Two months passed by, the time crawling along like a snail. The minutes felt like hours and the days felt like years. Every second passed by with the fear that the Zlohiel would attack, catch them off guard, kill them before they ever had a chance to fight back.

Elora and Mikhail spent a lot of time training Queen Monne's soldiers, with Ragen and Nyal helping out whenever possible. The two warlocks usually had other things on their plates, with Ragen sorting out how to live with only one arm, and Nyal healing those who were injured in battle.

There had been many battles over the two months, with the Zlohiel forces increasing every single day. They attacked the roads as refugees tried to make it to Maheem, invaded the city during the night when everyone was at their most vulnerable. Elora had taken to napping during the day so that she was alert as she could be at night.

Giazma was drawing closer and closer to taking over Maheem and the whole of Veridun. All he needed was one well-struck attack and they would be done for. It would be soon, Yararanje had told her that much, but she didn't know how prepared they were for it.

Her and Mikhail had been training the soldiers well. They weren't losing as many people in battles as they once had, but their forces were beginning to dwindle, and it wouldn't be long before they didn't have enough of a force to face the oncoming threat.

She had been researching ways of getting rid of the Zlohiel with Nyal. Both of them spent their spare hours in the castle and city libraries, trying to find anything they could. They read through Corpius's book until their eyes grew heavy and they knew everything the dead warlock had known.

There were no books in either library that held much information on the Zlohiel. Most that came close were history books and speculation about the first war, books that were so recent that the Zlohiel was called the Ancient Ones. She found that a lot of the information in those books had been incorrect, especially information regarding her. She had been so successful in being a secret that historians had begun to believe she was a man.

In the two months, they had been in Maheem, neither her or Nyal had found anything that would be of any help to them. There was no information, no secret way of ridding the realm of an entire race. She couldn't make another Gate, not by herself, not with Nyal, not with any of the warlocks that had survived.

While Nyal was still growing more powerful, it still wasn't enough for the creation of another Gate. And even if they could make one, she didn't know if another Key would be created. The first Gate could have been a fluke, just dumb luck. She doubted just about everything they had done in that war now that the Zlohiel were back.

The man was starting to be able to heal five people at once, reminding her of the power Healer's had during the first war. He wasn't quite as powerful as they were, but with some time and practice, he would be. She hadn't known how he was so powerful, not when he hadn't shown much strength beforehand.

The power was locked away inside of him, her father had explained when she'd finally mustered the strength to ask. We only unlocked it for him. You will not be able to defeat Gaizma without his power, and he was taking too long to unlock it himself.

That was the most her father had helped her during the entire ordeal, no matter how often she asked, begged, demanded, he would leave her in the dark to fend for herself. He would not tell her how to defeat the Zlohiel, only furthering her belief that there was no way to do it, that they were just prolonging the inevitable.

Throughout the two months, Monne hounded Elora for news, growing more and more disappointed when the demigod came back with nothing. It was growing harder and harder to buy her time, with more and more people dying with every attack. Nyal might have been able to heal many people at once, but he couldn't bring them back from the dead.

"Alright, you lot," Mikhail was saying now, staring at the line of tired soldiers. "Ten-minute break, and then back to it!" He had grown into the role quickly, something that had surprised her. For someone so gentle, it had shocked her to find that he was as strict and ruthless as any general in Veridun. It was a welcome shock.

She sighed, stretching out her arms and wings. She hadn't been able to fly much since they arrived in Maheem, for fear of something seeing her and following her back. Her wings were aching, desperate to be up in the air. She had vowed to go flying as soon as everything was done if she ever figured out what to do.

"How do you think they're going?" Mikhail asked her, a concerned frown on his face.

"They're better with every session," Elora answered. "But we won't really know until they've come face to face with the real threat." The soldiers they were training were new recruits, hired because Maheem was growing desperate for fighters. Monne had even gotten them to start training the peasants and children, just in case.

"Some of them seem strong enough to deal with that when it happens," Mikhail told her. "But there are one or two that I'm not sure about."

