A crystal wall of flowing, stressing, bounding light. Something untouchable, without taste nor scent, and yet supposedly real. A vicious glass formed of wintered water, but not truly there. Not a place, or within a space, but a hole in-between two. A pathway without stones nor gravel. A single step that would cross an empire of iron.

Three wisps of golden, crimson, and azure light danced around its opaque liquid bounds. They must live such short lives, why else did they sparkle so brilliantly and play so frantically? Born with the intent to be lost. Not lost in some important way, like the keys to a doorway, but lost in the way an hour might be lost to dreamless sleep, without notice or care or consequence.

The Champion, the should-be, the traitor and the old knight stood before the path, their cohorts in tow. A single cloth strip billowed from her shoulder, the wings of a smoky sparrow stitched within fluttered along with the breeze.

She was the first to take a step, it seemed appropriate. A thousand, thousand eyes lay on her and each seemed to expect something entirely different. Between herself and the crowd of near worshipers lay but ten steps. Nobody made a sound. Not the drunkards who had cheered and jeered as she battled in the arena. Not the hundred soldiers with their stony faces and primed steel.

“Ashtik,” a whispered voice urged. “Are you ready?”

Ash turned her back to the crowds and to the path. She faced down the older woman, Niamh Macau. She had never felt so tall, so imperious. She stood upon a tower of might and steel and saw the people beneath gawk up at her.

“I am,” was her near-silent reply.

She steadied her gaze upon her sister. The wisp light curved around the gentle and delicate angles of her little face and caught within the steel traps of her hopeful little eyes. It couldn’t have been the crimson sun of midday that lit the city, nor the gently warbling crystalline portal or the everlasting stars of night. It could only have been her; her little smile, masked and contained as to appear ‘lady-like'; the brightness of her gaze – which seemed to capture the shine of the very heavens – and the shimmer of her snow-white hair.

Evara, a name worth dying for; a girl worth living for.

All of it, for her.

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

She did not look at the port as she took the single step through. Her boot crossed and broke no barrier. No resistance came but for the hesitance of setting off on a fateful journey. Then, she was alone. None had passed with her.

It was no more than a heartbeat, but it felt like a lifetime of solitude. The blood rushed to her head and tore past her ears. She figured for a moment that it was for the best, that in her solitude, she would risk no lives but her own.

Then a little white beacon forded the great distance and came to her side. All others followed at her heel. Sujin marched bravely, Mei slinked through, Amadel nearly tripped over the barrier while Niamh stormed straight past Ash and carried on far out of view. Then Amell came. The giant walked as though a foot shorter. His cloak so tightly bound, it must have cut the circulation from his mind.

She had forgotten again, the risk he had taken in joining her. Her friend, the most wanted man in the Forgelands, had just entered the capital city with every intention of meeting the king. He was as likely to leave this place without a head as she was to leave this place with an imperial alliance.

Her gaze drifted out as she slowly turned from the opaque portal. The torrenting blood settled back into her heart, though by the new weight in her belly, it must have pooled within. A promenade by the sea of soldiers led to a mountain-high mansion. Circle walls of flaming orange and red climbed as high as the clouds, though they weren’t so delicate as the tower of the duke. This was a legendary fortress, a battled keep, the king's castle.

The seas of men weren’t adoring folk as they had been before. They were soldier, steely and hard. They did not wear armour quite like the baron’s army had. No leather nor brigandine. These men each wore a suit of runed steel and chain links. A pike held in hand with a sword or axe held to the hip. Some wielded crossbows, others carried war bows with a pull so strong an arrow might even pierce iron.

They stood as though saluting. Their pikes were held with shaft upon their right foot and blade held out towards the sky. Not a man looked at her, instead focusing on the tips of their own weapons.

A cascade of instruments began shortly. Trumpets and drums, stings and choirs. A war song serenade. The bellowing voices of the soldiers bound back from the sharp spike towers and battled alongside the ethereal hums of the women’s choir. The sung words were not in the common tongue but were clearly a proud tale of conquest or some other soldier’s story.

Atop a jade staircase at the end of her path towered a single man. He came into clearer view as she slowly ascended. A jade and emerald crown rested easily atop his brow, humble in its design, if not its materials. A long mane of deep grey hair reached far past his broad shoulders. His kingly beard wore just as little colour, though his eyes proved different. A vibrant and beaming gaze of green beyond even what his emerald crown could hope to be.

He wore as much steel as he did velvet and satin. His ornate cloak of a rich purple fabric was clipped onto his muscle-carved breastplate. The regalia beyond his crown seemed inappropriately humble and mundane. A white iron smithing hammer in his left hand seemed more beaten and abused than a soldier after a bloody battle. A great twohanded war hammer rested at his feet, though it was far from ornate especially when compared to Ash’s own spear, Ser Stabby.

