2412 Qintax 28, Kindreth

The rifle bounced against her back, her boots sinking on the sand with every step she took. She was back in her Cardovian uniform, a cloak thrown over it. The moonslight trailed in her wake, watching over her steps. The tide never stopped coming from afar before edging back to where it came from, leaving behind wet sand in its wake. Even being as far as she was from the beach, she heard the lulling tune of the sea. She could still smell the heavy musk of brine hanging in the air.

That's the last glimpse she'd have of Desara tonight because the Oraytan stronghold crept into view. She tucked her face behind the scarf she tied around her neck, masking most of her features. Her purple hair—a real, defining trait—stayed pinned up in braids and hidden underneath a head-tight hat.

It was the dead of night, but the crenelations glowed amber from the light of the pyres in its gut. As their numerous excursions into the fortress tallied, the night patrol would either be relegated to those punished for underperformance or to those who incurred it for no reason. Cardovia operated like any other army, and Nelnifa intended to use that to her advantage.

If everything went according to plan, the other three Marshals would be in place, ready to take on the short dash towards the land-side gate. That's where Nelnifa came in.

Since everyone agreed to never leave each other alone, they split the covert faction into two. Ilphas and Laie would deal with Parim Deinu, Gerphie and Rye were the ones assigned with Hycile Lorel, and finally, Agan Corei would fall under Ketha and Alsen's jurisdiction. It's a miracle the weaver curbed under Ketha's influence when they asked for volunteers in this near-suicide mission.

And Nelnifa? The entire faction agreed she was the one who should never be left alone at all costs. With everyone occupied with their tasks, the only person who had nothing to do was her father, Levan Corledia.

So, here they were, making the first trek towards the part of the plan that would mark the beginning of what they're working towards—retaking Orayta, and after, the rest of Desara. Nelnifa swallowed against the lump forming in her throat, tamping the dread and fear climbing from her gut. It's not the time for those emotions, and if she learned something from her training, she would know better than to give in to them.

Focus on the present. Feel the emotions later.

She blew a breath through her mask, the warmth of her breath clouding her nose. The air remained humid, despite the change of seasons coming soon. There were no incoming storms either, the horizon where the sky met the sea staying clear and free of dark masses of clouds.

Soon, the fortress' gate loomed over them. A flintlock whipped out from her belt and pointed up. She craned her neck up the walls to check for soldiers posted on either towers flanking the gate. From the shadows of the bell, not a single form betrayed a soul. They're safe. Well...as safe as infiltrating an enemy stronghold could be.

She stuck her flintlock to the slot in her belt and turned the gates. The only reason the offense faction couldn't breakthrough was because of an intricate alert system that informed every soldier in the fortress of a possible invasion. It wouldn't work for small-scale spying like what Nelnifa and the Marshals were doing now, but for the metal-heavy army waiting at the edge of the mountains and the shore, it would.

And with them bearing weapons similar to what the soldiers inside the fortress used, Nelnifa couldn't be more paranoid. The gates weren't manned from the outside—the last saving grace they have—but blades awaited anyone who would be foolish enough to burst through without disabling the system. With her father at her heels, she pressed her shoulder against the porous surface and lowered her vision to the trail dimension.

She noticed it the first time she visited the fortress. A strange trail wrapped around the gray-green streaks the fortress' walls gave off, and she didn't realize what it was until yesterday, as they're finalizing the plan. Her inward vision focused on which direction the lights flowed. The only thing she needed to do was to reverse it. Then, the system of spells would fall away and render their intended effect useless.

Her senses stayed afloat in the colorful dimension, and she lowered even her magic into it. When she first heard of the practice, it weirded her out. Something as abstract as the trail dimension should never be tampered with worldly magic. But as she tried it over and over, she realized it was as easy as injecting sea water into waterbell buds. Sure, the flowers withered not long after, but it's possible.

Besides, it's only for this moment. Nothing more. If the island succumbed to ruin, it would not be Nelnifa's fault. Far from it.

She blew a breath to release the tension in her veins which might affect the flow of magic from her soul. Then, she refocused on the mass of trails and uttered a simple spell. "Julkisa."

Release.

But a rysteme spell didn't have a constant form for every caster. That's why not everyone could practice it to its miry depths. Because to reverse the flow of the spells, one needed to direct the release spell to what one wanted to happen with it. The only limit to the deeper strata of magic was one's imagination, and the catch was that imagination couldn't be taught.