"As long as they don't cause anyone to get killed, they'll be fine."

"If you say so."

She ignored the rest of his response, gaze drifting to find one of the many infirmary tents set up around the city. Nyal was inside, healing those who had been injured during the attack the night before. There weren't many but more than enough to sap the energy from the already exhausted warlock.

He caught her watching him and sent her a polite wave. They hadn't talked much over the two months because they had been so busy. The most they had talked was at Queen Monne's coronation and the celebration after. It had been a ball, much like the one they had attended in Fiume so long ago.

He had danced with her again, reminding her once more of Fiume. She had laughed, not as much as she had the last time, but enough for Nyal to smile at her. She had spun and dipped and flared out her wings as much as she could, relishing in the relaxation dancing brought, especially with someone as calm as Nyal. He seemed to forget all his woes when he danced, focusing only on moving their bodies in time with the music.

It had been the best night she had had since the Gate had opened and she hoped that once the Zlohiel were gone she would have many more nights like it, with Nyal at her side. There would be many celebrations once the war was over, many chances for them to dance again.

Lost in her thoughts, she almost didn't notice people being rushed into the tent Nyal was in. A family, a mother, father and two small children, all bleeding. As she watched, Nyal stepped away from the person he was tending to, ordering the family to sit or lie down.

"What's going on?" she asked, looking over at Mikhail for an answer.

"Refugees from further in the mountains," he replied. "They were attacked on the way here." A common occurrence, but still one that she hated. At least it seemed like they had all made it. Nyal would fix them up and they would all be safe and healthy once again.

"At least they're all okay," she said quietly.

"Actually, there were more, but they died trying to get the family here."

She cursed, her mood plummeting. Nothing could ever be easy with the war. The Zlohiel showed no mercy, killing anyone they saw along the mountains. She turned away from the tent, leaving Nyal to his business. It wouldn't be long before they would need to gather the soldiers back again.

With a wave of her hand a loud yell from Mikhail, the soldiers got back in their lines, standing straight and tall. She trained with them for hours, moving through the motions. She adjusted posture, praised good work and broke up fights when they arose. The people were tense and liked to take it out on each other. She'd had to break up many over the two months she had been training them.

They were intimidated by her. She wasn't sure if it was her wings or her eyes or a mixture of everything, but they listened to what she had to say and never argued. They didn't seem to find Mikhail as intimidating, most likely due to the prejudices the faun held over the lycanthropes, but if they put one foot out of line Mikhail was ready to set them straight. They didn't mess with him once he raised his voice.

Training ended when the sun fell below the mountainous horizon and the soldiers were needed on the walls. The Zlohiel had a habit of attacking at night as if they thought the guards were weaker then. Instead, Queen Monne had ordered more guards for the night shift, just in case the Zlohiel decided to attack again.

A swarm of wendigos attacked that night, hammering at the city gates and pretending they were desperate people trying to get it. Elora jumped down from the walls of the city, gathering magic in her hands and firing it at the wendigos.

Arrows from the guards on the walls rained down around, slamming into the wendigo's bodies. Three fell the ground, arrows sticking out of their heads and chests. When she landed, she caught sight of the ground ripping up to suck a group of wendigos into the depths below. There weren't many warlocks in Maheem, but enough to defend the city from small attacks.

If she looked up, she could see Nyal flinging his water about, knocking the wendigos of the ground. Gathering her magic once again, she impaled a nearby wendigo with a spike of darkness, ignoring its pained screams.

It didn't take her long to dispatch most of the wendigos, slicing at them with her magic and watching their dark blood splatter across the crisp white snow. One jumped onto her wings, ripping into the left one with razor sharp teeth. She cried out, feeling her blood run down the feathers.

With a grunt she gripped at the wendigos head, pulling it off her wings. She brought the skeletal creature forward, flipping it over her head and slamming it onto the rocky ground. With a cry she gathered her magic, pushing down and crushing the wendigo's ribcage. It screeched once loudly, before falling silent against the snow and rock.