A woman appeared as Ash crossed the final few steps. A small woman with a big smile. Flowing red hair had been tied behind her neck with plates of emerald and crimson jade. She wore a strange neck ornament. A golden band that must have strangled her, though she didn’t seem to notice, which had a silver thread binding it to her diamond blue gown.

Ash felt a pressure on her hand and looked down to find her sister. Radiant and beaming, though she still clung to her. It might have been to comfort the girl’s own fear, or an attempt to support Ash, but she didn’t care. Ash was grateful for the warmth of her hand.

As they came to a stop before the imposing king, Ash held Evara close in front of her and wrapped her arms around Ev’s shoulders.

She looked to her left where Niamh and Amadel had fallen to one knee, then she looked to her right where Sujin had taken a matching stance.

Only she, Evara, Mei and Amell remained standing. She tried to keep the king’s gaze, though she noticed that the queen hadn’t once glanced at her, instead being utterly transfixed by Evara.

Donaleaf raised a single silent hand and the whole world fell silent. The music stopped, the soldiers quietened, the winds no longer howled and the birds no longer chirped.

“Sparrow-Knight,” he said loud enough for the heavens to ring and deep enough to rumble the darkest of mineshafts.

A chorus of clashing called out. The sea of soldiers battered the cobbled stone streets with the pommels of their pikes. They did so as one, with no lag between clashes but the time it would take the sound to reach her from the furthest of soldiers.

He raised his hand again and, again, the crowd fell silent. Then, he took up his great hammer. It looked to be as tall as her, and nearly twice as heavy, but he hefted up to his shoulder with an unnatural east.

A symbol on the flat head of the hammer began to glow. Like a rune, but somehow more. Abyssal and animated. A living little thing within the hammer, the mark of the forger. She realised it was his mark and he must have sought her own.

Ash flexed the invisible muscle that bound her gauntlet and allowed it to recede. The flesh beneath was pale but unbroken and unscarred. Once she had hidden it away within the little purple gem behind her hand, a little sparrow made itself known. It fluttered and soared between freckles and spots. It winded along the red chains tattooed along her arms and shoulders. It fluttered higher, towards the less pale areas of her arm. Her bicep and triceps seemed to be its preferred perch, though it managed to fly just a little higher before settling down.

“Sparrow-Knight, to whom do you belong?” the imperious king demanded.

“I belong to nobody,” was her falsely certain reply.

“Then who do you serve?” he pressed.

“Whoever I must.”

He gave her a strange look. Confusion twinged with something like understanding. The wrinkles at the edge of his vibrant, but tired, eyes seemed to deepen as he asked, “You are a Champion?”

“I am.” She realised it was the first time she had said it so plainly, though she still wasn’t sure if she believed it.

“Of whom?”

“He of dreams, good king,” Evara answered. “The patron of sorrow, of memory and merciful amnesia. She is Ashtik Sai-Weleg, the Sparrow-Knight, the Champion of War, the Lady of Dreams, the one-day Star-Stealer. She is Ashtik, the Champion of Black, and she is so much more.”

“Then I welcome the Champion, and I abide the Heretic. Let all know, that I know, that Ashtik of Black is true in her word and truer in her title.” His great hammer clashed once with the jade steps and erupted in a twisting, twirling, dancing, snowing flurry of red bands of lighting and blue sparks of water.

It rushed from his hammer and consumed her hand. It lathered her gem and petted her arm. The bands and sparks – like a thousand loving caresses – sought out something within her.

With a desperate and ecstatic sigh, she loosened the muscle and allowed the black to consume her again. It did not spread as it usually would, but burst like a blown bubble into tentacles of writhing purple and black.

The elegance and beauty of his power comforted the pain and jitter of her own. They mixed and merged in volcanic blows. Strikes would launch as high as his castle or sear into the jade ground. Arms of power stretched out between the soldier but did not touch a single one.

It must have been a spectacle, the merging of two titanic powers, but she was not watching. Her eyes were affixed to her arm, where the power of red and blue - black and purple melded together to strengthen what was already strong.

The steel marched on its warpath. First from her wrist, where a jagged shield sprung out, then further along. It made it to the sparrow, who still slept so peacefully within its perch. The smoky little thing didn’t seem bothered in the slightest as the darkness overcame it and expanded on.

A thick disk of oily black steel bubbled up and tore away at her forged shoulder pad. A spike snapped the leather strap that had kept it in place and what remained of the original pad fell to the dirt, replaced by something much greater.

