Foreword [Note - before publish, move to own chapter?]

  As the title may suggest, this story is primarily told from two perspectives.

  This chapter, effectively a prologue, will make use of perspective shifts in-chapter. In chapter perspective shifts will be minimal in future chapters. When they happen, they will be made clear by the Location, individual, or group’s name, or a combination of them enclosed by asterisks as below:

  **The Narrator - Slovakian wilderness**

  **The reader**

  **Large group of readers – The internet**

  Time skips in the same perspectives will be shown by two asterisks on the left, as below:

  **

  While this isn’t my first time writing a story like this, it’ll be the first time I’m sharing it with the world. As such, there will be plenty of room for improvement – all suggestions are welcome and much appreciated in the comments, as are edit submissions.

  As the story progresses, I hope to make use of polls for some minor plot points and for decisions leading to story arcs. If this is something that interests you, I’m looking forward to seeing how we can shape this world together!

  For everyone else, I sincerely hope you enjoy the ride <3

  Chapter One – The Dark

  **Lucas – Nomar Garisson, Prasidia’s Southern Front**

  Though it had only been two years, the war felt like it had lasted for a century.

  ”The Federation” was a nation that everyone, Lucas included, considered a cobbled together group of nations with an attitude problem, from a backwater island a day’s sail from the closest coast.

  The Fed bastards had caught them all by surprise, not only picking a fight with Prasidia – the largest power on the continent – but doing so and winning.

  “We underestimated them. Did nothing to monitor them. Even appeased them.” Lucas complained to his overwatch partner, knowing full well he’d fallen asleep hours ago.

  He’d secretly hoped Alexander, who’d been listening to his ramblings since childhood, would be woken up by the quiet protests, but Lucas was anything but fortunate.

  Lucas checked over his weapon – a “Magic-Infused Machine Rifle” is what the brief introduction during his conscript training called it. They proudly, even arrogantly toted it around the room, as if they had invented it all by themselves.

  “Yeah, pat yourselves on your back as if you didn’t steal the thing from the feds,” he’d thought, “All while you’re sending us to early graves.”

  The reality was just that.

  Until the invasion, long-ranged combat had been the exclusive realm of the most powerful of mages.

  Some could even fly, supposedly, but he’d never seen it with his own eyes. Only pictures in the story books of his childhood and history textbooks depicting great mages channelling both light and dark aura, unleashing barrages of glowing blue and crimson energies, flames, rock and earth.

  Though Prasidia had the most mages of any nation, and the most ascensions by a thin margin, they had little industry. Steam power was discovered in faraway lands, perhaps The Federation for all he knew.

  That was at least a century and a half ago, maybe two.

  Although Prasidia had obtained the early technology when they annexed Nomar over a hundred years ago, Prasidia had never capitalised on it. Nor had they ever thought to enhance projectiles with runes in the same way close-combat mages enhanced their bodies and artificers enhanced their weapons. How some of the bullets were able to retain aura after flying such a distance and striking a target was still a mystery.

  When the steel behemoths landed on the Nomar shores and blockaded the port with their cannons unlike anything the continent had witnessed, flags bearing the isolationist Federation flags, the shock practically crippled the nation.

  Before the Prasidian King had managed to cobble together a response, Federation soldiers had taken more than half of the Nomar region. They were now on the doorstep of the regional capital of the same name and engaging in skirmishes with the few outer nations courageous enough to try come to their aid after the Federation had already wiped out and annexed several decades before the conflict.

  Lucas now sat on a village among the last lines of defence before the great Prasidian plains.

  The nobles who settled there after the Nomar annexation were obstructing efforts to build defensive structures at every turn. It was almost as if they would rather the Federation’s slaughter in their back yard than a couple walls, watchtowers and trenches.

  “Arrogant buggers.” Lucas thought out loud, this time gaining some reaction from Alex.

  “Who’s the target of your ire this time?” Alex asked, trying to rub the dust from his eyes with even dustier hands. “If this is more complaining about the Feds, I‘ll throw you to them so you can whine to their face while I gain some tranquillity in this hellhole.” He remarked.

  “Finally you’ve returned to me, slumbering maiden! How didst thou sleep after eating thine accursed apple?” Lucas retorted, putting on his best noble impression.

  “Answer the question, prick.”

  “Well, slumbering maiden, this time it was about the nobles.” Lucas said while smirking, knowing the response that his childhood friend already had loaded in the chamber. “… Although you did miss just a single sentence about the Feds earlier, which is pretty good compared to usual!” he added.

  “Bloody arrogant inbreds, the lot of them” Alex responded. Lucas knew all too well Alex’s hatred for the nobles ran deep. While every Prasidian commoner hated them, Alex had a special place in his heart reserved just for enjoying their pain and downfall.

