It felt good to use my spear. It might have been possible to wipe the Forvaal if I’d let loose a firestorm, but with so many allies nearby, it would have been too dangerous.

I’m really glad the mermineae are so easy for me to deal with. Some mercenaries are strong, almost to my team’s level, but still struggle when fighting too many of the standard mermineae. I’m fortunate in the sense that no matter how many come at me, as long as they burn, they cannot touch me.

Grímr is helping carry our dead to the far rear of the line, where they have pitched temporary structures; tents. The sight of them dredges up old memories and I have to tear my eyes away. They are far too similar to ger for my liking.

Most of the soldiers and mercenaries focus on the strange metal bird helping them work, so I get to walk around undisturbed. They keep their distance, but never take their eyes off him.

I pass another row of piled bodies as I make my way to the cordoned off section of the former battlefield for the injured. The dead are taken away, but those needing treatment stay. I’m slightly tempted to burn the bodies and reuse their energy myself, but the vast majority are unenhanced, which would be worthless for me now. Best leave them for others to make use of.

Wait, Grímr’s around. Are they going to bury them?

For now, I put it out of mind. We’re already at war with the mermineae, I don’t want to start any dumb internal conflicts that would be better avoided.

I finally find the flamberge albanic, still without his arm and leg. I find it strange that he hadn’t been healed immediately. He’s obviously one of their stronger warriors, so I’m surprised they didn’t have him rush right out to the battlefield again. Even more surprised he’s still in this state.

He sits in the back of the carriage, staring up into the sky. The pholos strapped to the wagon lay asleep. It is strange to see the creatures again. I’d thought only Zadok had the animals because they don’t have the trains every other country seems to. Then again, there aren’t exactly any rails out here. Do the pact nations not have those cars? Or is that something only the Henosis Empire has?

I climb up and sit across from him. I’m not all too sure why, maybe curiosity? Thick, crimson-stained bandages cover the stubs of missing limbs. His arm at the shoulder and leg just above where his knee should be.

When he doesn’t lower his head after a minute, I ask the question on my mind. “Why haven’t you been healed?”

“Are you mocking me?” the albanic drops his gaze to mine, scowl on his face. It slackens when he sees me, but confusion takes its place.

“No,” I say. “I just thought it strange they didn’t want one of their strongest continuing to fight.”

“That’s not possible, you know.” His eyebrows furrow as he looks over the tattered remains of my outfit. “Why are you even here? Did you not evacuate before those beasts attacked? Wait, are you even albanic?” His eyes widen as they rise to mine.

“How can you tell?” I ask, surprised. While my flames are hidden, most just assume I’m an albanic too. Even the albanic themselves. I flicker my body to flame and back to confirm his guess.

“No reason,” he says while locking eyes. Huh, maybe the blue of my hair and its dark shade were enough for him. I had covered it in dirt and grease when I was intentionally trying to hide, after all.

“That was you before? The fire that helped us?”

“Yep.”

He bows his head, the action somewhat stiff in his seated position. “Then, thank you. It is likely because of you that my team and many others are alive.” His gaze drops to his missing leg as he speaks.

“Your team? Where are they now?” I glance around as if they’ll pop out of nowhere. “Also, what did you mean it’s not possible? My teammate had his tentacle regrown in a fight.” Remus said he would have to wait until we got back across the Alps to restore his limb, but then we’d come across Imiha. There has to be more amongst the nations that can heal, right?

“My team is debriefing with the commander now. And your team must be incredibly lucky to get one of the Lu-lum to support you in battle. They typically refuse to be anywhere near conflict zones. I’ll be enjoying a nice day long train ride north just to be put on a waiting list.” He clenches his only remaining hand. “Who knows what might happen out here by the time I’m back?”

I don’t respond. I don’t know how. This battle was a victory, but it was tiny in the scheme of things. There are still hundreds of thousands of mermineae. What’s to say these few hundred mercenaries won’t face overwhelming numbers next time? Grímr and I can’t stay forever. We need to get back to Meja.