The lights ended and the powers settled. She drew a ragged gasp as the crowd battered the ground again, not that she could hear them past the sound of her own frantic heartbeat. The effort wasn’t easy on the king either. The stoic man slammed his hammer into the ground and pressed his weight into it.

His wife, whose name Ash couldn’t recall, rushed to his side. She stroked a gentle hand over his head and came away with a gathered sheen of sweat.

The king panted and growled out some half-words. The most she could make out at first was, “Sister...”

Ash steadied herself against Evara. “Are you okay?” Ev asked.

“I... Yeah, I am,” Ash whispered. She splayed out her fingers and watched as the metal kept shifting slowly over her hand. Like gentle ocean waves splashing around rocks and islands, she watched the metal pool against the jutting knuckle spikes and then flowing away again.

“Sister,” the king panted much more clearly. “Welcome to my home.” He reached out a hand towards her and limped away from his hammer. She stumbled off of Ev and clashed her hand against his. Her fingers struggled to wrap around his muscle-bound forearm while his enveloped the warm steel of her left hand wholly.

“Thank you, King Donaleaf,” Ash struggled to say.

“Just... Just Asmond,” he panted.

“Then call me Ash.”

He pressed some of his weight into her as he straightened out. She couldn’t help but think it was some subtle test of her strength. Once he was stood proud and high before her, she gathered a hint of him. Despite his chiselled breastplate, he was not a chiselled man. He may well have been in his youth but now, this man before her had earned a fair belly for himself. That is not to say that he was a gluttonous-looking person. His face was harshly angled beneath the thick grey beard and didn’t seem at all plump. He was built in a similar way to Sujin rather than Amell, a smith’s build not a soldier’s. He stood halfway between her own height and Amell’s, though he may have been slightly broader at the shoulder.

“Very well, Ash. Stand at my side and wave to the onlookers, then we shall retreat into my keep and talk more openly.”

She did as she was bid. The Champion of Iron took up the steel-clad hand of the Champion of Black and raised it up for all men to see. From atop the jade staircase, she could see every man alive. The sapphire horizon with the soon-setting sun and the thousand stevs of crimson grass and lilac trees. The city of Raven Field, overlooked by the castle of Raven Keep, sprawled out beneath her. Square streets wrapped in circle walls. Perfectly lined dark wood and bright stone houses, which seemed more like humble mansions to a Maester Veil huntress, looked colour-coded and never more than a five-minute walk from a spear-like guard tower. Rivers flowed down from the central castle and wound up strange corkscrews whenever they needed to elevate.

A volley of colourful explosions erupted in the dusklight sky. Stars screamed from the dirt into their natural habitat and scattered to their fellows. Cries and cheers echoed from far past the keep and the soldiers. It would seem every person in the nation had their eyes set upon her black-marked hand. A celebration had begun in her honour despite not one of the celebrants having ever laid eyes upon her.

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

A throne of iron reigned over a hall of purple velvet. Attendants, courtiers and heroes of empire stood silent and ready for a kingly address. Asmond guided Ash deep into the hall and Niamh held a hand to her shoulder as to stop her once they had reached the designated spot in the hall. She stood upon a red tile circle in the middle of the hall. A crowd stood vigil around her, most even held candles. It seemed much too ominous for the ‘open’ talk they had arrived for.

Asmond crossed the extra distance between Ash and his throne. The dark spruce floorboards that made up the entire rest of the hall – but for where Ash stood – creaked underfoot. He set himself down heavily in his seat and, all as one, the courtiers knelt before him.

“Champion of Black, my Ducissa tells me that you seek an alliance. Is this so?” His booming voice echoed from each of the spruce pillars and seemed to rattle the iron chandeliers above her.

“It is,” Ash cooly replied. She made every attempt to appear formidable. She breathed deeply and puffed her chest out so far as her ribs would allow. She stood nearly on the balls of her feet with her head held high and her voice pitched low.

“Why do you require my arm?” He asked.

“You must know of my fate, good king,” Ash answered. “I am to battle the end of the world.”

“I know of prophesies and stories, but I see no dark army, not battle that must be fought. All I see is a story and a woman willing to profit from that tale.”

“You think... I have profited?”

“That is a fine set of steel. Fur rims and not to mention the fist-sized gemstone you wear,” Asmond pointed out flatly.

“I would shed it all in a heartbeat. I would strip the steel from my flesh here and now if I could, if I had a choice. I have lost my home; I have lost friends and I may well have lost my own father. We are Champions, masters of our own domains. I would guess that means you were once a forger?”

“A carpenter,” he corrected.

