The Jorrian troops send vibrations through the ice and down into the stone as thousands of armored boots stomp against the ground in time. Through the Dungeon Core, I count them by the number of footfalls. I determine they’ve also come with frost or dire wolves by the variance and weight in their gait. Their progress is slow and intentional as they approach the entrance to our kingdom.

Ollie and a few harpy scouts confirm what I sense before retreating underground. I seal the exit after them, shutting us all away beneath the ice.

“WHAT DO WE DO?” Ollie asks, resting his head on the floor through an open balcony designed for his access.

I send him a wave of confident reassurance. Or at least, I hope it comes across that way. “Don’t worry. You’ll be safe down here.”

Ollie rumbles with unease, and his low tone thrums through the rest of the war room, which is tense and quiet.

Torim remains glued to a basin of water he’d set up in the corner of the room. He spelled it with scrying magic, allowing him to look through from one surface of water to another: the other side is attached to a sheet of ice we’d erected on the surface.

Mirzayael surveys the table in the middle of the room, and I finish creating stone figures to add to the surface, each representing a troop of soldiers. Dizzi is fluttery and nervous, madly scribbling out calculations on a slate at the end of the table. Beryl is seated in a chair next to her, but her eyes are closed, and her breathing is labored. Despite her insistence at being present, I’m not sure we will be able to count on her leadership. Instead, when anyone asks questions, they always turn to Mirzayael or me.

“The remainder of the troops should reach the entrance within the hour,” I say. “Though some groups appear to have stopped further back. I suspect that’s due to what they know of my abilities from the crevasse I opened on them before.”

“It was a good strategy,” Nek says. “Any reason we can’t open a chasm beneath them now?”

A cold pit forms in my stomach at the suggestion. But instead of objecting, I nod. Mirzayael and I had already discussed the possibility. “I plan to open with that,” I tell him. “Once the last of them are within my range, I should be able to target a significant portion of their army. It would be best to open with a decisive blow. Ideally, we can stop this battle before it even begins.” And perhaps stop any further bloodshed.

“Ideally,” Mirzayael repeats, the word dripping with skepticism. “Things are never so easy. But I agree. It’s the best opening move. After that, Torim and I will—”

“Something’s happening,” the dracid interrupts. He leans over his scrying pool. “They’re activating some type of magic.”

Mirzayael and I hurry over to watch, too. The troops have peeled away to allow a group of unarmored people through. They’re all wearing thick, white robes, with the symbol of an eye stamped into the front. A few of them carry staffs; they’re knelt along the ground, bare hands pressed to the ice.

Check, I think, attempting to deduce the soldier’s levels and magic specialties.

[A target must be within direct line of sight to be Checked,] Echo says.

Ah well, it was worth a shot. Though even without Echo’s help, it’s not difficult to guess what branch of the army these individuals comprise.

“Mages,” Mirzayael says as the ice lights up in an aurora of colors as their magic penetrates the ground.

“What are they doing?” Torim asks.

“Let’s not wait and find out,” I say.

“Agreed.” Mirzayael nods to me. “When you’re ready.”

Nervousness flutters through me, and I take a steadying breath. I know what I have to do. I won’t be taking these lives directly, face-to-face and by my own hand, but when the ground vanishes beneath the soldiers and they fall to their demise, their deaths will weigh on me nevertheless.

And yes, I now understand the animosity they harbor. I know all too well that they chose to come here with deadly force, intending to slay the Fyrethians—my friends and family. They are inviting the inevitable loss of life upon themselves.

But they are still people, people who once were innocent children untainted by the hate of a society didn’t choose to be born into. I mourn the circumstances which brought us here. I mourn what I must do. And even now, a part of me is trying to puzzle out a better solution. One where everyone can walk away from this alive.

I look at Ollie. At Dizzi, Nek, and Mirzayael. My actions led to the Jorrians being here today. I am responsible for this situation. I am responsible for the Fyrethian’s lives. And despite all that, they believe in me. Not because of some myth, but because of what I’ve done to help. Because of how we’ve all come to depend so much on one another. They’re putting their lives in my hands, and I’d do the same for them in a heartbeat.

