Remont Legosia has been indispensable in the creation of the weapon. If it weren’t for the numerous scholars and scientists he has brought to us in his campaign, I fear the creation of it would have been deemed impossible. But we persevered and now our enemies will tremble at our feet.

-From The Last King of Elneshe’s 1st Note

The Phasgorian camp was bustling with activity in the evening. Children ran around the tents, soldiers trained and the merchants and peddlers started to close their stores. Among the noise of the camp’s resident, a single soldier smiled.

Galeon was a blonde-haired young man tanned dark by the sun. His hair was a curly and fluffy mess that fell around his head in a wild fashion. He didn’t much care to tame it, no more than he would tame his powers. After all, why restrict the freedom of something that didn’t need it?

On his person he wore his normal soldier’s outfit. Tassels fell from the sleeves of his uniform; the jacket open due to the warm weather. His pants were baggy, falling short of his heavy boots. Really, he didn’t even need them.

Galeon walked among the residents, who greeted him as they passed. One of the fruit merchants, Aphros, threw an apple at him as he passed. Instinctively, he freed his strength and caught the apple before taking a bite.

“It’s tart,” Galeon said.

“Some like ‘em that way,” Aphros replied. He was a man past his prime, but still had visible muscles. He wore a purple cloth tied around to keep his wild hair back.

“They work better in a pie. You should sell those too!” Galeon offered. Aphros hefted a box of his remaining supply onto his carriage.

“Wait a bit.”

Without a word, Galeon walked over to the remaining crates of fruits and started helping Aphros load them up. He freed a bit of his strength to do so, clearing the street of the merchant’s wares.

“I sold a bunch to the chef down by the east mess hall. He’d probably be making them into pies right about now. That or a curry, it’s always between those two,” Aphros sighed. Sweat was beading on his forehead. He looked Galeon up and down and sighed again once he realized the boy’s condition.

“Something wrong? Do I have apple on my face?”

“I wonder if I’m just getting old or if you hallowmancers are really that strong,” he said with a frown.

“Nah, I know loads of people your age who act years younger,” Galeon chuckled.

“Really? And what proportion of them have divinely gifted powers?” Aphros asked. Galeon folded his arms over themselves and stared into the sky. He held a thoughtful expression on his face for a long while before finally speaking.

“All of them. Except maybe that turtle I saw a Duchess keep once.”

“That… shouldn’t have taken you that long,” Aphros told him.

“I had to think it through, didn’t I?” Galeon asked.

“Perhaps for some things, Leon, but others you just… feel out,” Aphros replied. He hitched his horse to the cart, patting it on the muzzle with one hand as he lifted the reins in the other.

“Feeling out, huh…”

“Don’t lose your head while I’m not looking. And have a good evening,” Aphros said, knocking Galeon softly on the head as he led his horse away.

Galeon watched him leave while chewing on the apple. There was a quiet wind going through the camp as the sun set. Isildan would probably be training in the fields as he usually did. He could pop over and see how much progress his friend had made. But a friend shouldn’t come without bearing gifts, should he? Galeon looked at the thin core of the apple once he was done, an idea popping into his head.

East mess hall. Galeon thought as he started walking towards it. A smile popped on his face, one that a certain Countess would curse him for.

The sides of the path were dotted with large tents and small buildings, a sign of the time they had spent here. As he continued down it towards the mess hall, he passed by several more people. They’d be smiling at first, but then cringe backwards when they saw the smirk on his face.

Once, a little girl popped in front of him. She was a brunette with sharp eyes and a dress that looked almost comically big. The daughter of a tailor, and the leader of a vicious little gang of children who caused no end of trouble for her parents. Vilessa puffed out her cheeks and glared at Galeon.

“What are you doing?” she asked the man, her high-pitched voice lending her no favours.

“Getting some food, obviously,” Galeon replied innocently.

“I saw you smiling! You should be more mature, you know? If you keep pulling pranks, how are people going to take you seriously?” she nagged and Galeon chuckled. She fancied herself a hardened soldier, ordering around the others when she wanted. Given that she was as cute as a tassel, they indulged her. Phiro and Gisha flanked her, reiterating her points and making it hard for him to get in a word.

But what Galeon had in mind was too important to be deterred.

“Seraphas’ honour, I’m not up to anything,” Galeon said, trying to control his face. He raised a hand up as he did, trying to look as pious as possible.

“That won’t work this time! My dad said that if he ever saw you, he’d sew your mouth shut for good! And he was serious!” Vilessa told him, the expression on her face tightening.

“Oh, that is serious… How about this then? If you and your friends let me go, just this once, I’ll take you flying,” Galeon said.

Immediately the expression on their faces changed. They went from anger to idolization quickly once they realized what they could get.

“Really? You’ll take m-us I mean with you?” Vilessa asked, stars in her eyes. Looking at that expression made Galeon hesitate a bit, but he regained his composure soon.