  “Yeah, the Feds must have a circular family tree to come up with this kind of weapon” Lucas said while gesturing to his rifle, unable to resist the urge to wind-up his battle-buddy.

  Suddenly, Lucas’ vision was looking suspiciously like the inside of his metal helmet, which had been pushed up from the back.

  “If you love talking about the Feds so much, cross the front line and marry one.”

  “Gods no! Have you heard the rumours about their women?!” Lucas replied, with various exaggerated nonsensical gestures.

  “The one about them wearing the pants in the relationship and preferring the back door? I thought that would be right up your street, if you catch my drift.” Alex smirked

  “Absolutely not. Like the rest of my orifices, Alex, my street is an exit!” Lucas replied, giving a toothy grin as he sat on his helmet, as if to shield it from the non-existent Federation maiden’s advances.

  “All of your orifices are exits, are they? Suppose that explains why you spew as much crap from your mouth as your backside.”

  They both erupted into laughter as Lucas bent down to fix his helmet back into place.

  SNAP

  Crimson sparks danced across the wall where his head had been moments before, notifying the two soldiers of their mistake.

  Lucas and Alex dived for cover in the kitchen of the dilapidated apartment as the volume and intensity of crimson sparks increased, knowing what was to come.

  The concussion from the bullet’s detonation was deceptively small – the shrapnel punching through the brick wall told them as much. Brick-red dust danced in the moonlight as the prone men sighed in relief.

  It was Alex’s turn to complain this time. “God forbid we laugh on the front. It’s like they can sense a good time and can’t help but stomp it out.”

  “Should have invited them to your older sister’s 20th birthday party.” Lucas responded, reminiscing.

  “Why, so you’d never get to ask her out like a lovesick puppy? Would have saved me a lot of embarrassment!” Alex sighed. “Why would she go out with a 16-year-old anyway? I never understood why you tried courting someone her age, never mind my sister!” Alex quietly complained again. “I don’t think many would risk a trip to the dungeon for your sorry mug.”

  “I’m sure you’ll understand the charm of a sophisticated older woman when you mature, my young apprentice. Besides, that was three years ago, get over it!” A facetious tone matched Lucas’ whispers to his incredibly annoying grin.

  He started crawling back to the original position to grab his weapon propped up near the now completely shattered windows.

  “Besides,” he added, probably louder than advisable given the circumstances, “She didn’t say no! She said ‘Maybe when you’re a little older, you precious little hunk!’ or something like that.” Lucas’ tone-deaf, crackly impression of a female voice could win awards in disappointing anyone unfortunate enough to lay witness to it.

  Seeing Lucas wink as he began crawling back through the broken glass, Alex decided to let that last provocation go, alongside the fact the two of them were the same age.

  The broken glass embedding into Lucas’ arms, legs and crotch as he crawled back to Alex would do more damage than any well-deserved slap ever could.

  “If you still think Liz the lizard is sophisticated by the war’s end, I’ll hire a mage to send visuals to your scrying pane. She’s a bloody goblin.” Alex propped himself up against the kitchen cabinets, ensuring he was not visible from any of the windows. At least these ones were still intact.

  “Goblin? Surely that isn’t fair to maiden of her calibre?” Lucas propped himself up on the wall opposite, brushing off some broken glass and laying his weapon against the wall.

  “BLIGHTED BUGGER.”

  A shard lodged itself into Lucas’ middle finger, much to Alex’s poker-faced amusement.

  “Now that I think about it Lucas, you’re right.”

  “As usual!” Lucas beamed.

  “Yeah… She’s more like an orc. Maybe even a particularly smelly dragon.”

  “By the gods Alex I was already sold. You don’t need to convince me any further!”

  “Then I’ll pray for your survival to the beast taming gods tonight.”

  They both chuckled, trying to keep a little quieter this time. An overwatch position with a room that still had windows somewhere was a luxury they weren’t willing to destroy.

  They’d already reduced their bartering power with the other units in the Legion by getting the two remaining windows in the best observation room blown out by that damned sniper.

  They’d be missing out on at least three ration candies or a beer per traded shift location now. Maybe even an AuraStim pill – which would really annoy Lucas if that happened.

  The stims made staying awake on these watches, ever increasing in length due to manpower shortages, much easier.

  Plus, they had the bonus of encouraging the body to draw in more aura from the surrounding environment, meaning anyone with an affinity for magic, awakened and trained mage or not, got magical benefits.

  You had to know which aura type your karma, personality and upbringing pushed you towards though.

  The priests and scientists were still trying to work out what deeds pushed you to certain auras.

