Chapter 14

  Fiora knelt over a small canvas bag, carefully arranging its contents in the dim glow of a single lantern. “Our first mission,” she whispered to herself, her voice barely audible over the rhythmic snores of her sleeping comrades. Her fingers worked swiftly, tucking in rolls of bandages, vials of medicine, and a generous stash of dried meats and bread. “I need to make sure we’re prepared for anything.”

  She had woken up hours before dawn, unable to quell the nervous excitement that buzzed through her. The bag was packed with everything she thought they might need for the journey ahead, yet she found herself triple-checking it, unable to sit still. Finally satisfied, Fiora tied the bag shut and looked around the shack. Her gaze softened as it landed on Eldric, who lay sprawled on his cot, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm.

  Fiora lingered, unable to pull her eyes away. The faint light cast gentle shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp line of his jaw and the unruly mess of his hair. Her heart fluttered as she found herself kneeling by his side, drawn in by some invisible force. Slowly, she reached out, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead with trembling fingers.

  Her pulse quickened, and a shy smile tugged at her lips. She traced her fingers lightly along his scalp, marveling at the warmth of his skin. I can’t believe I kissed him on the cheek last night, she thought, her cheeks flushing at the memory.

  “What are you doing?”

  Nyssa’s sharp voice cut through the silence like a blade, making Fiora jump. She spun around to see Nyssa glaring at her from across the room, her eyes narrow with suspicion. Nyssa threw off her blanket and leapt from her cot, crossing the room in a few brisk steps.

  Without giving Fiora a chance to respond, Nyssa grabbed her by the wrist and yanked her toward the door. “Let’s go,” she hissed.

  “Get up, you two!” Nyssa barked over her shoulder, loud enough to wake Eldric and Rendrick. Both boys groaned groggily, rubbing their eyes as they sat up in their beds.

  Outside, the chill of the predawn air bit at Fiora’s skin as Nyssa dragged her down the steps and toward the water well. The sky above was still painted with stars, the faintest glow of morning just beginning to touch the horizon.

  Fiora wrenched her wrist free from Nyssa’s grip and turned on her, her eyes blazing. “What’s your problem?” she snarled, her voice low but dangerous.

  Nyssa folded her arms, a smug smile playing on her lips. “I heard about your little stunt last night,” she said, her tone dripping with mockery. “Kissing him on the cheek and all that.”

  “So?” Fiora shot back, her voice sharp. “What does it matter to you?”

  Nyssa leaned closer, her smile widening. “It matters to me because he and I have been spending a lot of time alone together. At night.” Her voice was honeyed, but her words were deliberate. She let them hang in the air for a moment before delivering the final blow. “We’re practically dating.”

  Fiora’s face drained of color, her jaw falling open in disbelief. For a moment, she was too stunned to speak, but as the shock gave way to fury, color rushed back into her cheeks. Her fists clenched at her sides, and her voice trembled with rage.

  “Excuse me?” she hissed, stepping closer to Nyssa.

  Nyssa didn’t flinch, her expression as smug as ever. “You heard me,” she said, her voice calm and unbothered, as if daring Fiora to make the next move.

  “You heard me,” Nyssa repeats, her voice steady and unyielding. “We spend nights cuddled up looking at the stars together.” A proud smirk curls her lips. “I really like him. So, butt out.”

  Fiora’s eyes widen, her face a furious shade of crimson. Her fists clench at her sides, trembling with rage. “You… you… bitch!” she shouts, her voice breaking through the crisp morning air like a whip.

  Rendrick and Eldric step out into the courtyard, both blinking sleep from their eyes. Rendrick, oblivious to the tension, strides over to the shed. He emerges moments later with a pile of weapons in his arms—two swords, his trusted ax, a dagger, a bow, and four matching gray cloaks. He lays them out neatly on the wooden table near the fire pit.

  Eldric, meanwhile, carries the bags Fiora had prepared earlier and sets them next to the weapons. “So, what’s the plan, Commander?” he asks with a teasing grin, glancing over at Fiora.

  Fiora shoots a sharp, venomous glare in Nyssa’s direction before turning her focus to the group. She stands tall, trying to mask her lingering anger with authority. “We’ll keep our current clothes to blend in as civilians,” she announces. “Everyone will carry a weapon, but keep it hidden beneath your cloaks.” She picks up one of the gray cloaks and hands it to Rendrick, then Nyssa, then Eldric, before pulling one over her own shoulders. “We leave in five minutes. Grab your gear and be ready.”

  Eldric grabs his canteen from the table and walks to the water well to fill it. Seeing her chance, Fiora quietly follows after him, her heart racing with frustration and despair.

