The first explosions rocked the entire peak. Jona threw his hand over his head as he and the rest of the soldiers ran towards the grove and the battle waiting for them at the lip. They were barely able to seal off the entrance to Gandirk yesterday, and if the Cardovians were anyone worth their oshella, they would be continuing on where they left off.

They have long ago given up on stalling the aerial attacks. The soldiers in charge of spotting and stopping them would fare better on the ground. It didn't matter where the enemies came from. They would never touch the Liferewarder. Jona made sure of that.

Cardovians have now cleared the muddy incline and charged from the lip. Jona and the other soldiers reached the end of the grove just in time. Their only goal now was to drive these black-clad people back down where they belong. Swords and magic clashed, enveloped by the roar of defiant cries. Sparks flew into the air the moment Jona swept into action, ducking to let Nael leap over him to tackle the ones deeper into the enemy's front lines.

Overhead, a spell streaked through the air before finding its target. The distinct groan of a trunk about to snap vanished under the sound of metal clanging. Within seconds, characterized by the shot of pain inside Jona's gut, the tree fell to the cobbled path, a smoking hole burned through its heart. He gritted his teeth.

He drew his sword and crossed with another blade aiming to cleave his form in half. All he saw in his periphery were green and black, their faces blurring in a compression of movements, flashing lights, and clothes rustling. If he was to be able to stomach driving his sword deep into an enemy's gut, he needed to continue seeing them that way. Screw them if they're nature fairies. They shouldn't have left Dwanzeig.

The palm of his hand pressed against the flat side of his blade. With a strained cry, he drove back the black-clad soldier pressing down on him, freeing his blade. He slashed once. Blood splattered across his face as the soldier went down with a scream. Jona's fingers curled harder around the hilt. He brought the sword down.

Dwarven metal. Always the damned metal, encouraging him to kill and do so without consequences. Perhaps Pidmena would judge him to be unworthy of her paradise after all, regardless of what Nael believed.

He bared his teeth and launched further. Around him, the sound of vines, branches, and leaves snapping and crackling against fire rang in hollow echoes, giving him a taste of what went on. From his periphery, he saw Nael slash through the entire front line with a well-timed arc of his sword and a garabeen spine still brimming poison. At least five people collapsed at the soldier's feet, either felled by his sword or the stolen ivory. The drawn creases populating Nael's face told Jona enough. He didn't fancy holding something taken from an animal's unjust corpse.

The rest of the soldiers powered forward into the enemy lines despite being as squeezed to the bone as Jona was. Maybe even more, since they fought since the first day the explosions dropped from the heavens.

Jona swung his sword, weaving through the sea of black crowding for his attention. His eyes flitted from a sword to an exposed neck or an unguarded leg. He ducked under an ax's swing, tumbling closer to the soldier's leg. The sword's tip pierced the knee, shattering whatever protective spell they cast on their form. He drew his arm back and slammed it straight into the enemy's gut, sending them crashing against their comrades who came up closer to him with their weapons brandished.

A distinct cry to the left caught his attention. He turned to find a soldier in black pulling out a sword out of a cracked green breastplate. His heart twinged, squeezing his chest until it's harder to breathe. Pidmena has visited before his soldier even hit the ground. That's when the true situation registered.

Nael skidded back, a trail of blood dripping down his hairline. He had switched out his sword arm with his other one hanging on his side like a useless sack. Jona had to get to him. The sea of black never stopped, with the air constantly popping with swirls of shadows. For every person they cut down, at least three more got up. They didn't have much time, and frankly, not enough soldiers to hold this attack.

"Fall back!" Jona screamed. Lives were more important than a sanctuary, but when their existence was tied to the only thing the spires stood to protect, what was Jona even supposed to think? What was he supposed to do? "Take cover behind the gates!"

And do what? He could only wonder. By studying how the Cardovians teleported in and out of the spaces, he concluded it's important the caster was familiar with the spot they're going. Those who had shown up inside the palace through the same method the day of the siege against Acosa must have glimpsed the corridors in their own way. Which left Jona pondering about how many enemies they have invited over the years.