  Their leaders had tried to consult the twin gods of science and progress for the first time in decades with this very question at the start of the war, but got no response.

  Perhaps they had grown tired of the arrogance of Prasidia’s ruling class.

  Perhaps they’d correctly known the information would be used for war, and decided it wasn’t their sack of crops to deal with. Understanding the whims of these gods was ultimately fruitless. The gods were once mortals, so were just as susceptible to the very human flaws of irritation and frustration.

  The twin gods of peace and war had been silent too, for centuries at least.

  Maybe they had already returned to the pool of souls and obtained new destinies – if the priests are to be believed. Lucas felt they too had just gotten sick of the whims of rulers who heard only what they wished to, if they ever existed in the first place. They’d have surely endured enough of it as mortals before exceeding already grand destinies after so many cycles.

  Echoes of footsteps in the main stairwell cut Lucas’ musings on the afterlife short.

  A glance shared with Alex told him all he needed to know.

  It was too early for the relief team. The enormous moon’s edge had only just approached the haze. Only a fraction of its intersecting rings dipped below the inky horizon.

  Their shift was not supposed to end until the cross created by the rings hit the horizon. X marks the spot, so to speak.

  This was the way most night watch squads kept their time.

  Alex’s watch – another invention from the Feds, this time stolen from a soldier’s body – suggested this would be another half of an hour, perhaps? The display of time in this manner was still alien to them.

  Both readied their weapons, moving to opposite sides of the apartment’s main hall, taking aim at the low-centre of the front door.

  If these were Federation soldiers, their armour was no joke.

  However, they couldn’t armour their pelvis and legs well enough to stop their own bullets. Not without sacrificing the mobility they would need to move around in this hellish environment unscathed.

  Hurried steps came to a halt outside of their door. The men tensed. There were at least six soldiers outside that door. Observation teams were only meant to be two men.

  Even with the explosive bullets looted from the enemy this position used to belong to, the shrapnel from the first few rounds would be ricocheted by the man’s bones, saving a few of his colleagues. Colleagues who would storm in and send them to back to the pool of souls.

  Even that was only going to happen if they were fortunate enough to have another devil stand squarely in front of the door again.

  Both suspected they wouldn’t be so lucky this time.

  Cutting their internal battle-planning short was the distinct knocking code of the relief team. One. One-Two. First army, second legion. Following this, the number of their squad, five quick knocks.

  This was indeed the planned squad – but there were far too many people for it to be just them. Had Daniel and Akash been captured? Information beaten out of them?

  They got their answer moments later.

  One-two-three. One. Two. Three. One-two-three. SOS. When given as a question like this, it was the equivalent to “Are you morons alive? We’ve got first aid.”

  Alex responded first, quietly whistling a childhood nursery rhyme the four agreed to use as an ID check.

  As Lucas sat there dumbfounded, wondering how in the pool of souls such a big squad managed to get to their building unscathed, the correct response came in.

  Lucas moved to the door, staying low, and unlocked it.

  After a quick debrief and broken glass removed from more places than Lucas cared to count, the duo’s shift was complete.

  **

  The next evening’s watch shift was so far uneventful.

  Lucas was alone. Another watchman had lost his partner, and the higher-ups felt Lucas was “more than capable of holding down the industrial crossroads alone”. The reality was, the higher-ups despised him.

  Lucas had no issue calling stupid plans what they were: stupid.

  No matter how light-heartedly he did it, they always took it personal. As though the officers were the ones with their lives on the line.

  It seems they’d decided the risk of Lucas surviving to tell more of his jokes at their expense would be low enough to finally make their move. Truly masterful.

  In the same apartment as before, a little further away from the window this time, Lucas watched and waited. He’d slept through the chaos of the day. Even an explosion apparently.

  His dreams were filled with his favourite bakery’s pie – a dragon egg pie. The dragons had been missing for years, but that was beside the point. He’d later tell Alex that it was Emily in his dreams instead – their family ran the bakery after all. “It would hardly be a lie” he thought, as he began surveying his area.

  An injured and unconscious friendly soldier lay on a pile of rubble in the crossroads, fallen during the Federation’s ongoing retreat after their afternoon assault.

  There was nothing Lucas could do.

  To wander into the road where several Fed squads had been positioned just hours ago was a death trap.

  It didn’t matter if it looked like they had been repelled from this area or not. They were still elsewhere in the city, which meant the sneaky and resourceful demons could be anywhere.

  Their explosion at the communication hub rivalled that of a strong mage – yet there hadn’t been so much as a trace of aura according to the legion’s duty mage.

  Clearly the disorganised frenzy he’d heard happened elsewhere was a clever ruse.

  Lucas supposed even rabid dogs could be smart at times.