“Yup, all three of you. Have you guys ever touched a cloud?” he asked them, crouching down.

“No? My mom says they’re softer than cotton. And that Seraphas sleeps on them,” Phiro chimed in.

“Oh no, they’re way softer! I’d fall asleep if I spent too long inside them!” Galeon replied, sending the kids’ imagination running off by itself.

“Okay, but you have to promise to do it!” Vilessa said.

“I promise.”

“Promise on Seraphas!”

“Fine, I promise on Seraphas I will take the three of you to touch the clouds. Now am I free to go, grand duchess Vilessa?” Galeon asked mockingly.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

“Hmph. You are,” she replied, in a tone that got Galeon wondering whether she really was some hidden noble or not. He tried to discern from her expression, but she gave no further clues. The three of them scrambled off soon after, Galeon threatening to break their promise if they didn’t.

When he finally arrived at the mess hall, he found the large tent slowly filling up with people. It was a light yellowish coloured thick cloth that had points in each cardinal direction. There was a small section that had steam and smoke billowing out of it.

Galeon spotted the other hallowmancers entering as well, but didn’t approach them. He instead ducked near the tent. He crouched low, walking towards the smell of food. There were spices in the air, the smell of meat, and the undeniable scent of a sweet pie.

A section of the cloth had been cut out the side of the tent; a table placed near it to let the pies cool. Galeon looked at them. Cherry, apple and blueberry. His mouth watered at the site, but he had to be diligent if he was going to grab them.

He crouched near the side of the tent, readying his hand. He freed his strength, But the second he was about to start, someone’s hands reached out to the pastries. Galeon recoiled, pressing himself against the cloth to hide better.

“Bring the dessert out, Eresh!” a voice shouted and Galeon clenched his teeth further. He took a quick peek inside the kitchen, finding his fears confirmed. Inside the squarish cramped room, Lakon stood guard over the food. The chef on duty was a burly man, scars running down his arms and a scowl on him that never really seemed to go away.

Seraphas’ sending death himself to stop me. But that’s not going to work!

He was no Devourer who could hide as someone’s own mother without them knowing it. But he still had powers.

Galeon peeked inside of the room once again, finding a fresh set of pie tins being set down. Those weren’t filled yet, so he reached out to one of them and freed his powers. Bewl flowed from his body into the plate, a jet appearing on the side of it.

He felt the connection to the jet in the back of his mind. Galeon retracted his hand and waited for the other chefs to turn away. Once they did, he mentally activated the jet. He felt it snatch his bewl and set off. In the noisy environment, no one noticed the tin till it flew to the edge of the room and crashed into a set of cutleries.

Galeon winced when he heard the crashing noise of metal, but kept sneaking a look into the tent.

“What was that?!” Lakon said from the other end. He shouted at the other cooks, dragging their attention towards the mess.

“I-I don’t know,” Galeon heard Eresh say, but the boy was given no quarter.

“Just clean up the damn dishes! We haven’t got all day!” Lakon told him. Galeon saw the boy put down the pies on another cart and walk back towards the mess he’d made. He used the distraction to walk into the kitchen and across it. He was almost near the flap that extended into the mess hall, where the pies were waiting to be wheeled out.

The other soldiers were just a bit beyond that. Galeon took the apple tart in his hand, taking a whiff of the perfectly cooked pastry. Sweet victory, or so he thought until he heard a shout that would shake the strongest soldier down to their core.

“GALEON!” Lakon said, raising the large butcher’s knife in his hand. The entire kitchen looked towards him and the compromising position he was in.

“U-uh… hey, Lakon. Fancy seeing you in here,” Galeon said, placing the pie back down.

“What did I say about you being in the kitchen?” Lakon asked.

“Something ancient, I think? Really, I was just here for another round of your delicious…” Galeon eyed the meat he had been chopping, “chicken curry. Yeah, that’s it!”

A moment later, another soldier walked into the kitchen.

“Lakon, we’re going to need more of those beans out there!” he said, walking back into the hall without taking even a glance at Galeon. Galeon tried to smile innocently at the chef, but Lakon finally seemed to snap.

He hit the board with the butcher’s knife, embedding it in the wood. As soon as he began strutting towards Galeon, the hallowmancer grabbed the apple pie in one hand. Galeon jumped onto the table, quickly touching his soles and creating two jets there.

“Galeon, not in my kitchen!” Lakon shouted, but the boy jumped.

“See you later!”

The jets on his feet erupted, thrusting him out into the sky through the holes in the tent. A ladle hit him on the way out, eliciting a grunt from him.

Despite that, he laughed. Lakon ran out of the mess hall, throwing obscene gestures at Galeon as he flew over the camp. He soared through the air, even if manoeuvring with one hand was harder. He would’ve done a few flips, twisted around, or some other tricks. But he had a delicate package to carry to its destination.