“And you had a passion for it?”

“I lived to create, to carve and make.”

“I am the same, but I am a huntress. I have gladly spent my life in the forest alone, hunting and living. A year ago, my worst nightmare would have been speaking before my village of fifty people. Since then, I have burnt men alive, I have murdered in cold blood, I have been beaten and stabbed and cut and threatened with much beyond death. I have dreamt – every night – of the end of the world; of the death of my sister, of the betrayal of my friend. Hand me some magical object that sheds me of these responsibilities and I will take it gladly. I will return to my forest and hunt bore until I am too old and too slow to escape it maul.” She couldn’t help but speak with spittle. A wrath boiled over within her at the accusations he offered. Indignation beyond what she could suppress.

He shifted in his seat, probably glad that enough space parted the two that her spit couldn’t reach him. His face, as stony and stoic as ever, shifted to a somewhat pensive look as she finally fell silent. Half a smile flashed in his eyes as a slight blush crept across Ash. She couldn’t believe she had just exploded in anger before a king, the king. The king she needed most, the king who stood between her and the Veytors who hunted her so adamantly.

“Then who do you battle? Where is this dark army?” He finally asked in a low rumble, his mouth masked behind a hand as he stroked over his moustache.

“I- I don’t know,” she shamefully admitted.

“You don’t know?”

“Your Highness,” Evara piped up, slipping Niamh’s gentle grasp and moving beside Ash. “We know a foe comes. We know the world is at an end. I ask you, will you prepare your defences or will you wait until they stand upon the horizon? Walls crumble, good king, she won’t.”

A grin found the queen at that but she quickly hid it. She moved from the fore of the crowd to her own lesser throne at his side and he offered her his hand to hold without a word.

“What you are saying is hard to believe,” the queen gently said. “And the ramifications are dire. My kind husband must weigh your word against common sense. We have seen no reason to believe the world is at an end and, to be perfectly honest, we simply don’t want it to be true. The unlikeliness of what you say, alongside the obvious horror of it, places an immediate bias against you, Black.”

She looked to her carefully attentive husband for a moment and seemed to gleam some message from his stony face that would be impossible to read for any other in the world.

The queen’s gaze flowed between Ash and Evara before she continued saying, “But to simply ignore you would be irresponsibly foolish, so I ask if there is any way you might prove what you say?”

“I- do not know,” Ash admitted.

“Is it not proof enough that she is clearly the Champion of the forgotten Goden? Is that not dire enough of an omen for you, fair queen?” Ev insisted.

“And who would you be, child?” The queen sweetly asked.

“My apologies, your majesty. I am Evara, sister of Ashtik,” Ev said as she curtsied for the queen.

“You are quite the talker, Evara,” the queen giggled.

“I am sorry, fair queen, if I have spoken out of turn. My sister struggles with conversation and often defers to me in these matters. I mean no indignity.”

“You have indignified nobody, Evara. If the Champion would prefer you to speak on her behalf, I see no reason to stop you,” the queen smiled.

“My liege, if I may,” Niamh said with a bowed head. “I would pledge upon my honour and vow of loyalty that Ashtik is no liar. With all I have seen and heard, I have no doubt that she will be a valued ally.”

“I will heed what you have both said. It is true that the arrival of the first Champion of Black should not be taken lightly. You seek an alliance of a military nature to combat the expected darkness?”

“We seek more than a military alliance, queen. We seek to bind ourselves as friends and equals with you.”

“Equals?” The king scoffed. “A huntress and a bard? How can you be equal to one of the greatest nations in the continent?”

“We are not,” Ev bowed. “But it is not what we are that should interest you, it is what she will be. I am sure you have already given thought to her claims as a Champion. Not only as a Champion to a member of the Trinity, but as the Champion to the grandfather of the gods.”

Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

The king settled back behind his hand and the queen spoke up again, “The Champion of Black has no official claims.”

“True, but as she is foretold to save the world and forge a great empire, it is reasonable to claim any land that threatens her – or her beloved allies – as her own. It will be done in service of saving the world, therefore none might protest. That claim, along with her own ever-growing prowess, will be the deciding factor in your ongoing war, which we might all agree would be quite a positive thing to be done away with before it's too late.”

“What is it you ask then? Must we pull back our armies to be ready at your beck and call, or will you act as a general for us? What is it you practically, currently require?”

“Support. My sister is a fugitive in nearly every nation under the Conclave. Take her on as a warrior and teach her the ways of a general. So long as she is a partner and not a subject, she will aid you completely. You retain final say over all uses of your resources and manpower, but once she begins gathering power of her own, it will not belong to you. In exchange, she will aid you in your every war, defensive or otherwise. If she does in fact forge an empire of Black, that empire shall be bound and allied to you.”