Grímr is still helping them carry bodies, so I settle to wait until he’s ready to leave. I want to head back as soon as possible, but I’m sure he feels the same way, so I’ll be patient.

My eyes wander over the encampment. The area for injured people I’m currently sitting in is the only place where both the soldiers and mercenaries intermingle. Outside, they steer clear of the other. Despite the number of casualties amongst the soldiers, there are still far more of them than the mercenaries.

A flock of people leave the largest of the ger… tents. They spread out amongst the mercenary teams resting after their fight. Each wear clean, formal clothing that is out of place amongst both mercenaries and soldiers.

A group of three albanics and a pair of khirig walk our way. I assume this is my limbless friend’s team. They seem more interested in me as they approach.

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

“Yo, Mors. Who’s this?” an albanic woman jumps on the wagon and sits shoulder to shoulder with the flamberge wielder — Mors.

“She’s the cause of all that fire.”

“Really? But she’s so young.” I twist my head back to the khirig standing behind me. Her antlers giving her an impressive height over me.

“Is that really so strange? Is there no one my age as strong?”

“Incredibly,” Mors says.

“The only ones that even have the possibility are mages, but kids talented and driven enough are incredibly rare. Plus, there aren’t many that would risk letting their kids experience the world before they’ve taught them everything they need.” The woman across from me leans further into Mors’ side.

Another albanic man leans over, inspecting me. “And yet I can’t see a single marking on your body.” His eyes widen and I have to groan. I know what’s coming. “You wouldn’t happen to be an áed would you?”

Typical mages.

Thankfully, the khirig behind me speaks up, so I don’t have to respond. “Oh! The commander is looking for you.” She steps back and waves her long antler arm to someone off in the distance.

The rest of the team winces at the khirig’s action. Another khirig steps forward to pull down her arm.

“The commander isn’t too happy with you, so prepare yourself,” the woman beside Mors says.

“Huh? Why? Didn’t I help?” I’m aware of my strength enough to know that there would have been many more dead if I hadn’t joined the fight. Why would their leader be mad at me?

“You did, and we are all thankful, but-”

“You!”

The shout makes me turn. A short female albanic with a uniform adorned with many medals stomps her way toward us. A bored-looking man follows on her heels. Despite his slouched posture and baggy clothing, I can tell he’s the most dangerous person here.

I can’t feel it. Not in the way you could immediately tell when someone was strong. No, he doesn’t show his presence. Instead, I can feel the energy moving along and around his skin, just beneath the clothes that cover every millimetre of his body beside his face.

He’s a fire mage.

He notices my gaze on him rather than the commander currently asking the khirig behind me whether she’s certain I’m actually the one she’s looking for. An amused smirk spreads across his face as we stare at each other, but he says nothing, and does nothing as the albanic woman pushes between us again.

“Present yourself!”

“What?” I stumble to my feet on the wagon as she puts her face far too close to mine for comfort.

“Your name and team.” She crosses her arms and glares.

I look around, hoping for any of these mercenaries to either explain why she’s mad or calm her down. When neither comes, I return my attention to this rude woman before me.

“I’m Solvei, with Luis-Eight.”

That turns some heads. As with back at the garrison, the name of Remus’ team is enough to attract attention. Even the commander’s eyes widen slightly before she narrows them at me.

“Why did you not announce your presence to me when you arrived?”

“I arrived in the middle of battle. Why would I do that? So many more would have died if I hadn’t.” My eyes flicker to the mage standing behind the commander and I realise something I should have when I first saw him. “Why didn’t you help?”

I jump off the wagon and push past the commander, who lets out a gasp of indignation as she stumbles out of my way. She’s clearly unenhanced. The fire mage keeps his calm attitude while I close the distance. He’s a full head taller than me and I don’t enjoy having to look up to him, so I engulf myself in physical flame and lift myself to his height. I lift myself a little higher, so now I’m the one looking down on him.

