.
Fucking lunatic.
It was a brutal, horrific sight, but it gave us the opening we needed. "Push forward!" I commanded, dreading the moment.
Banary rallied the remaining Sylphs, and with renewed vigor, we pressed the attack. The Waxenians, now caught between the deadly pits and our spears, faltered. Their confidence shattered, and they began to retreat, their once unstoppable momentum broken.
“Loose the arrows!”, I yelled, a lot of Sylphs coming out of their hiding spots from various flanking positions, loosing not only arrows, but also minor shards of the Vermillion Stone.
But as we pushed them back, I couldn't shake the feeling that we were being herded, that this victory was too easy, too clean. Henry's smile as he watched from his vantage point sent a chill down my spine. He had planned this, every step of it. But why? And for whose benefit?
The battlefield was a gruesome tableau of violence and desperation. As we pressed the attack, I saw several Sylphs take to the skies, their wings beating furiously as they tried to gain an advantage from above the trees. But the Waxenians were ready. With swift, brutal efficiency, they targeted our fliers, launching a barrage of jagged projectiles designed to rip through the delicate membranes of their wings.
One by one, the Sylphs were struck mid-air, their screams of pain echoing above the chaos. I watched in horror as one of them, a young warrior named Lythar, spiraled out of control, his wings shredded by the Waxenian's cruel weapons. He crashed to the ground, landing hard with a sickening thud. Blood streamed from the gashes in his wings, staining the ground beneath him a dark, glistening red.
Fuck! Where are you Cantler?!
The ground shook again, Henry using the Earthshard to make the ground of the enemy archers unstable, the Waxenians being took off balance, our forces pushed forward, the difference between our numbers showing, but the overwhelming willpower fueling the warriors without fault. I personally used my hammer to smash a skull of the spider next to me, ferociously lunging myself even further, Banary picking up the ones I missed of left behind.
My goal was right in front of me. Arsi prepared, pocketing his Toten, his staff becoming a part of himself as he took a stance I wasn't familiar with. I swung my hammer, but he dodged it by sliding beneath it and striking Banary strong enough that she fell to the road bellow, leaving us to deal with ourselves. The Waxenian Chief had an aura, one of both anger and resolve, I don't know why, but I could feel that it wasn't directed at me.
“You.”, Arsi said suddenly, “An Elder played by an outsider.”
I don't know what he means by that, so I snorted at him, “Said the man who needed assistance from outsiders.”
“Don't play dumb.”, He said as he repositioned his staff in front of him, “This place, this battle, the course of actions, none of this is our own.”
I grimaced at that. It was true. My son was the one to blame, but I couldn't put him at harm's way, no father that loved his child would do it. But my powers can't protect him forever, meaning that even if our tribe survives this, we are going to be hunted, a constant target on our backs, marginalized by any person and every second.
“You are correct.”, I said, testing the weight of my hammer one final time, “But I will gladly fight it.”
He stared at my eyes, seemingly disappointed, “Fool. You will perish.”
“And I'm gonna take you with me if I have to.”
My hammer connected with his staff, but it didn't break it, nor did it made him budge or wince, standing exactly where he was before I swung my weapon. He pushed me aside, striking with the tip of the wood when I tried to retaliate. A big swing coming to my face, but as I was about to block it, the staff retracted, the other end striking my legs with a brute force, almost as strong as my own attacks.
“A Martial Artist.”, I mumbled angrily.
This is going to be tough.
----------------------------------------
The High Elf dressed again in her usual attire, now that she was finally leaving the woodlands, she can use a more formal dress, the colors being again of the Nyëthilhand House, the Blue Hydrangea flower being put at the top of her ear, a symbol that she wasn't really sure what was supposed to mean, not after this rather enlightening trip to and back to Eldora. Connor's words still lingered on her mind, to find something she is truthfully passionate about. She did try searching on her own luggage what she could use as a hobby, but aside from books to read (few of them being for actual entertainment), there wasn't much Fynsell could do.
She kept thinking, even as the snow fell after a few days.
