The next few days blurred by, a strange mix of urgency and monotony. With Elena busy with her training, I tried to channel my focus into crafting something—anything—that could give us an edge in the looming battle. My mind raced with ideas, but they all felt hollow, untested. How could I know if any of them would work? I was trapped in a camp teeming with people, forced to keep my head down, my experiments small and inconspicuous. Even those small attempts were disappointing, each one a reminder that my so-called brilliance was failing me when it mattered most.

  But the real weight pressing on me wasn’t the failure of my spell inventions—it was the people. Real, living people who would be caught in the crossfire. Whatever I created, whatever I unleashed, would inevitably kill. And for what? These soldiers hadn’t wronged me personally. They were just following orders, pawns in a game orchestrated by their leaders. Those leaders, though, they were a different story. What they did to Alira… I clenched my fists, my mind spiraling into dark, vivid fantasies of what I’d do if I ever found myself face-to-face with them. But the soldiers? I wasn’t ready to condemn them. Not yet.

  Tonight was the night. We’d reached the border, and the camp was shifting into something more permanent. If we didn’t leave now, we might never get another chance. I glanced at Elena, my voice low. “You have everything?”

  “Ready to go,” she replied, her tone steady but her eyes darting nervously. I couldn’t blame her.

  I couldn’t resist teasing her, though. “Sure you don’t want to say goodbye to Jamie?” The smirk on my face was automatic, a weak attempt to lighten the tension. She hesitated, and for a moment, I thought she might actually consider it. But then she shook her head firmly. No goodbyes.

  Just as we stepped out of the tent, though, there he was—Jamie, standing like a shadow in the dim light. My stomach dropped. Of course. Nothing could ever be simple.

  “Going somewhere?” he asked, his voice casual but his eyes sharp.

  “An evening walk,” I said after a beat of hesitation, the words tumbling out before I could think of something better. My mind scrambled, trying to gauge how much he knew, how much he suspected. Jamie’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes narrowed slightly, and I could feel the weight of his skepticism.

  “I’m sure,” he replied, his tone flat, unimpressed.

  “Look…” I started, but he cut me off before I could even attempt to explain.

  “No,” he said sharply, stepping closer until he was right in front of us. His presence was imposing, and I could feel the tension radiating off him. “You listen. It’s clear you have your own plans, but whatever they are, they’ll have to wait until after the battle.”

  I bristled at his tone, but I kept my voice calm, or at least I tried to. “We’re just two people. I’m sure you can manage without us.”

  He didn’t back down. Instead, he studied us intently, his gaze lingering on Elena. “I’ve trained with Elena,” he said slowly, as if piecing together a puzzle. “She doesn’t move like a human. More like an elf, if I had to guess. And her abilities… they’re far above anything I’ve seen others do. She could provide invaluable help in the battle—scouting, hiding army movements, or any number of things I haven’t even thought of yet.”

  I glanced at Elena, my frustration bubbling under the surface. She met my eyes, her expression unreadable. “He has a point,” she said quietly.

  I blinked, caught off guard. “I thought you couldn’t wait to get out of here,” I snapped, my voice sharper than I intended.

  She didn’t flinch. “I came with you because you can make a change in this world,” she said, her tone steady. “You can make a difference in the days to come.”

  “But Alira…” I started, the name catching in my throat. How could she even suggest staying?

  “I know you don’t want to hear it,” Elena interrupted, her voice softening, “but this is more important than her.”

  I clenched my fists, my chest tightening. “You’re right. I don’t want to hear it,” I said, my voice low and bitter. “If you want to help them, be my guest. But I’m leaving.” I took a step forward, but Jamie moved to block my path.

  I met his gaze, my jaw tight. “I know I’m terrible with a sword,” I said, my voice steady despite the anger simmering inside me, “but please don’t try to stop me.”

  For an instant, a faint smile flickered across his face, devoid of any trace of amusement. “Elena is one of the most powerful people I’ve met,” he said, his tone measured. “And she clearly respects you and your abilities. If you managed to impress her, it means we definitely need you too.”

  I shook my head, my resolve hardening. “I have more important things to do,” I said, brushing past him. But his next words stopped me cold.

  “Was it Alira? As in the ambassador to the elves who went to Ascalon?”

  I stood frozen, my heart hammering against my ribs. He seemed to take my silence as agreement, pressing on in a hushed tone. “I only met her in passing, but she cared about this kingdom.”

  “When she’s back, she can care all she wants about it,” I said, my voice tight, the words tasting bitter on my tongue.

