It hadn’t been the best week, and that was putting it mildly. The first day had dawned so bright, so full of stubborn hope. We’d truly believed we could hold Fort Draymoor against the storm rolling toward us. Even when a breathless scout galloped in, warning that the enemy army would hit our walls by dawn, spirits stayed high. Magic was a brutal force, no question, but every soldier I’d ever met swore it was better to face it from behind stone than out in the open.

  That illusion shattered the moment the attack began. I’d fought in skirmishes, dodged spells, but nothing prepared me for what hit us. Maybe we hadn’t killed enough shamans back at their camp, or maybe they’d been hiding something nastier all along. Either way, their siege magic didn’t just surprise us—it left us gaping, dumbstruck. I’d braced for the usual fireballs lobbed from their front line, slow enough to duck if you were quick. But whoever was out there had lost patience with tradition.

  Without warning, the fort erupted. Explosions, I guess you could call them, ripped through the air, sudden and merciless. A high-pitched whine cut the silence first, sharp enough to make my teeth ache, followed by a faint streak of light, barely a flicker before the deafening crack of impact shook the ground. Stone splintered, wood shattered, and screams filled the gaps. I ducked behind a crumbling battlement, heart pounding, as another hit tore through the courtyard. My shield had saved me more times that I could count, but I didn’t want to test it by taking a direct hit from whatever that was.

  “What in the hells—” I muttered, peering out. If I was confused, the rest were practically shell shocked. No one had seen anything like it. After the third strike, it clicked—those sounds, the sheer force, reminded me of videos I’d seen about ballistic projectiles.

  Spotting the remains of one projectile smoldering in the dirt. It was no bigger than a basketball, jagged and black, still glowing faintly with whatever magic had propelled it. “Meteors,” I breathed, the word tasting absurd. A meteor shower spell—some mad bastard out there had weaponized the sky. The speed alone was staggering; each hit punched through stone like a hammer through glass. The walls, our proud shield, didn’t last thirty minutes. Cracks spidered, then whole sections collapsed, dust choking the air as we stared, stunned.

  Oddly, once the breach yawned wide, the bombardment stopped. They could’ve kept raining death, flattened us into rubble, but no—their forces switched to the old way, a roaring tide of steel and troll flesh pouring through the gap. I wondered why. Maybe those spells drained even their best mages dry, or maybe only a handful could wield them. My mind spun to the demi-gods. Ascalon’s subtle schemer didn’t quite fit the flashy spectacle. That left the troll one, a mage apparently. A demi-god hurling meteors? Guess I had competition.

  Morale hit the dirt faster than the walls. The fighting started bad and got worse. I suggested we should just portal to the capital, but Alira wouldn’t hear of it. She was determined to hold the fort, at least long enough to evacuate the civilians. Once a plan was set to evacuate, I didn’t push the matter further.

  Apparently, there was an escape tunnel that led to the bottom of the ravine. All we had to do was hold out until dusk…again. Every hour dragged, losses piling up. Soldiers I’d saved yesterday now sprawled on the ground. I fought where I could, darting through the chaos, my spells finding troll knees and throats. My shield kept me alive, but it couldn’t save everyone. Night finally crept in, the sky bruising purple, and we bolted for the tunnel. It was narrow, damp, carved into the ravine’s belly. We stumbled through, from thousands whittled to hundreds, a ragged band of survivors. Fortunately, there weren’t any children or elderly to slow us down.

  The journey to the capital was grueling, but the worst part wasn’t the physical exhaustion—it was the despair. We’d been beaten twice, and not even my usually hopeful self could see a clear path forward. Every step felt heavier than the last, weighed down by the knowledge of what we’d lost and the uncertainty of what lay ahead. Reaching the capital, though, provided a small measure of hope. Its towering, sturdy walls were a far cry from the fragile fort we’d left behind. The sheer size of the city and its vast food reserves meant a siege would need to last months, if not years, to succeed. Sure, the meteor shower spell was a problem, but the city was too massive for it to cause significant damage.

  That optimism came crashing down when we got confirmation that the king and his retinue hadn’t survived the troll charge. Even worse, the prince was dead too. He hadn’t been my favorite person, but his loss was a disaster. There was no clear line of succession after him, and that meant the power plays had already begun—before we’d even reached the city.

  Apparently, a noble was already maneuvering into position: Duke Audemar of the House of Argentvale. He had the backing of most of the nobility, but what was left of the army’s higher-ups quickly rallied around General Torvyn. He was the oldest commander still breathing, grizzled and respected, his voice carrying weight from decades of battles. I’d seen his skill firsthand, his steady hand when the trolls hit, but Alira wasn’t convinced. She kept recounting his indecisiveness at launching the relief force, and as a noble herself, it was no surprise she supported the Duke.

  We’d barely been in the city a week, and instead of shoring up defenses or mustering a fresh army, the council chamber swallowed us whole. Meetings piled on meetings, a tangle of loud voices and no action. I sat through them, my borrowed tunic stiff with sweat, watching Torvyn and Audemar trade veiled barbs and make promises they couldn’t keep in a million years.

