Sitting in a corner of the war room, Dallion read through the recent reports, while several of his instances observed the massive war map of the contested area. White-haired furies floated about, using air currents to move army pieces according to the latest developments in the actual war zone. The information was dutifully gathered by awakened spies—furies or mages—observing it in person and interpreted by people with their echoes within the room. Normally, Dallion would consider this a fully reliable method. After what had happened with Diroh and her echo, though, he was starting to have his doubts. Someone somehow had managed to snatch control of a foreign echo and make it say things that weren’t true and not at all related to their original; and as the saying went, if it could be done once, it could be done several times more.

“Show me all the gleams,” Dallion ordered.

A crimson-haired fury nodded, then quickly cast a single-circle spell targeting the war map.

Clusters of purple emerged like pins on the whiteness of the map. There were many of them, far more than Dallion imagined. Initially he had thought there’d be a few dozen, fifty at most. Right now, he was looking at over a hundred. Each had a small counter above it, counting down the time remaining until they appeared for real.

The distribution of forces was very much in favor of the Tamin Empire… almost too much so. If things were so rosy, the emperor wouldn’t be in such need of a victory.

“Losses?” Dallion asked.

“Ours or theirs?” The fury looked at him. If there had been even the slightest fluctuation in her expression, one would have almost thought she’d made a joke. Sadly, she wasn’t.

“Ours.”

“Eleven thousand awakened,” she replied without hesitation. “Eight hundred and twenty-two mages, and fifty-seven cloud forts.”

The numbers were massive by any stretch of the imagination. Eleven thousand wouldn’t be much if they were talking about low-level soldiers. Dallion suspected that every single one of them was above level twenty, or even above forty. Even half that was enough to cause an entire province to surrender.

“And theirs?”

“Uncertain. Probably less than a thousand.”

In Dallion’s experience, when someone said “less than” things were really far from the number mentioned. And that wasn’t even taking all the furies into account.

We really are in deep crap now, he thought. Whoever the military geniuses of the war were, they had made a deep mess of things and lost to far inferior numbers. Or maybe it wasn’t as simple? It was doubtful that the emperor would tolerate incompetence, which meant that whoever the empire was facing had to be of vastly superior skill. As much as Dallion prided himself in being good in online games, he’d never been part of a group larger than forty people. Leading thousands would require a bit more than what he currently had to offer—in short, he would need a real general. Fortunately, he had two at hand.

PERSONAL AWAKENING

The whiteness of the war room was quickly replaced by an almost supernatural scene. Having the sky reflect purple had been surreal enough. At present, the realm appeared to be split in two by an invisible line that passed through the heavens. On one side of the line the sky was the familiar purple, while the other was clear green.

“Things have definitely changed,” he said, looking up.

All three of Dallion’s echoes were at his arrival spot, ready to greet him. Gem and Lux were also present, perched on each of July’s shoulders. The youngest of the echoes didn’t seem to mind—he was the “empath” echo, after all.

“Where’s Di?” Dallion asked.

“Dissolved,” Ariel said. “Said that since her original was on her way, there was no point in having an echo here. “I think she didn’t take the whole controlled thing lightly.”

I could bet, Dallion thought, but only nodded.

“Harp, Onda?”

“In their bay. They’ve been quiet since… the latest change.”

“Right.” That was an obvious hint on harp’s part. She was nudging for Dallion to resolve things with Vihrogon, as if he needed further nudging. A lot of risks had been made in order to purify the shield guardian, making him stronger as a result. According to the Moon’s rules, though, they had also made it impossible for him to rebel. “I’ll go see shield.”

“Want me to take you there, boss?” The firebird instantly flew from July onto Dallion, wrapping him in blue flames. “Do you, do you?”

“Thanks Lux, but I’ll be fine on my own. I need to have a chat with him alone… like old times.”

Lux let out a sad chirp.

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

“His domain…” Gen began. “It’s different.”

“No surprises there. He’s a level three now.”

“No.” The echo shook its head. “You’ll see when you get there. Just… be prepared.”

Presented with such a warning, Dallion expected to find a fortified wooden castle awaiting him in his realm. Instead, the structure the dryad used to inhabit had turned into a shack overgrown with vines and moss. Every single plant and piece of wood that composed it was of superior quality. Dallion could see the brightness of the magic threads that went through it like a well-organized net. The exterior form was chosen to deliberately appear run down.

Even without concentrating, Dallion could feel a bouquet of conflicting emotions emanating from inside. The same could be said for him as well. Dallion wanted to put the past in the past. Even the Nerosal overseer had acted aggressively against him when under the Star’s influence. And yet, he couldn’t deny how careless he’d been, nor how much the betrayal hurt. Both Adzorg and Vihrogon had shaken his trust effectively for the same thing: but while the mage had sacrificed everything to destroy the device that would let the void into the world, Vihrogon had tried to activate it.

Sometimes we must face our decisions, Dallion thought, and entered.

The shack was even worse on the inside. Mold and fungus covered the walls and ceiling, while a reed-filled bog occupied three quarters of the floor.