  “Eldric,” she starts softly, cornering him by the well. Her voice wavers, a raw edge of hurt betraying her usual confident tone. “How could you…” Her sentence trails off, choked by the emotion rising in her throat. A single tear escapes, sliding silently down her cheek.

  Eldric freezes, the sight of her tear striking him like a dagger to the chest. He glances nervously over his shoulder at Nyssa, who is busy securing her bow beneath her cloak. The guilt weighs heavy on him, but he doesn’t know how to respond. Instead, he wordlessly turns and strides toward Nyssa, grabbing her arm and dragging her behind the training hut.

  “What did you do?” he demands, his voice low but sharp.

  Nyssa jerks her arm free and crosses her arms over her chest. “I told her we’ve been spending time together,” she says defensively. “And she got mad. That’s it.”

  Eldric narrows his eyes, scrutinizing her face. “That’s all you said?” he asks, his tone skeptical.

  Nyssa nods, her expression defiant. “Yes. That’s all.”

  Eldric exhales, running a hand through his hair. He glances back toward Fiora, who stands by the well, taking deep, steadying breaths in an effort to compose herself. Her face is still flushed, but she wipes the stray tear away and straightens her posture.

  “All right!” Fiora shouts suddenly, her voice cutting through the tension. “Let’s move out.”

  With their gear in hand, the group assembles by the gated archway. For the first time in over three years, they step beyond the confines of the courtyard. The dark tunnel looms ahead of them, its walls cold and damp, but they march through without hesitation. Emerging on the other side, they find themselves in a quiet rose garden nestled along the castle’s perimeter. The early morning light bathes the blooming flowers in a soft golden glow.

  The garden path winds its way toward the front steps of the castle, where the city of Aldcliff stretches out before them in all its bustling glory. Merchants begin setting up their stalls, and the faint hum of morning life fills the air. They descend the steps and navigate the city streets, sticking close together as they weave through the growing crowds.

  After a short journey through town, the group reaches the edge of Aldcliff and steps into the vast, untamed world beyond. The open road stretches before them, flanked by rolling hills and distant forests. Fiora leads the way, her face set with determination as she clutches the map in one hand.

  Their mission has begun.

  Alicia stood silently at the window of the castle’s highest tower, her gaze fixed on the horizon as the four young recruits, vanished into the distance. Her expression was unreadable, but her posture betrayed the weight of her thoughts. Behind her, the heavy oak door creaked open, and the familiar sound of boots on stone pulled her from her reverie.

  “How long will they be gone?” Alicia asked without turning around.

  “About two days,” Cerys replied, her tone calm yet deliberate. She tugged at the straps of her worn leather armor, ensuring a snug fit. Once satisfied, she looked up at Alicia. “Is it almost time?”

  “Indeed, it is,” Alicia said, a faint smile tugging at the corner of her lips. She turned from the window, her silk cloak trailing behind her. “Our guests should arrive within a few hours.”

  Cerys nodded and tightened the last strap of her armor. “What are your orders?”

  Alicia’s demeanor shifted, her voice sharp with command. “Assemble the guards and deploy them throughout the city. They are to begin escorting the citizens to the stronghold beneath the castle. We cannot take any chances.”

  She strode to the door, her sword in hand, the metal catching the light. Before stepping out, she turned her piercing gaze to Cerys. “Let’s get this done.”

  Fiora walked several paces ahead of the group, her steps mechanical and her thoughts adrift. The crisp air and soft crunch of the grass underfoot did little to soothe the storm brewing within her. What am I going to do? she thought bitterly. How did this happen?

  She glanced back over her shoulder, her heart tightening at the sight of Eldric trailing behind the group, his head bowed and his hands stuffed into his pockets. He seemed lost in his own thoughts, oblivious to her gaze. Fiora sighed, turning her attention back to the path. I thought if I changed, he would love me. What did I do wrong?

  Hours passed in a tense silence, broken only by the rustling of the wind through the fields. After what felt like an eternity, the group reached the top of a gentle rise and caught sight of their destination. Nestled between two colossal cliffs stood the sprawling castle city of Oaklea. Its massive stone walls stretched as far as the eye could see, adorned with towering spires that pierced the sky. The city dwarfed Aldcliff in both size and grandeur, its sheer scale both awe-inspiring and intimidating.

  “Wow,” Rendrick murmured, breaking the silence.

  Hundreds of towers rose above the walls, their intricate designs shimmering in the afternoon light. The path beneath their feet transformed from dirt to cobblestone as they neared the city, the rhythm of their steps now echoing softly on the smooth stones. The road led them directly to the city’s colossal gateway, an imposing structure reinforced with iron and carved with intricate patterns depicting battles and triumphs.