  I wasn’t even sure why I bothered showing up at these meetings. Honestly, I hadn’t opened my mouth once, just sat there, arms crossed, watching the room spiral into chaos. Maybe I was here for Alira, some kind of silent emotional support while she wrestled with the mess. She was trying hard to bridge the gap between the two sides, and I had to give her credit—beneath that rogue-warrior grit, a diplomat’s patience was fighting to surface. But it wasn’t working. Duke Audemar and General Torvyn were too entrenched, too close to power, their claws out for the throne. By now, they’d slung every accusation imaginable at each other—treason, cowardice, betrayal. Even if someone could’ve proven one was better suited, neither would’ve budged an inch.

  The truth was: neither deserved it. Audemar perched on his pedestal, all highborn bluster, but I knew his type—slippery nobles who’d carve up the kingdom and sign a peace treaty with Ascalon the moment it meant keeping a scrap of power to rule. I’d seen enough of his kind in border towns, smiling while their people starved. And Torvyn? I was starting to see why Alira called him indecisive. The enemy was practically knocking on our door—a week out, maybe less—and he was still pacing, still debating. If there was ever a time for a coup to consolidate power, this was it. Not that I’d say it out loud. Alira wouldn’t find it half as amusing as I did.

  The thought brought a chuckle up, one I didn’t catch in time. A grin must’ve slipped onto my face because Alira’s elbow jabbed my ribs, sharp and quick. “Only you would think this is funny,” she muttered, nodding toward the latest shouting match across the table—Audemar’s advisor slamming a fist, Torvyn’s captain snapping back. I didn’t bother hiding the smile now, letting it spread as I leaned toward her. “I mean, they’re just repeating themselves at this point. At least, I think they are. Haven’t been listening for a while.”

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  She sighed, her shoulders slumping as she sank back in her chair. “I don’t know what to do,” she admitted, her voice quieter, raw. “I’ve tried being the voice of reason, tried threatening them. It’s like they’re committed to watching this city fall.” I studied her for a moment, the exhaustion etching lines around her eyes. She’d been fighting harder than any of us—fighting to hold this fractured mess together while I just sat here, cracking wise.

  “You’re too close to the problem to see the solution,” I said, more proverb than challenge, though my tone stayed light. She grunted, her eyes narrowing as that fire I knew so well flared up. “And you think you could solve this?” she shot back, all riled up now. “Don’t let me stop you.” She waved a hand toward the table, half daring me, half exasperated.

  “Maybe if they respected me,” I said, shrugging. “But I’m just the foreigner who wants to topple the system… as if they need my help.” It wasn’t entirely a joke. I’d been an outsider since I got here, my ideas and status apparently poison. They tolerated me, barely, but respect? That was a stretch.

  “You’re wrong,” Alira said, her tone shifting, sharp and serious. “Some saw what you could do. Others heard. You saved people—soldiers, civilians—back at Draymoor. Why do you think you’ve got a seat at these talks?” Her words caught me off guard, and I blinked, my usual quips stalling.

  I grinned, masking the flicker of unease. “I thought I was here for emotional support. Maybe a back massage to relieve the tension?” I said it as deadpan as I could, hoping to lighten the air. But her face didn’t crack. She straightened, all business now, her gaze pinning me like a troll’s claw. “I know this isn’t your city, your kingdom,” she said, voice low but firm. “And yes, they haven’t treated you fairly. But I hope you understand—this isn’t something I can laugh at. If you’ve got any ideas, please, try them. Even if the chances of success are low.”

  I held her stare, the weight of her words sinking in. She wasn’t wrong—I’d pulled people out of the fire, literally, during the siege. But leading? Fixing this? That was a different beast. Still, her trust—her plea—hit harder than I expected. “Alright,” I said finally, voice quieter. “I’ll think on it. No promises.” She nodded, a faint flicker of relief crossing her face before she turned back to the shouting match. I leaned back, mind already turning.

  The idea had been simmering in the back of my mind for a while, a longshot I knew they’d balk at if I didn’t play it just right. Audemar and Torvyn would oppose anything that didn’t hand them the crown outright. That was a given. The trick was to spin it so each saw a path to power, a way to outmaneuver the other while thinking themselves the cleverer one. If they believed this plan would let them slink closer to their ambitions, they’d bite, even if it meant pretending to share the prize. I’d seen enough of their kind to know their egos would do the heavy lifting.

  Someone told me when I was a kid that there’s no difference between confidence and pretending to be confident. It had held true more times than I could count, so I figured it’d work here too. I stood, my pulse quickening, and before I could second-guess myself, I leapt onto the big rectangular table in the center of the room, boots thudding against the polished wood. The bickering died instantly, all eyes snapping to me—Audemar’s advisors, Torvyn’s captains, the minor nobles caught in the crossfire. They stared, unsure what in the hells I was doing, and I let the silence stretch just long enough to hook them.

