Dark was falling over the encampment of Avill Lovandel. The hour was young, still, but the great moon threw shade over the world.

  The freshly constructed barrier cities to the west of the capital saw the majority of human forces moved east. They had carved out a good chunk of the world for themselves, but it was in their nature to seek more.

  Avill welcomed the change–It’s been too long since his family was forced out of the holy city and into the thrice-cursed eastern mountains.

  Within his tent, he stood over a table full of maps, swirling his cup of water. He didn’t recognize the servant trying to pour him more, so he declined the kindness.

  “This is too easy, how are our preparations?” He muttered. “What’s the worst scenario that could happen right now?”

  “My lord, the combined armies eradicated all settlements on Karilla plains. There’s no force that could harm us for dozens of kilometers. I told the soldiers to rest.” Devon said, his tone steady—but something in his posture felt off.

  Avill scoffed and looked deep into his eyes, noticing a haze. Was he intoxicated? As long as he knew him, Devon had never drank a single drop of wine. Not willingly.

  The lord raised his gauntlet, slapped the man, and took a deep breath.

  “What was THAT for?” Devon raised his voice as blood trickled to the ground. His lip was burst.

  “You’ve let yourself get drugged.” Avill looked around for the suspicious servant, but they were gone already. “Go to the medics and check yourself for poison.”

  His mind was a blur of possible scenarios and clues that all tried to answer the two core questions. Who and why.

  Then it dawned on him and his blood ran cold. With a few long steps, he made it outside of his tent and raised his voice.

  “Soldiers, to arms!” He shouted. “I want everyone armed and ready in two minutes!”

  The tent guards flinched at their lord’s sudden appearance, but sprang into motion.

  As Avill slowly counted the time, the camp, previously filled with a steady hum of cheerful voices, had devolved into chaos. Everyone scrambled to don their armors and grab their weapons.

  “What’s happening, sire?” Fiore, the leader of the mages, ran up to him, strands of fiery red hair bouncing against her shoulders. She was already wearing her battle armor; A light breastplate that afforded great mobility with naked hands and a helmet that left the eyes unobstructed for casting.

  Fiore didn’t share his urgency, nor did she seem to understand his sudden action.

  “You too, Fiore? Isn’t it weird to you?” Avill spoke with natural authority. “We’ve been at war for two centuries, alone, painfully carving the land… And suddenly, the council gives us their full support. We pushed deep into monster territory in a matter of weeks. But what if they didn’t? If they only fed us false information? We could be trapped behind the enemy lines, falsely believing that we’ve already won. ”

  “That’s not–” She started, but he interrupted her.

  “An unknown servant had just attempted to drug or poison me.”

  A sort of understanding dawned on her as the ground started to rumble in the distance.

  “Those sly dogs betrayed us?” She chuckled. “And so many times you stopped me when I wanted to discipline them.”

  “We will come back to this idea. For now, we have a battle to survive.” He cut her off and focused on the state of his army.

  The faster soldiers started to assemble in the middle of the camp, but most still weren’t ready–and they were out of time.

  In front of them were hills, behind them plains and on their sides a dense forest–It all rumbled, like a small earthquake.

  On top of the distant hills, a shape appeared–Slender torso, with massive scythe-like claws. A monster of the hunter-killer species, and there was only one of those that grew to this ridiculous size.

  It had to be him, of course.

  A flood of large silhouettes poured out from behind it and streamed toward the encampment in a line.

  Avill knew better than to think that was all. The moment they engaged the enemy forces, more would stream out of the forests to their sides. Its beasts were probably already surrounding them.

  He raised his head toward the sky as he prayed silently.

  “Lady Min, give me the strength to triumph over the king of rage, once and for all.”

  The warmth of Goddess’s protection spread through his body. His tense shoulders relaxed as fire lit up in his heart.

  Mages far and wide blasphemed against her. ‘There’s no change to your body.’ they claimed. ‘No mana moves when you pray.’ They sneered.

  But he knew. The veiled Goddess herself once appeared before him. Ever since, he felt her watchful gaze.

  As Righteous fire burned through his veins, He turned to face Fiore again. “I want this forest razed to the ground–Any reagents you or your mages use, I’ll replace from my own armory.”

  “Any?” Her eyes twinkled with voracity. “I hope your coffers run deep, sire.”

  Avill smothered the flicker of doubt that arose. “Deep enough.” Now that he felt the Goddess leading him, he could make no mistake. He pulled out his sword, focusing on the carved eagle that adorned the hilt.

  After just a few seconds, the raptor broke off from his sword, flapping its wings right in front of him. A stinging pain ran through Avill’s head as he kept pouring more and more mana. He closed his eyes, but he never flinched.