  Despite the grandeur of the scene, an unsettling stillness hung in the air. The city seemed lifeless, devoid of the hustle and bustle one might expect from such a place. The only sign of activity was a lone guard sitting slouched in an outpost beside the gate. His chain-mail armor clinked softly as he stirred, noticing the group’s approach.

  The guard stood, brushing crumbs from his tunic, and walked toward them with an easy smile. His face was weathered, but his demeanor was surprisingly cheerful. Extending a hand in greeting, he said. “Welcome to the capital city of Oaklea, travelers!” the guard announces, his voice carrying a warmth that contrasts with the imposing gate behind him. “What brings you here today?”

  Fiora lowers her hood, letting her red hair fall loosely over her shoulders. She meets his gaze with a practiced smile. “We’re just passing through. We were hoping to rest here for the night.”

  The others follow suit, pulling back their hoods, revealing their youthful faces. The guard’s eyes narrow slightly as he studies them. “Well, you’re certainly some young travelers,” he says with a hint of curiosity.

  “Our homes were destroyed,” Fiora replies, her tone heavy with feigned sorrow. “We’re just looking for a place to stay and maybe a little peace.”

  The guard’s expression softens, his shoulders sagging slightly. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he says, his voice tinged with genuine sympathy. “You’re welcome to stay as long as you like.”

  Turning, he whistles sharply. The massive iron gate groans and creaks as it begins to rise, revealing the bustling city beyond. But before they can step through, the guard motions for them to follow him to a small wooden shack nestled against the gate’s inner wall. Inside, the faint scent of ink and old paper lingers. The guard retrieves a piece of parchment and a fountain pen from a cluttered desk and hastily scrawls a note.

  “Here,” he says, handing the parchment to Fiora with a warm smile. “There’s a tavern in town called the Frog’s Legs. Show this to the owner. It’ll get you a meal and a room for the night. Tell him to put it on my tab.”

  Fiora blinks, taken aback by his kindness, then bows her head deeply. “Thank you so much. We won’t forget your generosity.”

  The guard waves her thanks away with a grin and steps aside, motioning them through the now-open gate. “Enjoy your stay. Safe travels!”

  The sight that greets them beyond the gate is stunning. The avenue stretches straight ahead, paved with polished cobblestones that gleam faintly in the afternoon light. At the far end, the majestic castle looms, its towers piercing the sky like sentinels. The street is lined with immaculate shops and townhouses, all constructed from uniform stone bricks and crowned with matching red-tiled roofs. Flower boxes burst with colorful blooms on nearly every windowsill, adding splashes of life to the serene architecture.

  The group moves cautiously down the bustling avenue, their cloaks swishing around their legs. The air hums with the sounds of life—laughter from children darting between the adults, the chatter of merchants haggling with customers, and the occasional clatter of a horse-drawn cart. Fiora keeps her head on a swivel, her sharp eyes scanning the buildings for the tavern the guard had mentioned.

  Suddenly, her gaze catches on a whimsical sign painted above one of the storefronts. It features a plump green bullfrog wearing bright red lipstick and eyeliner, perched proudly on a lily pad. The sign is bordered with golden swirls and the bold lettering reads: The Frog’s Legs Tavern.

  “Let’s head there,” Fiora says, pointing at the sign featuring the lipstick-wearing bullfrog. She struggles to stifle her laughter. “I’m pretty sure this is the place the guard was talking about.”

  “Subtle,” Eldric remarks with a smirk, following her lead.

  As they move toward the tavern, Eldric slows his pace, his attention caught by another shop nearby. A small wooden sign hangs above its door, proclaiming Fried Chicken Legs. The aroma wafting from the shop seems to pull him in as if by an invisible force. Without realizing it, he begins to drift toward the enticing smell until Nyssa grabs the back of his shirt and yanks him back with a roll of her eyes.

  “You can daydream about chicken later,” she says with a smirk, dragging him along.

  They step through the tavern’s weathered wooden door and are greeted by a warm and bustling atmosphere. The interior is brightly lit, with candles and lanterns hanging from rustic iron sconces on the walls. Families sit around wooden tables, chatting and laughing while children dart between the stools, adding to the lively din. Several patrons use empty barrels as makeshift chairs, lending the space a laid-back charm. Overhead, a wraparound balcony overlooks the main dining area, lined with more tables and chairs for private gatherings.

  The group approaches the central counter, where a middle-aged man with neatly combed black hair wipes down a glass with a rag that looks suspiciously dirtier than the glass itself. Behind him, rows of shelves lined with bottles and jars glint in the light.

