Something crunched behind her. Even as a shadow ate away what little stream of sunlight shining down on her, she didn't turn. "Leave me alone, Ilphas," she said, without checking if it's really him. She'd handle the embarrassment later before she slept. "I don't need to hear another lecture."

The shadow eased and a different weight settled on the fallen log she perched on. "I'm not here to lecture you," Ilphas said. So, it's him. So, she memorized his gait. What was she supposed to feel about that? "I came to apologize."

That's when she turned to find his gaze locked on her face. He didn't flinch or avert his eyes, unlike what Nelnifa was prone to do. Instead of meeting him halfway, she focused on his lips...which, in retrospect might not be the best place to look.

"Apologize for what?" She tucked her hair behind an ear, eerily aware how Ilphas watched the entirety of the gesture. "You did nothing wrong or something I can't forgive."

He cleared his throat and ran his hands over his trousers. Was Ilphas Araxi, the great Marshal of the Potentate's Royal Court, nervous? "I'm sorry for not facing you until now," he said. "For letting the rumors speak for themselves instead of...well, telling you—someone who needs to hear it the most."

"Which is?" Nelnifa cocked an eyebrow, doing her best to remain nonchalant even though she had an inkling of what's going to come out of his mouth.

"I like you, Nifa," he said. "I'm sorry it took me this long and had to do it under these circumstances."

Heat colored her cheeks, so she ducked her head and let her hair unhook from her ears and form a purple curtain between them. It's better this way. "Since when?" she asked. "How long did you wait?"

Ilphas craned his neck to the canopies, eyeing the sky which began to darken with the arrival of the moons. "Since you started investigating Cardovia," he answered.

She blinked. "That's ages ago," she said. "I must be like a child to you, seeing me grow up and all."

"It may not look like it, but we're not that far apart in age," he said. It's what made her head snap back up. This time, her gaze locked with his. "I'm probably two years older than you."

"But you've been a Marshal forever!" she said, her voice carrying all the way to the command tent. No doubt the Marshals were having the time of their life, watching from the shadows and maybe listening in to the whole conversation.

Ilphas chuckled. "No, not forever," he said. "I started around the same time the Potentate started your training. I became a full-fledged Marshal by the time of your public introduction."

Nelnifa's gut squeezed. She hung a finger between them. Well...the meager space between them. "You mean to say..." she said. "That we grew up so close to each other? And yet, I didn't notice?"

"You and I were absorbed in our roles back then," he agreed, grasping his knee with both hands and balancing his weight by leaning back. Everything he did looked so fluid. And graceful. And...

Get a grip, Nifa.

"And what do you want to hear me say?" she said after a while of comfortable silence that arose as she took in the weight of his words. Someone looked out for her, and he had seen her go through every stage of her life until she reached the current one. Did he like every one, or did he merely like the one he saw now?

"I want to be with you, in all honesty," Ilphas said, not bothering to pause for Nelnifa's heart to calm down and catch up with her breaths. "You make me want to keep striving for myself, for our people, for you. You're this...star who guides me while shining so bright. Your light never fades. Not really."

Nelnifa scoffed. "If I am anything, I'd be a void," she said. "An abyss."

"I beg to differ," he answered. "Sometimes it hurts me how little you think yourself to be."

"I'm a speck in the timeline, with little to offer," she smiled at him despite the negativity flooding out of her mouth. It's better to say it aloud than let it consume her from the inside. "Despite the title, the authority I hold over some people, I can never bring change. I'm...weak."

"But you saved this camp, and even now, continue to find ways to save it," Ilphas countered. "As I said, I'm not here to lecture you about how you should see yourself, but to tell you how I and everyone else here see you. Even if you hold the highest authority on the island, you can't tell people what to think of you."

There he was again, spouting truths which made the most sense. It was harder for Nelnifa to swallow—that someone saw her as a different being from how she saw herself. "I...don't think I should give you the answer you want to hear," she said. "I will only drag you down. Because, let's face it—I have things I have to work through before I can finally say it."

"I understand," Ilphas said with a smile. He didn't seem to be disappointed or sad. Only hopeful. "I'll be waiting. For as long as it takes."

Nelnifa returned his gesture and pinned her hair up with practiced fingers. "Won't you grow bored?" she asked. "You're free to love other people. We can still be friends, you know?"

Ilphas inclined his head to one side. "That doesn't mean I'll stop caring for you," he said. "You are a good soul, Nelnifa. Don't let the world take that from you."

She hummed. "Say, Ilphas," she began. "Promise me you'll keep supporting the Potentate and his family if I pass on."

"Don't say that," he reached out for her but stopped midway. She found out she didn't mind. Even when he touched her wrist back at the tent, she found her heart skipping a beat or two. "You're not passing on. Nobody has to. We'll survive."

"You can afford to be selfish," Nelnifa said. "But I can't."

The answer lay between them now, even if Nelnifa didn't say it aloud. She wanted to say she liked him too, or some utter crap just to make him happy for a while, but it would mean she had to add another person she couldn't throw away even if the tide becomes a wave. People who had too many things to protect, who refused to let go of those the universe could claim anytime, they were the ones who turned away from what mattered more.

Ilphas said it himself, and for once, she was inclined to agree. She was a good soul, so now, she had to be an evil one for him. Nobody could have everything they wanted just because they wished for it. Something would always need to be sacrificed. And for Nelnifa, it was her own salvation.

"Are you still with me on this plan?" she ventured after the thickening wall of silence between them became heavy on her shoulders. "I understand if you want out."

"You can be selfish, Nelnifa. Nobody will hold it against you," Ilphas said. "And I'll be with you. To the ends of the world."

While he didn't hear what he came here to hear, Nelnifa did. And it became another item in the list of debts she'd have to repay later down the line.

