2412 Dalfa 09, Daleth

The sea was not alone in its rage, and Nelnifa was no stranger to that. Underneath the shadows of the canopies, she slunk towards the clearing, keeping watch of the streaks of magic coloring the air overhead. Her hand tightened around the dagger in her hand, her muscles coiling in tension. She wanted to swing the blade at something, at someone, but a hand clamped on her shoulder.

She whirled to Ketha. Pink hair bounced against Ketha's nape when she shook her head. "Nifa, it's not the best time," she cautioned, her voice dropping into a low whisper. "Let's head back."

And do what? Nelnifa wanted to scream into her friend's face. She wanted to do a lot of things, but they would either expose them to the Heiress or get her killed. "I'm tired of hiding," was all she said, pressing her shoulder deeper into the trunk. All her weight leaned against it, making it bend forward. The undergrowth parted to reveal the source of the explosions wracking the shore, one that took away her attention from foraging.

Spells and blades arced in the air before finding their targets. The forms jumping around across the flat expanse of gold and beige resembled srilla inside their nests—too small to make out unless one stood inside it. Cardovian soldiers, which she could tell apart from the crowd because of their dark clothing and extreme aversion to sand through long-sleeves and trousers, tackled water sprites to the ground, securing their quota every day. Her people, defenseless and probably out to gather supplies to fend for another day or week, slammed cheek-first against the sand. Then, she could only watch them get hauled to their feet and shoved into huge, wooden carriages bound for a cursed place that was the Cardovian outpost in Orayta.

It wasn't supposed to be like this, and she certainly didn't imagine it'd get to this point when she declared a public dispute with Cardovia. When she discovered the organization hiding in the markers and siphoning off their resources, the first thing on her mind was to uproot them and drive them off the territory. But as the Generals advised her, as well as her father, the Water Potentate, dealing with Cardovia was an interterritorial matter, and therefore, beyond their jurisdiction as the incumbent Desaran royals.

And since the day she let the public know about the Heiress' and Cardovia's existence, not only did they not leave, but they climbed out of their manipulated space and started taking permanence in the city. No matter how many times Nelnifa attempted to open a dialogue about their forced occupancy on an otherwise sovereign territory, she got nowhere.

Then, came the fateful day that escalated the state of the territory into new levels of hell. Nelnifa remembered it being a rainy day, and she had been feeling a little odd since sunrise. She didn't, because when the Heiress strode inside the throne hall in the Oraytan palace, the overbearing woman demanded one thing.

"Where is the throne?" the Heiress demanded, her tone laced with not a trace of reverence. They might not look or conduct themselves like it, but her immediate family still hold most of the power over Desara. But Nelnifa had sensed the pure wisps of magical energy rolling off the Heiress. That raw power was what earned her the right to look down on everyone. At least, that's what she thought.

Nelnifa recalled turning to her father, who straightened from his cross-legged position. They had been in the middle of sorting through harvested cata-cata shells in preparation for a flower-child blessing happening soon. Those would have to be sewn into a fabric woven from the fibers of salvia leaves. Instead of acknowledging the newcomer in the customary greeting fit for dignitaries, her father went back to brushing particles of sand off the hollowed-out shells.

"What throne?" he asked, even though it didn't fly past Nelnifa how he knew what the woman referred to. "As you can see, we're not allowed to have one under Lanteglos' control."

"I'm not talking about that, you witch," the Heiress crossed her arms, wrinkling the pristine red and black military coat she wore. "The Soulcleanser—that rings a bell, doesn't it?"

Her father's shoulders tensed. "What about it?"

A dangerous glint shone in the Heiress' eyes. It made her void-like eyes even darker. "Now we're talking," she said. "I felt its presence after its potential unearthing. I was hoping you know where it is. Then, you'd have to surrender it to me if you want to keep whatever meager hold you have over this wasteland."

Nelnifa wouldn't forget that insult. How could she? The Heiress implied a ton of her biases in that single statement, and they weren't in favor of the people she's demanding things from. That kind of attitude was an entirely new concept to Nelnifa, so much so that she wasn't able to do anything other than freeze in place when the Heiress glanced at her from across the hall.

"I'm sure your heir can tell me something," the Cardovian leader said.

An arm flew across Nelnifa, her father edging in front of her. "Stay away from my daughter, hag," he said, throwing the profanity back at the Heiress. Then, he turned to Nelnifa with such urgency dancing in his eyes. "Stay out of this."

But Nelnifa couldn't. If something concerned her and her people, she would have to deal with it. That's the kind of Potentate her father trained her to be. And until now, she had questioned whether she was fit for such an important role, and everyone around her assured she was. That moment was the perfect time for her to step away from her father's shadow and face the Heiress herself.

"You can take your stupid breeches out of Desara," Nelnifa said. "We do not have what you're looking for. Leave us alone, and we might consider granting your people amnesty for their illegal occupation of our land."