  “Welcome!” the man says cheerfully, setting the glass aside. His warm smile deepens the laugh lines etched into his face. “Name’s James. How can I help you today?”

  Fiora reaches into her cloak and pulls out the note. “The guard at the front gate said to give this to you,” she says, handing it over with a polite smile.

  James takes the note and quickly scans it. He chuckles and shakes his head. “That Ezra,” he says with a grin, “he’s going to go broke if he keeps doing this.” Folding the note, he tucks it into his pocket and gestures for them to wait. “Hold tight for just a moment.”

  He disappears behind the counter and returns moments later with four steaming plates of food. Each dish holds a plump, golden-brown chicken leg, a fluffy baked potato with a pat of melting butter, and a slice of fresh bread.

  Eldric’s stomach growls audibly, and he can’t help but grin at the sight of the hearty meal. “Thank you! This looks amazing,” he says as James sets the plates before them.

  “You’re welcome,” James replies, reaching for a pitcher. He pours each of them a glass of water and sets the drinks on the counter. “And there’s one more thing.”

  James pulls a small silver key from his pocket and places it on the counter with a satisfying clink. “I only have one room available,” he explains, “but it’s big enough for all four of you. You’ll find it upstairs—room twelve, first door on your left.”

  “Thank you so much,” Nyssa says gratefully, her eyes sparkling with relief.

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  James waves off her gratitude with a warm laugh. “Enjoy your meal and rest well. Let me know if you need anything.”

  The four of them sit in a moment of quiet contentment, savoring the hot meal and the simple comfort of the bustling tavern. For the first time since they left Aldcliff, they feel a fleeting sense of normalcy.

  “No problem,” James replies with a wave of his hand. “I can lend you that room for a week free of charge, but after that, I’ll have to start taking rent.”

  “Thank you so much,” Fiora says, her voice filled with gratitude. The others echo her sentiment as they each grab their plates and make their way to a quiet table tucked into a corner of the tavern.

  As soon as they sit, Eldric digs into his food with an enthusiasm that borders on feral. His fork and knife blur as he tears into the chicken leg, bits of buttered potato disappearing with each bite. Nyssa glances at him and shakes her head, an amused smile tugging at her lips. She looks over to Rendrick, expecting a more composed approach, only to find him devouring his meal just as ravenously. With a sigh and a shrug, Nyssa grabs her fork and starts eating, though with significantly more grace than the boys.

  Fiora, however, picks at her chicken leg absentmindedly, her eyes drifting to the window. The city of Oaklea stretches out before her, its bustling streets illuminated by lantern light and alive with the hum of conversation and laughter. This is not at all what I imagined Oaklea to be like, she thinks. I always pictured a dark, oppressive place filled with shady characters and seething with hatred and despair. Instead, it feels… peaceful. Almost normal.

  She’s about to voice her thoughts when a soft voice interrupts. “Excuse me, dear. Would you mind if we sit next to you?”

  Fiora turns to see a woman and a young boy standing behind her. The woman’s face is weary, her cheeks smudged with dirt, and her tattered clothes hang loosely on her thin frame. The boy clings to her hand, his wide eyes darting nervously around the room. His clothes are equally worn, patched in several places, and his feet are bare.

  “Absolutely. Eldric, scoot over,” Fiora says, elbowing him sharply in the ribs.

  “Hey, watch it!” Eldric grumbles, but he slides down the bench to make room.

  “Thank you,” the woman says softly as she and her son sit down. Their plates hold only slices of bread, and each has a small wooden cup of water. Despite their modest meal, the woman smiles warmly. “My name is Vicky,” she says, introducing herself. “What brings you to Oaklea?”

  Fiora straightens up, a polite smile on her face. “I’m Fiora, and these are my friends—Eldric, Nyssa, and Rendrick,” she says, gesturing to each in turn. Eldric pauses mid-bite to raise a hand, Nyssa offers a small wave, and Rendrick nods with a mouthful of potato.

  Fiora’s smile falters slightly as she answers the woman’s question. “We’ve been wanderers ever since a group of mercenaries destroyed our homes,” she says, her voice tinged with sadness. “While traveling, we decided to stop here for a day or two to rest.”

  “I’m so sorry to hear that,” Vicky says sympathetically, her hand briefly resting over Fiora’s on the table. “It’s fortunate you found this place. James has a kind heart. He’s always willing to help those in need. He’s even taken in a few soldiers who lost their limbs in the war,” she adds, shaking her head before taking a small bite of bread.

  “What about you?” Fiora asks gently, leaning forward. “What brings you here?”