  As he checked his magazine was full and a round was chambered, he saw movement from the corner of his eye.

  He raced to get his weapon on target.

  It was a Fed. A woman – an Elf? Perhaps a half-breed. Her ears were shorter than those of the elven mage that visited his school as a child. Distinctly less pointy too. Perhaps a little prettier even.

  Not that it mattered. As soon as she gave him an opportunity, he’d put down the Federation’s mutt.

  She was running alongside the industrial estate wall towards the crossroads he was tasked to defend with his life.

  As Lucas readied his shot, emptying his lungs and holding his breath as his instructor taught him, the demon slung her weapon to her back and pulled out a first aid kit from her bag without breaking pace.

  That caught Lucas off guard.

  “Has she injured herself?” He thought out loud.

  Thankfully, she didn’t seem to hear him and continued darting towards the downed comrade.

  “Is this some ploy to finish the job? Foul creature.” He thought, tracking his target between broken carriages, until she came to a stop at the injured soldier.

  But to his shock, the silver-haired demon started to assess the casualty.

  She checked his heart was beating and his lungs were still breathing, felt for head injuries and seemed to find the main source of the bleeding.

  Her assessment must have been promising, because she didn’t give up yet. For some reason, she didn’t relocate the man’s memories into the pile of rubble he lay on either.

  Instead, bandages flew out of her first aid pouch, alongside some medications Lucas had never laid eyes on before.

  She checked the injured man’s kit too. She took out the man’s AuraStim, placing it into his mouth before Lucas even had chance to question her intentions, following it up with water and rubbing his throat.

  This demon was helping. Genuinely helping. Lucas finally began breathing normally again, catching his breath and lowering his weapon.

  The broadcasts to his scrying pane had only ever shown them executing the Prasidian wounded. Not a drop of mercy. Disgusting grins as wide as their stimmed, pin-pricked eyes, worn as if they were as common an accessory as a coat in winter.

  Everything Lucas had seen portrayed them as nothing but demons.

  He had to see this for himself – up close and personal. He could always execute the fiend if moved to hurt the man.

  Alex would never believe a Fed was capable of good. Or maybe he would, with a smirk on his face.

  Lucas would have to once again make it clear his rear’s status as an exit remained intact when the two shared the story over a rationed beer.

  He darted down the stairs, grabbing his aid bag.

  By now, the woman had certainly heard him. She was surveying the windows, a hand on her weapon while she continued rendering aid.

  When Lucas revealed himself she stopped for the first time, raising her weapon.

  Lucas kept his rifle low, trying to explain he wanted to help her. To help the man at her mercy.

  He stumbled and stammered, fearful the could-be siren did this to lure a fool like himself into the open – Fed comrades in firing positions waiting to reduce him to a puddle.

  She did not respond – eyes wide. Wide with fear, he had to assume.

  The hail of poison, explosions and crimson still hadn’t arrived.

  Lucas was far enough that she would have survived any onslaught against him. That must mean it would not be coming, surely?

  “But why in the four hells is she not responding to me?” Lucas thought, trying to point and gesture to show he wanted to help pack the man’s wounds.

  As soon as he made the gestures, he realised the final demonstration could also be interpreted as a particularly unsavoury invitation.

  In any other scenario, his ineptitude combined with her expression would be priceless – the kind of humour he’d have folded like a field cot while laughing just a year or two ago.

  However, a rifle aimed at his face, held by a lightly blushing, confused and possibly quite furious half-elf Fed provided quite the motivation to retain his composure.

  With the elven lifespan and capacity for magic, she could probably tear him limb from limb even without the rifle in-hand. He was shocked to still be alive.

  Even now, she remained silent.

  Lucas realised a language barrier may exist and showed her the first aid kit he had brought, before pointing to the comrade on the floor.

  With a flash of recognition, half a smile and a shaking of her head that screamed “What on earth is wrong with this idiot?”, they got to work.

  If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  With their combined medicine, perhaps they could save him. The man was on the brink. He needed all the help he could get – unholy or otherwise.

  **Amelia - Industrial Estate, Nomar, Prasidia**

  “This has been an utter mess.” Amelia thought to herself, sitting in the shadows and healing her wounds with her little remaining aura. She’d been shot, separated from her squad, and the operation had fallen into chaos.

  Operation Capstone was supposed to be the decisive blow to these Prasidian cowards. A key rail and road hub, it would cut off several front-line supply routes and severely strain the rest of them on the northern front.

  The Prasidians didn’t even seem to grasp the strategic importance of the town – the garrison appeared to be mostly conscripts. The experienced soldiers were even further behind this supposed regional capital, according to some friendly faces in the information teams.

