2412, Diori 22, Velpa

Shots rang across the field in an array of soot-scented fumes and clinks of discarded bullet shells. Black-clad soldiers ran across the plain with one thing in mind—to capture the fortress the Sovereign assigned for them. Hopefully, they would get rewarded for this after.

Such were the thoughts running through the mind of an average soldier in the Sovereign's army. Despite what background, what race of fairy they were, and which platoon they were currently assigned to, they were all holding on to the same thing.

A wish. A hope that only the Sovereign and the Heiress could make come true for them. One soldier wished for his son to grow up without any kind of pain while another wished for his dead wife to come back to life. Thousands of desires were said across time and thousands of people were out here, today, bearing flintlocks, swords, and armor in hopes of fulfilling their wishes.

They fought against a small horde charging across the battlefield to meet them. Day after day, they thought their enemy's number would dissipate. It has been quite a few weeks and the enemy was still there. Penleth still stood.

So, the Sovereign was forced to do something she hasn't considered doing. She brought out the whole force to show her hand in an ultimate attempt that would surely bring these insurgents to the ground.

It has been going well for the past few hours, if a normal soldier could be allowed to say. Warriors from both sides fell and were trampled to dust or kicked aside. The earth had never felt so fluid with so many earth sprites vying for control over the only thing keeping them off the endless sea.

The air crackled, whipped, and whistled; the sky had never looked this dark since the Hundred Years' War. Spells met halfway only to explode in a shower of magic, lights, and sometimes, a random detached limb. Screams of pain, aggression, defiance, and death rang across the battlefield.

A young soldier froze in panic and was immediately struck down. Fear and hesitation were not rightful tools to bring into war. Fire ate at everything it touched, always hungry for more but never satisfied. Water sprites rushed about, either restoring health or taking it away. Ice, for the first time in centuries, graced the battlefield with elegant sculptures of icicles, glaciers, and hail.

Cannons from the Heiress's flying island resumed operation, razing the ground with shrapnel, dirt, and the occasional shower of blood. A single figure above them all was the only one in the way of the flying island from torching the rest of the field.

Xanthy, the Virtakios, took it upon herself to avenge the deaths she had witnessed the past few days. Each made their own sacrifice so Penleth could survive another day or buy enough time for them to mount an offensive.

At the mouth of Rabante, behind the now-torched walls after the heathens at Penleth rigged the cannons, the Sovereign peered at the live battle-maps and deemed only one course of action—go to the battle herself and end this once and for all. Unlike the Heiress, she was not hesitant to get hurt.

So, the Sovereign popped into the battlefield, searching for the familiar face she had favored above all others. The sprite who was not quite a sprite. Someone who commanded the storm synnavaim like it's just another element. That fairy reeked of ancient trails and magic which went stale.

The Sovereign wanted to see the fairy again even after she left a searing wound which festered for days on end on the Sovereign's skin.

So, the field trembled. Spells stopped exploding for a while as soldiers screamed in terror when a single figure uprooted her own platoons' formations and entered the scene. Pure, stolen magic crackled to the surface of the Sovereign's skin who, for once, was glad she wouldn't have to spend this war cooped up in a stuffy tent.

The best quality of a leader was action. And action required a display of power.

The Sovereign's magic tore through the cannons, the flintlocks, the harpoons, and every other weaponry she had traded from the dwarves and gave only one command—destroy.

Quick as lightning, the weapons tripled firing speed, ignoring the command of those handling them. Efficient, cruel, and most of all, obedient. The Sovereign enjoyed the company of weapons and machines more than she did people for this exact reason.

On and on, the shooting went. Blood painted the field like a canvas of art fit to grace the halls of the galleries of Nanvera. Screams had never been this musical to the Sovereign's ears. She could stand on this field all day if this was the sight she would be seeing.

Thunder cracked overhead and lightning rained down on the unfortunate targets. The Sovereign extended her magic to the clouds and took hold of the rain in them. A few tweaks and the rain turned into droplets of Xyth's Bane. Corrosive, potent, and ensured a swift death by eating away at the skin, flesh, and ultimately, the soul.

Consider it as the Sovereign's gift to the healers.

The stinging rain poured just on Penleth's side, eliciting a storm of death no one has ever seen since this war started. In just a few hours and a few drops of magic, Penleth would bow to the Sovereign. Just a few more.

The Sovereign threw her head back and laughed. It had been a while since she last did so. Combined with the shrieks of dying men and the smell of blood wafting in the stirring air, laughing felt so good. Just then, a presence speared her soul. A treacherous presence for that matter.

The Sovereign lashed out. Her fingers closed around a neck. She grinned when she regarded Marthiaq, the traitor. He had gotten out of the poison rain's radius but not by being unscathed. His arm would be consumed in a few minutes and his entire form would follow shortly after.

Her eyes traveled to the dagger gripped by the brownie's hands. He had meant to kill her. Marthiaq. The Sovereign might have laughed at this notion but anger took over her features as she hefted Marthiaq by his neck. He flailed, clawing at her fingers to let him go.

The Sovereign only pressed harder. As if she was going to let him slip from her the second time. Never again.

Marthiaq, with air slowly being taken from him, grunted and brought his knife angled at the Sovereign's heart. Something crunched. It wasn't the Sovereign's form. The Sovereign's hands shook as they wrapped around Marthiaq's own. The dagger was lost inside his chest. Blood had never smelled so...rusty. The Sovereign snarled. He tried to kill her. It's only natural she would have to kill him first.

