Hidden far away behind trees and bushes, Althea watches over the village of Cinderhold. Two infantry squads are questioning its inhabitants, knocking at each of the fifty or so buildings. Their archers prowl in the forest, closer to the village, to ensure the soldiers safety and potential retreat.

Althea rubs her tired eyes. They spent the night questioning soldiers and found nothing. Not a spy hiding among them, and no one who even saw anything. She sighs, hoping that they will find and end them today; otherwise, tonight will be as restless.

They have questioned half the inhabitants already, but so far, they haven't found anything. Althea cannot hear them, but the absence of precipitation or agitation is just as good.

She glances at the villages surrounding. Besides their side of the forest, the only hiding spots are in the forest opposite to theirs. It's sparer in vegetation and on a steep incline that would make any retreat hard for anyone hidden there. Only a high-level Archer would be a threat to them, but shooting would be suicidal.

The rest of the village's surroundings are composed of open plains and plowed fields. It would be impossible for someone to hide there, and once again, if they are discovered, it would be impossible for them to run away.

She closes her eyes and summons a sliver of light Ether through her oath. Even if she knows she shouldn’t use it for selfish reasons, its ability to reduce exhaustion makes it worth it. 'What I wouldn't give for some coffee. Why can't they just put it in the army's rations?'

She thinks of Julia, who's still in the camp, most likely sleeping. Why is she the only one that was deemed unessential to the mission? Althea would have liked to sleep too.

She doesn't see him, but Althea knows that Leofric is somewhere behind her, shielded by a hill with the infantry squads. They have been waiting for hours and still have two villages to investigate. The wait must be eating Leofric alive; he's probably praying for an attack just to get moving.

Garrick stands near the tree line, his camouflaged tunic making him hard to spot for someone oblivious to his presence. His eyes turned to a deep green, a sign that he's enhancing his sight to see far away. Althea double takes toward him, realizing he's tensing his bow.

He's aiming somewhere in the opposite patch of forest. Did he see someone hiding in the leaves? Or in a tree? Althea lowers herself, scanning the hill once more.

She hears the muffled snap of a branch coming from there. She looks back at Garrick to see if it was his arrow and finds him falling to the ground. His bow drops from his hands as he clutches his stomach. He lets out a scream as he tries to stand up, blood seeping through his fingers.

The archers stand up, drawing their bows towards the sound. A war horn blows from behind Althea. The soldiers investigating the village turn around and rush toward them. From behind Althea, the three remaining spearmen squads charge forward.

She puts on her helmet and runs towards Garrick. He moves and tries to crawl behind a tree. Althea flattens the vegetation in her path, her armor weighing four times her own weight. A spearman crosses her path, and she jumps to the side to not crush him.

The trees shatter around them; hundreds of spells, like a hailstorm of needles, pierce the trunks. Archers fall to the ground, sprays of blood ejecting from their bodies. Furious, unceasing clatters, like a thousand hammers beating metal fill the air.

Althea reaches and knells beside Garrick. His stomach is torn, open below the ribs. She visualizes the runes of a Heal spell, drawing light Ether from her oath. His flesh knits back together, but he screams louder. He vomits ichor, turning to the side to not suffocate.

Stolen story; please report.

Heavy infantry behind him, Leofric advances through the barrage of spells. Sparks ricochet from his tower shield, the spells unable to pierce his defense. More powerful spells come at him, forming craters into his shield as he runs forward.

A bush rises from the leaves, heaving a metallic log above its shoulder. It throws fire behind it and smoke forward. A crack of thunder echoes as blinding fire passes through Leofric.

The light recedes, and Althea sees a scorched hole in Leofric and his shield. He falls backward to the ground, exposing the heavy infantry. The spells reach them, stopped by their armors as they cower back. A larger, more powerful projectile pierces two of them. Another is hit at the back of the knee, where only chainmail protects him. It tears through, bringing him to the ground with an agonizing scream.

"Retreat!" Armand orders from behind. "Retreat!"

Althea heaves Garrick on her shoulder and runs towards Leofric. Her shield, placed to protect her load, takes several undamaging hits. A spell strikes her in the leg; its force almost makes her trip. She reaches Leofric, attaches her shield to her back, and heaves the giant on her other shoulder.

The spell storm ends, as if their mages flew away. A thick white cloud emerges uphill, descending like a volcano's ashes. Figures move in it – three, maybe four people. They vanish as the smoke thickens.

Althea runs back along with the retreating soldiers. She finds Armand carrying wounded archers away from the battlefield, clad in black plate armor. Behind cover, she lays down the two wounded.

"The enemy is fleeing too," Armand says. He places the men he's carrying beside Leofric and Garrick. Returning to the other side, he orders, "Form a triage here, heal those you can, and get the healthy to move the wounded back to camp!"

"Where are you going?" Althea asks. He doesn't answer as he vanishes from sight towards the fight. Althea takes a sigil of Seraphel from her pocket and prays. "Radiant lord of light, grant me power to heal these broken souls, to mend what has been torn, and to bring hope where shadows threaten to consume life."

The sigil pulses in her hands. Golden tendrils of Ether radiate from her, formed from the Ether she absorbs with every breath. She absorbs them, filling her heart with light Ether, and knells besides Leofric.

She places her hands over the gaping hole and channels a Regrowth spell. It takes tremendous amounts of Ether, but the power reforms his vanished spine, guts, muscles, and skin.

Garrick isn't waking up, but having already healed him, she moves to the archer. Armand brings three others and places them down beside her. "Those were still breathing."

He vanishes back towards the battlefield, motioning for soldiers to follow him. They bring back as many as they found, often too late or with fatal injuries.

She heals them one by one, closing wounds that went from one side of their bodies to the other. One by one, able soldiers take them to be brought back to camp or place them on the side to be buried later.

Leofric stands up from the ground, touching his healed wound. Blood seeping through his helmet, he asks, "What happened?"

"You got it by a fast, very fast fire spell," Althea says. She stands up and walks towards Garrick. "Why aren't you waking up? It's not the time to nap."

She unclasps her right gauntlet and presses two fingers on his throat. Her heart skips a beat as she cannot sense his. She panics and rips his tunic to look at the wound she healed. His chest is swollen, distended, and bruised on the flanks. His skin turned pale and cold. Blood pours out of his mouth as she touches his swollen skin.

Tears form in Althea's eyes as she casts another Heal spell. It gives back its colors to Garrick's skin, but he doesn't wake up. With his heart stopped, Althea knows she cannot bring him back.

"I'm sorry," she pleads.

"Mourn later," Leofric commands as he rises her to her feet. He motions towards the soldiers Armand and his men are still extracting from the forest and the village. "Help those you can."

Althea swallows her grief. Her limbs turn heavy, but she forces herself to stand, wiping the tears from under her helmet. She kneels beside another soldier, a young archer clutching a broken arm, the bone jutting out in two places. She presses the fragments back in place, drawing a scream from the boy, and heals him. His wound bone and flesh reknit, leaving a large scar.

One by one, Althea moves through the tirage line, trying to save as many as she can. Each spell pulls on her ling to Seraphel, and she can feel her hands tremble from exertion.

"Althea," Armand calls, his voice low. He steps beside her, his armor streaked with blood. "We have to move out. More of them may come, and we can't risk being surrounded. We'll have to transport them wounded. Can you heal the worse ones on the way?"

She nods, exhaustion weighing on her shoulders. They oversee the retreat, ensuring no one is left behind. Althea and Armand cast a final look at the battlefield and leave it behind.