Mirzayael is still watching me closely, expression faintly concerned. I offer her a weak smile, and let out my breath. “Okay. I’m ready. Here we go.”

Between the mage’s first move and my response, the battle officially has begun.

Closing my eyes, I dive into the Dungeon Core’s interface. The perception of my surroundings balloons outward, spreading through the stone, city, and surrounding caves. By now, every inch of the Fortress falls within the Dungeon Core’s range, all the Fog of War long since eaten away by my explorations. I press toward the surface, where stone gives way to ice.

It's not the Core’s favorite material to consume, but I can’t afford to let it be picky today. I mentally trace the area where I want the chasm carved—right underneath the mages and surrounding troops—bribe the Dungeon Core with some extra mana to chew on, then loose the sentient stone to do what it does best.

Large swaths of stone vanish as the Core eats everything up, replacing tunnel systems and caves with nothing but emptiness. The small handful of things it couldn’t consume in those tunnels—bugs and mushrooms, mostly—fall into the open chasm. As it finishes with the stone, it moves to the ice, intending to eat that as well—but reels back as pain and distaste lance through us.

“Ah!” I flinch, the hurt echoing in my mind like the stab of a sudden headache.

[Authority to manipulate material denied,] Echo says. [Material is Attuned to a different mage.]

“What is it?” Mirzayael grabs my shoulder, and I wince as her fingers dig into me. She forcibly relaxes her grip. “Are you alright?”

“I can’t remove the ice they’re standing on,” I say, opening an eye and massaging my still throbbing forehead. “It’s Attuned. I’m not sure if they’re Attuning it now, or if they brought their own pre-Attuned ice to feed into the ground. Either way, the Core won’t be able to eat it. Or ‘see’ it, for that matter.”

“What does that mean?” Dizzi asks, looking up from her calculations.

“It means it won’t show up on the Dungeon Core’s interface,” I say. “If the Jorrians burrow through the ice and enter the cave system, both the people and their Attuned elements will be invisible on the Core’s Map Interface. The Jorrians might be able to use this to navigate without me noticing. We’ll only know where they are if we see them in person.”

“Clever,” Dizzi remarks. “Too clever. They’ve come prepared for you.”

“But not for me,” Torim says. “My soldiers set up a dozen more scrying panes in the tunnels before we retreated to the Fortress. I can’t keep an eye out for them everywhere, but I’ll know if they pass through the main passages.”

I nod my thanks to Torim, still rubbing my head, but Mirzayael is far from reassured.

“Abyss take them,” Mirzayael growls. “It seems we will be fighting in the tunnels after all.”

“I might still be able to stop it here,” I say, retreating fully from the Core’s interface. The psychic distance helps lessen the headache. “They may not know about the chasm that has just appeared beneath them. If they’re not actively reinforcing their ice, they will likely fall through. Either we can wait for their troops to overwhelm its structural integrity, or we can try to disrupt it ourselves.”

“OH!” Ollie says. “ME! CAN I GO BREAK THROUGH THE ICE? IMAGINE THEIR FACES.” He giggles as his tail whips back and forth, and I mentally see an image of the dragon exploding up through the ground. “SURPRISE! IT’S ME AGAIN!”

Honestly, not the worst idea; it would certainly be an effective way to crater the ice before they had an opportunity to recover. But I won’t risk putting Ollie in danger if I can avoid it. I still have options with the Dungeon Core. I mentally scan through its various features. Which would be the most effective? If I pick wrong and do anything to clue the Jorrians in—

“They’re moving,” Torim says.

My attention snaps back to the scrying pool. Mirzayael swears. The mages have opened a hole in the ice and soldiers are beginning to rappel through. My heart sinks. I wasn’t quick enough. I need to stop trying to optimize the most ideal option and just pick one. Decision making in the midst of a battle is different. Time is of the essence.

“I’ll try to stop them,” I say.

I hurriedly tap into the Dungeon Core’s Map and frantically pan through the cave system. I can’t see the Jorrians themselves, or any ice structures they might be forming within the caverns, but I should be able to determine their movements through the stones they disrupt.