  Once he opened them again, he could see himself through the eagle’s eyes. Avill commanded the magical creature to fly up high, gaining a better view of the battlefield.

  Archers rained explosive arrows on the advancing hordes with no regard for the costs, just to stall the enemy a few more seconds.

  And stall they did. Knights finally finished establishing defense lines, just in time for the attacking mass to crash against them.

  Fiore assembled the mages and began to chant rhythmically, organizing their efforts into a single massive spell.

  The shimmering outline of a serpent materialized over the encampment and quickly grew to gigantic proportions.

  As mana swirled around the encampment, some knights better at sensing it looked up with grim faces.

  Avill Lovandell walked forward unperturbed, though he commanded the eagle to steer clear of the spell. He was curious to see what grand magic Fiore would perform. As one of the greatest mages in the holy kingdom of Minvariya, her attacks were as terrifying as they were glorious.

  Fiore did not disappoint. The glittering silhouette burst with fire, and taking the form of a wyrm, it flew into the forest. Inferno consumed the trees in moments, creating a massive wildfire as far as the eye could see.

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  The wyrm siphoned the flames unto itself, swelling in size so much, Avill had to recall his eagle for fear of losing it to just the heat emanating from the spell.

  Arcing through the enemy lines, the fire wyrm left only smoldering corpses behind as it streaked toward the forest on the other side of the encampment, eager to feed itself evermore.

  The king of rage did not wait idly for the spell to ravage his forces. The moment he identified the nature of the spell, he released a piercing wail that seemed to shatter the skies. A chorus of mutilated voices accompanied him, as every monster tried to join him.

  Not one human fully understood the monster’s spellcasting, other than that it drew on the collective power of every participant, willing or not.

  And the King of rage’s army was numberless.

  As the wyrm was incinerating the second forest, the skies tore open and a deluge flooded the world. New clouds formed from the sheer amount of water that the serpent evaporated, and the erupting hiss was enough to drown out even the battle raging on the ground.

  Once impossible in size, the serpentine creation of fire flew straight at the king of rage, but it was gradually shrinking.

  The wyrm fizzled out barely halfway there.

  “Such a gift for me? you shouldn’t have.” Fiore didn’t seem to mind this turn of events. “No... You really shouldn’t have.” She shook her head in disapproval before starting another long chant.

  The King of Rage was an impossibly powerful mage, but as Fiore said it, he lacked finesse. One could never hope to win against him in a direct fight for control over nature, but there wasn’t a need to.

  For one could simply turn his spells against him.

  Avill directed artificers to stabilize the ground under the encampment. They spread some charged dust around, solidifying the dirt into stone and making it impervious to water.

  The monster charge slowed dramatically,waddling through ever-deeper mud.

  The king of rage screeched again, noticing his blunder and trying to stop the rain, but Fiore was already a step ahead. As she finished chanting, dark nimbus clouds sprang to existence over the battlefield, further intensifying the rain and bombarding the enemy forces with a cruel thunderstorm.

  The magical battle raged in the heavens but the blood was still being spilt on the ground.

  Massive beasts designed to pummel through the defensive lines kept falling into the mud unable to gain enough momentum. Shields and enchanted armors of his knights stopped most of the javelins shot by the bone serpents.

  Some knights paid the ultimate price–but for every fallen, thousands of monsters drowned in the bloody mud.

  Soon after, the King of Rage retreated, no doubt to strike again in a day or two with replenished numbers. After a short rest, Avill ordered to pick up the camp and move back toward human lands.

  That monster was an eternal threat to humanity, standing against their expansion ever since they first set foot in these lands. But as such, his strategies and inclinations were deeply studied and well known. By far the most known of the monster kings of old, but not nearly the most dangerous.

  Avill spent most of his time thinking about the betrayal he had suffered and the reasoning that stood behind it. His army was nigh unbeatable in a straight fight and everyone knew that, so why?

  The only thing it achieved was draining his coffers through Fiore’s more exotic, wide range ritualistic spells.

  They spent the next week constantly on the move, fighting back various assaults from the monsters. In all that time, Avill still couldn’t understand.

  Only when they reached the human territory, the puzzle pieces finally clicked.

  On the plains in front of him, stood a massive army, displaying the banners of two council houses—and many more lesser powers who saw which way the wind was blowing

  This has all been just a distraction so far.

  Avill, along with Fiore and a few bodyguards, rode out to meet the herald of the coalition army in the field.

  The herald was dressed in green, with the all-seeing eye as a decal–representing house Kira. A large house, ambitious but not part of the council. Why were they, of all, representing the coalition?

  Suspicious.