The king and queen matched eyes. They discussed the complexities of empire with the twitches of their brow and lips. They weighed the power of a Champion against the risk of a Heretic by shifting their gazes and grunting in affirmation. Finally, the queen simply shrugged as if to say, “It's up to you.”

“An alliance goes both ways,” the king slowly said. “If you prove yourself to be a worthwhile ally, you can rely on my support. If you prove too weak, I will assume that you are not truly the Champion of War and our alliance shall be voided, agreed?”

“One more thing, brother,” Ash quietly said before Ev could agree.

“What is it?” He asked with a lack of patience.

“A condition of our alliance.”

“A condition?” he scoffed.

“My sister, Evara. She is not a warrior; she is as you said, a bard. I ask that you take her as a ward, keep her here in your home and raise her as if your own daughter. Teach her your ways and keep her safe. If I know she is safe here, nothing will stand in my way out there.”

“What?” Evara shrieked, though she fell deathly silent under Ash’s glare.

The king opened his mouth to answer but his voice caught in his throat as his wife took his hand. They looked to one another again, but this time there was no silent debate. The little wife pled with nothing but her big brown eyes and the stoic, emotionless warrior-king melted in a heartbeat.

“Not for nothing, my liege,” Niamh meekly said. “But the girl is a magical prodigy. My grand healer has claimed she is the most naturally gifted magician of this era – or any era.”

“Very well,” he announced, struggling to tear his gaze from his wife. “This is acceptable.”

“Thank you, good king Asmond. I know the threat you will face from the Conclave for this,” Ash bowed.

“Just Asmond, Ash. We are partners now, don’t forget,” he said in a way that might have been warm had his face not been so hard and cold. “I will announce this day on the new moon. The conclave be damned.”

“Stand before me Ashtik Sai-Weleg. Ducissa, if you please.” Asmond stood from his throne and Ash moved before him.

Niamh joined them and bound a thread of gold to Ash’s arm. She moved it to the King’s arm and tied the two together.

“Ashtik, repeat after me dear,” Niamh said in a hush. “I swear my life and my death.”

“I swear my life and my death,” Ash repeated hesitantly.

“I swear my life and my death,” Asmond bellowed.

“In light and in dark,” Niamh recited.

“In light and in dark,” the two repeated.

“Through wealth and decay.”

“Through wealth and decay.”

“Through wealth and decay.”

“To stand by your side with blade and heart in hand.”

“To stand by your side with blade and heart in hand.”

“To stand by your side with blade and heart in hand.”

“From now, until our bloodlines run dry.”

“From now, until our bloodlines run dry.”

“From now, until our bloodlines run dry.”

The golden thread bloomed and a ring of flowers and fruits blossomed from within. With delicacy and grace, Niamh and the queen unbound the thread and placed it within a glass case. A pair of soldiers took the case and whisked it away through the castle.

“Now we are bound as all but family, I have a question, Ash,” the king said.

“Of course.”

“Did you think it wise to bring Amell Fielder into my home?”

Twenty or more soldiers, steel and shield in hand, tore through the crowds and circled the blue knight. He did not resist as he raised his hands and fell to one knee. Gasps sounded out all around them, especially from Niamh, as his cloak was torn from him and his helm thrown to the floor. He wore a weary smile and kept his eyes to the floor.

“Do you know who he is?” He demanded.

“I do,” Ash whispered. “He is a friend.”

“He is a monster!” Asmond roared. “A killer and a monster. You would trust him at your side?”

“I would, yes. I don’t doubt he has done terrible things, but I need him. We need him.”

“I need nothing from this fiend,” Asmond spat.

“I swear to you, he regrets his past more than either of us can understand. He seeks nothing more than absolution.”

Asmond marched past his soldiers and towered over the knelt monster. “Is that true? Do you seek absolution? You want to go to the heavens when you die so you can see your family again?”

“Men like me don’t get heaven,” Amell whispered, looking past the king and at Ash. “We get orders.”

“And if you were ordered to die?”

“Then I will die at her order,” Amell said calmly.

“Then do it. Ashtik, give the order. That is my condition of support, he must die.”

“No!” Ash shouted. “He doesn’t need to die; he can redeem himself.”

“A monster cannot be redeemed, only put out of its misery,” Asmond spat.

“It's okay, Spinny. This is why your Goden brought me to you. Prove your loyalty, I’m ready.”

“Shut up,” Ash demanded. “Asmond, he is an asset you cannot afford to lose. The greatest general in your enemy's army on your side!”

