We gather around Beryl’s bedside. There’s no sign of injury. Her bloody clothes have been replaced, and all the cuts and bruises she sustained from the Jorrians healed. But she’s never looked so old to me before, and she rests there with her eyes closed, breathing slowly, despite being awake.

Nek, Dizzi, Mirzayael, Torim and I are all seated by the bed. Mirzayael clears her throat.

“I’m sorry to disturb your recovery, Elder, but it has come to my attention that the decision has been made on behalf of the community to flee back toward the Ash Peak mountains, and this is an option I will not accept.”

Good to see she’s as diplomatic as ever.

The others exchange uncomfortable glances.

Beryl cracks her eyes open. “I did not agree to this course of action lightly.” Her voice is quiet and gravelly. “But the safety of our people should always be our top priority.”

“If we stay here, we’ll be slain,” Torim says. “Surely you see we can’t fight them? Their kingdom outnumbers us ten to one.”

“I see that your fear of conflict has clouded your reasoning,” Mirzayael shoots back. “This is our home. If we lose it, what does that make us? What does that say of Fyreneth’s legacy?”

“Homes can be replaced,” Beryl sighs. “Lives cannot.”

“I hate to say it, but they’re right,” Nek adds. “I don’t want to leave, but I don’t see an alternative. Protecting our families matters above all else.”

“And how will they be protected out on the ice?” Mirzayael demands. “Fleeing for indefensible mountains almost twenty leagues away. Now that they’re watching for us, we will all be picked off before we even arrive.”

“Do you have any alternatives to suggest?” Dizzi asks. “‘Cause look, I’d rather stay here, too. This place—these people—are all amazing. But if Jorria wages war, we can’t hope to defeat them.”

“Perhaps that’s true,” I cut in as Mirzayael’s eyes begin to twitch. “Though we hold a defensible position here. We don’t need to beat them with numbers if we can cause their troops to bottleneck and pick them off in more manageable numbers.”

Torim grumbles. “If at all possible, a direct conflict should be avoided entirely. If we can escape without any further loss of life, that is the path we should pursue.”

“Then what about Fyre and Ollie?” Mirzayael demands. “Don’t they deserve to live as well?”

The others look at me, perplexed.

“What does she mean, Fyre?” Dizzi asks.

I grimace. “Regardless of what you all decide, I have to stay here. My Role—the magic I have access to—prevents me from leaving.”

“Prevents you?” Dizzi cries. “What does that mean?”

“Exactly what it sounds like,” Mirzayael snaps. “She can’t leave.”

“I’m… obligated to stay here and protect the Fortress,” I say. “It seems it is my duty to fight for this place, whether or not anyone else remains. Ollie’s magic also binds him to me, meaning he might not be able to venture far from the caves either. Honestly it’s lucky he hasn’t hit a range limit yet while he’s been out hunting. Perhaps, due to his larger size…”

Mirzayael can probably tell I’m getting sidetracked by theories, as she cuts in once more. “Regardless, she can’t leave, and that’s all that matters.”

“It sounds less like a type of magic and more like a type of curse,” Torim says. “You do not know how to remove it? How was it placed on you originally?”

I shake my head. “As soon as I woke up here, it was already a part of me.”

“It’s not a curse,” Nek says. “It’s Fyreneth’s will.”

I open my mouth to object, but his words strangely make sense. It would have been her will to protect this place and her people, wouldn’t it? She would have wanted her kingdom to endure even after her death. Maybe it’s why I woke where she died, why I was reborn in her form. Some ghost of her lived on, etched into the stones of this place, and when I woke up here, it shaped me as well.

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Certainly, the idea that I’ve inherited her last wishes is more palatable than being perceived as her reincarnation.

I give Nek a strange look. “Perhaps there is something to that idea.”

“But why didn’t you tell us before?” Dizzi demands. “We can’t just leave you to die! Did you really think we’d be okay with that?”

“I didn’t think it was my place to object to your plans,” I say. “The safety of your own people comes first, and I didn’t want to risk that.”

Beryl lets out a labored sigh. “Fyre. You are as much part of our people as the returned Fyrethians.”

“Moreso,” Mirzayael says. “You’ve been with us longer and given us so much.”

“We’re not going to leave you here,” Nek fiercely adds.

Torim clears his throat uncomfortably. “Are you suggesting we don’t move forward with the migration? Even if Fyre occupies an important position of authority within the community, is it enough to risk the lives of the rest of us?”