She panted, looking around her at the dead bodies of wendigos. Gaizma must have sent them as something to tire the guards out. If they were really unlucky, he would send out something stronger, like a manticore or dragons. They had faced a few over the two months and those battles had caused the most casualties.

With a deep breath, she flared her wings and launched herself into the air again. She took a moment to stretch out her wings before landing back down on the city walls. The guards were celebrating another victory, and so Elora left them to it. She wasn't one for celebrations, not when she knew there would be other harder battles.

She made her way down the steps of the city walls, pushing past the cheering guards. According to Yura, Nyal had left to sleep after all the Zlohiel had been defeated. The fight and the healing throughout the day had tired him out. She might be able to get a chance to talk to him in the morning.

At the General's words, she herself began to feel the weight of the day, exhaustion hitting her like a rock. She still stayed in her room at the castle, the only place they even had room for them not that all the refugees were coming in.

As she walked, she caught sight of a familiar face wandering into one of the many churches dotted about Maheem. She followed him in, sparing a brief glance at the five statues that lined the rectangular room, the one of her father standing at the end, towering over all the others. The room was empty except for her and the man she followed in

Ragen was kneeling in front of the statue of Yararanje, head bent towards the ground. With a frown, she sat down next to him, wings spanning out along the floor. Ragen's eyes were closed, but he flinched at the movement next to him.

"I didn't know you prayed," she whispered, staring up at the statue of her father. The sculpture had depicted him as a stocky man with a long beard, holding a sword above his head. She didn't know if that was what he actually looked like, she'd never seen him before, not even when she had been created.

"Of course, I pray," Ragen replied. "They may not be happy with the choices I have made in my life, but that doesn't stop me from believing in them. If I pray hard enough, I'm sure one of them will answer me."

"And what do you pray for?" she asked.

"For Mikhail and me to survive this," the man told her. "A hard ask, but it's all I want."

"I'll make sure you will," she said, not knowing if it was even possible for her to do.

"I know you'll try," Ragen started. "But in times like this, even your word is not quite enough."

She huffed in agreement, she was the one who caused his arm to be ripped off. It made sense that he didn't trust in her like Nyal did. She could try to fix it, but that would only happen in the pair survived the war.

"Have you tried praying?" Ragen asked, voice echoing in the empty hall.

"Praying? To my father?" she asked.

"Who else?" Ragen replied. "I know you've tried asking and begging and demanding answers from him, but have you ever tried praying to him like the rest of us?"

"No."

"Maybe you should. Maybe that's what he wants, for you to sink to the level of the rest of us. Pray to him, knowing you have nothing else left to do, like everyone else in the realm when they choose to pray."

"I don't know if that will work," she said.

"Why not try?" Ragen said. "It's not like you have much left." With that, he bent his head down again, his lone hand dropping to his lap. He mouthed the words as he prayed, asking for survival during the dangerous war.

She frowned, staring up at her father again. Nothing she had done had worked, so why not just try it? She was getting desperate; any suggestion would do. She clasped her hands in her lap and closed her eyes.

Father, she started, Yararanje, Creator of All, I pray to you to ask for help. War has reached Maheem, and I don't know how to stop the forces of evil from destroying the realm. Please bestow upon me your wisdom and guide me in defeating the Zlohiel.

She opened her eyes, waiting for her father's voice to ring in her mind. All she got was silence. She could imagine her father laughing at her in whatever godly realm he lived him, joking to the other gods about her stupidity.

"I'll leave you to your business," she told Ragen, turning and walking back past the other statues.

She froze at the entrance with a gasp, her father's voice finally echoing through her mind. There will come a time, child of mine, where you will need the Healer. Only with the combination of your powers will the Zlohiel be defeated. You will only have one chance, and you will know when it comes. The final battle is coming, my daughter, be ready.

"But why him? Why Nyal?" she asked. "Of all the warlocks and Healers out there, why is he the only one who can help me?"

Her father never gave her an answer.