If the Heiress was threatened by that, she didn't show it. Instead, she lowered her arms to her sides, a placid expression passing across her face. "Fine," she said. "If you don't cooperate, then you will see Desara was a pile of embers. Who knows? Maybe you'll be able to make glass out of burning sand."

Before anyone could react, the Heiress blinked out of existence, leaving behind a trail of dark shadow wafting in the air. Within seconds, it's like she hasn't dropped by at all.

Nelnifa wasn't a fool. She knew the Heiress made good on her word, so when the Oraytan sky lit up orange and pink, she had most of the evacuation plans ready. Most of the palace officials stayed in Orayta and pretended to go on about their normal day, so when the Heiress attacked, they looked like they're caught unawares.

Nelnifa, together with the Marshals, rounded who was willing to fight and faced off with the Heiress' soldiers inside the palace. Let her say it's not an experience she wanted to go through again. The sight of clay exploding and fronds blazing to life still haunted her dreams every night.

She met with her family in Zoriago, and they had been in hiding ever since.

From the thick undergrowth and lush canopies rising from the expansive coast, Nelnifa monitored the flow of correspondence coming from the citizens who opted to remain in the cities. Orayta, Aresving, and the rest of the plain and rocky parts of Zoriago—not a corner was left unchecked. She made sure of it.

And she wouldn't lie—it terrified her. With the "fall" of Orayta, the Heiress had established control over the entire territory. Her reign included plucking water sprites off their lives and dropping them into the mega-army she's trying to build. There were outposts scattered across the three cities, and they're built like fortresses. From how they were able to construct strongholds seemingly overnight, they had a slew of earth sprites within their ranks.

None of them had the luxury of time. The longer it took, the people who followed the royal family into the mountains got more exposed to danger. When the cities were smoothed dry and everyone got drafted into the Cardovian army, they would turn their attention to the depths of the forest. And if they did, Nelnifa had to be ready.

Her father's return from Lanteglos couldn't be more important.

It was another talk, one that happened when they're deep into the heart of the peaks surrounding the low-lying coast. A day's walk further, and they would make it to Fimrio, another one of the Heiress' territories. None of them dared to venture there, though. Even though Ariden Sarethol, Avalora's Crown Prince, was someone Nelnifa was acquainted with, their last correspondence had been a year ago. With Cardovia and Synketros raging across the island, he must be busy protecting his own territory to worry about Nelnifa's. No help would come to them there either.

That's why she approached her father and proposed a plan. "One of us has to go to Lanteglos and petition Desara's autonomy," she said. "They won't listen to us if we went the usual way. We have to show them we're adamant about it. We have to show up personally."

Her father regarded her as if he was seeing another person than his daughter. Finally, he blew a breath and drove his sheared purple hair off his forehead. "It's better if I go," he said. "Stay here and protect our people."

Before he turned to the preparation, he gave her a long look. "Are you going to be okay?" he asked.

Nelnifa couldn't remember what she answered back then, or if she answered at all. All she knew was that now, she had never been far from it. As her gut formed tight knots from witnessing another raid in broad daylight, being okay was nothing more than a lucid fantasy, a dream out of her reach.

Ketha's hand never strayed from her shoulder, and her wrist burned from gripping the dagger hard. Finally, she forced herself to relax and slide the blade back into its sheath. She blew a breath, the tension in her shoulder easing with the fading echoes of spells and screams. The leaves rustled when the trunk snapped back into place when she removed her weight against it.

"Let's go back," Nelnifa agreed, pushing past Ketha and trudging across the path they cleared through the forest. Her boots—a pair she never wore until she moved higher up in the mountains—crunched against fallen leaves and blades of grass protruding from the floor.

They didn't stray far, so after a few minutes of walking, they pushed away the last of the low-lying branches to reveal a bustling camp. Those with her were mostly warriors, and it included the Marshals. The resistance Ketha had gathered from the fisherfolk and the nimble weavers joined them as well.

Tents littered the small expanse, giving them a brief respite and an illusion of safety. Smoke rose towards the canopies from the fires burning in hollow pits dug into the compact soil. Nelnifa slipped the strap of the basket off her shoulders and set her recent harvests next to the fire. A soldier looked up from stoking the fire, registered her face, and gave her a quick salute.

"At ease," she told him before patting his shoulder once. Ketha sauntered after Nelnifa after dropping the other basket. Together, they slipped into the biggest tent in the middle of the camp.

The rest of the Marshals came into full view. They all looked up when Nelnifa let the flap fall behind her. "Princess," Laie said, straightening up and attempting to comb down her green hair. "How was the foraging?"

"Please call me Nifa," she replied, striding towards the table someone whittled out of the lumber scattered in the forest. It took all of her willpower to ignore Ilphas' presence as she checked what the rest of the Marshals were working on. "We're past formalities now, Marshal."

"Then, I insist on being called Laie," the green-haired marshal crossed her arms with a huff. "It couldn't be just one way."