“You want my support, Black? Do as I say,” Asmond ordered.

“No,” Ash quietly said. “You do not make demands of an equal. I will go elsewhere to build my alliance. When the dark descends, you will face it alone and you will fade away like all the rest.”

“Champion!” the queen called. “Please, do not do this. What is the life of one man?"

“Everything. You are too busy with the lives of millions to realise the value of a single life. Let us leave in peace, I seek no quarrel.”

“The man wants to die; you would truly ruin everything for him?” The queen begged.

“I would not waste a life with so much more to give. A brilliant general and warrior is exactly what I’ll need in a worldwide war. No doubt I will have to recruit others along the way I do not wish to, but simply need to.”

The king’s stony visage cracked and a vein of hatred shone through. He looked down on the monster before him with a terrible sneer. “What of you, Fielder? You would fight for her even as she allies with me? Even as she battles the Bloodlands, your friends and fellows?”

“Your majesty,” Amell whispered with his head hanged. “I once fought against you. I once battled for the Blood Queen and slaughtered for the Bloodlands. I faced you personally many times and rarely lost a battle. Then, some years ago, during the siege of Alfrey, your men murdered my wife and son. I may have done terrible things in the war, sire, but I never sent assassins after women and children. The act left me hollow and in my burning wrath, I betrayed my queen. The next general who took my place was... a cruel man. I watched him burn Alfrey to the ground. The atrocities I witnessed because of my betrayal destroyed my faith in nations and gods.” He paused for a while and nobody spoke a word, not even Asmond though his seething breaths did echo through the hall.

“I drifted for years, floating from fight to fight, searching for the one petty scrap that would finally finish me off. That was until I met her.” His eyes rose from the floorboards and found Ash again. “In her, I found a purpose, I found faith. I saw a single girl holding together the whole world with her bare hands and not for some silly noble aspirations. Not because she sought power or fame... simply because she wanted to protect her sister. I am Amell Fielder, I did do everything you hate me for, but so long as you are her friend, you are my brother. I swear this to you.”

The silence gathered again. Tension so thick, a knife would simply bounce off of it. The patter of the queen’s footfalls was the only sound for a moment. Ash watched her dash over to Evara and take her hand before dragging the girl over to the king.

“My love,” she whispered, taking Evara into her arms. “Forgiveness is for our enemies, not our friends. Please... for me?”

He sighed and it became clear that the matter was decided with a flutter of his bride’s eyelashes.

“Swear your loyalty to her,” Asmond commanded.

“I already have, sire. I will do so again, if it pleases you.”

“Then there is no need. I ask you, Fielder, though we were once enemies, will you fight at my side with honour?”

“I will fight with you; I will die for you. I am hers and she needs you, so I will, yes.”

“Then that will have to be enough. Amell of House Fielder, rise and stand with your Champion.”

“Thank you, sire.”

“Now, friends of the court!” The queen announced with a fresh smile. “Please, the celebrations will begin at sundown. Leave us now, and spread the word of Ashtik, the true Champion of Black!”

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

As the hall emptied and all that remained was Ash and her new companions, she turned to Ev who stood close to tears. Ash crossed over to hold her, but Evara backed away from her touch.

“Evy?” Ash whispered.

“Don’t ‘Evy’ me,” she spat, barely holding back a cry. “The first chance you got, you put me up for fucking adoption.”

“I don’t have a choice! You didn’t expect me to take you to the frontlines, did you?”

“Of course I did! You are no more experienced with war than I! I’ve been fighting beside you this whole time and I’ve saved your life plenty of times with my healing!”

“You haven’t been fighting by my side Ev; I’ve been protecting you. Every fight we’ve been in, I’ve had to be on the defensive. I’ve had to protect you every time. I can’t do that in a war. I can’t keep an eye on you in the middle of a battle.”

Evara balled her fists and struggled to keep her voice at a polite level as she cried out, “Then I’ll get stronger! I’ll learn how to fight!”

“Don’t you dare,” Ash snarled. “Don’t waste your brilliant, beautiful mind on murder. I need you here. I need a diplomat making alliances and building a kingdom. You will be infinitely more useful here, learning to lie and politic.”

“Ash,” Ev whimpered. She could not hold the tears back any longer and a single, heartbreaking, droplet circled her little round cheeks. “I- We’ve never been apart,” she whispered. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Without me? You’ll thrive, baby. Who knows, without me blocking your game, you might even marry some hot prince? Years down the line, of course, and only if I meet him first... and only if I like him... and only if- you know what, forget about the marriage thing,” Ash teased. It made Ev giggle slightly, though it sounded closer to a sob. Ash couldn’t handle the look any longer so she dragged the child into her chest and held her tightly. She hoped that the fur lining would be somewhat more comfortable than the steel plate, but either way, Evara didn’t seem to mind. She was happy to silently sob there for a while.

