Jona dodged a little too late, the blade nicking his cheek. He crashed against Nael whose hand was just drawing his sword out. Nael steadied him before whirling to meet the same edge that cut him. "Go!" the soldier yelled through gritted teeth. He grunted and shoved his attacker away. When he realized Jona hadn't moved from his spot, he cursed. "I'll hold them off! Just go!"

As answer, a rigid vine pushed through the walls and speared straight into the enemy line. Nael whipped towards Jona who flashed him a quick smile. "We'll go together."

Something snapped behind them, and Jona turned in time to watch the keystone from one of the arches snap and slam to the ground. A distinct crack resounded in the entire hall. No time. They needed to get away from here, and the quickest way through swarmed with the Heiress' people.

He bared his teeth and charged ahead, hoping Nael would follow through. A dagger cut into his space, and he flexed his fingers with his synnavaim pumping beneath his skin. Thorns lashed out from the walls, wrapping around the enemy's wrist. He didn't stay behind to listen to the pained screams echoing behind him.

Nael's grunts and cries rang behind Jona. Good. He's still alive. And kicking butts, it seemed. Jona spread his arms and called for the life around him. What answered were the familiar interconnected roots of the felmisa. A tricky plan blossomed in Jona's mind along with it. This should do.

"Nael!" he called through the space between them. The sound of blades clashing, sparks flying, and boots skidding against the stone floor drowned out most of it. "Over here!"

Jona extended his synnavaim to the felmisa roots, letting it wrap around the ankles of those dressed in black. Then, with a grunt, he pulled at the webbed nets as one would tug at a carpet. Different kinds of yelps and gasps blasted across the hall as most of the black-clad soldiers tumbled sideways, the once-stable ground shifting beneath them. Nael was quick to catch on, using his own synnavaim to drive out the roots from his feet. Then, with nimble steps, he sauntered over to Jona, slashing his blade on the way and disabling anyone from using their weapons for a short time.

"Cover your ears," Jona whispered, extending his magic from the roots to the mechanisms inside them, urging them to grow leaves and eventually, flowers. With a grin, he opened his fingers and the bright red buds unfurled along. He backed a step, his sole crunching on a low-lying petal behind.

Then, the flowers screamed.

Jona, having grown accustomed to the sensitive flowers, forged ahead. Nael muttered something under his breath, but he followed suit. Together, they wove towards the western exit where protocol told them to be during an emergency. A triumphant feeling bloomed in his gut. How come he had hated himself and his synnavaim a few hours ago?

Or perhaps he rejoiced too early. Because he took his next step, and he stumbled forward, his face hurtling towards the ground. Oh.

Something clamped around his arm, and his blurring world whizzed—too fast for him to realize what's going on. "You should have told me growing felmisais would tire you out," Nael hissed. "Dharhe's spells, look at the sight of you."

Jona had no idea what Nael's talking about, so he tried to push off his partner and assume command over his own legs. "I can walk," he said. His voice came out slurred. What...?

Was that why his vision started showing him copies of everything? Oh, what was this strange liquid flowing over his lips? It tasted...like rust. He swiped the back of his hand against his nose, and his skin came away red. Oh. That's what Nael meant.

"We don't have time for this," Jona shook his head in a poor attempt to clear it. He staggered forward, eyeing the direction they came from. "Those soldiers are going to recover soon."

He didn't dare remind Nael of more soldiers coming in from all directions with the sole aim of skewering him and his father. Where would the Grand Monarch be should the original plan be followed? How long has it been since the Heiress open-fired on the palace?

A cough rose from the pits of his stomach. He clamped a hand to his mouth, not wanting to give in to the urge in case he spat out something he didn't want to see. Of course, he didn't have much strength left. His form would do better in not reminding him of that every step of the way.

He and Nael rounded a corner, and that's when Jona's legs gave out. His knees scraped the floor, his wrists following in their attempt to catch his weight. His throat constricted. Not...not now. Please.

"Jona, get up," Nael ordered, which didn't make the least sense. Shouldn't it be the other way around?

With a strained groan, Jona braced the wall and hauled his tired form up. His legs didn't cooperate, and made him flop back down like a useless rag. Tears brimmed in his eyes, playing right into his fears. If he was the reason why Nael would get hurt, he wouldn't ever forgive himself.

"Please work," he whispered to his own limbs. Then, an exasperated scream. "Work!"

