Thorne sighed as he surveyed the empty street in front of him. The once bustling camp was now devoid of life. Behind Thorne stood the massive gate and farm wall, which towered in the night sky.

“Eta?” Thorne asked, nudging the person to his left.

“Ten minutes. I see them.” Moravian responded without looking at him.

In front of the wall with Thorne were only our people: Procka, Moravian, Zal, and Lyra. Thorne hated this. His heart burned with fury at the plan, but he was angrier by the fact that he had no choice about it. Yesterday, during the war council—which he had skipped—a plan had been made, and for some reason, it involved using Thorne and the others as bait. ‘Fucking stupid.’ He thought, shooting Zal and Lyra a dirty look. He knew it was those two who had planned it.

Aware of his frustration, Lyra looked at him with slight annoyance; “Are you certain you are fully aware of the plan? Even Procka did not dare skip the meeting.”

“I’m fine.” Thorne muttered before whispering, “Her loss.”

Lyra—likely hearing what he had said—sighed and ignored him.

Minutes passed in silence until they heard it. The night streets of the farm sector rumbled as a cataclysmic sign of war began to appear.

The soft murmurs were barely audible at first; a faint echo carried on the wind. They grew steadily, gradually evolving into a rhythmic cadence, like the beating of a war drum. Thorne's ears strained, and his heart quickened in response to the foreboding symphony that filled the night.

As the sound drew nearer, the ground beneath their feet seemed to tremble in sync with the approaching menace. The vibrations reverberated through their bones, an unsettling reminder of the overwhelming force marching inexorably toward them. The once deserted streets now pulsated with an impending threat, an invisible pulse that thrummed through the very fabric of their surroundings.

With each passing moment, the sound intensified, morphing into an unsettling amalgamation of footfalls, metal clanks, and distant battle cries. The echoes bounced off the buildings, weaving a haunting melody that sent shivers down their spines. The air grew thick with tension, their every breath filled with anticipation and trepidation.

And then, like a tidal wave crashing upon the shore, they emerged; thousands of adversaries, an overwhelming mass of shadows converging upon the city's heart. Their synchronized steps created a symphony of destruction, a thunderous roar that shattered the silence of the night. The ground quaked beneath their weight, their collective presence an ominous force that threatened to engulf everything in its path.

The organized mass incorporated hundreds of cultivators of varying spectrums. Behind the cultivators were the white-robed soldiers. They lined up in organized rows, with weapons drawn and commanders ready to give the order to fire. Thorne watched in silence; his heart quivered ever so slightly, but his past experiences had hardened his resolve enough. He was not shaken and would stand firm as an unbreakable boulder.

In front of the army—leading the charge—were a dozen cultivators. They all possessed different spectrums, many of which Thorne had never seen or heard of before. Gulping, Thorne gritted his teeth as he sensed the energy power that flowed around each of them. They all had their distinct aura defined by their own path and ideals of power. Thorne felt an aura of domineering power, a will meant to destroy the world and leave none other than the bearer of that aura left alive. He felt an aura of love and compassion. It was clearly a person who believed peace was the primary choice in all facets of life.

All the auras were so diverse and unique that they tore at Thorne’s head. He had to purposely turn off his senses just to stop feeling their overpowering auras. Never had Thorne felt such a gut-wrenching sensation, not even from the grade two snake.

Thorne looked over at Zal and Lyra, offering them a small smile; now it was their turn. “You guys planned this," he said with a shrug. "If they attack, just retreat back here until we can open the gate.”

Nodding, Zal and Lyra took ten steps forward and directly faced the army. There was only a fifty-foot stretch of sandstone street between the army and the two of them. If even one non-cultivator shot a bullet, the spark would ignite, and peace would not remain an option. After the spark was lit, only one thing followed.

BOOM!

Thorne winced as he heard the army stopping in unison. They clicked their boots against the hard sandstone, and a cascading noise erupted into the night! Only fifteen feet away from the twelve leaders, Lyra and Zal did not falter, and to their credit, Thorne believed that they were doing an excellent job at intimidating their enemies. How many people would stand unphased in front of the might of an army?

“What are you all doing?” A yellow spectrum cultivator asked tersely. He stretched out each word as if his next was going to be an order for blood. Surveying the man, Thorne realized that he was the strongest of the bunch and would even pose some difficulties to Thorne. The other dozen cultivators were of similar power, which worried Thorne. He did not let this show on his face, though, and remained stoic in the face of the army.

Lyra stepped up past Zal—intending to answer the man, “We come to talk.” She said with a sincere gaze, “I pray that the ones above allow no blood to be spilled.”

