I am Angela Muara, age 42, Master Mage and head healer of the Wyvern Division of the Arcadian Army.
I have always hated the idea of war. I dreamed of a world where the boundless potential of magic could be harnessed to end suffering, heal the sick, eliminate poverty, and bring peace to all. I knew those were lofty, perhaps even impossible goals, but that vision fueled my studies when I first began my education as a mage 30 years ago. That idealism is what led me to the path of a healer. Never did I imagine that my many years of mastering the art of mending the broken would one day place me on a battlefield, surrounded by such devastation…….
The deep, mournful groan of battle horns blares from the horizon, echoing across the vast plains of Dreamor as the Demon Lord’s legions march forth. The horde spills from the Dark Citadel Netherspire like a shadow stretching across the land, the earth trembling beneath the thunderous cadence of countless armored feet. Demonic banners snap violently in the icy wind. Marching alongside the horned demons clad in armor are iron clad giant trolls, ogres and minotaurs each wielding massive clubs, axes and ballistas.
My heart tightens. The sight before me, a wall of nightmares advancing without end, seizes my breath, making it catch in my throat. I grip the frost-rimmed stone of the barricade, steadying myself as I peer over the fortifications. From this elevated vantage, the master mages and I man the rear-line magical bombardment position, a half-circle of stone battlements enchanted with protective spells.
Fear lingers, sharp and cold, threading through the gathered ranks. The other master mages exchange glances, their expressions mirroring my own, apprehension mingled with grim resolve. The battle has already begun.
This is the great crusade of the combined forces of the known world to end the demon threat. The armies of the elves of Elandriel, joined by the iron phalanxes of the dwarves of Ravenmark, the savage warbands of the beastkin tribes of Fuketsujin, and the proud banners of every kingdom of men are all arrayed between us and the approaching horde.
Even with our combined forces It is clear that we are badly outnumbered.
A year has passed since Malakar Brackus descended from the frozen north, his armies leaving only ruin in their wake. Dreamor's people were decimated as the Demon King’s forces swept south, seizing the fortress city of Netherspire, making it the new capital of the demon nation. All the known world has responded, sending their armies in a unified campaign to drive this scourge from our world. I am part of the Wyvern Division, a force of 3,000 mages and knights sent to represent the Kingdom of Arcadia in the joint operation.
Drawing a deep breath, I turn away from the advancing tide to gaze down at our commander, the Grandmaster Mage Edric Drakemore. Even in the face of such overwhelming darkness, he stands unmoved. Clad in robes of deep midnight beneath a breastplate etched with ancient glyphs, he embodies Arcadia’s strength. The crimson crystal atop his staff, nearly the size of a man’s fist, pulses with contained power, ready to unleash devastation at his command.
On either side of Commander Edric stand Master Mages Lady Harris and Lord Lunts, positioned beside crates of mana crystals, ready to recharge Edric and ensure he does not run out of mana during the battle. In front of Edric, a crystal ball rests in a small, ornate stand on the ground. From it, multiple rectangular sheets of light emit, displaying the battlefield from the perspectives of the sentry mages stationed at each of the ten Arcadian bombardment positions. I see Edric study the images carefully as I descend from the barricade.
On the screens, the demon army's long front line has finally halted just one hundred yards from the allied forces. Flashes of light, fire, and lightning spells accompany a rain of arrows exchanged rapidly between the two armies. Explosions erupt across the battle line as spells and projectiles collide against the defensive barriers raised by both sides.
The booming sounds of the spells seem far to close.
Edric then speaks in a deep, commanding voice. "Open fire!" His words carry over the monitoring crystal to the other bombardment positions.
Lifting his staff, Edric begins a powerful chant. Above us, a massive fireball begins to form, bathing the area in an intense, searing light. What had been a cold, icy day now feels unbearably hot as waves of heat pulse from the massive fireball, growing larger and larger as Edric channels more mana into the spell.
I shield my eyes, unable to withstand the blinding heat. As I turn away, I notice identical fireballs forming above each of the other nine bombardment positions, all poised to rain down armageddon on the enemy.
“Greater Meteor!” Edric roared, his deep, commanding voice reverberating magically through the air, as though even the words themselves held power.
Commander Edric swung the head of his staff forward, launching the massive fireball toward the enemy line. The projectile rocketed toward the demons, accelerating with each passing moment. On the screen before me, I watched as the fireballs struck the demon horde just behind their front line. A blinding flash of light initially obscured the images, but as the brilliance faded, a shockwave of fire spread across the demon’s defensive barrier, only to dissipate into smoke.