“You’ll be incredible, Evy. You’ll save the world.”

“That’s your job,” the girl sniffed as she pulled away. She wiped the tears from her face and sorrow fell to dread as she noted the black smudge as she dragged her hand from her eyes.

“No,” she gasped. “Have I ruined my makeup?”

“Maybe a little,” Ash lied. The girl was a mess by fashion standards, but angelic by the standards of the eye.

“Shit, get Lady Macau, she might be able to fix me,” Ev whispered.

“Don’t worry, child,” a warm voice interrupted. “I won't begrudge you your tears.”

Ev dreaded to turn and face the voice, she must have known straight away what Ash could see. The queen of the Forgelands stood a metre behind Evara though was looking at Ash.

“I’m sorry, my queen,” Ev whispered. “I’m in a sorry state.”

“You are fine, Evara. I gather this is as unexpected for you as it is for me. I promise that you will be treated as my own flesh and blood. You shall never want for warmth or comfort. Champion, you are also welcome in these halls whenever you wish. When you are not fighting, return here and the two of you can spend as much time together as you like,” the queen said softly.

Evara slowly turned towards her with her hand covering most of her face and her shoulder peaked high. The queen smiled and ran a hand under her chin, leading her head high and forcing her gaze.

“Let us get you fixed up, hey?” She beamed.

“Thank you, my queen,” Ev squeaked.

“Just call me Tiby.”

“Of course, people usually just call me Ev.”

“Well then, Ev, let me show you to your wing.” She held out a hand and Evara took in mildly. The child offered a sad glance back to her sister as she walked away. Ash could do nothing but bare a pained smile.

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

They stood before a great map of the nations, painted atop a marble block in excruciating detail. Rivers were marked with each stream and outlet. Roads were scribed with each splitting footpath, while cities were drawn in such detail that individual streets could be followed.

It seemed the Forgelands were somewhat more built up when compared to the vast open steppe of the Bloodlands, though the marking made note of the sheer size of the Bloodland horde. Horses roamed by the tens of thousands through the nation’s grassy planes while a vast mountain range perfectly defended the nation from any naval incursions from the Forgelands, lest the Forgelander navy circle their entire nation.

“The fighting is thickest here, in the north,” Asmond declared as he poked over the map with a shortsword. The point landed upon a drawn bridge between the two twin islands. “Any offensive has to go through here, but the Veytor mountain range makes any traversal nearly impossible. The few times we have pressed far enough in to reach their fortress, the Veytors have picked away at our supply lines and starved us into defeat.”

“What's stopping them from attacking you?” Ash asked. He did not reply with words, but the clang of runed steel.

“Defensively, we are unbeaten. During mutual or aggressive combat, however, the battle sways in their favour.”

“Has Vias refitted her navy?” Amell asked.

After a cold moment of consideration, Asmond answered, “No.”

“Then why haven’t you tried a naval assault?”

“Because we haven’t either.” He moved the stick down to Tenpi, an archipelago to the south of the Forgelands. “I paid the old pirate king to supply us with new designs and crew trainers. Now he’s dead and the new pirate queen refuses to honour the contract.”

“Tends to be ill advisable to pay pirates ahead of time,” Amell smirked.

“Not him, he was an old friend. This new queen, the Champion of Pink, is something of a villainess.”

“Can you not just make your own navy? I thought creating was your main thing?” Ash asked.

“I can create anything, indeed, but I need to understand it to the most minute detail. If I create a ship with poor proportions or poor structure, it will fall apart mid-battle. Plus, my men are infantry, not sailors. They would be useless on a ship.”

“So, what’s your strategy?” Amell asked.

Donaleaf struggled to answer for a moment, not for lack of words but for hesitance of company. It must have still felt so foreign for him to disclose military secrets to someone like Amell Fielder.

“Attrition. We take ground inch by inch and build up our backlines. Place a new fortress every hundred steps,” he finally struggled out.

“That won’t work,” Amell declared as final.

“It has done so far.”

“Tiebum in the deep south, a breadbasket duchy. Covered entirely with enough wheat and cattle to feed an army for a decade after a single season. You cannot starve them out in their own territory unless you take Tiebum first. To do that, you’d need to attack from the south, which you can’t.”

“Then what do you suggest?” Asmond sighed, knowing – but hating – that Amell was right.

“Spinny?” Amell suggested.

“Me?” Ash stuttered. “I’m just here to learn. I don’t know how to wage war.”