A chuckle sent Nelnifa scurrying closer to Laie. Ilphas clapped his fellow marshal on the back and regarded Nelnifa with that annoying smile bordering a smug smirk. "Let the Princess state her terms and follow them without grumbling."

Laie leveled her gaze on Ilphas before slapping his hand away. "Just because you like Nifa doesn't mean you get to be the next consort, lording over us," she snapped.

A chorus of jeers and laughs erupted from the rest of the Marshals who happened to be tuning into the conversation. Heat rushed to Nelnifa's face at the reminder. Yeah, gods of Calaris be damned. Ilphas Araxi actually told everyone he liked her and not in the most literal sense.

He had yet to face her, but it didn't take long for the entire camp to start linking them together in everything. It's a miracle the Marshals even allowed Ketha to accompany her this morning. Otherwise, Nelnifa had yet to endure another wordless trek with Ilphas.

As she was with everything, this was yet another issue she didn't know how to handle, so she did what she did best—she pretended it wasn't the case and hoped it'd wear off as time went by. Only it didn't and seemed to gain more traction that even the connecting outpost somewhere in Aresving caught wind of it. It's truly a nightmare—more than the thought of the Heiress finding them and shoving them into her stupid army.

"W-what's the latest news?" she asked instead, pressing against Laie to get her to drop the silly act and be the general she was again. "We have to act soon if we are to survive. We can't be idling in this forest and wait for the Heiress to catch us."

A dark cloud brought a somber mood to the room. Well...at least they stopped talking about Nelnifa's relationship with Ilphas. Good riddance, but at what cost?

Laie's sigh caught Nelnifa's attention. The Marshal lowered her gaze towards the crude map drawn by some merchant they cornered within the borders of Aresving. Her green hair shielded most of the freckles splashed across her cheeks. "Recent information says another stronghold is being erected in Orayta. On the same spot of the palace," she said. "The nerve of these people. I swear I'm going to torch them once I find them."

"They're basically announcing their presence to the island," Marshal Urden, or Rye, according to him, said. "You're more than welcome to rain fire on them with your water synnavaim."

Laie swept her foot towards Rye, sucking air between teeth. "You son of a witch," she said. "Go inhale oshella or something."

"And the other cities?" Nelnifa interjected. As much as she enjoyed sitting back and letting the Marshals banter all afternoon, they had pressing matters to attend to. "The other territories?"

Marshal Roasan tapped a finger on the northern part of the map. "The Sovereign has taken control of Alkara and the Heiress is in the process of securing Lanbridhr. It seems like she's able to sway most of Selyon's court to what she wanted."

Nelnifa raised an eyebrow. "I thought the Potentate ruled with absolute authority?"

"It's a perilous time to be a Potentate in Lanbridhr these days," Ilphas said, inserting himself into the conversation. The air of assuredness bleeding off him was something Nelnifa wished she had for herself. Maybe that's why she couldn't bring herself to acknowledge the teasing and Ilphas' rumored feelings for her. There's just no way he'd settle for someone like her, even if she was a Princess. Or maybe that's why he's approaching her. But wouldn't he have missed his chance already? At the end of this—if there was an end to this madness—there's a high chance she wouldn't even be a princess anymore.

Still, she turned to Ilphas to acknowledge his contribution. "How so?"

The Marshal leaned his hip against the table and crossed his arms. "Selyon Rovodia has been under scrutiny of his people because of the Daily Embers," he said. "The court has taken several measures to keep their Potentate from signing away their territory just to keep inflating his ego. The Heiress has been having a hard time with that."

Nelnifa sighed. At least, there's still people who were willing to stand up against that witch. "And any word from my father?" she dared ask.

Laie shook her head. "The last correspondence we received was about him reaching Lanteglos," she said. "Strangely, he had gone quiet."

"Continue with the reconnaissance drills," she said. Her father had to be alright. With the chaos unfolding throughout the entire island, it's understandable he chose to go covert. Lanteglos wouldn't be exempt from the Heiress and Sovereign's machinations, especially after the High Queen passed to the Land of Wonders.

She met the Marshals' gazes—yes, even Ilphas'— and cleared her throat. "Report to me after every two days. I want all eyes on the strongholds, and I expect information about them every Jyda. Try to contact anyone who hasn't been caught and bring them into our safehouses. We'll start laying traps in the forest soon. We can't afford to rest now."

The Marshals snapped their heels together and gave her a quick salute. Nelnifa closed her eyes on her way to the tent, spent beyond measure. But with everyone relying on her and her supposed authority and position in society, she had no choice but to look and act the part. If it meant saving her people and getting Cardovia out of Desara, she's willing to do anything. Even if it meant opening her mouth and taking the lead.

So, she met Ketha by the lip of the tent and together, they made their way towards the weavers in charge of making the thorny nets for their traps. It's just like her usual duties. The main difference was that now, they were at war.