‘She really had to go there.’ Thorne sighed. Throughout their time in Kroll City, the team learned about the people's religion. It was strange but not unheard of; the majority believed that the ancestors and ones who passed held supreme power over their world. If one performed well in life, power and authority would be granted in death. Thorne had hoped that Lyra—who had been informed of the religion only yesterday—would not attempt to exploit it, but unfortunately, he couldn’t control her.

The yellow man flinched. “Yes, I do agree. Your surrender would grant both our wishes. There would be no bloodshed, and order and peace would be restored.”

Lyra visibly slumped her shoulder; “I do hope that unreasonableness is not a staple of your character. I'm sure you know that this revolution has been long coming.” Lyra gestured to the army, “I'm sure all of you know.”

Thorne could notice some shifting and averted eyes in the rows of soldiers, but no exorbitant reaction was had.

“It is not unreasonable to simply ask for what was already ours.” The man said, a coy smile painting his lips, “If that marks me as unreasonable, then I fear you might be the very thing you think I am.”

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

“Very well.” Lyra sighed, her eyes sad, “It seems that the continuous insistence and tyranny of the Kroll regime has left you arrogant. It appears that despite my—and my fellow freedom fighters—wish for peace, we must go through war before it is an option.”

Thorne could see a small smile play over the man's face. Lyra continued, however, “Before the battle, I would like to speak for just a moment. My companions and I do not revel in death, so we present an opportunity to avoid it.” Lyra said, a wide grin blooming on her face. “Join us!”

An eruption occurred, not of noise, but of silence. The clattering of guns, the brushing of robes, the small side conversations all stopped as if they were frozen in time. Taking advantage of the surprise, Lyra continued, “Today, amidst the chaos of war, I stand before you not as an adversary but as a voice of empathy and compassion—a voice that seeks to bridge the chasm of hatred and unite us under a common banner of humanity. For too long, Kroll City has suffered under the weight of oppression, its streets echoing with the cries of the innocent and the hearts of its people burdened with unbearable anguish.”

The opposing army was silent. The yellow cultivator's shock subsided, and before Lyra could continue, he shouted an order: “Attack her! Ignore the rebel propaganda!” Following his own order, he burst forward at Lyra and threw a sizzling lightning bolt right at her face!

Time froze, and Thorne watched on stoically as he saw Lyra grin slightly. Time accelerated, and Zal jumped to Lyra’s defense as he withdrew his shield and projected a flowing amber barrier. The amber shield flowed for dozens of feet and almost entirely blocked off the narrow street. The war council had been wise when choosing the location to battle—Thorne could give them that.

Following their leader, the eleven other leading cultivators attacked. Well, not all of them. Some of them were not combat cultivators and instead opted to corral and lead their troops to attack the shield. Bolts of multicolored energy manifested together as they all clashed with Zal’s impenetrable shield. The lesser cultivators—unable to produce range attacks—charged forward! Like clockwork, they simply bounced off Zal’s shield, which looked undisturbed.

‘I should step in soon,’ Thorne grimaced. Despite his act, he knew that Zal was not okay. The tiny beads of sweat and clenched teeth gave it away; the man was struggling!

Undisturbed, Lyra continued with increased vigor, “In the face of such profound anguish, we are presented with an opportunity—an opportunity to rewrite the narrative of this conflict, to bridge the divides that have torn our land asunder. I implore you, my brothers and sisters in arms, to consider a different path—a path that leads to healing, redemption, and the restoration of our shared humanity.”

The bombardment continued. Bullets flew, swords swung, and energy attacks buzzed through the air, all attacking Zal’s shield. “Moravian, Procka, you two know what to do.” Thorne muttered to the two of them without looking, “Go!”

Moravian gasped, “You're supposed to come with us.”

Thorne shook his head, his eyes grave. “Won't be possible. Go on without me.”

Ahead of them, Thorne could notice a slight fluctuation in Zal’s shield. They hadn’t estimated this number of enemies to simultaneously attack, and Zal clearly wasn’t prepared. ‘Just hang on a bit longer.’ Thorne prayed as he watched Procka and Moravian give each other looks of understanding; “You right. We go.” Procka said as she heaved her body toward the gate.

With a low rumble, the gate shook open, and Moravia and Procka retreated back into the wall. ‘This plan better fucking work.’ Thorne glowered as he rushed forward to where Zal and Lyra were, ‘Otherwise, I’ll have to begin joining those dumbass war councils.’

As he rushed toward them, Lyra continued her speech with a calm demeanor; “Imagine, for a moment, a world in which swords are sheathed, and enmity gives way to understanding.”