They had blocked it. My heart sank. I turned my gaze back to our commander. Would even his magic fail to stop that endless army? The Grandmaster Mages of Arcadia were our greatest hope, the trump cards of the allied forces of the known world. If even they couldn’t break the demon lord’s defenses, what hope did the rest of us have? Were we all going to die today?
Lord Edric, though visibly tired, maintained his determined gaze on the battlefield projections before him. Lady Harris handed him a mana crystal, which he gripped tightly. A pulse of blue light surged from the crystal, washing over his body and restoring his strength. Reinvigorated, Edric cast the spent crystal aside and immediately resumed his chant, channeling the next colossal fireball.
How does he maintain such unwavering confidence in the face of near-certain death? My knees felt weak as I stared at the ongoing clash. The demon army continued to exchange spells with the elven forces holding the frontline between us and the enemy. But their barrier was visibly weakening. Even with equal numbers of mages, maintaining a barrier against relentless magical assault consumed far more mana than the offensive spells themselves.
The cracks in the elven defense were beginning to show. A few demon spells pierced through, crashing into the elven soldiers. Limbs and fragments of armor were hurled into the air as entire sections of the elven warriors were obliterated.
“Master Edric, our allies' barriers are going to fall! We must reinforce them before they collapse entirely!” I said, my voice rising in desperate realization.
“Greater Meteor!” Edric roars again, his eyes glowing red as mana spills from him, sending another massive torrent of fire toward the enemy.
As the spell crashes into the demon horde, Edric whips around to face me, growling, “Our task is to attack, not defend.”
He snatches a fresh mana crystal from Lunts’ hand, absorbing its energy while glaring at me. “If we do not maintain fire superiority, none of us will survive,” he declares with a tone of finality.
Before I can argue, Edric begins channeling another fireball, the oppressive heat and light returning. I glance back at the projection just as a massive boulder, hurled by a troll, breaches the elven barrier. It crashes into their formation, rolling through and crushing dozens of their fighters.
No doctrine of fire superiority can make me stand idly by as those men and women are shredded to pieces. I’m a healer—my duty and impulse are to protect my allies, to heal the wounded.
It sickens me to watch the elves being decimated. I know that if they collapse, the only force standing between us and the demon horde will be the 200 Arcadian knights stationed at the base of the barricades. It seems inevitable that we are all going to die.
Edric launches his third fiery meteor. This time, when it strikes the demon barrier, it breaks through. The shockwave engulfs a large swath of enemy troops, burning them to ashes.
“YES! Their barrier is down!” Edric shouts, echoed by cheers from the mages on the battlements.
I do not cheer. Fear and dread have consumed me too fully. Edric grabs another mana crystal from Harris, drains it, and begins chanting for his next fireball.
On the projected images, the demon army charges the front line. Without their barrier, they close the distance quickly. Trolls and ogres smash through the elves, their massive weapons scything through the defenders. Those not crushed underfoot or hacked apart are set upon and cut down by the demon warriors.
The cries of fear and pain echo around me, punctuated by the rising explosions. The massacre advances closer.
At the center of the enemy charge, a demon warrior on horseback stands out, clad in obsidian armor with golden embellishments. His helmet is shaped like a horned skull. Amid the chaos, he directs the assault with a commanding presence. Is this their general? The Demon Lord himself?
Suddenly, the horror vanishes in a blinding flash of light. At first, I don’t understand. Then, as the brilliance fades, I see Edric’s fireball has struck the center of the elven line. The shockwave crashes into our barricade with a thunderous force I feel in my chest. Some of our mages are knocked from the battlements by the blast.
The entire front line, elves and demons alike, is reduced to a smoking crater, the ground littered with mutilated and charred corpses.
“What did you do?” I gasp, horrified, looking back at the commander.
“I did what I needed to,” Edric responds coldly, absorbing mana from another crystal and discarding it on the ground.
“You killed our allies!” I say in disbelief.
“They were already dead,” Edric retorts, his tone unwavering as he begins channeling his next fireball. “And did you see? I killed their commander,” he adds proudly before returning to his spellwork.
Turning back to the projected image, I see another wave of the demon army charging past where the elves had fallen. At the center of the field, a massive demon, twice the size of the others and clad in jet black armor, kneels beside the charred remains of the demon commander I had seen earlier.
Spells begin raining from our battlements as the enemy draws closer. Fear grips me, freezing me in place, my mind going blank.
“Lion’s Heart,” Lady Harris intones, casting the spell on me.
"Snap out of it, Muara," Harris added sharply, apparently noticing me freeze up.