Nael crouched and stilled his arms. It's the same hold he knew would calm Jona down. "Hey," he said. In the darkness of the corridors, his auburn hair looked more brown. "Let's...let's slow down, okay?"

Jona nodded, heaving a breath in. Out. Then, another. Repeat. He opened his mouth to speak. From the corner of his eye, he saw the shadows shift. Then, a dark sword burst forth. Heart locked in his throat, he shoved Nael out of the blade's path. Both of them tumbled to the ground. Jona scrambled off the soldier, summoning his magic. Scant sparks greeted him, and he sent it all towards the enemy bearing down on them.

A dome of spindly branches shot out from the ground, breaking out of the thick slabs of stone making up the floor. Jona clutched at Nael's sleeve, urging him to go ahead. To go without him. He'd hold the fort. He just needed Nael to live.

"Not happening, Your Majesty," Nael insisted, hauling Jona up to his shaky legs. "We'll go. Together."

Jona hacked into his hand. This time, he couldn't stop it completely. Even though he hid it behind him, there's no denying Nael saw what stained his palm and what dribbled from the corners of his mouth. With the paint he used on his face long gone, Nael could no doubt see how pale he was and how pasty his lips were too.

He really should stop over-exerting himself. He made a mental note to never make it seem like he was running low on magic or that his connection to nature was wearing him down. Oh, he had to start wielding a sword too.

His gut answered by driving more pain upward. What—

Nael's sword cut to the air, clashing with another aimed behind Jona. Where did that come from? He scrambled back, the mere notion of getting maimed inside a crumbling palace supporting most of his weight. It's a small victory, but he'd take it.

Now back on his two legs, he turned to Nael only to find the soldier catching the enemy's blade in his arm, his sword clattering to the ground. Black blended with the shadows, and silver glinted with a finality of a hit. Jona lunged forward, slamming straight into the enemy's arm. They fell to the ground once more, his hair flying in wild directions and obscuring most of his vision.

In the squabble, Nael snatched the enemy's fallen sword, spared one glance at the blade, and stabbed down. Blood splattered on the floor, on Jona's face and arms, and on Nael's clothes. They exchanged glances in the silence.

"Dwarven metal," Nael answered with a shrug. Of course. They'd be using that.

Jona pursed his lips. "Don't lose it."

As much as he hated hurting anyone or anything with a shred of nature's blessings, the realization sank in, no matter how slowly. This was war, whether he liked it or not. It's either he took a life, or he would be meeting Pidmena for sure. And there would be no second chances.

Jona was no stranger to dying. He was sure he keeled over once in Gandirk that fateful day a few years ago. When he came back, he wasn't the same anymore. He was more frail, his strength and health tied to the state of the island around him. And it wasn't just Dwanzeig. His senses reached far beyond, going as far as the ends of Carleon. He hadn't gotten around to trying it, but it might be possible he could see beyond the borders too.

But it all came with a prize. He knew too much—like how he could feel a plague devouring Ok-Sa and some bits in Opreah, stopped only by the quilderfen bones and some succulents, as a constant throb in his temples. There was something else too, lurking in the depths of the island, and he touted it around as a dull ache between his shoulder blades.

His jumbled thoughts scattered off into different dimensions when he heard Nael grunt. "What happened?"

"My arm isn't doing good," Nael peeled it away from his chest. Aside from the stain of the enemy's blood coloring his tunic, his own now joined it in a bigger and redder blotch. "I didn't see that blow in time. Sorry."

Jona slowed their progress by pulling Nael into a random room that came up. He waved his hand over the vines, and they started meeting in the middle, albeit sickly and sputtering, like his magic. He settled Nael on top of the first giant pad by the doorway. He stuck a hand into the pool of clear water where the leafy pad floated on and moved to clean the wound. It wasn't deep, but without their magic, it would take days to heal.

"Don't apologize," Jona said, mustering what's left of his courage and authority. With the same methods he watched Nael do to him whenever he was hurt, he tore a strip from his own trousers and laid it on the gaping wound. Nael didn't flinch; didn't even hiss in pain. He just stared pensively as Jona unclipped the bandages around his arm and reused it to secure the more urgent one.

"We will get to the western entrance. Eldan and the rest of the division will be waiting there," Jona said. "Since you're with me, it's most likely they haven't left yet."

"Or they're looking for you," Nael said, his gritted teeth the only indication he ever felt pain. What could Jona do to achieve that level of tolerance? "The palace is big. We might have missed each other on the way."