  “By decree of the council of the holy kingdom, in the year 202 of the age of the new world, Avill Lovandel and his house have been declared dangerous to the wellbeing and prosperity of the country. Lay down your weapons and face trial for your transgressions!” The herald must have been skilled in magically amplifying his voice, as every soldier in both armies could hear the message clearly.

  Avill motioned to Fiore and upon receiving a similar amplification, he spoke. “As part of that council, I was not informed of any vote!”

  “You are a member of the council no longer, with the great house of Kira taking over in the light of your crimes.” The herald said, an almost invisible smirk tugging at his lips.

  “I have spent my life in service of the Goddess and no one else. If such was her will, I would slit my own throat and the throats of my children.” He took a second to collect himself, then continued with a lower, more threatening voice. “Who are you to judge me? To order me around?”

  The herald and many soldiers in the coalition army visibly flinched before his unwavering conviction. Avill was about to start asking more questions, but froze as a ghostly touch brushed the nape of his neck–Soft and electrifying.

  That presence!? It can’t be!

  He turned, and a shimmering veil entered his sight. Fiore flinched and briefly glanced toward him, but not even she could see her. No one else could, but him.

  Lady Min.

  Then came a whisper, that he was sure only he could hear.

  A flicker of doubt crossed his mind, but it all made perfect sense. He knew what he had to do, even if it pained him greatly.

  Avill Lovandell drew his sword and with a powerful cleave, beheaded the herald.

  200 years later.

  Covered by a subtle illusion, Min walked through the streets of Malle-Tor, the capital of the empire.

  People parted around her instinctively, though they saw her merely as a nondescript noble lady, consumed in her thoughts.

  Months ago, the creature sent to monitor and retrieve her experiment was destroyed and the humans of Grainwick were scattered to the winds.

  In other words, her test subject went missing.

  She had of course consulted the king of rage, but his brutish methods couldn’t so much as grant her a peek into the barrier cities.

  There were those who could give her the much needed information. Those that kept in touch with the wilds and communed with the varying micro-tribes scattered around the world.

  But of course, none of them had agreed to work with her–Was it her infamy catching up to her? Or simple distrust?

  Min traced the dark plume of smoke and swirling dust rising above the forge city.

  The Empire. A glorified foundry.

  This was all that remained from Avill’s grand crusade. She had come so close to her goals back then. So close. But Avill just had to mess it up right at the end. A single wrong choice was all that it took.

  She had laboured for years to orchestrate Minvaryia’s collapse, and yet, the despicable kingdom named after her still stood. Still carrying the shadow of her past.

  The pawns already in play would wipe that stain clean, eventually. She had set them on their path over two hundred years ago, after all.

  With each calculated move, she was getting closer to being forgotten.

  Alas, too slow.

  She sighed. For too long she had been restless.

  Min smiled at a guard as she approached a noble estate. The flustered man rushed to open the doors for her, forgetting to ask her name or rank.

  Stepping inside, she weaved the mana around the whole building, forcing the weaker minds to not notice her.

  Her brows raised as she felt the bricks obstructing the movement of mana. A slightest resistance to her influence.

  Was the mansion built to resist magic? Parlor tricks. She tugged at the strands of creation, weaving a disruptive net first. With the enchanted protections of the building disabled, her illusion took hold.

  Min moved through the halls unbothered.

  If she ever felt a shred of remorse, it was toward the elven people. Of all, they were least deserving of what she had brought upon them. But… She had heard whispers that she couldn’t ignore. The infamous elven nightblades finally crowned a successor.

  Someone guided by millennia of hate and doctrine could make for a powerful tool in destroying Minvariya. All she had to do was just let the right person know about that.

  With a flick of her hand, she conjured a gust of wind to open the door to the office.

  Behind a well-carved hardwood desk, sat Godric Lovandell, one of the three grand strategists of the empire. A perfect person to procure the piece she wanted to add to the board.

  The man startled and reached for his sword, alarmed by the sudden movement and noise.

  Min cast a spell to make her sure only he could hear her voice, then spoke his name, adopting a soft, caring tone.

  “That voice!?” jerked upright in a panic as his eyes darted wildly.

  Min shook her head. Even someone so ‘important’ couldn’t see through such a simple illusion.

  It wasn’t the fault of an ant that it couldn’t grasp the divine.

  With another use of mana, she willed a fire to erupt from his table. Flames took the shape of a woman--her own form as presented by the church.

  Godric collapsed to his knees, face pale as he beheld the miracle before him. Flames licked the ceiling, then vanished without a trace—except for the message scorched into the wood.

  The dark soul among the spirits long gone heralds the fall of the blasphemers.