  Vicky sets down her slice of bread and gazes at the table, her expression distant. “My husband was a farmer,” she begins, her voice soft. “We had a peaceful life back then. Quiet, simple, and full of love. Of course, that was before this terrible war tore everything apart.” She pauses, her hands resting on the edge of the table as if steadying herself. “The Great Cities are a plague upon this world. Their leaders are responsible for generations of human suffering—suffering that stretches back over three hundred years.”

  She takes a small, deliberate bite of bread and continues, her voice tinged with sorrow. “About five years ago, the danger became all too real. A battle broke out near our village, and our farm was destroyed in the crossfire. With our livelihood gone, my husband had no choice but to enlist in the army to provide for us.”

  The words seem to weigh heavily on her, and she takes a sip of water before going on. “He was a good man,” she says, her voice cracking slightly. “But war is cruel. After only a month of service, he was killed in action. Just like that, he was gone. With no farm, no income, and no husband, my son and I had to leave our home. We came here, hoping for a fresh start.”

  She stops to compose herself, her hand trembling as she sets her cup down. “I try to find work wherever I can. Odds and ends on the streets—cleaning, sewing, carrying packages. But it’s never enough. It pains me to say it, but my son has to work alongside me. He’s only six. What kind of mother am I to put that burden on him?” Her voice trails off, and her shoulders slump as though the weight of the world rests upon them.

  Nyssa leans forward, her expression resolute. “You’re doing the best you can,” she says firmly. “You’re still here for your son, working to support him, giving him whatever you can. That makes you strong, Vicky. Don’t ever think otherwise.”

  Vicky looks at Nyssa, her eyes glistening with gratitude. “Thank you. Your words are too kind,” she murmurs. She gestures to the bustling tavern around them. “But I’m not the only one. All of these people… their stories are the same. War destroyed their lives. Our king, bless him, is an honorable man. He tried to forgive Lord Jamdak and his allies for their betrayal, tried to find peace. But as the king has said many times, there can never truly be peace in a world plagued by the existence of the Great Cities.”

  Fiora’s heart aches as she listens. She looks at Vicky, her eyes full of sadness and confusion. How could this be the reality of Oaklea? she wonders. These people aren’t the evil tyrants I imagined. They’re ordinary—living ordinary lives, facing ordinary struggles, just like us.

  She glances at her companions. Eldric meets her gaze, his brow furrowed. He mouths, “Something doesn’t add up.” Fiora nods subtly in agreement. Her mind races, filled with questions she doesn’t know how to answer.

  A sudden fit of coughing breaks her thoughts. Vicky’s young son doubles over, hacking violently. Vicky quickly rubs his back, murmuring soft reassurances. Fiora watches, her chest tightening.

  I don’t understand, she thinks. They said that the people of Oaklea were monsters. But these people are just like us. Why can’t the two sides see that? Why can’t they understand that the ones they hate are struggling just the same?

  As the boy’s coughing subsides, Vicky hugs him close, whispering words of comfort. Fiora looks back at her group, hoping someone else has the answers she can’t find. But all she sees are the same conflicted expressions mirrored in their faces.

  Fiora snaps back to reality as Vicky’s voice fills the air. “The king is making an announcement about the war today,” she says, her tone laced with cautious excitement. Her eyes gleam with a faint hope as she adds, “He says things are going to change for the better. Maybe… maybe this is it.”

  She pauses, her gaze softening as she looks down at her son, who is now nibbling quietly on a piece of bread. “All I want is peace,” she murmurs.

  Rendrick, his brows furrowed, leans forward. “But don’t you hate the people who’ve brought so much suffering into your life?” he asks bluntly.

  Vicky lifts her eyes toward the wooden beams of the tavern’s ceiling, lost in thought for a moment. Finally, she replies, her voice steady but resolute, “I suppose I should hate them, shouldn’t I? They’ve taken so much from me—my husband, my home, my sense of security.” She looks back at Rendrick, offering a small, weary smile. “But what I want more than anything is peace. Hate won’t bring my husband back. It won’t rebuild my life. What it will do is make my son grow up in a world ruled by fear and anger.”

  She gently brushes her fingers through her son’s hair as she continues. “I want him to grow up like his father did—to work hard on a farm, to know peace and happiness. That’s my dream, no matter how impossible it feels.”

  Fiora feels her chest tighten. She glances at Eldric, whose expression mirrors her own confusion and unease. The image of Vicky’s struggles clashes with the stories they’ve been told. If even she can’t bring herself to hate us, then why…?

  The sound of the tavern door slamming open breaks through her thoughts. A man, flushed and out of breath, yells into the room, “It’s nearly time! Everyone, come on out!”