"Xyris..." Marthiaq gasped as he searched her eyes for answers. Life faded from his eyes. "Whatever happened to you?"

He burst into a shower of disgusting clay. As brownies reportedly did. The Sovereign didn't need to give him her answer. She exhaled. Her breath came away shaky. Suddenly, the screams of the dying were a nuisance to her ears. The gunshots sounded like the ticking of a broken clock. Three, four, five...

She pulled all of her hold on the weapons. Her magic retreated back to her veins in a torrent of cold. She would have screamed it judging from the looks her men gave her as all artillery stopped firing. Stop it...

"Retreat!" the Sovereign yelled. Her voice rang throughout the field like a bell. She wouldn't repeat her order again. It took her at least three tries before her magic flickered to the surface. Tch. She glanced at the pile of clay that once had been Marthiaq as her magic wrapped around herself.cast one last glance

Marthiaq, whatever happened to you?

The Sovereign turned away from the battle because this time, even if her skin remained smooth and her blood unshed, she was hurt. Again.

Nyxis saw this kind of poison once, during his days of studying in the Palace. His tutor brought a vial of the poison, poured a drop on a tome, and Nyxis watched it eat away the parchment. The tome shriveled in a matter of minutes and the poison dissipated with an angry hiss.

Xyth's Bane, his tutor explained, could only be contained in a meridic vial because of its ability to dampen most of the poison's effects. In theory, it should also be the antidote to stop it from eating away anything.

Right now, however, Nyxis didn't have a supply of meridis ore and certainly didn't have someone who would mine them for him. So when soldiers were rushed into the infirmary bearing familiar signs of being afflicted with Xyth's Bane, he panicked.

He sought every earth sprite he could find around the camp and explained his predicament. When they couldn't give him anything immediately, he instructed them to work on it and dashed to stocks, gathering everything he thought he needed with his hands shaking.

With his heart pounding in his head, he set to work, instructing the healers to do what they could while he brewed the first batch. He dropped tools and fumbled with the sacks of precious ingredients. Screams of pain sent his heartbeat to be even more erratic. He couldn't stop the tears that came whenever he heard someone explode into nothing or whenever the healers pronounced someone dead.

With blurring vision, he dropped ingredients into cauldrons, decanted mixtures, pounded, and chopped ingredients. Some healers joined in the brewing by wordlessly copying what he did but with steadier hands and less emotions.

Nyxis wiped at his eyes but fresh tears came as quickly. He didn't even know why he was crying. There's just...too much. His world spun; his legs gave out under him. An arm wrapped around his shoulders, jarring him back to reality. Potion. He was brewing a potion.

"You should be in bed," Nyxis sniffled as Denara's figure slowly materialized beside him. He tore open another packet of flynt seeds and poured its contents in a bowl. This should stagnate the effects of the poison as they wait for the earth sprites to finish with the meridis ores.

"How can I be in bed when I see you almost close to collapsing every day," Denara was saying. She took Nyxis's face into her hands. His gaze immediately strayed towards the mess of bandages wrapped around her form. "And now we're adding breakdowns to the list too."

Nyxis shook his head and picked up the ladle. Pain shot up his wrist and he was forced to drop the utensil. The ladle clattered against the wooden table with a resounding thunk which sent the other healers glancing over at him. Heat rushed to his face.

Denara didn't look happy. "Now you have an overworked wrist as well," she grabbed Nyxis's arm and held it up to the light. "Look, you're close to losing it."

True enough, Nyxis's wrist was dappled with darkening bruises. When he tried moving it, another jolt of pain shot through his veins. Wow, it was pretty bad. It's amazing he hadn't noticed it until now. Nyxis gently pried his arm from Denara's grasp and shook his head. Worry marred Denara's features. "Don't look at me like that," Nyxis winced as he picked up the ladle again. "Go back to bed or you'll risk ruining your stitches."

"I'll go if you go," Denara said. "You don't look well."

Nyxis sighed. His breath came as a shallow gasp. "I'm not the one who got speared through with pure magic," he said as he scrawled measurements in a sheaf of parchment with a stick of graphite. This should help the healers replicate the relief. "Going to bed isn't exactly a topic of negotiation for you."

"I'm fine," Denara crossed her arms dangerously close to her wound. "I've seen worse than this."

A coughing fit exploded from Nyxis's chest. He had developed this too, lately, huh? "Of course, you're lying," Nyxis said as soon as he had straightened. "Your trail dimmed twice during the whole operation. Of course, I won't look too well after all that."

"Guess we're even," Denara whispered. She dropped into a nearby stool.

"Except I had it worse. You healed me with nothing to lose. Yet, when I healed you, I had everything to think about," Nyxis's chest constricted but he pushed on picking up the pestle from its perch. "That's a little unfair, don't you think?"

"That's why you should rest," Denara said. "Please."

Nyxis whipped to Denara to say his piece but his head lightened. His ears rang with an annoying high-pitched shriek. He had to brace the table to avoid falling over.

"Nyxis?" Denara's voice sounded far away now.

His chest heaved shallow breaths. What's...

"Nyxis, are you alright?"

He tried answering but his tongue turned to lead, stuck at the floor of his mouth. His vision sharpened, blurred, and doubled. Oh, gods—

He didn't quite finish that thought as his knees gave out. His world was already dark before his head hit the soil. Yells of alarm blared in his diminishing consciousness. Let him hope he didn't fall face-first.