“You were here. Why did you leave these people to die?” I can feel the well of flames hidden within the markings beneath his coat. “You are strong enough to kill all the mermineae yourself, so why did you not help?”

Still unmoving, he grins at me. “I would have loved to join.” He directs his gaze to the uniformed woman. “But Commander Irena here wouldn’t have it. Maybe you should ask her for details.”

I return my focus to the fat lady once more, the deep scowl doing nothing to hide her anger. “It appears you are still a child, despite your strength. You cannot win a war by saving everyone. Some sacrifices are necessary.”

“What?” I’m more shocked than angry. They intentionally let those soldiers and mercenaries die? I’d assumed it was negligence, not intent. “What do you mean ‘sacrifices’?”

“Beiths must remain out of battle until we can force the enemy to show their elite.” Her eyes flicker to the fire mage before returning to me. “Not only did you give yourself away, which might have been fine if it were you alone, but we have no hope of hiding our Beith now.” She calms herself before she continues. “They have all the cards they need to deal with us in the next battle.”

That is absolute foolishness. Keeping your best mercenaries from fighting for only a slight advantage in information? Sacrificing thousands for that information? It just seems wrong.

I feel the thread of fire as it approaches from behind me. I’ve felt it ever since the fire mage created it. Right before it connects with my flame, I send a curious glance the mage’s way. I’ve never met a fire mage before now, but I really feel like he has absolutely no idea what he’s doing. He’s guiding the fire with horrid inefficiency. It’s like he’s trying to strangle it in the direction he wants it to go. Even when I struggled with my control as a child, I was never this bad.

His fire links with mine, and I feel him try to gain control. His grasp moves over the flame carrying me and to my very body. I can feel him trying to influence my fire. He doesn’t even come close to being successful, but the attempt itself is invasive. Infuriating.

I crush his attempt in an instant and amplify the heat of the tether between our bodies. My fire rushes into his body. The markings resist me in the same way I might have trouble stepping over a stone in my path. I burn the fire in him until the clothes he wears ignite, scorching away to reveal markings glowing bright yellow with my flame.

He screams. His bored, uncaring attitude melting away along with the skin beside his markings.

I really shouldn’t kill him; he’s probably needed for the defence of the pact nations, but I can’t calm down. Did he really think he could snatch control away from me that easily?

I absently note my inner flame is twisting around me. The carriage is on its side as my flames have incinerated its wheel. One of Mors’ team has picked up the commander and taken her away. Everyone keeps their distance.

The fire mage before me collapses to his knees and I lower myself to the earth. His body is resistant to my flames, but I’m scorching the muscles inside him just as much as my flames run over his skin. The markings give me free access to his entire body.

“Did you really just try to use fire against an áed?”

There’s no need for me to make myself taller when he’s kneeling before me. His head bowed low to the earth. His ragged breaths wheeze with effort.

“I thought mages were supposed to be smart, so why is it they tend to make the dumbest mistakes?”

I lift his head, wanting to see the fear, the acknowledgement of his mistake. Attempting to violate my fire, no matter how poor the attempt, is unforgivable. When his eyes reach mine, it is not fear or regret I see, but mad joy. He laughs as he tries to amplify the fire within him, which does nothing but make me press harder.

He winces before hiding it with another grin as his body melts and burns. He tries again, but I don’t give him the satisfaction.

I step away, only to find Grímr standing behind me. I clutch onto his plumage as I rip my flames out of the insane mage, who gasps and collapses face first into the dirt.

“Let’s go. I don’t want to stay.” Not with a commander willing to sacrifice her people for the slightest advantage, and not with the mage who thinks he can control me. I just escaped that which bent my mind against my will, and now someone attempts to take my very being away from me?

Grímr, ever on my side, takes off without a word.