  A wave of movement sweeps through the room as patrons rise from their seats, filing toward the door. Fiora and her companions exchange a curious glance before following suit. As they step outside, they are immediately consumed by a sea of people. The square is packed, bodies pressing shoulder to shoulder, the air alive with murmured conversations. The crowd’s collective gaze is fixed on a tall ivory tower at the center of the square. Its gleaming walls catch the sunlight, and a wide stone balcony protrudes from its uppermost floor.

  Eldric cranes his neck to take in the scene, the sheer size of the crowd leaving him momentarily overwhelmed. Just as his eyes find the balcony, a deep, booming voice fills the square, its source unseen but commanding. “Presenting His Majesty, Prince Thornevale, and Her Royal Highness, Princess Raya, King and Queen of Oaklea.”

  The rumble of conversation instantly dies, and silence sweeps through the square like a wave. Two figures emerge onto the balcony, their presence immediately magnetic. The man, tall and broad-shouldered, has an air of quiet strength. Long, curly black hair cascades to his shoulders, and he wears meticulously crafted leather armor adorned with a shining metal chest plate. The coat of arms engraved upon it gleams in the sunlight, though Eldric is too far away to make out the finer details.

  Beside him stands a striking woman with flowing blond hair, her movements graceful and serene. She is dressed in an intricately woven white gown that shimmers faintly as it catches the light. Draped over her shoulders is a royal-blue cape, its edges embroidered with golden thread.

  A reverent hush falls over the square as the king and queen step forward. Somewhere nearby, Eldric hears a voice whisper in awe, “Finally, the King and queen.”

  Eldric shifts uncomfortably. He glances at Fiora, who stares up at the royal pair with furrowed brows. He doesn’t need to say it—her expression says it all. This isn’t what they expected.

  Prince Thornevale steps forward, his commanding presence magnified as he raises a hand to his throat. With a deliberate motion, he traces a golden, shimmering line across his skin, leaving a trail of ethereal light in its wake. The glow fades as he places both hands on the balcony railing, his piercing gaze scanning the sea of expectant faces below.

  “Citizens of Oaklea,” he begins, his voice amplified by magic, resonating through the square like a mighty drumbeat. “I bring you news concerning the war—news that I will now share with you!”

  The crowd holds its collective breath, the silence electric with anticipation.

  “I know the pain and suffering you’ve endured,” Thornevale continues, his voice carrying a mix of solemnity and hope. “I know the anger, the animosity that has festered toward our enemy for decades. But my dear people, the time for change has come!”

  His words hang in the air for a moment before he delivers the next statement, his tone rising with excitement. “Just a few days ago, I received a correspondence signed by Lord Jamdak himself, an offer to negotiate terms for a peace treaty!”

  A ripple of gasps flows through the crowd, quickly followed by a crescendo of excited whispers. The energy is palpable, a stark contrast to the tension that has defined their lives for so long.

  Thornevale lifts his hand, commanding silence once more. “The time of peace may finally be upon us!” he declares triumphantly.

  The square erupts into cheers. Men and women embrace, tears of joy glistening on their faces. Children laugh, oblivious to the weight of the moment but caught in the infectious jubilation. Thornevale smiles, his expression one of genuine satisfaction. Taking the queen’s hand, he retreats into the tower, leaving the crowd to revel in the hopeful promise of peace.

  The mood in the square lingers long after the royals disappear. Eldric and his companions exchange uneasy glances as the jubilant crowd begins to disperse, their excitement palpable in the animated conversations all around.

  “Let’s move,” Fiora says, her voice low. They maneuver carefully through the throng, making their way back toward the city gates. To their surprise, the massive gate stands wide open. Ezra, the guard who had greeted them, is nowhere to be seen.

  Without a word, the four of them take off at full speed, their boots pounding against the cobblestone as they leave the city behind and race into the open fields.

  *****

  On a distant hill overlooking Aldcliff, three women descend with purposeful strides. Two wear cloaks that billow gently in the breeze, while the third is clad in a mix of chainmail and leather armor. Her long brown hair flows freely, framing a face marked by a jagged scar beneath her right eye. The scar only enhances her already fearsome countenance, her dark brown eyes sharp and calculating. A longsword hangs at her side, and a bow is strapped across her back.

  The cloaked women reach for their hoods as they near the bridge leading to Aldcliff. The one in black turns to her companion. “Are you ready, Eira?” she asks, her voice smooth and confident as she draws her hood over her head.

  Eira, cloaked in white, smirks. “I sure am,” she replies, securing her hood with a practiced motion. “Let’s go give our little wizard friends a visit.”

  The armored woman, standing slightly apart from the pair, lets out a low, annoyed sigh. “Let’s get this over with,” she mutters.

  The three women stride onto the bridge, their steps echoing ominously against the stone. A smirk spreads across Eira’s face as they approach the gates of Aldcliff.