A sudden flash of light stole the flutter of sparks for a moment. Two people dropped from thin air, straight into the heart of the battle. Soldiers, both wearing green and black, streamed past them. Jona met another sword, dodging from an oncoming slash from behind as well. He rolled between the legs of the first enemy, slashing his sword against the ankles. Then, he raised his sword and propped himself on one knee to hold up the ax head screeching against the dwarven metal.

From the corner of his vision, he saw one of the two newcomers, a girl with light-colored hair reminiscent of Eldan, got wind of the situation and began kicking random people off her. The other one, a boy with cloud-white hair, streaked through the wave of black. A small dagger shone in his hand, swift and deadly.

Hope blossomed in Jona's chest. These people...

The Virtakios has come.

But...why?

Jona's hold of his blade snapped, seeing the sharp metallic edge rushing for his face. He fell back, his back hitting the ground. Air flew out of his lungs prematurely, causing him to gag and rasp. He rolled out of the way, the ax head slamming and embedding on the ground next to his ear. His magic zipped to the surface, ever so subtle, and summoned a small shoot of erphine. He closed his fingers around it, grinding the leaves against his palm. Then, just as the soldier succeeded in uprooting his weapon from the ground and raising it back up again, Jona shot up, hands stained with the pink sap and crushed leaves. They found their target, smearing fresh erphine directly into the eyes.

The soldier swatted at Jona with his ax, and he dodged away. The frightened scream as the soldier's vision blanked out to endless black was the only indication he needed. He started out after Xanthy, singling her out of the quivering figures of green and black. Her friend, which she had once carried into Dwanzeig as limp as a stepped-on blade of grass, was busy decapitating a thick horde to Jona's left.

Xanthy's eyes flitted through the expanse, in search of something. She whirled here and there, failing to notice a sword streaking mid-air towards her. Jona's throat closed up, his legs pumping to reach her in time. His sword swung in a huge arc, driving the enemy's blade out of the soldier's hold. The metal clattered to the ground.

Jona lowered his sword, his arms taking the brunt of the reverberations traveling up them. Still, he hefted his sword and stepped in front of Xanthy before turning to the rest of the black sea. "Get behind me," he said. "We're retreating to Gandirk."

Nothing stirred behind him. He looked back to find Xanthy staring up at him with a perplexed expression as if she couldn't figure something out. Must be the hair, right? "Didn't you hear me?" Jona snapped, making the girl flinch. "Go. Run. Straight through the hedges. I'll follow shortly after."

"Why are you being attacked?" Xanthy demanded, but her train of thought was interrupted by the boy she came with. She glanced at Jona in askance, and he could only indulge.

"I'll explain later," he said as a final placation. "I didn't expect you to turn up at a time like this. Run to Gandirk while my soldiers and I round these heathens up."

A paltry attempt at appearing as if he still had it together, but it was enough to get Xanthy to bob her head and turn towards the direction of the inner sanctuary. "Okay," she said. Then, in a softer tone— "It's nice to see you, Grand Royal."

"Call me Jona," he said, giving Xanthy a strained smile.

Then, she and her companion ran.

Jona continued his retreat, shoving swords from slashing across his neck and meeting with the soldiers remaining. Something warm pressed against his back. Auburn blinked in his periphery. "Who are those people?" Nael asked, kicking a Cardovian in the gut, sending them sprawling against their comrades. "You seem to know them."

Jona rolled his shoulders. "Friends and friends of friends," he said. "I need you to set a barricade to seal off the entrance. I need time to do something."

A concerned look passed across Nael's face. They thrust their swords forward, pincering the next soldier in the front lines. A squelch and two slashes, and a form thumped to the ground. "Are you sure?" Nael asked. "You don't need another stab of pain when the barricade burns."

Jona had to feel touched at that. Instead, he gave his lover another one of his sad smiles. "I can handle it," he said. "And the Virtakios may have a need for me soon. If I vanish from here, remember what we talked about."

Nael's jaw clenched. He said nothing as drove another Cardovian away while continuing on their retreat. Jona stepped backward and turned tail, sprinting through the length of the grove back to the only thing that mattered.

The Liferewarder.