The enchantment washes over me, clearing my mind instantly. My fear dissipates, replaced with a fierce determination. My feet spring into action as I hurry around the back of the barricade to join the knights positioned outside. As I approach, I see them formed into a tight phalanx, mages behind them rapidly firing attack spells over their shoulders at the oncoming demon horde.
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Such is the standard strategy of the Arcadian military—mages focusing on overwhelming firepower while the knights, bolstered by enchanted armor and physical enhancement magic, form an unyielding steel wall to protect their mage counterparts.
I rush to join the mages behind the knight's formation, ducking my head as arrows rain around me, stones crash into the battlements behind, and spells zip overhead, exchanged from both sides. Another of Edric’s fireballs rockets by, slamming into the middle of the advancing demon formation. The spell explodes against the demon army’s restored barrier. The searing heat and brilliant light wash over us, nearly toppling the mages. Yet, the stalwart knights hold firm, their heavy armor and tight shield formation anchoring them as the demon assault looms closer.
I duck down beside a mage who is firing Fire Lance spells in rapid succession, his face dripping with sweat and looking weak in the knees, likely suffering from low mana. Then I hear clearly amongst the chaos of sound around us the sharp crack behind be followed by a scream. I look back to see a mage falling limp over the battlements, landing in a heap with a thud, his body smoking. He must have been struck by a lightning spell, I think to myself and I rush over to him.
Crash! Looking over my shoulder I see a boulder had landed right where I had been crouching a moment before. The corpse of the mage that has been standing there lays crushed, his inside splattered across the ground, nothing remains of his face. There is nothing I can do for him, I turn back to the human lightning rod.
I extend my hand to heal him, but another thunderous crash halts me. A massive troll has smashed through our shield wall, sending several knights flying. A tall young knight wielding a massive broadsword breaks formation to fill the breach. Moving with impossible agility for a man his size, he dodges the troll’s axe with a roll, rising and cutting down a demon soldier in a wide arc before cleaving through the troll’s leg. The beast collapses with a deafening roar, crushing more demons beneath its weight. Before it can react, the knight severs its head with a decisive swing.
I refocus on the smoldering mage’s body. “Focus, Muara! You have a job to do!” I whisper to myself, though the words are drowned by the clashing steel and cries around me. The Lion Heart enchantment helps me block out the noise, my mind narrowing on the broken body before me. Pale green light emits from my hands as I channel healing energy, sealing his life-threatening wounds while conserving mana by ignoring minor injuries. The mage rises, still bleeding from a gash above his eye, nodding in silent thanks before resuming his spells.
As I turn to leave, I spot a knight locked in brutal combat with a demon, bashing its head with his own helmet. Blood and gore spray with each strike. An arrow whistles past my cheek. I twist around just in time to see the mage I had healed collapse, an arrow embedded between his eyes. My stomach clenches, but Lion’s Heart suppresses the grief.
I press on, reaching the struggling knight. Grabbing a thick arrow shaft lodged in his back, I rip it free, tearing flesh but immediately closing the wound with healing magic. The knight briefly pauses, perhaps to thank me, before returning to battering the corpse below him. I don’t hear what he says as I am already moving on.
The battle lines have collapsed entirely. Arcadian knights, mages, and demons are intermingled in a chaotic melee. I step past another mage, his skull caved in, clearly beyond saving. An arrow glances off my barrier, sapping a fragment of my mana. The enchantment keeps me numb, numb to fear, to pain, to my own self-preservation. This isn’t courage. My mind is blank, guided only by the drilled instinct of my training. Find the next one. Evaluate. Heal. Move on.
I set off in search of my next patient, stepping over mutilated corpses as arrows and spells rained down around me. My task was made easier when a knight was flung through the air and landed before me, sprawled out on the ground. Well, most of a knight—his left leg hadn’t completed the journey with him. I quickly stopped the arterial bleeding from the stump and focused on healing his other critical wounds, including a cracked skull and deep lacerations.
Once healed, the knight sat up but did not spring into action. Instead, he looked around, dazed. I had healed his body, but the psychological trauma remained. I cast “Lion’s Heart” to restore his courage, but nothing happened. Either he was too far gone, or my spell wasn’t strong enough. I reached down to pull him to his feet when something suddenly yanked me backward by the collar of my robes.
As I was dragged back, I saw iron-clad demons swarming toward us. Two drove their spears into the one-legged knight I had just healed, ending his life before he could even defend himself.
The mana I had spent healing him was wasted.