  Prasidia’s leaders and nobles appeared to be retaining those professional soldiers for themselves, despite little in the way of modern defensive structures to place them in behind the front. Just dilapidated old castles at best. Not even a defensive checkpoint – allowing their spies and turncoat mages to roam freely in the countryside.

  Despite the weakness of Nomar’s defence, only her squad had managed to complete their operational objective.

  Squad was a strong word, however.

  It was Amelia who planted the explosives on the communication hub tower, alone.

  The rest of her squad seemed to enjoy the nastier parts of war far more than actually winning.

  She just wanted to go back home to her bakery in Brimstone.

  The fools she’d been forced to share a campfire with seemed to be mad with bloodlust. Enjoying the lawlessness more than any glory or victory.

  Now, trying to find a way out of the city alone was going to be a challenge.

  Especially after the border guards had most assuredly been replaced with less nap-inclined men after the urban skirmishes and her afternoon shenanigans.

  Amelia surveyed the area, scouting for aura.

  She was one of the few in the Federation Army who had an affinity for the light. In areas like this battlefield, where souls unwilling to depart cried for vengeance and nature was nothing more than another casualty of modern weaponry, light aura was a rarity.

  That made feeling the presence of untrained or non-awakened soldiers with reserves to spare incredibly easy. Prasidia didn’t get the chance to unlock their conscripts’ magic potential, nor train them to stem the flow naturally seeping from their aura channels.

  They hadn’t even managed to notice Amelia’s presence when she stopped hiding it. Fighting them was like stepping on ants.

  That man was in the tall building again, this time alone, it seemed. There was no emotion to his aura’s output this time around, besides boredom, perhaps.

  It looked like a brick warehouse commonly seen in the Federation, but it had been converted into apartments.

  She’d noticed him yesterday while on sniping duty. She’d shot a second too late and missed.

  By the time she repositioned, she could only see the barrel of his rifle against another window. Destroying the wall was out of the question. Violating strict orders to not be discovered would make Captain Sommheld furious… Again.

  She’d certainly blown her chance to give the infantry a foothold at the Industrial estate she now meditated in.

  The emotions in the man’s aura changed. Amelia couldn’t quite pinpoint it. Sadness perhaps?

  She opened her eyes and pulled out her monocular. Following his gaze lead to a corpse.

  Was he pining to help a dead man? There was no intensity to his sadness, so it couldn’t have been a friend.

  Amelia closed her eyes again, only to detect aura slowly seeping out of the dying man. He hadn’t passed to the fountain of rebirth yet, it seemed.

  He appeared to have only just drifted back out of consciousness, pain screaming through the signature of his magic. Magic he probably had no idea ran through his body.

  “How can I help the fallen man with that son of a boar staring at him?” Amelia thought, slipping through a gap in the compound’s wall.

  “No matter,” She followed up, “If the coward won’t save him when the assault’s already left the area, I will.”

  Amelia raced, feeling the gaze of the watchman permeating her body. He was aiming at her centre, but these cowards didn’t like to kill quick. She knew he’d go for her pelvis. They always did. Dignity didn’t exist for these foolish and cruel creatures.

  The coward’s breath steadied. Feeling her demise coming, she grabbed her medical kit.

  Surely the fool could tell what an aid pack was?

  She didn’t want to kill the chicken-skinned jester if she didn’t have to. Depriving the unseen friend of the watchman’s echoing laughter would be quite the shame.

  Sure enough, the man’s breathing returned as she landed at the feet of the casualty and began her assessment.

  The dying man had gotten lucky, not just because one of the few Federation medics with a moral code was at his service.

  He may not have been a mage yet, but he had the potency to become a great healer, like she had aspired to herself.

  His aura had been fighting to repair his wounds as it returned to mother earth.

  Had he been a user of the dark crimson aura the majority of the Federation’s forces utilised, he’d have been nothing but fertiliser for the weeds beneath him.

  This proved what she had already experienced numerous times: Prasidia’s soldiers would truly be terrifying if not for their poor leadership and the Federation’s technological lead.

  She assessed what little remained of the injured man’s aid pouch. He must have used some of it to help others, because it was barren besides a stimulant pill.

  The watchman was darting down the stairs now. Amelia couldn’t pinpoint his footsteps in the labyrinth of corridors, but she felt she was being watched and readied herself.

  All of a sudden, he revealed himself to her, na?vely, or stupidly so.

  Instinctively, she spun to target him with her weapon. Her reserves were far too low to cast any stealthy killing spells. Perhaps an ice spear from the dying soul’s blood would do, but she’d have to throw it herself.

  By then, it would be too late.

  As she assessed her target, it started babbling.