  Jamie’s voice cut through my thoughts, sharp and unyielding. “There might be no kingdom left after tomorrow.”

  I turned to face him, my frustration bubbling over. “You’re really overestimating our abilities,” I snapped.

  “Every bit might make a difference in the end,” he replied, his tone steady, infuriatingly calm.

  I wanted to argue, to tell him he was wrong, that I couldn’t be the person he thought I was. But then Elena spoke, interrupting my thoughts. “It’s one more day.”

  One more day. It sounded so small, so insignificant. But as I stood there, caught between Jamie’s unwavering gaze and Elena’s quiet resolve, I knew she might never forgive me even if I did end up saving her. One more day, the voice in my head repeated, softer now, almost pleading. What’s one more day?

  I closed my eyes, letting out a long, shaky breath. Alira’s face flashed in my mind—her smile, her determination, the way she’d always believed in something bigger than herself. She’d given everything for this kingdom, for people she didn’t even know.

  “Fine,” I said finally, the word heavy with resignation. “One more day.”

  ─── ????? ───

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  The plains stretched out before us, vast and unbroken, like a stage meticulously prepared for some grand, tragic performance. The land was flat and open, with only the occasional hill breaking the monotony. It was the kind of terrain that gave commanders dreams of glory—enough room for complex maneuvers, for cavalry charges, for the kind of sweeping, decisive victories that bards would sing about for generations. But as I stood there, staring out at the emptiness, all I could think about was how exposed we were. There was no cover, no high ground to claim, no natural barriers to hide behind. Just an endless expanse of dirt and grass, waiting to be soaked in blood.

  At least I was positioned behind the front lines, perched on one of the few hills that offered a clearer view of the battlefield below. It wasn’t much, but it was something, a small advantage in the chaos that was about to unfold. From here, I could see the movements of both sides and maybe, just maybe, find a way to make a difference without getting myself killed.

  It was late afternoon when the first signs of the enemy appeared. A distant rumble, like thunder, rolled across the plains. At first, I thought it was the weather, but the sky was clear. Then I saw them—shapes emerging over the crest of a far-off hill, dark and indistinct at first, like shadows stretching in the fading light. As they drew closer, the shapes resolved into ranks of soldiers, their armor glinting in the sun like shards of broken glass. Banners fluttered above them, emblazoned with symbols I didn’t recognize.

  The enemy moved with the same disorder that characterized this army, which gave me hope for the battle. Still, they didn’t rush or falter; they advanced steadily, methodically, as if they had all the time in the world. I could see the glint of spears, the gleam of shields, the occasional flash of a commander’s plume as they took their positions. Even from this distance, their numbers were staggering. They seemed to go on forever, a sea of bodies and steel that stretched from one horizon to the other.

  It took me a second to realize that perhaps from their point of view, our army looked the same. From what Jamie told us, we actually had the numerical advantage though, so it increased my respect for the soldiers that had to charge into those numbers.

  I had expected the battle to be different from what I’d read in history books—more fantastical, less predictable.

  But as I stood there, watching the two armies prepare for the clash, I realized some truths were universal, even when magic was involved. No matter how much power you wield, armor and shields still matter. The enemy was too far for me to make out the details of their gear, but it didn’t look like there was a huge technological gap between the kingdoms.

  The formations were familiar, too. Infantry in the center, cavalry on the right—pretty much textbook. I half expected formations of lances or halberds, but it was the first thing missing from the picture. One likely cause might be the mage clusters, wielding their power like artillery, lobbing sizable fireballs into the enemy ranks. They were slow, though, their attacks arcing high into the air, giving the enemy time to dodge. That meant mobility was key, which ruled out tight formations.

  The projectiles were slow enough to dodge since they had to be lobbed high into the air to cover the distance. As a result, formations had to stay mobile, making dense ranks impractical.

  Both armies advanced cautiously, seemingly content to let the opposing artillery tire itself out. The mages, of course, had strategies of their own—faking exhaustion before resuming their barrages—but in the end, all it accomplished was bringing the armies closer together.

  Without a clear front line or a shield wall, the moment the gap shrank enough, both sides charged. Within seconds, the front ranks clashed, steel ringing against steel, the sounds carrying far across the plains.

  The battlefield, once covered in dry grass, soon filled with rising dust kicked up by the relentless motion. As the lines blurred into a mass of shimmering steel, it became impossible to tell who was gaining the upper hand. With no wind to clear the air, the dust simply hung in place, growing thicker by the second. Even the most seasoned commanders would struggle to make sense of the battle now.

  But it gave me an idea.