  I flared a minor spell, boosting my voice with a subtle hum for dramatic effect. “I think by now it’s clear to everyone that neither of you will back down,” I said, sweeping my gaze between Audemar and Torvyn. The duke sat stiff, his silver-threaded cloak glinting, while Torvyn’s grizzled face tightened, his hand resting on his sword hilt. All eyes were on me now, maybe because I’d never spoken up before, or maybe because I was standing on their precious table like a tavern performer. Either way, I had their attention.

  “The next best solution would be to name you both kings,” I continued, raising a hand before they could sputter. “But I think it’s clear to everyone why that wouldn’t work.” I caught a few nods—good, they were following. “Two rulers deadlock more often than not, and we don’t have time for more squabbling. So here’s a way around it. Where I come from, we called it a triumvirate. Three rulers, not two. With three, there’s no deadlock—decisions get made fast. And you might’ve forgotten, but we need fast decisions with an army practically hammering at our gates.”

  A murmur rippled through the room, whispers traded back and forth as they chewed it over. No one shouted me down, which was a start. On the surface, they’d be sharing power. A bitter pill, but I knew they’d see the angle with a second thought. Whoever the third wheel was, they’d lack the clout Audemar and Torvyn carried. Easy prey, someone to sway or strong-arm, a pawn for their schemes. They’d both think they could manipulate the setup, outsmart the other, and come out on top. Sure, it’d crash and burn eventually—violently, no doubt—but it’d buy us time, maybe enough stability to muster a defense before the trolls rolled over us.

  A reedy noble, Lord Something-or-Other, I couldn’t place his name piped up, his voice skeptical. “And do you have a person in mind to complete this… triumvirate?” I grinned, aiming to lighten the mood. “Definitely not me,” I said, and the chuckles and faint smiles that followed eased the tension a notch. “But obviously it needs to be someone not tied too close to the military or the nobles.” I stepped down from the table, careful not to overplay my hand. The last thing I needed was to look like I was backing one side—that’d kill the idea dead. I slid back into my chair, the wood creaking as I settled.

  Alira leaned in immediately, her voice low but bright. “That was brilliant,” she said, a rare smile tugging at her lips. “So simple, yet so effective.”

  I smirked, shrugging. “I do have a good idea now and then.”

  She snorted, rolling her eyes. “Not you personally.”

  I raised a brow, mock-offended. “I thought this was a serious place of business.”

  “Now that they’ve switched from arguing against each other to arguing about who the third should be, it’s easier to be in a better mood,” she said, glancing at the table where the debate had pivoted.

  I didn’t expect them to settle on a third member of the triumvirate right away. Both were too stubborn for that, but it was still easier than either stepping back themselves. They’d rather share power with a stranger than admit defeat to each other. The discussion churned back and forth, names thrown out like dice, only to be shot down fast. Too noble, too military, too weak—every suggestion hit a wall. I leaned back in my chair, arms crossed, watching the mess unfold. At least they weren’t yelling anymore. Progress, I guess.

  Then Jamie spoke up, his voice cutting through the murmur “I think we’re looking at this the wrong way,” he said, leaning forward, his wiry frame tense. “It’s damn near impossible to find someone with no ties to both the nobility and the army. Maybe we should look for someone who fits both, someone with a foot in each camp.” I blinked, caught off guard. That… wasn’t a bad angle. I hadn’t thought it all the way through when I’d pitched the triumvirate—sometimes you just go with the flow and hope it lands—but Jamie’s twist sharpened it.

  The shift in the room was immediate. Instead of rejecting names outright, people started actually considering them. Sure, each candidate still came with a snag—too loyal to Audemar, too brash for Torvyn’s taste—but they weren’t dismissing them in seconds anymore. They debated, weighed flaws, even nodded now and then. It wasn’t perfect, but it was motion. Hell, I thought, this might even wrap up by dinner. A new triumvirate and a hot meal. Now that was a cheerful prospect. I let myself imagine it for a moment, a brief flicker of relief in the slog of the past days.

  Then someone said, “…Alira,” and my newfound cheer evaporated. I froze, waiting for the inevitable arguments to erupt, my breath caught in my chest. History wasn’t kind to the losers in triumvirate power plays—backstabbing, exile, or worse. Alira didn’t deserve that kind of noose. I glanced at her beside me, her jaw tight, her eyes flicking across the room as if she could will them to change the subject.

  The silence stretched, longer and heavier than I’d expected. Both sides leaned in, whispering amongst themselves. I braced for the storm, expecting one to call her too reckless, the other to claim she’d favor their rival. But then Torvyn spoke, his grizzled voice steady. “I have no objection.” My stomach twisted. Before I could process it, Audemar followed, his tone calm as polished steel. “Neither have I.”

  I sighed, dropping my head into my palms, the weight of it settling heavy on my shoulders. it didn’t take a genius to see this wouldn’t end well, and it was my fault…again.