  “What? He’s not going to kill me on the spot? He should have shot me in the back of the head already like the commanders said they would.” Amelia thought, taking note of his lowered weapon.

  Weren’t the Prasidian’s supposed to speak the same language?

  Perhaps it was the man’s accent or the stammering, but she couldn’t find a single intelligible word.

  “Surely they haven’t started speaking in tongues and codes by default?” Amelia mused to herself.

  The man seemed to notice her confusion, and started making several strange gestures and pointed at the man, ending with a gesture that seemed he was inviting her to partake in the newlywed’s tango?

  Wait, could it be he wanted to have his way with the dying man behind her?!

  That would surely be an illogical request. Sodomy’s mere existence was only recently acknowledged by the most liberal of churches. However, surely asking your sworn enemy to spend a quarter of an hour in the rubble together was just as ridiculous?

  The man must have known the perversions he was suggesting were unacceptable, even for the barbaric Prasidian commoners?

  Amelia’s confused anger must have been palpable, because the man withdrew a Prasidian aid pouch and presented it to her, pointing at the injured man.

  All of a sudden, it made sense. Packing his wounds. He must have noticed her kit was running empty. She rubbed the bridge of her nose and shook her head with a wry smile. Perhaps the man was not such a coward after all.

  **

  The watchman’s name was Lucas it seemed. From the way he had spoken slowly as if she were foreign, or perhaps possessed some mental inefficiencies. She guessed he thought they spoke different languages.

  She played along. The slower speech made him much easier to understand. Plus, becoming friends wasn’t at all productive.

  It’d make meeting each other in battle all the more painful, because he was clearly a good man.

  He’d rambled about dragon egg pie as they treated the man’s wounds, somehow not put off by the viscera before him.

  He even explained that the dragons had been missing for some time and the filling was mostly a replication, though Amelia knew this all too well after making fifteen per day at her own bakery before her conscription.

  She chuckled; it seemed the way to a man’s heart truly was his stomach.

  Amelia made a mental note to invite him to her bakery in the Federation, if this war magically ended overnight.

  After stabilising the man and carrying him to the ground floor of the apartment block, her escape was uneventful. She started wondering how best to make some of her best treats on the battlefield.

  Her daydreaming was cut short by the rest of Lycan squad returning, boasting about their wanton slaughter of the Prasidian conscripts.

  “Those frightened pigs didn’t know what hit them!” the ‘leader’, Benjamin, proclaimed. He was the highest rank among them but was as thick as two gold coins, and not even a third as valuable.

  “That last little piglet we got hold of during the retreat was priceless! Little shit got abandoned by his watch partner.”

  Amelia’s face darkened. She couldn’t stand hearing their stories of ‘combat’.

  “‘Waaaaaah, Liz, waaaaaah, I’m sorry I can’t be there for you and the boys, waaaaaaaah!’. Do you think he was crying for his lover or his sister?” The so-called leader cackled.

  Another squad member piped up. “Probably both. Prasidian’s are as inbred as they come! I’ll bet he was wishing it was her torturing him instead.”

  Eshal was wittier than the squad’s captain, Amelia would give him that.

  But, something gnawed at the back of her mind.

  The watchman had mentioned a family bakery run by a girl named Elizabeth and her younger brothers.

  The oldest of the brothers had been conscripted to the same watchman squad. The friend was usually in the same shift, but had been reassigned, if her memory served right.

  This would presumably be the gentleman she hadn’t seen during her sniping the day previous.

  Amelia’s stomach dropped.

  She hoped this was just a coincidence. She could barely handle their ‘interrogation techniques’ at the best of times.

  A metallic thunk returned her to her senses.

  Her worry must have been evident on her face, because one of the rowdy goblin-like ‘soldiers’ had thrown a half-empty ration can at her forehead. There was a mess of corn and marderberry sauce across her clean uniform.

  “Why the long face, half-breed? Do you need some attention from someone to do the bare minimum for once?” The leader goaded.

  For the first time since conscription, Amelia snapped. She’d taken an aura stimulant while nursing her wounds, and they were in a forest that had seen no battle and many a drunk victory celebration. The nearest field hospital was miles away.

  This was her element. Light aura in spades.

  She flooded her aura channels, converting mana to magic in her palms. She thrusted the energy out, herding the air into a vicious updraft that plastered the squad members to the ceiling like leaves in a hurricane.

  “I will have you know, dear leader, that I alone destroyed their communications outpost. I alone treated my gunshot wounds, and entirely evaded detection as I left the city.”

  Amelia chose to leave out mention of Lucas. Mentioning aiding a wounded combatant, despite doing so being in the military rulebook, was likely to get her martialled as a traitor. Let alone doing so and letting an able-bodied enemy live.