The few days that passed, all she could do was ride along the escort, stopping every few hours to rest, camp for the night and repeat the same routine the next day. She reflected on what would await her on Caeledrisc, the reception and hospitality that was expected. She wasn't eager nor thrilled to go back, not at all, and Jay’Ky noticed that. He tried to perk her up, telling some stories of the Magna, their religion and customs, maybe even going as far as telling the fables they came up with, but nothing worked, at least not to a permanent degree.
Jay needed to actually remind Fynsell that she was still the leader on paper, that she was a Noblewoman of the Nyëthilhand, that she needed to act accordingly, but to no avail. She was too dislocated from the real world, thinking too much and spacing out quickly after finishing speaking. The Guard knew that it wasn't because she was just distracted, but something way more deep than that, self doubts, internal conflicts and struggles that can't be answered at a whim. Fynsell was thinking, a lot, about what her life meant, what the three decades she spent on the world meant to the great scheme of things.
Was she just a scapegoat for other’s mistakes? Meant to be prejudiced over and over? A reminder of what it looked like to be considered a disgrace to everyone around? Or was she an actual person, capable of deciding her own fate, regardless of upbringing, financial and social standards? Could she search for the freedom she so deserves? And of she did, could she make the first step towards achieving it? What would that mean to the family she has? Would they accept? Would they be relieved? Annoyed? Angry? Would they let her be a mark on the world? Or she has more uses than they let her think? Actually, does that even matter? She is trying to find something for herself, something she can call her own and that will give satisfaction, happiness and pride.
Fynsell finally noticed.
She thinks too much.
“Are you alright?”, Jay asked, one of his brows raised in concern.
The wagon slightly trembled as it traveled on the road.
“No.”, She said as she looked at the window.
“.....Do you want to talk about it?”
“Not really.”, The High Elf sighed, “My life… I've been thinking about it, is all.”
Jay nodded, although his face didn't show up any signs of relief, “And what's your conclusion?”
“I don't like it.”, She replied dryly, “Everything is just…”
“I know.”, The Magna interrupted, not wanting his Lady to speak so hurtful words, “Are you going to do something about it?”
“I will.”, Was her simple reply, even, yet somber, “I just hope it works.”
“Why?”
“Because I don't—”
*BOOOM*
The explosion was massive, and before the guards outside could warn, they also exploded. Jay immediately grabbed Fynsell and tried to protect her, another explosion setting as the wagon was sent to the side, crashing on nearby trees. There was nothing they could do to minimize damages as the wagon split apart, sending debris all over the place, some hitting Fynsell, but most hitting Jay.
The escort was almost wiped, the few that survived having to endure the pain until they bled to death, the even fewer hiding behind the almost null cover of the fallen trees, hunkering down to save as much as possible of themselves. Two groups appeared, hands full of weapons and fully armed. The Guard was ready to protect the Elf Noble, but they weren't the targets, or at least, they weren't even registered as enemies. They struck down each other, a full war happening before their eyes, arrows loosing around as the air was cut by their passage.
Waxenians and Sylphs, killing one another, but the reason why eluded them.
Jay groaned as he tried to pull himself from the wreckage, blood streaming from a gash on his forehead. His first thought was for Fynsell. He forced his body to move, ignoring the searing pain in his side where debris had lodged itself. He managed to push aside the remnants of the wagon and saw Fynsell lying on the ground, her beautiful dress now stained with dirt and blood.
"Fynsell!" Jay crawled to her side, his heart pounding in his chest. She was breathing, but unconscious, a nasty cut running along her arm. The explosion had taken them both by surprise, and he could only hope that she wasn't hurt too badly.
All around them, the sounds of battle raged on. The Waxenians and Sylphs were tearing into each other with a ferocity that was terrifying to witness. It was as if the world had descended into chaos, and Jay could do nothing but try to protect the one person who mattered most in this moment.
He gently shook Fynsell's shoulder, his voice urgent but soft. "Lady Fynsell, you need to wake up. Please, wake up."
Her eyes fluttered open, dazed and confused. "Jay... what happened?"