Right now, however, I can’t find anything. Maybe they haven’t reached the ground yet. I randomly grab a boulder from the wall in the chasm where I suspect they’re descending and yank it from its surface, launching it across the cavern. It passes through the air unhindered, crashing against the wall opposite. Then I grab both walls, and slam them together. Enormous chunks of mana disappear from the Dungeon Core’s reserves. Far below, I feel impacts on the ground, but whether it’s Jorrian or debris from the stone, I have no idea.

The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

“I’m shooting blind,” I say to the others. “I’m not sure where they are or which way they’re going.”

“Can you close all the caverns up?” Mirzayael asks.

“On it,” I say, already half submerged in the Dungeon Core’s interface. I start with the chasm I’d created, attempting to fill the rest of it back in. After only a few cubic meters have been filled, however, Echo stops me.

[User cannot summon material into a space that is already occupied.]

That must be where some of the mage’s ice is. I mentally throw another boulder at that volume of hair, and sure enough, I feel the stone crash through something. Yes! I launch a second boulder in the same area, but this time when it impacts the invisible object, it’s stopped. I try a third time, but it’s again rebuffed.

“Shoot.” I grimace. “Their ice is preventing me from filling areas in, and I think they might be creating an ice barrier, or maybe an artificial tunnel of their own, to shield their soldiers. I might be able to destroy it if I could see what I was working against, but it’s going to be a lot of guess work from here. And it’s going to burn through a lot of mana.” A lot of mana I’m nervous to waste.

Mirzayael gives me a critical look. “Will that impact the second stage of our war plan?”

“Possibly,” I admit. “But the bigger issue is that I wasn’t able to finish the Fortress’s preparations before the siege began.”

“Is it close enough?” she asks. “It doesn’t have to be perfect.”

“Maybe.” I frown, trying to guess if our progress is in the factor of safety. There are so many moving parts. Too many things to keep track of. Add the pressure of the battle on top of all that, and it’s nearly overwhelming. I start to have Echo run some calculations.

“No,” Dizzi cuts, in before I get very far. She taps her slate. “I’ve been crunching the numbers. We can’t raise the Fortress in its current structural state. I estimate we need to convert at least another seven percent.”

“How long do you need?” Mirzayael asks.

Dizzi looks to me.

The Fortress is so close to being complete. At the rate I’d previously been going, it would take another four hours to finish converting the stone, readying it for the Fortress’s ascension. But we don’t have four hours. How long until the Jorrians make it to our doorstep?

“Seven percent?” I confirm with Dizzi. “Are you sure?”

“Completely,” she says, squeezing the slate. “I’ve mapped out the areas to convert that will provide the most structural stability and will require the lowest volume of conversion.”

I’m nervous to accept her word without double checking the numbers myself—everyone’s lives are at stake if we’re wrong—but we don’t have time, and more importantly, I need to have faith in her. We all have our own pieces to contribute if we want to win this battle. We have to trust each other to do our part.

“One hour,” I tell Mirzayael. “I can be ready in an hour.”

Mirzayael nods curtly. “Good. Then my guards and I can buy you that time. They’ve been itching for a rematch, anyway.”

I frown. “Once you guys head into the cave system, it will be too dangerous for me to alter it. I’m just as likely to hurt one of one as one of the Jorrians.”

“Then do whatever you can now,” Mirzayael says. As she talks, she begins walking around the table. Over the last few days, she’d spent much of her time creating a dozen silk messenger spider, each the size of a piece of fruit. Now, she touches them one by one, and runes on the backs of each of them light up with the blue of her magic.

“Seal the tunnels,” she tells me. “Shuffle around the passages. Work with Torim to reposition the scrying panes. Attack if the opportunity arises. I will have my soldiers ready at the Fortress’s main gate in twenty minutes. At that time, open the way, and we will ingress into the cave system in an attempt to disrupt their activities and buy you whatever time you need. Contact me by spider when it is time to withdraw.” By the time she’s done speaking, she’s already heading for the door, signaling sharply for Nek to follow.

My stomach roils with worry. I don’t want the sight of her walking away to be the last memory I have of her. I hate the idea of her heading out to battle while I remain in here. I won’t be able to protect her from afar.

Swallowing down my anxieties, I call after her. “Be careful!”