  Ahead of them, two figures emerge from the city. Alicia, with her brilliant blue hair and unmistakable aura of authority, leads the way, her emerald eyes locked on the approaching women. Behind her, Cerys follows, her heavy leather armor gleaming faintly in the sunlight.

  The two groups meet in the center of the bridge. Both come to a halt, the tension between them thick and unyielding. A sharp wind sweeps through the air.

  Eira’s smirk widens as she breaks the silence. “Well, Alicia, it seems we’ve finally found the time for a proper chat.”

  Syra narrows her eyes, studying Alicia’s every movement. After a moment of silence, she smirks. “So, you knew we were coming, huh?”

  “Yes, I did,” Alicia replies evenly, her tone betraying neither fear nor surprise. She stands tall, her emerald eyes fixed on the trio before her. “And I believe you will find that what you seek is no longer here.”

  Eira rolls her eyes dramatically and lets out an exaggerated sigh. “Did you send the boy away? What a pain,” she says mockingly, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Oh, well. He was only part of the reason we came here anyway.”

  “Really?” Alicia raises an eyebrow, her expression both skeptical and intrigued. “What, pray tell, is the other reason for your little visit?” Her gaze shifts to the third woman standing beside Syra and Eira. “And who might this be?” Alicia’s lips curl into a faint smirk. “Your pet?”

  The third woman steps forward with an air of authority, her dark eyes blazing with disdain. “Hardly,” she replies, her voice cold and cutting. “I am someone you’ve undoubtedly heard of. My name is Ashley.”

  At the mention of the name, Alicia’s expression falters for the briefest of moments. Her composure returns quickly, but not before a flicker of recognition flashes across her face. “Ashley,” she says slowly, her voice filled with a mix of curiosity and disapproval. “The same Ashley who led the assault on Valifield?”

  Ashley nods, her lips curling into a wicked grin. “The very same.”

  Alicia folds her arms, her gaze hardening. “I must confess, I didn’t think you would ever share goals with the likes of Syra and Eira.”

  Ashley chuckles darkly. “Goals? Don’t make me laugh. I work for whoever pays me the most.” She throws a sly glance at Syra and Eira. “These two had the coin and came to me with a proposition. They needed an army, and I, for the right price, provided them with one.”

  She pauses for dramatic effect, then throws her arm into the air with a flourish. “An army ten thousand strong.”

  Alicia’s lips press into a thin line as Ashley places two fingers in her mouth and blows a sharp, piercing whistle. The shrill sound reverberates across the valley, followed by a deafening rumble. The sound grows louder and closer, like the beating of war drums.

  Moments later, soldiers begin pouring out of the forest in seemingly endless waves. The ground trembles beneath the weight of their boots as they march in perfect unison, assembling at the foot of the bridge. Their gleaming armor and weapons catch the fading sunlight, casting an ominous glow over the scene.

  Alicia remains still, her posture unyielding as she addresses Ashley. “I imagine your former employer is less than pleased with you,” she says coolly, her eyes narrowing. “Abandoning a contract without fulfilling your mission? Not exactly the hallmark of reliability.”

  Ashley’s grin widens, her confidence unshaken. “Oh, but I did fulfill my mission,” she says, her tone dripping with mockery. “After all, I delivered the Lunaflare exactly as promised.”

  Alicia’s composure wavers. Her eyes widen in shock. “It can’t be,” she whispers, her voice barely audible. “I was told that your men were unable to find it.”

  Ashley’s laughter rings out, sharp and victorious. “You’ve been misinformed, my dear Alicia,” she says, her voice laced with satisfaction. “Not only did I find it, but I ensured it landed in exactly the right hands. Now, the balance of power is shifting, and there’s nothing you can do to stop it.”

  Ashley’s smirk widens as she leans forward. “That’s right,” she says, her tone dripping with condescension. “And it wouldn’t have been possible for them to find it. Just as it was impossible for any of the men you sent afterward to locate it.”

  Alicia’s brow furrows as she processes Ashley’s words. Her confusion is palpable, and before she can respond, Syra steps forward, her lips curling into a smug grin. “Don’t tell me that little Miss Fake Wizard here doesn’t even know the secret of the Lunaflare.”

  Ashley chuckles, shaking her head in mock pity. “It’s so simple,” she says, savoring the moment. “If only you had searched for it yourself, you might not have come back empty-handed.”

  Alicia narrows her eyes, her voice laced with irritation. “Why? What difference would it have made if I had gone in their stead?”

  Ashley rolls her eyes, exasperated by Alicia’s apparent ignorance. “Only someone who has already drunk the nectar of the Lunaflare can see its glow when it blooms. To anyone else, it’s nothing more than an ordinary weed.”