"We've been attacked," he said, trying to keep his voice steady despite the panic rising in his chest. "We need to move, get out of here before we're caught in the crossfire."
Fynsell winced as she tried to sit up, the pain in her arm making her grit her teeth. "Who... who is attacking us?"
"It's not us they're after," Jay said, glancing at the two warring factions. "The groups are the Waxenians and Sylphs. They are locked in some kind of battle. We were just... caught in the middle."
Fynsell looked around, her mind racing to make sense of the chaos. She watched as the Waxenians, their grotesque forms moving with an eerie grace, clashed with the more ethereal Sylphs, who darted through the trees with a speed that made them hard to track. The sky above was filled with arrows and bolts of energy, the air thick with the smell of blood and smoke.
"Shit. What do we do?" she asked, her voice was unreadable, but Jay knew she was afraid, even if slightly.
Who wouldn't when the situation is so out of control?
Jay hesitated, looking at the carnage around them. "We need to find cover, somewhere safe until this madness ends. If we try to run now, we'll be killed for sure."
But before they could make a move, a Sylph warrior was struck by a Waxenian's blade, and in a desperate attempt to escape, she stumbled towards them. Her wings, once so beautiful and vibrant, were now tattered and torn, blood pouring from the wounds. The Sylph's eyes locked onto Fynsell's, a look of sheer terror and pleading in them. They didn't know, but that one was Lythar, the soldier that Quadähd saw earlier.
"Help... please..." the Sylph gasped, reaching out towards them, but she collapsed just a few feet away, her body twitching as life drained from her.
Fynsell's heart broke at the sight. All the thoughts and doubts she'd had just moments ago seemed insignificant in the face of such horror. She wasn't a soldier, granted that has trained to use a sword, however she wasn't trained to fight in wars like this. Seeing the Sylph suffer made her realize how helpless she can be.
Jay pulled Fynsell back, shielding her with his own body. "We can't help them. We need to focus on surviving.”
Her nod was all he got, even though she never stopped looking at the Sylph.
Another explosion rocked the ground nearby, and Jay knew they had to move now. He grabbed Fynsell's hand and pulled her towards a cluster of trees that offered some cover. "Come on, we have to go!"
They stumbled through the undergrowth, every step a struggle as the battle raged on around them. Fynsell could hear the cries of the dying, the clash of steel, and the horrific sounds of flesh being torn apart. The High Elf's mind was a whirlwind of emotions—fear, anger, sorrow—all colliding as she tried to process the nightmare unfolding before her.
Finally, they found a small hollow beneath a large tree, where they huddled together, trying to make themselves as small as possible. Jay kept his arm around Fynsell, his grip tight as he scanned the surroundings for any sign of danger.
Fynsell's thoughts drifted back to the questions she had been asking herself before the attack. What did her life mean? What was her purpose? And now, in the midst of this senseless violence, those questions seemed both more urgent and more impossible to answer.
As the battle raged on, Fynsell knew one thing for certain: whatever the future held, she could no longer sit idly by and let life happen to her. She had to take control, had to find a way to carve out her own destiny, even if it meant facing dangers she had never imagined.
And in that moment, beneath the sheltering branches of the tree, Fynsell made a vow to herself-a vow that would change the course of her life forever.
She would fight for her freedom, no matter the cost.
*THUD*
Banary fell down right in front of them, her sides broken, but not incapacitated.
“Fuck!”, She yelled, hand checking the damage.
Jay already had a sword in the ready, in case something happens. His Martial Arts prepared just in case. The tree's hollow managing to keep them from being spotted. The Woman Sylph looked at the road and saw the carriages, wagons and soldiers all dying or close to it, sighed and looked at her wings. They tried to flap, but it hurt to move them. Figures, but even so she shouted the pain away, climbing the small cliff that separated the Vale to the road, going back to the battle.
As the noises of battle continued, Jay could feel the usage of magic above him. Not on big amounts, but still enough for him to notice. That unsettled him, since there was no way to know if it was a Caster or a Magic Sensitive, making this predicament become even more of a problem. Fynsell felt the uncertainty of the Magna, her companion sweating and bleeding, but not worrying about himself.