  Especially with the Federation’s cultural distaste towards anything that wasn’t a human, including so-called half-breeds.

  “Considering the Federation has publicly welcomed my kind for four decades, supposedly, I’m sure you must have genuine concern, my roof-dwelling friends.” Amelia goaded in return. “Should you have any concerns about my efficiency or conduct on the battlefield, I would be so delighted if you would share them with me or provide evidence to high command.”

  While Amelia wanted to reverse the air current and slam the beasts into the floor, she reasoned that would most definitely get her martialled.

  She allowed her influence over the mess hall’s air currents to wane as it left her range, gently lowering them as she walked away. It looked like the trees would be her cot once again.

  **Lucas – Nomar Field Hospital, Prasidian Southern Front**

  Alex was gone. What was left of him was nothing but a pitiful mess. An expression of pain was frozen upon his face. The only things those filthy beasts added to the poor boy’s body were burns, though Alex had managed to rip off a military patch during a struggle. His grip remained tight even after passing. Lucas now held the patch in his hands.

  He had been called in to identify his friend. It took only a moment despite the carnage.

  Numb to the rage consuming him, he sat in the waiting room again, staring at nothing in particular from a thousand miles away.

  The doctors were clearly used to the death surrounding them. They wheeled Alex’s remains off without so much as a word of consolation. Lucas couldn’t grasp it.

  Of all the people, why did it have to be Alex?

  One of the kindest and wittiest men on the front line was returning to his family in a box, not even whole, and the world was going to just keep turning.

  In a silent fury, Lucas was unable to tell that the Aura around him swirled violently. Aura manipulation outside of the body was highly unusual for even a well-trained mage.

  Aura was normally absorbed in and sent out. For untrained or ‘non-awakened’ mages, it seeped out like a cloud of energy around them.

  Rarely existed a soul that had experienced enough cycles to distinctly manipulate or even so much as properly detect the Aura around them without ever directing it through their own mana system.

  A medic nearby was one such soul.

  The mage that had found herself in the middle of this thunderous vortex was not yet able to control the aura around her, but she could detect it vividly, much like Amelia. Only the medic could see the aura. It was as impressive as it was terrifying.

  She turned and looked around in horror, believing the hospital about to be obliterated by an enemy mage that slipped through their defences.

  Surely it had to be an enemy soldier. The rage palpable in the aura was parallelled only by a mage that had seen untold death and destruction.

  As she located the source of the infernal storm, she found him. Lucas. A young man she had directed to the mortuary.

  The poor soul must have lost a friend. A close one. She tried to observe his channels, but they didn’t seem to be doing much to shape or add to the storm. He must have been controlling the energy subconsciously.

  It was a crime this man hadn’t been given the tools to utilise his talents during conscription. They must not have even tested the poor boy.

  However, to do so now would only add to the devastation of the front lines. That is, if the Feds didn’t assassinate him before he got the chance.

  The medic walked over to him, wrapping an arm over his shoulder and keeping her observations to herself.

  She offered Lucas some consolation and soothing words.

  For the first time, the floodgates opened. The storm of aura slowly died down, much to the medic’s relief.

  **

  It had been months since Alex passed. Several letters from Elizabeth and the boys sat unread in his locker back in Nomar.

  He couldn’t bear to read them. They would only bring him sorrow and a desire to return home.

  Right now, Lucas had to keep his fury close.

  He’d transferred from the garrison into the assault legion. He would make those Lycans pay.

  Lucas held the patch close.

  Alex must have known he would be found. He must have wanted Prasidia to avenge him.

  Lucas would make sure of it in the upcoming operation.

  The Federation assault that day, it turned out, had actually been chaotic. Not just a diversion.

  Only one consequential attack took place, and they’d still riddled the attacker with bullets, supposedly.

  The description was familiar. A female soldier, slightly pointed ears, blonde or silver hair.

  Lucas chuckled to himself. Of all the people that could have been the Federation’s one competent soldier in the attack, it had to be the one he was blathering to about his dragon egg pie and Elizabeth’s bakery.

  The girl didn’t seem to be bleeding at all, so they had to have exaggerated a little. Otherwise, she was every bit as talented a mage as he initially feared.

  Strangely, he didn’t regret letting her live. He only hoped they wouldn’t encounter one another again.

  Thanks to the assault being so chaotic, the Federation had lost a lot of manpower. Perhaps an unhealthy amount. Prasidia had killed or captured between three and five hundred across the city, and the Feds had been making a managed retreat from Nomar’s immediate outskirts

  Before his transfer, Lucas had pleaded to be the one to interrogate the two Lycans captured. High command, knowing his reasoning all too well, declined. When it looked like he may retaliate, they offered him this gig. The opportunity to counterattack positions where the Lycans would naturally have been. To hunt them down if the need arose.