She stops to look back at me with a smile. “Do not worry for my wellbeing. Things will unfold very differently this time. The Jorrians may rule the surface, but now they are in our domain.”

Then, she’s gone. Any more words I might have had for her die on my tongue. I hope she’s right. She better be.

Just like with Dizzi, I need to believe her when she says she can do this. I have to trust that she will be okay. Faith isn’t something that comes naturally to me. But for Mirzayael…

I choose to have faith in her, at least.

“We need to prepare for phase three,” I say, turning to Dizzi. “Gather the harpies in the throne room as soon as possible.”

“Ay, Captain.” Dizzi salutes and runs off as well.

I turn to Torim next. “Alright. Where are you scrying panes located? Show me on the map. I will try to keep them intact while making life difficult for the Jorrians…”

The next twenty minutes pass in a blur. Working with Torim, I fill some caverns, encounter and attack more of the Jorrian’s Attuned ice, and reposition some of his scrying pains to assist with and prepare for Mirzayael’s troop when they enter the caves. Mirzayael had taken two of her messenger spiders with her, but left the rest with Torim: the plan is to use him as the central point of communication, should anything change or if anyone discovers information that needs to be reported and disseminated to other groups.

It doesn’t feel like enough. At any given moment I’m juggling tactics with Torim, giving the Dungeon Core more instructions, and trying to use its interface to estimate where the Jorrian troops are. I should have stopped them from entering the cavern to begin with. I should have…

No, no. I can’t dwell on hypotheticals. That will only distract from the present. Perhaps in an ideal scenario I could have approached this all differently, but now, in the moment, I will simply do everything I can think to do with the resources available.

I’m so busy untangling all these threads, that I only notice Ollie’s discomfort when he verbally growls. I start, shifting my attention to him. He’s agitated. Uncomfortable.

“What’s the matter?” I ask him. He must be upset that I’m not letting him go with Mirzayael this time.

“ECHO SAYS YOU’RE IN DANGER,” Ollie says.

My stomach lurches. His Role Requirement. I didn’t think it would activate if I stayed out of the battle myself. “What is she saying?”

“SHE SAYS I HAVE TO PROTECT YOU.” Inwardly, Ollie winces. Outwardly, he peels his lips back in a frankly terrifying expression. “BUT YOU DON’T LOOK LIKE YOU’RE IN DANGER! I DON’T KNOW WHAT I’M SUPPOSED TO DO.”

Are the Jorrians getting closer? Are they preparing something that will put me in harm’s way? Impossible to say. But if Echo is prompting him to do something, and punishing him if he does nothing, it will only be a matter of time before he won’t be able to stop himself from trying to fulfill the requirement. We need to address that before it gets worse. My mind races for a solution.

“Would patrolling the Fortress help?” I ask. “You can keep an eye out for any enemies that might have snuck into the main chamber.” Not that I think any could have made it this far in such little time, and I did try to seal all the caves leading in, but it’s theoretically feasible, and therefore it would be protecting me against an unlikely but possible threat.

Ollie tips his head, listening quietly for a moment. “YEAH, ECHO SAYS THAT’S OKAY!”

I sag in relief. Loops holes. I know these requirements have loopholes; I discovered one myself. If we survive today, I will dig deeper into the edge cases.

“SHE SAYS IT’S NOT AS EFFECTIVE AS FIGHTING BAD GUYS BUT IT WILL STOP THE SANITY STAT FROM GETTING WORSE. WHAT DOES THE SANITY STAT DO?”

Not a solution, but a stopgap, then. But if we can delay it off long enough, then hopefully we’ll all be out of danger and the role requirement will expire on its own.

“Doesn’t matter,” I say. “Go ahead and start keeping an eye out for any Jorrians who might have snuck in. If you see anything, let me know, but do not engage.”

“YAY, SPYING!” Ollie dives off the balcony and out of sight.

I know this probably isn’t the most optimal solution. But it’s the best I can come up with on the fly that will keep Ollie safe, and that will have to be enough.

“Lord Fyre?” Torim prompts me. “It’s time for Mirzayael’s ingress.”

My heart flutters at the title. Too close to The Dark Lord for my liking. Is this some sort of self-fulfilling prophecy? Was I destined to this role, no matter what I did or how I approached it?