“Then make it something you do know,” Amell smiled.

She looked over the map and begged her mind to come up with something brilliant and clever, though nothing came forth. “Make it something you do know,” she repeated in her mind.

She imagined a hunt. Some predator, too mighty to battle alone. A drake; fierce, lethal and rapid. When facing a drake, a huntress should never attack it directly. She should trap and starve it until it was weak enough to finish. She doubted she could trap a nation, but starve it?

“If we need Tiebum, we should take Tiebum,” she finally whispered.

“We can’t just march through the entirety of the Bloodlands and take one city,” the king sighed.

“No, but we can skip over the Bloodlands,” Ash suggested.

“What?”

“Your people invented portals. Surely you can open a portal next to the city and attack?”

“Portals are prohibitively expensive and difficult to create. We cannot just open them before every battle.”

“We don’t need to, right? Just this one battle. We arrive, burn the crops and raze the city, then return through the portal before the queen has any idea what's going on. A kingdom without food won't last long in a war.”

“How do you suggest we raze a city without a prolonged siege?” Asmond asked.

“You,” she plainly said. “We create a temporary fort, you create some artillery, and we bombard the city. Then we portal in the secondary army, create stairways over the walls and do as much damage as we can in a day. They won't have a massive garrison in a city on the other side of the country. By the time the sun sets, we leave. Just like that.”

“Why would we take the city and not try to hold it?”

“If we can’t have it,” Amell realised. “Nobody can. We wouldn’t be able to hold the city, but Vias will need to take it back. We might not gain anything, but they’ll lose massively. And... If we make enough noise, we can convince her that the majority of our forces are there. She’ll pull all her troops back from the frontlines.”

“Leaving them exposed to our real armies,” Asmond said with a hint of excitement. “We send a detachment of our vanguard and leave the rest to pillage the north. We’ll starve them out while picking away at their cities. If we time it right, it could be months before they march down there and back up to the main fight. They’ll be exhausted and weak!”

“So... will it work?” Ash awkwardly asked.

“It could, and that’s the most important thing. We’ll make a general of you yet, Black,” Asmond said with his ever-stoic look. “Accompany me on the attack, Ash. Though, I will need someone to lead my vanguard in my absence.”

“Do you have a Lord you would trust with the job?” Ash asked.

“No, they will all sniff glory and charge. But I do have a general I must learn to trust,” he answered, looking to Amell.

“Sire, are you sure?” Amell choked.

“Not even remotely. My men won’t follow Amell Fielder, so wear your helm and don’t make me regret this.”

“I- I won’t. Thank you, King Donaleaf.”

“Now, there is a dance beginning in your honour, Black. It would be wrong to keep you from it. Enjoy your night, on the morrow we prepare for battle.” He sheathed the shortsword on his hip and bowed his head to Ash and Amell as his permission for them to leave.

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

Every time Ash had attended a feast or festivity, she was dead certain that it was the most opulent event possible. And every time, she was proved wrong. Banner of black cotton hung from the rafters of the ballroom; each bore the insignia of a little smoky sparrow. Tables lined the sides of the room and must have been close to cracking under the weight of the food and drink they carried. A hundred servants moved as smoothly as the dancing dancers, serving drinks by the gallon and meat by the mound. Cakes of all kinds, small and frilly or big and sinful, lined a table at the far left of the hall, and that was where she caught a glance of Mei the supposed spymaster of black, stuffing her face with pretty pink muffins.

Ash waded through the ocean of revelry. She sidestepped offers to dance and drink and... more. She twirled around celebrants as they praised her name, and she rolled beneath servants who each insisted they offered the best food and drink at the ball.

Gowns of flowing blue and white brushed against the floor. Flamboyant suits were worn so tightly, no secrets were let beneath for the man to hold. Foreign Singers sang in sparkling skirts and silvery salwars.

Then there was one other, a singer with a silken voice and a sanguine gaze that felt all too familiar. The singer parted the crowd as her eyes locked upon Ash, her song never wavering. It was only as she passed the last leering man that Ash realised something strange. This singer wore deep red leather huntress garbs, only made to look much more elegant. It wasn’t far from her own discarded set, though notably lacked a little more material when compared to Ash’s own.

She pressed her lute into some passing nobleman’s arms. In his confusion, he took it and simply watched as she stalked ever closer to Ashtik.

Delicate flowers hung on the air as she approached, then something more... Like, ambrosia on a scent.

A tuft of raven black hair whipped against Ash’s cheek as the markedly shorter woman circled around her, gliding her fingernail across Ash’s shoulder all the while.

“My, oh my, snowangel. It has been all too long.”