A massive sword swung over my head, cleaving through the demons chasing us. My eyes followed the blade back to its wielder— the young knight who had slain the troll earlier. With one hand, he dragged me backward while expertly swinging his massive broadsword with the other, fending off our attackers with incredible dexterity.
I stared in awe. Blood drenched his armor, a raw cut marred his cheek, but despite it all, his face remained strikingly handsome. Then I noticed his lips moving, snapping me out of my numb silence.
“We need to go, little lady,” he said in a commanding tone. “Commander ordered a retreat.”
The knight pulled me through a gap in the shattered garrison wall, still swinging his sword. He sliced one of our pursuers cleanly in half as if they were made of parchment. Then, with surprising ease, he bodily tossed me at the feet of Commander Edric.
As I scrambled to my knees, I slip on the spent mana crystals that littered the ground. The barricade was in ruins, massive gaps blown apart. Beyond the rubble, we were surrounded on all sides by demon soldiers, their armor dripping with the blood of my fallen allies. The young knight positioned himself protectively, his back toward Edric, his blade unwavering as he faced the encroaching horde.
“Mana crystal, woman!” roared Edric. “Hand me a mana crystal!”
I look up to see Edric facing down a massive demon, towering twice the height of the others, clad in black armor with golden embellishments. The figure stands in a massive breach at the center of the shattered fortifications.
It’s the Demon Lord.
“Mana crystal!” yells Edric again, snapping me from my daze.
Frantically, I begin searching for a fresh mana crystal. The crates that once held them have been destroyed, the ground littered with shards. I drop to my hands and knees, desperately digging through the debris.
“You invaded my lands,” booms a voice so deep and guttural it seems more beast than man. “You burned our fields, razed our villages, and slaughtered our women and children.”
“What? I didn’t know a beast like you could speak the common tongue,” taunts Edric with feigned confidence. “I was expecting grunts and snorts... maybe even clicks.”
The Demon Lord steps forward, dragging a massive axe at his side, the blade carving a furrow into the ground.
“And today you took my son from me,” he growls, his voice thick with growing menace. “Not only will I kill you, Commander Edric Drakemore, but I will be a curse upon your entire bloodline.”
Edric responded by firing a lightning bolt from his staff at the Demon Lord, who effortlessly blocked it with a barrier and retaliated with a rock blast, sending a high-speed stone projectile. Edric narrowly dodged the attack and returned fire with a Fire Lance spell, but the flames were absorbed harmlessly into the Demon Lord. In return, the Demon Lord unleashed a barrage of Fire Lance spells, forcing Edric to block with a shimmering barrier.
As the magical duel raged, the demon horde surged forward around us. The young knight swung his massive sword in wide, sweeping arcs, cutting down demon warriors with remarkable speed and precision. His footwork was as graceful as a bard's, yet each thunderous step carried the weight of a colossus. He danced around Edric and me, his blade cleaving through attackers, deflecting spells, and intercepting arrows and stones meant for us. His armored body acted as a shield, intentionally absorbing blows to protect us.
Meanwhile, my frantic search for a usable mana crystal finally bore fruit. I snatched up the precious shard and handed it to Edric, who seized it in a flash. The blue glow of mana surged into his eyes as his aura expanded outward in a shockwave of energy.
Standing back on my feet, my medical diagnosis magic revealed the increasing severity of the knight’s injuries, though he showed no sign of slowing. He was moving too fast and erratically for me to heal directly. My only option was the far more difficult and less effective area healing spell. Staying close to Edric’s barrier, I placed my palms together and began channeling the Sanctuary spell, bathing the three of us in a pale green glow.
Edric, focusing intently, aimed his staff carefully at the Demon Lord. A bright light formed at the tip, growing steadily brighter. A heartbeat later, the orb of light zipped across the battlefield, striking the Demon Lord’s upper right helmet. Surprisingly, there was no explosion, not even the clang of metal. The Demon Lord ceased his spellcasting momentarily, raising a hand to his head in apparent confusion.
Then the area of impact began to turn dull grey, spiderweb-like cracks spreading rapidly across the helmet. In a desperate move, the Demon Lord wrenched the dissolving helmet from his head, but it was too late. With the helmet came his right horn, and the grey corrosion continued to spread across his scalp and crimson hair. His face contorted in agony and rage.
“Enjoy my parting gift, you filthy animal,” Commander Edric said, drawing a golden amulet with a brilliant blue gem from around his neck.
The young knight continues to fight with relentless vigor, his sword carving through the demon horde even as his blood seeped from beneath his scorched and cracked armor. My Sanctuary spell was working, but far too slowly to keep pace with the injuries he was sustaining. For a brief moment when he paused, I could see the blood flowing steadily from his wounds.