So, she clenched her jaw and guided her magic and the spell she uttered to wrap around the alert system's nigh unrecognizable trail. Then, she set it into motion. Slowly, at first, then a raging storm after a few seconds.

Her father was quiet as she worked. His vision was no doubt lowered to the trail dimension too, watching what his daughter was doing. Finally, a silent whizz ripped through the space, and the gray-green trail flitted off into the void. She stepped out of the fuzzy reality and went back to her own.

Nothing has changed on the outside, and that's what Nelnifa wanted. She was getting the silent flare she constructed from barrels of clametis leaves, a bit of odian, and powdered dye from grounded elkote scales—at least the translucent ones who shone like glass against the sunlight. She pointed the flare's casket to the air and clicked the trigger. A shower of color rained over them before settling on the sand, blending with the other clear particles. It's enough to signal the rest of the teams to start their approach.

"How did you know all these?" a quiet whisper reached her ears.

She turned to find her father staring at her with an incredulous expression marring his features. "I'll tell you later," she said. "Let's focus on the mission."

She didn't wait for her father's reply and pushed the gates open. The tall columns with the burning pyres for heads came into view. As much as she wanted to tell him, she didn't want to spark a disagreement in the middle of an important mission where one mistake could kill all of them in the most undignified way possible. The truth could wait.

Thank the gods her father understood and stalked after her as she slipped into the small gap she made in the gates. In a flash, she whipped sideways, her dagger already slicing across the air. Her blade, made from the famed dwarven metal, sank into the soldier's neck. It only let go when the weight of the corpse toppled forward. When the soldier from the other flank noticed his comrade fall, Nelnifa was there to deliver the same fate.

Within seconds, two forms lay unmoving at her feet.

She glanced at the gap and nodded. "All clear," she said to her father.

He scrambled after her on her way to the battlements, never taking his off the fallen soldiers. They could have been water sprites, but Nelnifa was too drawn to care. If they allied with Cardovia, they deserved to die, no matter what race they were. Who in their right minds would support this murder cult?

Together, they climbed the stairs of the immediate tower, swerved away from the large bell casted with a golden shimmer, and tramped towards the crenelations. Then, she got to work.

The rifle swung away from her back, the stock pressing against the joint between her arm and shoulder. She propped the barrel on the lower part of the battlements, crouching on one knee while stretching her other leg. Her father cowered behind the higher teeth of the wall, away from prying eyes who might spot him and his shock of purple hair.

Nelnifa yanked the forestock, nudging the right bullet into the chamber, and clicked the safety off. Her finger rested with calm assurance on the trigger while she searched the grounds for any trace of her target—Viktir Devame.

A life for a life—it's what the Sovereign demanded of Nelnifa when she begged Synketros to impart to her the knowledge and skills to survive in this war. After mulling over the name she saw in the general's chest for many nights, it clicked. The reason the Sovereign agreed to train Nelnifa was because the Synketrian leader knew Viktir ran to Cardovia the second he could. Somehow, the Sovereign knew he would be stationed in Orayta, and when Nelnifa stated her goal to free Desara, the Sovereign took her chance.

A life for many lives—that's what was at stake in this mission. She would kill Viktir for the Sovereign, but everyone else, for her people.

As planned, the spies they planted into the ranks bore the generals behind them, lured by the practiced script of an urgent issue. Nelnifa watched her target through the lens of the muzzle. The spy, characterized by the obscure water sprite who went with them from Orayta to their hiding place in Zoriago, stopped in her mark. Nelnifa squeezed the trigger.

A silent shot rang into the night, muffled by a thick clametis leaf covered with the same porous rock as the fortress' walls. All three generals crumpled to the ground, as lifeless as a sack of zamage fruits knocked over. That's the work of the different kinds of poison she loaded into each of the bullets inside the rifles. One strike, and they would meet Pidmena before they hit the ground.

Only one left, and then, Orayta would be theirs.

From the opposite side sat Ketha and Alsen, their rifle pointed to the last target being led by their spy. The Marshals' heads peeked from the crenelations to check what's wrong. Nelnifa saw it. The muzzle didn't have a silencer fit in it. Something must have knocked it over, causing it to shatter. Nelnifa shot up, a scream building up in her throat.

Ketha clicked the trigger. A hearty blast streaked across the air, hitting its target.

But in the face of it, the entire fortress came alive.