Jona shook his head. "They will wait," he insisted. "Eldan is the strictest elika keiju I know. He won't deviate from protocol."

"Didn't he also throw a tantrum when they couldn't find a trace of his daughter?" Nael cocked an eyebrow.

"That's beside the point," Jona said. Some of the strength returned in his limbs, making it easier to help Nael up. "Once we get out of this room, we run."

Nael didn't need to be told twice. As soon as Jona withdrew his magic from the vines by forcing the undergrowth to part, they burst forward. The ones they left with the felmisais seemed to have gotten better and tracked them down. Newer faces and forms flooded from the northern and southern entrance, joining the fray.

Spells, blades, and arrows speared for their heads. Nael casted a quick rysteme shield behind, just to ward off the pesky projectiles. For the first time in his life, Jona hated how large and winding the palace was. The arches came and went, as did the view of the outside world. The Heiress never ceased her attacks on not just the gorge and the waterfall, but on the rest of Acosa. His people...

He could only hope they're able to evacuate properly.

But who was he kidding? He had felt more lives slip away from his soul with every step he took, both nature fairies and the very thing they have sworn to protect. It's almost unfair how he was the one who survived against all odds like a raven fir that just wouldn't die.

A whistle. A thunk. The shield shattered to a million, translucent shards. Crap. Dwarven metal again. And it wasn't alone. Two more darts glinted against the meager light in the corridors on their way to screw Jona and Nael over.

A distinct yowl rang in the air. Wind rushed past Jona's hair, driving the messy locks from his forehead. The darts clattered uselessly on the ground just as a huge, feathered wing withdrew.

"Nice job, Sahili," Eldan's breathless voice defeated most of the grunts and scared whines ringing from the crowd of black-clad soldiers. He turned to Jona and wasted not a moment for pleasantries. "An update, Your Grace: the assets are delivered. The servants are safe. We only need you."

Jona ran his fingers against his mouth, wiping away the last traces of blood in it. "Yeah," he said. "I took care of the records in case you're aiming to go back to it later."

Eldan's nostrils flared. "I saw. The smoke never really cleared out."

Then, they were off.

"Eldan, would you indulge me for a bit?" Jona blurted as they passed through the final stretch of the journey.

The spy, aboard the back of his krou, glanced at Jona. "What is it, Your Grace?"

They reached the edge of the palace, just beyond the reach of any of the cardinal bridges. Their only salvation was a chunk of the palace's spires, which shielded them from the groups coming from the north and the west.

Jona turned to Eldan. "Gather the Natura Generals and have them answer to me," he said. "I will be in Gandirk to mobilize the forces left in Ardgate. I will need reinforcements, and that's where you will come in."

Eldan nodded, but Nael wasn't going to let it go. "You're coming with us," Nael insisted. "You're in no condition to be part of an onslaught, much less lead one."

Jona laid a hand on Nael's shoulder, keeping track of how close they were to the end of the bottomless caldera. Maybe it had an end, but now wasn't the time to find out or even ponder that.

"I thought I'm the strongest person you know?" Jona inclined his head at Nael. "I'll be alright."

They both know it's not necessarily the case. He could barely stay upright now. How was he supposed to make it to Gandirk?

"Don't make me drag you to the safehouse," Nael's tone was so close to begging it broke Jona's heart to hear it. His gut twisted with what he was about to do as well. Nael would think it unfair. He would probably hate Jona to the bone. Maybe Jona would be destroying everything they had shared over the years because of this.

Jona smiled. "You're not dragging me back to the safehouse," he said. "Because I need to stay here."

Nael's eyes widened, but before he could do anything else, Jona jerked his arm forward.

And pushed his own lover into the depths.

Eldan was quick to act, spurring Sahili into action. The krou spread her wings, jumping into the air and diving towards where Nael fell. Jona's heart pounded against his chest as he turned back to the fray. A streak of white burned in his periphery, and relief flooded in his veins to find Nael nestled next to Eldan on Sahili's back.

Jona didn't stay long enough to see Nael's expression, though. Because if he did, he might have never wanted to go on. But he must. Go on, that was. This was the only way he could buy time for the rest of them to mobilize what's left of the Natura. Let the Heiress think the battle was still in Acosa.

So, with a quivering heart and a ragged form, Jonadrin threw himself into the depths of war.