2412 Qintax 10, Kindreth

The stronghold's wall rose as far as her craned neck could take her. Orayta was forever changed by the Heiress' meddling, replacing the homey vibe of the capital city with a stately cloud, threatening to squash anyone who came too close to it. As her feet tramped over the cooling sand, stumps of salvia trunks blasted to ashes lined the way. The cata-cata burrows have long been trampled, the poor animals chased out of their homes. Her heart twinged with how she related the water sprites' experience to the gold-loving creatures.

It took her more than a day to climb down from Zoriago and tame a wild galor off the forest's border. She let her steed go hours before. Where she's going, she needed a cloak of silence and light feet.

When she arrived in Orayta, the truth to the Heiress' occupation slapped her. Hard. The colorful merchant squares, which had once lay on the sand no matter the temperature or the weather, had been replaced by a long wall stretching from the border towards the rim of the shore where the water couldn't reach.

She swallowed against the dryness creeping into her throat, brought about by the heat and the particles of sand. Her eyes were scratchy, but she blinked the pain away as she forged forward. Her hands wrapped around the strap of her satchel where her important materials sat. Spywork didn't just mean checking the place out. If they were supposed to hit their targets once, they had to make sure they had the right face.

From the horizon, she squinted and counted the number of entrances posted on the facade. Two. One nearer the mountains of Zoriago, and the other, the open sea. She picked the one to the left.

Eyes open and muscles tense, she pulled her borrowed hat over her face, jostling her hair which she tucked inside it. The black tunic and trousers she wore absorbed all of the heat rising from the ground and raining from heaven, driving sweat down her back and the side of her face. If not for the Cardovian wandering in at the wrong time in their camp, getting knocked senseless, and his clothes ripped off and passed along, Nelnifa wouldn't manage to look like one of the soldiers streaming into the fortress.

Coming here was part of the battle, with most of the Marshals refusing to let Nelnifa endanger herself further. But she wasn't going to let anyone dictate her life and how she should fight this war. While they waited for the Potentate to get back from his Lantegian travels, Nelnifa should make her own preparations. And it included the first part—marking their targets.

The mountain-side entrance loomed over her, reminding her of the Barden Lighthouse which stood a few fortweres north. Maybe the Heiress found it distasteful and didn't include it in her military fortress fancy. That's a big maybe.

Black-clad soldiers milled past the sentries flanking the enormous gate. Nelnifa sauntered straight through despite her heart hammering in her chest and pounding in her temples. The sentry—a guy wearing a mask which covered his face save for his eyes—gave her a quick glance before letting her through. Big mistake.

Once she was in, she headed straight for the stairs leading to the cubical towers forming gaps in the pristine stretch of brick walls. Nobody stopped her as she clambered across the winding stairs and came to a cramped room at the top. A huge bell casted in gold sat in the middle, a signal waiting to be sent.

The arched window showed the whole stretch of the fortress, betraying nothing. Nelnifa's jaw dropped. Even if it's the enemy who made Orayta anew, to the point of it being unrecognizable, she betrayed herself and her people by staring at it with a sense of awe and reverence coiling in her gut.

This was what Orayta could look like if only Desara wasn't neglected. Winding roads formed by the partitions of the different parts of the fortress reflected the morning sunlight with how white they were. Tall pillars supporting the ever-burning pyres for torches or flaming volleys stood in a neat array at the center, making up an impromptu temple. The sand vanished under a layer of quarry to make up the floor, creating a respite from all the beige and gold.

When her eyes landed on what used to be the Palace and the Temple, her stomach curled, and all traces of awe vanished. That's right. These people ransacked her territory and stole it from her people. There's no room for reverence in Nelnifa's soul for these people.

So, she whipped out the sheets of parchment from her satchel as well as the sticks of graphite. She perched on the sill made by the arched window facing the fortress' guts. Then, she drew.

Time bled forward, faster than what Nelnifa was used to. By the time she finished her sketch of the stronghold's insides, the sun had moved further inland, marking the beginning of the afternoon.

She watched the people flitting around the fortress as she had done as the graphite stick made marks against the clear parchment. Each one was lost in their own meager task, whether it be tending to the stables of wild galor, sharpening the swords, and cleaning the flintlocks and rifles. Some sparred with each other in the wider part of the fortress. She made sure to watch their moves—the kicks, the swing of blades, and the use of magic and shadows to mask their moves and confuse the enemy. If she could figure out how to cart dwarven metal out of here and back to Zoriago, it'd secure their victory a notch more likely.

Then, she made out faces in the crowd. From the distance, she couldn't make out conversations and other important words, but her eyes were good enough to register their features. And she knew a military leader when she saw one. Dressed in the same type of coat as the Heiress, the man climbed the battlements and came to Nelnifa's level, but on the other side of the fortress.

She pulled back from the tower and crept to the grated gates guarding the entry to the battlements. With as little noise as she could, she slipped past it and stalked across the path flanked by crenelations. The decorated man, bald from behind the head despite maintaining his youthful countenance, flitted from the tower and towards two more men waiting by the walls' corner. She's still a long way off from her corner, but it'd make do.

The sheets of parchment crinkled when she ripped them from the depths of her satchel. Peeking through the gaps in the crenelations, she took in the generals' faces one by one. Her fingers scratched, smudged, and scrawled the best they could without making too much noise. Her shins turned rigid as they burned while keeping her balance and weight up. Crouching for a long time could do that.

Still, she endured. Just a little more. A little...

Her muscles snapped, sending her hurtling to the ground. Instincts took over, her hands forgetting the parchment and the graphite stick and focusing on saving her face from slamming into hard stone.

A loud thud.

Dear Shirope.