He reached the middle of the grove where the rest of the tall trees and flowering bushes remained untouched by the war. His mind whirled with the possible explanations the Liferewarder gave him through that blue light. What was that? Why did it cause the entire sanctuary to light up the moment he asked it on how to save itself?

Did it mean that to save the throne, he needed to save the forest first? It's vague at best, and wasn't that what he was already doing and what he had done long ago? The Heiress was after the throne, and if it had any sentience, it could sense such malignant intent. It's a warning, perhaps? But what use was it when Jona was already aware of it?

What did he ask the throne in the first place? Let him go back to that moment first. Show me how to save you—he had begged the throne . And the light flooded the sanctuary. What was Jona really looking for when he asked that question?

His eyes fell to the branches bearing drooping leaves and circular pods with huge seeds inside. Maybe his eyes were playing tricks on him or he had gone loopy from weeks and months of little rest and food, but it looked like it's glowing.

And it's glowing blue.

A way to become mobile. To not be rooted to the ground but still be enough to support an entire race's existence. Something that could grow again. And again.

Grow...

Jona edged closer to the tree and ran his hands down its rough trunk. Behind him, the noise of the war heightened. He had to hurry; no time to be wrong.

Oh, he could only pray to Wikone for him to be doing the right thing. His sword swung at the lowest pod hanging at eye level. The seed fell to his open palm, small but hard enough to be stuck inside a pocket. A plan blossomed at the back of his head, despite how much it filled him with dread. If everything worked out, he wouldn't need to. But it's better to be practical, right?

Within what seemed like seconds, he paused in front of the gates made of spindly branches woven together to form a thorny web. Xanthy and her companion stood in front of Jar, with the former sporting a stern expression.

"They're with me, Jar," Jona interjected regardless of what they're talking about. Xanthy flinched again as she whirled to him.

After the initial confusion wore off, together they opened the gate and ducked inside the sanctuary. The others would follow, bringing the Cardovians with them. Or if they're lucky, the next onslaught would be tomorrow. "Prepare for a direct onslaught tomorrow or the day after," Jona said over his shoulder, not caring if Jar heard it or not. "I'm not sure how long we can last."

"Any more orders, sire?" Jar prodded, his throat bobbing with a nervous gulp.

Jona stole a glance at Xanthy and her companion who had continued walking down the manicured path. "How's the Grand Monarch...and his family?" he said, his throat constricting at the last word. With the things going in this place, it was more likely he wouldn't get to see them again. Also, he simply refused to refer to his father as an asset.

"Safe and protected, as per the last correspondence," Jar replied, stalking as fast as his legs could go to match Jona's stride. "How are you, Your Grace?"

Jona stared at the soldier and gave the most honest answer he could manage. "Peachy," he said. Then, he was off, trudging deeper into the inner sanctuary with Xanthy, her companion, and Jar at his heels.

"I'm going to talk with the Virtakios," Jona said to Jar. "Tell the others to evacuate as soon as they can."

He turned to find the soldier on the verge of protest. He flashed Jar a withering look. "Do not argue with me about this, Jar," he said. "Please. Do it for me, if not for yourself."

Jar seemed to finally understand the urgency and worry in Jona's tone because he ducked his head and tapped a closed fist against his dented breastplate. "I will inform the others."

Then, off he went, jogging back the way they came from.

Jona blew a breath—a heavy one at that—and sheathed his sword. If things didn't work out, as they tend to do normally, he would have to draw his blade and strike the one thing he sought to protect.

In order to stop the Heiress from getting Dwanzeig's throne, and its life in turn, he had to get there first. Before the Heiress could use the Liferewarder's power for herself, Jona needed to do one thing.

He would kill the Dwanzeigian throne.

His hands tightened on the hilt of the sword dangling from his belt. War changed people, and Jona forced himself to admit that not only it had changed him, it did so for the worst. He gritted his teeth. This war...it would only devour until there was nothing left. And if Jona stayed in Dwanzeig, he would be swallowed by it too.

So, before the Heiress could get the Liferewarder for herself, he had to get it out of the territory first. And to do that, he needed to talk to Xanthy.

Jona squared his shoulders. He strode forward.