  I rushed toward the back of our line and began casting a Wind Blast. Normally, the spell concentrated its force into a powerful, focused burst—strong enough to hurl bodies. But instead of force, I needed coverage. Gradually, I expanded the spell’s area of effect, trading raw power for reach.

  The theory was simple: wind moves from high-pressure to low-pressure zones. If I could create a high-pressure area around me, I could direct the airflow. The easiest way? Lower the temperature.

  I layered in a Frost Bolt spell, gradually cooling the surrounding air. Every few seconds, I pulsed the wind forward, steadily widening the affected area as my control improved.

  I couldn’t influence the entire battlefield, but on the portion of the front where I focused my efforts, the dust began drifting toward the enemy, carried by a gentle breeze.

  Our forces capitalized on the advantage immediately. With clearer visibility, our mages could target enemy lines more effectively, while their mages were left firing blindly into the haze.

  The shift was subtle at first, but as the dust cloud thickened on their side, our soldiers began pressing forward. Even the battle cries grew stronger, confidence swelling through the ranks. Morale was on our side now.

  The problem was that only our middle line was pushing forward, while the flanks were still shrouded in dust, making it impossible to see their progress. The famous Battle of Cannae flashed through my mind—a smaller army surrounding and annihilating a larger one because they pushed too hard in the center. What if that’s happening here? I thought, a cold knot forming in my stomach. What if I’ve just made everything worse?

  Maybe it was time to switch positions, just to be safe. I really didn’t want to be the cause of some tactical catastrophe. Slowly, I made my way to the left flank, clearing the dust from the front line as I went. The left line hadn’t kept up with the center, but seeing their comrades advance seemed to give them new strength. Or maybe it was the enemy soldiers, watching their center collapse, who were losing morale. Either way, we were winning—even to my untrained eyes. As long as the right flank hadn’t totally collapsed, this would be an easy victory. Maybe superior numbers do count for something after all, a flicker of optimism rising in me.

  But that optimism didn’t last long. Something strange was happening. I only noticed it because I was paying close attention to the gentle breeze I was creating. Instead of blowing straight toward the enemy, it was starting to veer to the right, toward the center. It could only mean another low-pressure zone was forming somewhere to the left. Was this a counter to my efforts? But if it was, why wasn’t the wind pushing back toward us? That would make more sense if they were trying to reverse what I’d done.

  The counter-breeze grew stronger, and the air started to feel unnaturally cold. Then I saw it—the first wispy tendrils of mist forming on the ground. They thickened quickly, rising into a dense fog that swallowed the left flank, making visibility almost nonexistent. It had to be magic, and powerful magic at that. Creating something like this would take a lot of people working together.

  My mind immediately jumped to our own tactic of masking our attack on the wagon train. But back then, the goal had been simple: to hide our low numbers and create the illusion of strength. Here, though, there was no reason to do the same. That left only one other option: they were preparing a full-blown flanking attack. If I was right, we were about to be hit from the side, and hard.

  I looked around, but no one else seemed to be reacting with the same urgency. A small unit had taken up position near the mist, but where were the reinforcements? Where were the reserves? Were they slow to mobilize, or was indecision paralyzing our commanders?

  Who am I to judge? I was just as indecisive. What if I was wrong? What if I raised the alarm and nothing came out of the fog? The forces sent here could weaken other fronts, and I didn’t want the fates of thousands resting on my shoulders…not again. But the breeze was getting colder, the mist denser, and the feeling of dread in my chest heavier. ‘Come on,’ I scolded myself. A flanking attack is literally the first lesson in any tactics manual.

  With my decision made, I started firing lightning bolts into the sky, the bright flashes cutting through the gloom. It had worked in the arena to draw attention, and I hoped it would work here too. When I felt I’d gotten enough eyes on me, I switched to firing into the mist, the bolts illuminating the swirling fog for brief moments.

  Fortunately, units began to shift, rerouting toward the thickening mist. Soldiers scrambled into position, forming defensive lines with shields raised and weapons ready. The air was tense, every eye fixed on the swirling fog, now eerily illuminated by the occasional flash of lightning from my spells. The reinforcements were moving, but they weren’t fast enough—not nearly fast enough.

  Then they emerged.

  First came the raptors, sleek and terrifying, their razor-sharp claws glinting in the dim light as they darted forward with unnatural speed. But it was what rode atop them that made my blood run cold. Tall and unnervingly skinny, their elongated limbs seemed almost too frail to carry their weight, yet they moved with a predatory grace. Their bodies were painted in vivid, swirling patterns of red, blue, and yellow, the colors stark against their ashen skin.