Mirzayael would smack me for thinking something like that. As she said, the role is only about protecting my kingdom, and these people have done nothing wrong. They deserve protecting. If that makes me the bad guy, then I don’t want to be on the side of good.

“Understood,” I tell Torim. “One moment…” I dip into the Dungeon Core, and quickly have it eat away the stone that’s sealing off the main tunnel in front of the Fortress’s Gates. I can’t see Mirzayael enter the caves, but I feel many feet drumming against the stone as she and her guards head into the caverns.

“Done,” I tell Torim. “Now if you would excuse me, I need to take care of other matters. I will be in the throne room if you need me.”

Before I step out, I look to Beryl, who has remained quiet throughout all the previous battle preparations. I’d thought she’d fallen asleep, actually, but now I see her eyes are cracked open, carefully watching our war board.

“Elder Beryl?” I ask. “Do you have any suggestions?”

The dwarf grunts. “Nothing more than you all could suggest. The brain mush isn’t as firm as it used to be, these days. And you seem to be well versed in strategy. I trust you young ones with whatever decisions you make. You’re in command.”

I swallow down the nerves that threaten to flutter from my stomach. “Thank you. I won’t let you down.”

“Good luck, Lord Fyre,” Torim calls after me as I leave.

Luck. Something I never put much stake in before, and desperately need now.

In the throne room, Dizzi and most of the harpies have already gathered.

“What’s going on?” one of the harpies asks. His name is Meritis, Echo tells me. He’s covered in striking blue and green feathers, but it’s his age that hits me. Not even as old as Dizzi, and I’ll be sending him into a warzone. “Will we not be needed in the fight?”

“You will be,” I say. “It’s highly likely this battle will be decided by air superiority.”

“But we’re underground,” another objects. “We won’t have much opportunity to gain any height on the Jorrians, except for in caverns. With respect, Lord Fyre,” they hastily add.

“Pay no respects: speak to me bluntly,” I say, heading over to the side of the room that had gradually been cannibalized by work benches and chemistry equipment. The harpies hurry after.

“We can’t waste time on pleasantries in war, or afford to hold back an opinion that might save lives if spoken,” I continue. “But to address your concern, we will be dealing with much more open air than that found in tunnels and caverns. You all have an Air affinity, yes?”

“They do,” Dizzi confirms.

“Good. Then these will be your weapons.” I stop before a large stone basin I’d created with the Dungeon Core. It’s nearly overflowing with hundreds of baseball-sized chalky grey orbs.

“Rocks?” Meritis asks.

“Bombs!” Dizzi cries with far too much enthusiasm.

She and I have been working on these for a while now. It took a lot of trial and error to stabilize the formula, but the end product of a chemistry-and-magic-fusion explosive device is something that fills me with equal parts pride and horror.

“These weapons are highly combustible and designed to explode on impact once the runes are activated with a spark of mana,” I explain. “Even so, I feel I must caution you all to do everything in your power not to drop any unintentionally.”

“But we’re underground,” a harpy objects. “We can’t get enough space to use weapons like these.”

“Leave that part to me,” I say. “We’re going to need every flight-capable individual we have access to, so as much as this hurts to hear, I’d like to ask all of you to abstain from the fight until we’re ready to launch your platoon. Even if the battle makes it into the city, please do not engage. We may need every one of you.”

“Is it true, then?” Meritis asks. “Will you be raising the Fortress today?”

When Dizzi and I had initially found the chain of movement runes beneath the city, we’d taken the discovery to Beryl. The implication of the spell circle was clear enough, but Beryl had insisted I raise the possibility with the rest of the population as well.

“It’s their home as much as mine,” she’d said. “The choice should be everyone’s.”

We’d called a townhall after that to share the news and discuss what was to be done. Unsurprisingly, the decision had been unanimous.

“Yes,” I tell the boy. “If the guards are able to buy me some time, we will restore her Fortress within the hour.”

Despite my qualifier, the harpies excitedly murmur to one another.

“We won’t let you down,” the boy says. And then he begins to cheer, and the others soon join in. “Praise Fyreneth! Long Live the Fortress!”

Praise Fyreneth, I think along with them. I hope we’re about to make you proud.