Not paying any attention to Lyra, Thorne zeroed in on Zal as he tried to discern the man's state of being. ‘Fuck!’ Thorne didn’t like what he saw. Externally, the massive amber shield looked fine. Sure, the flowing amber seemed to be stuttering a bit, but It appeared stable and impervious. That was far from reality, however. Sensing Zal’s energy, Thorne knew the exchange had cost the man quite a bit. It wasn’t that he couldn’t hold off such an army; rather, it was that Zal clearly didn’t expect to have to. Amber energy was like a machine; you make the machine do something, and if everyone goes right, the machine will create perfection. Zal had circulated his power in a way more suitable to defend against long spells of low-frequency attacks, not the current bombardment he was withstanding.

‘Zal needs a break.’ Thorne realized, ‘I need to hold it so he can recalibrate his energy.’ Scowling, Thorne prepared his amber energy. It would be beyond difficult. Zal—a pure amber cultivator—was much more skilled in the art of defense and was clearly struggling against the army. Thorne just hoped that he could withhold the horde for as long as possible!

Mere feet away from Zal, Thorne heard Lyra drawl on, “A world in which the oppressed and the oppressor stand side by side, their arms linked in solidarity, as they rebuild what has been torn apart. It is a world where soldiers, burdened with the weight of their actions, find solace in the knowledge that they can lay down their weapons and take up the mantle of justice.”

The acrid scent of gunpowder mixed with the tangy energy created a swirling concoction that assaulted Thorne’s sense of smell. He bared it, and just as Zal’s shield began to exhibit cracks, Thorne reached forward and grabbed Zal’s hand!

“ARGH!” Thorne grunted in fury. His face scrunched up as he forced an ungodly amount of energy into Zal’s shield. It was more energy than he had ever used and would likely be the most he could use before grade two. His spectrum crystal ached, and Thorne felt a wave of fatigue and dizziness assault him. Despite this, Thorne kept pouring tsunamis of crushing amber energy into Zal’s shield. The cracks began to meld, and the shield returned to its unstoppable self.

Luckily, Thorne could piggyback off Zal’s work and had no need to use a technique of his own. Straining, Thorne caught the confident voice of Lyra wafted through the air. It clashed with the sounds of violence and even suppressed those noises; “The plight of Kroll City should serve as a poignant reminder that war is not simply a clash of arms and ideologies but a cataclysm that ripples through the lives of ordinary people—mothers, fathers, sons, and daughters. Families torn asunder, homes reduced to ashes, and dreams shattered like fragile glass. Can we, in good conscience, perpetuate this cycle of devastation?”

Barely paying attention, Thorne heaved a breath as he felt a brief respite in the attacks against the shield. For a moment, the intensity of the barrage went from one hundred to fifty. Instead of returning back to one hundred, Thorne felt that the severity of strikes had lessened—if only slightly.

“Let us cast aside the darkness that engulfs our hearts and embrace the light of compassion.” Lyra shouted with roughness, “Let us recognize that true victory lies not in the destruction of our enemies, but in the reclamation of their hearts and minds. Together, we can forge a path towards reconciliation, healing the wounds that have scarred our land and our souls.”

“Argh.” Thorne hunched over as he stopped the constant stream of amber energy. Zal had taken over again, and now Thorne could finally stop that torture. It was like holding the sky up with one hand tied behind your back; in other words, it was impossible to sustain.

‘Why are they stopping.’ Thorne watched on through hazy eyes as a miracle occurred. A visible portion of the army was standing still! They weren’t attacking anyone! Granted, they weren’t attacking their own troops either and were instead standing still like lost children.

Luckily, the war council had created a solution for this. “Turn your backs on tyranny! Turn and ascend toward the possibility of freedom! Turn and make the right choice!” Lyra screamed with unrestrained fervor.

Some of the soldiers did in fact turn, only to be left slack-jawed by what they saw. An army—hundreds strong—stood behind them in the street! They beckoned the lost troops forth, and like a dam falling, dozens of soldiers ran away and joined their cause!

“Maybe plans aren’t that bad.” Thorne said as he supported Lyra who was about to fall, “Go back into the farm, we’ll handle the rest.”

Lyra looked at him with gratitude, before running back into the walled-off farm. Her speech, while not using energy techniques, had used up much of her reserves. Projecting a voice to thousands wasn’t easy, especially amid battles.

Thorne looked back at the enemy army. They were reeling! Dozens of their own were running, and the rest were left confused and cornered! From the gate came more troops, which trapped the army. ‘Now there’s no escape!’ Thorne grinned. He retrieved his two night-black swords and thundered onto the urban battlefield!