I look back at Edric, searching for a sign of hope or a plan. What I see instead is the Demon Lord charging at us, clutching his right hand to his head as light emanates from his gauntlet. His left hand winds up, preparing to bring his massive axe down upon us. At the same moment, Edric smiles broadly, pressing his thumb to the amulet around his neck.
A blinding white light erupts, accompanied by intense, gale-like winds that send me stumbling to the ground. My hands touch grass—grass? We weren't standing on grass. The blinding light vanishes as quickly as it came, and I find myself on my hands and knees in a field of lush green grass and wildflowers.
Looking up, I hear the raucous cheers of a thousand voices. A throng of Arcadian mages and knights surrounds us, roaring and shouting joyously. Many of them are covered in ash and mud from the battle, with some bearing visible injuries. I reason these must be the mages and knights posted at the other bombardment positions, who, like us, used the teleportation rune to reach our fallback position.
“All hail the Commander Edric Drakemore!” a knight bellows, spurring a fresh wave of cheers.
The crowd closes in, and I feel a large, iron-clad hand pull me to my feet. Turning, I see the young knight, his face marred by burns and cuts, one eye swollen shut. Yet, by adrenaline, magic, or sheer willpower, he stands upright despite his shattered armor and grievous wounds. Instinctively, I place my hand on his chest and begin to heal him.
“Thank you, little lady,” he says as the swelling in his eye subsides and the cut on his cheek knits back together. “You did great out there.”
“The name is Lady Muara, not little lady,” I retort. “And I didn’t do much of anything. Not nearly enough.” A dull pain throbs in the back of my mind, threatening to break through my magically suppressed emotions.
“My name's Gavin. Just Gavin,” he responds with a kind smile. “And I saw you out there, healing everyone you could.”
“They all died,” I say flatly, withdrawing my hands from his chest, the healing complete.
“Not everyone. Without you, the commander and I would be dead too,” Gavin says, patting my shoulder with a heavy hand that nearly buckles my knees.
“Whoops,” Gavin mutters, catching me as I stumble and pulling me back up.
As I dust myself off, I notice the crowd parting, with four knights carrying an unconscious Commander Edric away.
“Looks like he depleted his mana with that teleportation spell,” Gavin says, his eyes following the commander being carried off. “We really did just barely make it out.”
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That was 10 years ago, and now, at age 52, I have long since left military service behind me, yet I have remained a healer. I spent several years teaching healing at the Arcadian Academy of Magic before establishing the largest apothecary in the region. Now, I devote my days to healing all those I can. However, my mind often returns to that day, that battle. When the false bravery of Lion’s Heart wore off, I was left with deep trauma and profound regret for what happened.
I went on to check on every mage and knight who made it off the battlefield that day, healing those in need. Afterward, I found a small number of demon soldiers caught in the teleportation spells during our retreat. About twenty were tied up, all injured to varying degrees. I began healing them as well, believing that even prisoners deserve respectful treatment. My efforts, however, were in vain. Before I could finish healing even the first one, another Grandmaster mage ordered their immediate execution to avoid delaying our withdrawal.
Of the 3,000 Arcadians who fought that day, 1,152 made it home. We were the lucky ones. The rest of the coalition, every elf, dwarf, beastkin, and soldier of men, was massacred by the demon horde. Those other kingdoms had few mages, and none with the skill to cast teleportation magic, even with the assistance of runes.
Later, when the tales of this battle were told, the people of Arcadia praised the brave and gallant Commander Edric Drakemore for leading the army that crippled the demon forces so severely that the Demon Lord ceased his campaign for more land. They said Edric personally slew the Demon Lord’s son and grievously injured the Demon Lord himself. Rumors persisted that the Demon Lord had been permanently crippled, as he never returned to the battlefield.
Edric was further celebrated for ordering the retreat, staying on the field until the last possible moment to ensure the survival of as many of his soldiers as possible. He was canonized as the great hero of Arcadia.
However, the story told by the other peoples present that day was far different. To the elves and dwarves, it was remembered as a tragic day marking the beginning of their kingdoms' decline, later defeated and annexed by their former human allies. To the beastkin, it was a tale of defiant heroism. Their warriors were said to have fought the demon horde for an entire day after the Arcadians fled. The beastkin tribes still thrive today, honoring those who perished and regarding the Arcadians as cowards for abandoning the battlefield.
For me, that battle never truly ended. I see it often when I sleep. I see the faces of those I couldn’t save. And every day, I wake trying to cover my past failures by healing those I can today.