“That’s precisely what I didn’t want,” I start, but Beryl silences me with a sharp gesture.

“Until I finally keel over, I still intend to lead this community,” she says. “But I can’t make the right choices without being provided all available information. In the future, you will be forthcoming with me about any hesitations you might have or obstacles you might foresee. Is that understood?”

I dip my head in apology. “Of course. That makes complete sense.”

“Then it’s settled, is it?” Mirzayael asks. “We remain and fight for our home.”

“I’m in,” Dizzi says. “Whatever skills I can offer, I’d love to help. Especially artificing skills. I’m really good at that. Actually, that’s about all I have to offer.”

“I will also lend my aid however it’s needed,” Nek agrees.

Torim frowns as everyone turns to look at him expectantly. “Retaining our homeland would be preferable. But I want assurances I won’t be leading my people into a deathtrap.” He looks at me. “You mentioned we might have the advantage of being in a defensible position. Do you have any ideas to back up your claim?”

I hold up my wrist. “The Dungeon Core—Fyreneth’s Crown—whatever you prefer to call it, is a powerful tool. I can already think of a dozen ways it could assist in a siege. So long as I remain within range of the mana ore and am able to pull more mana from its source, the Core will have access to some extremely powerful options. It could open chasms beneath the approaching armies. Collapse walls on top of them. Change the passages they walk through, leading them into a labyrinth of dead-ends. And that’s just the mundane approaches involving moving rock about. Altering chemical and thermal properties could prove just as potent.”

Torim looks a little startled by my suggestions. Even Nek’s eyebrows are raised.

Dizzi just laughs. “I’m glad you’re on our side.”

“Indeed,” Mirzayael says. “But we could speak strategy all day. First we need to establish if anyone else wishes to express doubt. If you believe we should still make a bid for the Ash Peaks, now is the time to say so.”

Silence stretches between us. Even Torim merely shakes his head.

“Good,” Beryl says after a moment. “Go tell the rest to stop packing. We have a siege to plan for.”

#

As the others hurry about, scurrying off to track down the scouts and put a stop to the migration preparations, I pull Mirzayael aside.

“I was truthful when I said we will likely win the siege,” I tell her. “Down here, we do have home-field advantage. However, I worry this plan is shortsighted.”

“You mean mistaking winning the battle for winning the war,” Mirzayael says.

I nod. “The mana ore down here is incredibly potent, but it’s not an unlimited resource. If this becomes a war of attrition, we will eventually deplete the resource that is keeping us alive, and after that we’ll be indefensible.”

“Are you suggesting we should flee after all?” Mirzayael says.

“No. Not today.” I chew on my lip, mind flipping through and discarding a dozen different ideas. “But mobility will be necessary eventually.”

“What are you suggesting?” she asks.

“I’ve been mulling over an idea,” I say. “More of a vision, really. I hadn’t intended to implement it anytime soon. Building up the community’s resources comes first. But given the Jorrian attack, I think the timeline needs to be expedited.”

“What sort of vision?” she asks.

“Do you recall the runes Dizzi and I discovered beneath the kingdom?” I ask. “The ones designed for moving stone.”

Mirzayael raises an eyebrow. “You wish to raise Fyreneth’s Fortress in anticipation of the Jorrian’s siege?”

“In a matter of speaking,” I say. “However, it would not be exactly as Fyreneth originally intended. This version would be far more defensible.”

“Explain,” Mirzayael says.

So I do. I lay out all my plans, ideas that have been gestating since Dizzi and I first learned the Fortress was designed to be unearthed. “We’ll need to be conservative with our mana stores,” I add at the end. “And I’ll need to enhance the structural integrity of the Fortress, first. I’m worried moving so much earth might cause parts of it to come apart.”

At first Mirzayael looks awed, then she laughs. “Your dreams really do know no bounds. But do you think we’ll have time for such elaborate preparations?”

“I’m not sure,” I admit. “If Beryl and the others sign off on the idea, Dizzi and I can get started on the work right away. But if we don’t finish in time…” My stomach twists into a knot at the idea. We’ll be thrown into battle. A real war. If I can’t stop it, people will die. “We’ll need to prepare for battle regardless. But I’ll do everything in my power to keep this kingdom safe.”

Mirzayael smiles at me fondly. “I know you will.”