  “And what makes you think I’ve used the flower before?” Alicia counters, trying to maintain her composure.

  Eira laughs softly, stepping closer. “It’s painfully obvious,” she says with a smirk. “Your eyes, Alicia. They’re solid green—a clear and unmistakable sign of the flower’s properties.”

  Syra adds with a mocking tone, “You’ve consumed it on a massive scale, haven’t you? Likely to enhance your magical abilities. How pitiful. You must be drowning in that poison. Do you even realize how much of a sign of weakness that is?”

  Alicia’s glare sharpens, her voice steady but defiant. “You’re right—I have used the Lunaflare to augment my powers. But don’t make the mistake of thinking all of my strength comes from a flower. You’ll regret underestimating me.”

  Syra pulls a dagger from beneath her cloak, its blade gleaming wickedly in the dim light. “Do you want us to beat you into the ground again?” she sneers, her intent clear in her cold gaze.

  Alicia doesn’t flinch. “No,” she replies, her voice firm. “I learned my lesson last time. I can’t defeat the three of you on my own. But fortunately, I’m not the only one who has a vested interest in keeping that boy away from you.”

  As the words leave her lips, the sound of boots echoes through the air. The gate behind Alicia swings open, and four figures step forward, taking positions beside her. Their presence is commanding, their energy unmistakable.

  The first to speak is a young woman in a flowing white dress, her long brown hair adorned with pendants made from Lunaflare petals. Her voice is light but carries a dangerous edge. “Well, what do we have here?” she asks, surveying Syra, Eira, and Ashley with a slight tilt of her head. “Are these the ants we need to crush?”

  Alicia glances at the new arrivals, her confidence bolstered by their presence. “I believe introductions are in order,” she says, her tone now steady and resolute. “Meet the ones who will stand against you.”

  “Yes, Lyssara, Wizard of Mormont, they are,” Alicia replies, her voice steady and sharp.

  “Good. I’ve been itching for some excitement,” declares a man with a harsh tone. He appears to be in his early thirties, his presence commanding in a billowing red cape. He steps forward, raising a glowing blue staff that pulses with magical energy. Flames burst to life, swirling ominously around his left hand. “I am Theron, Overseer of Deercliff,” he proclaims with pride, his voice echoing across the valley.

  “We will crush you,” adds a young-looking woman with piercing red eyes and dark brown hair. Sparks of lightning crackle and dance around her arms, illuminating her intense expression. “I am Morrigan, Overseer of Silverholt,” she announces, her tone carrying an undercurrent of menace.

  “And I am Serenya , Overseer of Dellburn,” says the final wizard, stepping forward with a deadly grace. She carries a short sword glowing an ominous red in one hand and a long spear glowing blue in the other. Her pinkish-brown hair frames her sharp blue eyes, and her movements exude precision and power.

  Alicia steps forward, glaring at the cloaked women and their armored companion. “Congratulations!” she exclaims, spreading her arms wide in a dramatic gesture. “You’ve managed to summon the attention of five of the most powerful wizards in the world.” Her voice carries a dark, mocking humor, underscored by the low hum of magic radiating from her glowing sword.

  “It doesn’t matter how many soldiers you’ve brought,” Alicia continues, her tone shifting to a deadly seriousness. “You will be eliminated.”

  Syra and Eira exchange sly smiles, while Ashley lets out another cruel laugh, the sound echoing through the tense air. “Fools,” Ashley sneers. “You think I brought an army to take you down? How little you understand. I have no intention of using these soldiers against you. They have other business to attend to.”

  Raising her fingers to her lips, Ashley unleashes a piercing whistle. The sound reverberates through the valley, sending a ripple of unease through the air. Moments later, the ground trembles under the rhythmic thudding of thousands of boots. The massive battalion behind Ashley pivots with military precision, marching northward without hesitation, leaving the wizards alone on the bridge.

  Alicia’s eyes narrow as she watches the soldiers retreat. “Do yourselves a favor,” she sneers, turning her glare back to her adversaries. “Turn around and leave. Whatever you’re seeking isn’t here anymore, and I’m sure you’d hate to die for nothing.”

  “My, my, Alicia,” Eira chides, her voice dripping with mockery. She steps forward, her white cloak billowing in the breeze. “You truly are thick, aren’t you? Perhaps that’s why the other wizards prefer to keep you in the dark.”

  Alicia’s expression hardens, her grip tightening around her sword. The taunt clearly strikes a nerve.

  “If only you had been paying attention,” Eira continues, her voice condescending. “You would have heard us say that the boy is only part of the reason we came here today.”