“Congratulations, lord baron,” the dryad said, resting upon a chair half sunk into the bog. There was no sign of his weapons or marshal armor. The simple vest and britches made him look more like a ship-hand on a riverboat.

“Why baron?” Dallion asked.

“Because that’s the lowest noble rank there is,” the guardian replied. “The lowest real noble rank. There probably are a dozen more fake ones.”

“Dal would be fine.”

“Really? After all that happened? I’m not so sure.”

Roots emerged within the bog, forming tiles so that Dallion could continue forward. There was a slight moment of hesitation. A flight spell would make this a lot safer, but it would only prove the guardian’s point.

Trying to remain calm, Dallion continued forward without casting the spell. The roots creaked beneath him, but held his weight.

“Can’t be easy. Of the three beings you trusted the most, two have already betrayed you: the father figure and the cool uncle. You’re probably afraid that it’ll be Harp’s turn next.”

“Harp won’t betray me.”

“Didn’t you use to think the same about me? You went through so much to win my freedom from the general and link me to your realm, and what turned out? That there was a spy seed lying in wait.”

There was no denying it. And at the same time, there had been some signs that he hadn’t done it voluntarily. Dallion used to wonder why, at a certain point, the guardian had become silent and retracted. It was very much against his nature or function. Now, it made sense. He, like Dallion, was running away from a problem: the knowledge that he would be asked to turn him into a Star or kill him.

As he stood, Dallion noticed a single wooden bowl of crystal-clear water in the far corner of the shack. It seemed placed with care, though completely untouched.

“Yes, she’s been bringing it every day since… my transformation,” Vihrogon glanced at it. “The only person in your realm that would come see me. Oh, everyone’s been very understanding,” he added with a semi-smile. “Some even share your hope that I’m fully purified and reformed. Still, they aren’t dryads. To her, I remain a hero of the war.”

Most probably, to the bowl guardian, he was.

“How many more like you are there?” Dallion asked.

“Who knows? You’ve cut the thread and purged the void, but I still can’t break my vow. There’s nothing I can share about the void unless you’ve discovered it already.”

The same old game. “And the Star?”

“Stars come and go. The Void remains forever.”

Clearly, Dallion wasn’t going to get anything out of him.

“I know you, Dal. You mean well, but that’s not the only reason you came here. There’d be a lot more guilt in you if you just wanted to talk and make me feel better. What’s the real reason? Did Harp make you?”

“No, not exactly. I need a war strategist.”

“A field marshal.” Blobs of interest appeared within the dryad’s body. “You want a field marshal? Why?”

“A bunch of tower vortexes are about to appear. The Azures are on their way to claim them.”

“And that will increase their strength tenfold, I take it.”

“There’s that. There’s also the fact that the archmage and the emperor’s generals are…” saying incompetent wasn’t the best word, even if Dallion was thinking it. “…constantly outmaneuvered by someone. I need someone better.”

“And you thought of me? Interesting first choice. Harp is a lot more skilled, as you saw during our little fight. I’m sure she can—”

“She’s a fighter, not a general.” Dallion interrupted. There was no way to confirm what he had just said, but he had a feeling that would be the case. For a very long time, the nymph had let Nil direct Dallion’s actions on the strategic front, despite being thousands of years older than him. There was a fifty-fifty chance that she had done so because it wasn’t among her skills.

“In case you forgot, we lost the last war,” Vihrogon said with a sigh. “Shocker, I know, but those are the facts.”

“You still won a lot before you did.”

“Even if we forget the part about me being a void-filled spy, military tactics have changed a bit in the last few millennia. Everything I know might be useless.”

“Better than trying to play catch up. Besides, the final decision will be mine. You’ll just be providing advice.”

“And you probably won’t take no for an answer?”

“You’re either in or out.”

A new hardness emerged in Dallion’s voice, not one of a hunter, nor a mage, but of a noble carrying with it the weight of authority. Vihrogon recognized it well. There was a time when he too had issued orders in such a voice, but now was destined to obey them. The only difference was that Dallion was giving him a choice.

“So, you plan to lead an army,” the guardian said. “War isn’t easy for empaths. There’s a lot killed and broken on all sides. Will you be able to handle it and not darken again?”

“Yes.” I don’t have much choice on this. “I’ll lead from the front. All I need is for you to help me prevent the enemy from using the vortexes to boost their magic. I’ll take the battle mage head on my own.”

“Of course. That’s what you’ve been saving your Moonstone for.” The dryad stood up from his chair. As he did, the bog disappeared, seeping into the floor. The floor and walls dried up, losing their moss and fungus, then transformed, making the entire space larger. Roots shot up, turning into furniture, wooden statues, and minor wall decorations, as the domain of the dryad morphed into what it was always supposed to be: the home of a noble and general.

“Ever since I’ve known you, you’ve been reckless,” the dryad said. “You rushed into things without knowing the consequences, gambled on luck, gear, familiars, and even the Moons.” Wooden scales of armor appeared on his vest, itself becoming a set of armor. “This time, though, you’re doing it as a noble and I’ll be your general.”