He looked at the Phasgorian camp from high up, amazed at the sight. Anywhere else, this could have passed for a city. But here, this was just a front for the war. Galeon didn’t like to dwell on that, though, distracting himself by searching out Planars.

There were a few scattered around. Some of them transporting in supplies. Others ran military drills against normal soldiers. Finally, there were those hallowmancers who were practicing with their powers. Even Galeon knew that he would’ve gotten nowhere with his Afterburner powers if it hadn’t been for the training he’d received.

The people back at Shimmerlake would be proud of him for what he’d done with that. He looked down again at the pastry and reconsidered. Maybe just a bit disappointed too.

He landed on the dirt field, in front of Isildan. The Planar was a short and stocky fellow, bearing a thin moustache and no jacket. He’d cast it off, leaving a shirt underneath that folded into his pants.

Isildan’s eyes had been glowing a bright green. Once he noticed Galeon, however, that colour broke and faded to a much more natural looking green. He eyed the pie in Galeon’s hands, understanding crossing his face.

“Did he throw the ladle at you again?” Isildan asked, crossing his arms. Galeon dismissed the jets on his hands and feet. He moved towards Isildan, holding the pastry out in front of him.

“Yeah. But it was easy to dodge,” Galeon replied.

“Yeah, I’m sure that bruise on your cheek is just from a bird you hit in the sky.”

Galeon felt at his cheek, clicking his tongue at the sharp pain that came back. He freed his bewl pool once again, letting the power flow up to his cheek, healing the damage. He wouldn’t be able to see it, but hopefully the colour had turned back to a more normal shade.

“You’re going to get an earful from Noviselle, you hear?” Isildan lectured.

“Lectures can come later. Eat this with me,” Galeon replied. Isildan looked down at it, but shook his head.

“I can’t. Need to do more training,” he said, turning to the tree where he’d placed his jacket. Galeon followed him, finding a small pile of bewllan crystals sitting near it.

“Isil, you’re pushing yourself a bit hard,” he told his friend.

“Easy for you to say, Leon. You can control your powers as easily as you breathe,” Isildan replied. He took the bewllan off of the ground and seemed to grasp it firmer. The colour faded from the crystal, and he threw it back onto the pile before returning to the field.

“Okay! Let’s do it from the start again!” Isildan called out to the other soldiers there. They were holding small rocks in their hands, tossing them up and down in anticipation. Galeon couldn’t help Isildan if the man wouldn’t let himself be helped, so he instead just took a seat on one of the tree branches and observed.

Whenever a rock came for him, he would open up a portal as fast as he could, sending it somewhere else. Sometimes, a rock would catch him and Isildan would grunt, but then he’d heal himself of the injuries and return to deflecting more of them. It would take a moment or two for the man to create the green edged doors, but once they were solid, it was only a matter of moving them around.

Galeon ate the apple pie with his bare hands, a bit annoyed with how cold it had grown. Eh, pie’s pie. When he was done, he placed the tin among some leaves and leaned back against the tree. Galeon felt like he could sleep for a whole day, something that even his powers didn’t help with.

When a knock came on the wood, however, he jerked up. His balance was knocked off and Galeon fell from the tree, landing on the grass beside it with a groan.

“W-what?” he said, before the tin hit him on the head and fell beside him.

“Ouch!”

Looking up, Galeon saw Isildan standing. Like usual, he didn’t look happy. But it was the person next to him that made Galeon smile. Emile had come back from his scouting mission. The tall and handsome stick of a man had been gone so long Galeon was beginning to grow bored. Least now I won’t need the chef to entertain me. He dusted himself off and stood up.

“What’s up, Emile?” Galeon said, only then noticing that he didn’t look pleased. He had bags under his eyes and a few scratches around his hands and face.

“Came back from scouting out Latren. They’ve got it under high sccurity now. Would’ve gotten spotted by some of the Afterburner patrols if I wasn’t quick enough,” Emile replied.

“Oh…” Galeon had no other response. Strategy was something that eluded the young man.

“I’ve got to report this to Noviselle. Tell her that taking back the place isn’t going to be as easy as we think,” he added, running a hand through his hair.

“You look tired, Emile,” Galeon replied.

“Agreed. I can report it for you if you want,” Isildan added. Emile didn’t seem to take it as well though, squinting his eyes at Isildan.

“Thanks, Isil, but no thanks. I’ll make the report myself. She’ll need to know the finer details,” he said, before turning down one of the pathways into the camp. Isildan cocked an eyebrow, but shrugged it off.

“Did I do something?” Isildan asked Galeon. He put a hand on his stocky friend’s shoulders, shaking him softly.

“Emile’s just a bit jumpy is all. Don’t worry about it,” Galeon reassured. And though Isildan pretended to hate the treatment, he didn’t move the arm away from himself.