“Jay?”, The Elf asked, her worried voice being enough to catch his attention.
“I feel magic above. Don't know who or which rank he is though.”, He revealed as he winced thanks to the pain.
“You are injured.”, She pointed out, almost poking the word shards in his armor and skin, “The least of my worries is the battle. You need medical attention.”
“And your escort?”, He asked as he threw a glance to the caravan, “Don't they deserve that compassion?”
Fynsell almost said “no”, but closed her mouth soon enough.
The feeling of magic, of Éter being used grew more, getting closer to them. Maybe even being right above them. The explosions that followed that feeling only confirmed it, being almost as close as the tree they hid inside. More of both species fell on the road, some mangled, some beheaded, one even fell exactly at the entrance of the tree, startling Fynsell as she grew more anxious. She couldn't defend herself against these savages, nor could she depend on Jay, even if he can use Éter.
*THUNK*
*BOOM*
An arrow with the Vermillion Stone at the tip was loosed, hitting the tree they were in. Thankfully it didn't kill them, but it destroyed the tree, exposing them. The shockwave of the blad did it's toll, sending each of them to a side, Jay being even more injured at the fact, this time he being the one who fainted. Fynsell was in a rush, her mind not really processing things. She got up, a hand in her forehead, checking that it was bleeding, her hand full of red, the snow being nothing but a melted pool of red.
She went for Jay, but something stopped her. She looked at what would do it, only to see…
Nothing.
Yet somehow, it held her in place.
She felt the grip, the strength and the resistance when she tried to leave.
That's the last thing the High Elf remembered, as an impact was felt, and all went black.
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The effects of the Solace Shard eventually worn off, Zagul being visible once again. He needed to punch the Noblewoman to get what he wanted, but that's expected. Fuck the war between the tribes. He did what he came here for, and now he can bail out and go to Shadehill in peace. He looked at his hand, where the ominous Crystal looked back at him, just as ominously.
“The Draconic Iridium.”, The Lacerta said aloud, “A lot of trouble for a thing so small.”
It was the size of an almond, protected by an artifact in a cube shape, translucent so anyone could see the crystal inside.
Zagul studied the Draconic Iridium in his hand, feeling the weight of its significance more than its actual mass. The small crystal had cost him a great deal of effort, subterfuge, and, of course, blood. But it was all worth it, or so he convinced himself as he pocketed the artifact, making sure the translucent cube was securely fastened.
He glanced back at the chaos below—the Waxenians and Sylphs locked in a brutal struggle, oblivious to the real reason behind their conflict. To them, this battle was about territory, pride, survival. To Zagul, it was merely a distraction, a smokescreen to cover his true purpose.
“Shadehill,” he muttered, already planning his next move. Richardson would be expecting him, and Zagul had no intention of delaying the delivery. The sooner he handed off the crystal, the sooner he could distance himself from this whole mess.
But even as he thought of his departure, a nagging feeling gnawed at the back of his mind. The Solace Shard had made him invisible, but it hadn’t rendered him undetectable. Someone, somewhere, might have noticed his presence. It was a risk he couldn’t fully mitigate, and that fact irritated him.
He took one last look at the unconscious High Elf, Fynsell, and the blood-soaked snow around her. She wasn’t part of his mission, just an unfortunate circumstance. Yet, there was something about her—maybe her resolve, maybe her desperation to protect Jay—that made him pause.
He didn't know them that much on the ship, but…
“Not my problem,” he told himself, turning away and heading into the woods. The sound of battle faded behind him as he made his way to a hidden path known only to a few. He couldn’t afford distractions—not now, not when he was so close to achieving his goal.
But as he walked, the weight of the Draconic Iridium seemed to grow heavier in his pocket, a reminder of the power it held—and the danger it posed. The Lacerta quickened his pace, eager to be rid of the artifact and the burdens that came with it.
However, somewhere deep within the forest, was someone that was willing to make the life of everyone a living hell.
I mean, it was just a joke for them.