  Lucas liked that idea.

  They’d already swept through several villages and forest hideouts.

  The one he sat in now had been used shortly before and after the attack, based on documents left behind during their hasty retreat.

  One document was left behind by the Lycans, detailing one of several potential attack plans, drawn in pencil over a crude map.

  If that was the attack plan they went with, Lucas couldn’t comprehend how all but one of them had ended up several districts away.

  These were meant to be hardened professionals. Technologically superior. Tactically experienced. Something didn’t add up.

  The next assault would be tonight, on the town-turned-stronghold of Merith. This would be a hellish assault.

  Lucas and the squad had been practicing, preparing and praying.

  Lucas had even been noticed by their squad’s healing mage, Zephyr. He liked Zeph for short.

  Apparently, healing any enemy soldiers near Lucas after he’d spotted a Lycan squad member became nigh impossible – whether the devil was dead or alive. It made their pool of interrogation targets a lot smaller.

  Zeph claimed it felt like his mana was being redirected all on its own.

  Teaching magic “off the books” was strictly illegal. And so instead, Lucas had been receiving ‘history lessons’, conveniently containing all the information and context he would need to cast (incredibly basic) healing spells. The only condition was that he could not cast it in front of any commanders unless it was saving their life. Only then would there be enough to blackmail them into allowing it.

  His section, however, were all for it. The other seven men agreed to keep their traps shut in exchange for any injuries less severe than a bullet wound being seen to twice as fast.

  The damage from bullets was still far too much for Lucas to handle.

  Lucas had been wanting to learn offensive magic, but Zeph turned pale.

  “Luke my friend, I’ve never had my magic passively jammed before, and I’ve trained under mages ranked among the capital’s biggest assholes. If I teach you how to make a fireball, I fear you’ll turn our new armoured division back to molten sheets.” Zephyr explained.

  Lucas felt like he’d been exaggerating, but Zeph reaching for his rifle in a wide-eyed panic as he managed a small spark told him otherwise. Lucas had to apologise on his knees and swear on Alex’s soul that he would cease his attempts.

  Finally, the general walked in.

  “Men, women, this is among our most decisive of missions.” The pompous noble began.

  “For the first time, we have pushed these Federation dogs back to their base. This will be the first stronghold we shall capture from them.”

  Lucas couldn’t see the value in taking the town. He’d been reading the documents left behind across raids. The Feds targeted infrastructure for transporting supplies. This town had roads in and out, but alternative supply routes were everywhere.

  Everywhere except directly towards Nomar.

  They’d be extending across field and forest for a town they couldn’t reliably resupply.

  Lucas didn’t want more nobles against him – that was why Alex died. He kept his mouth shut as the rest of the foolish plan was explained.

  The only upside was the armoured division. Metal shells with wheels that were linked by metallic belts. They were based on a prototype his team had captured a short while ago. The idea was simple enough. Mages had protection from incoming spells, and small ports to cast out of, or push their staffs through should they be so fortunate to possess one. Powering it with magic proved easier than mass-reproducing the mechanism that the Federation used.

  The division was truly terrifying, in concept. This would be their first battle. Time would tell if the Prasidian’s modifications were worthy trade-offs.

  The pouring rain, however, was a bad omen.

  Nothing good ever came out of wallowing in the mud.

  He raised a hand as the General asked for questions.

  “Sir, will this be going ahead as planned tonight? Even with the rain?” Lucas enquired, eyebrow raised.

  “Of course!” the foolhardy noble replied. “Are you scared of a little rain my boy?”

  “No sir.”

  Short and sweet was better than losing brain cells explaining how much slower crossing that field would be to a man that would never step foot in one during battle.

  **Amelia - Merith Garisson**

  “How in the blighted realms has it come to this?” Amelia thought to herself. The Prasidians were on their doorstep. The only saving grace was the reinforcements arriving in two days, and the rain making an assault tonight unlikely, given the Federation control over the towns flanking Merith. The only way they could come would be that god awful field she trudged through on her return from the forest.

  The Lycan squads had been thinned significantly. Her own squad had lost its unsavoury leader. She’d hoped he was captured and getting a taste of his own medicine, if the rumours were to be believed. In reality, he was probably dead in a drain somewhere. It would be a fitting end for a rodent like him, she supposed.

  After her outburst in the forest, the rest of the squad appeared to gain a semblance of respect for Amelia. Perhaps more accurately, they’d grown fearful and had a functioning sense of self-preservation. The only exception was the now-gone leader.

  Life had been difficult with the death squad seemingly hunting their every base, but things were looking up now. She would be rotated out of theatre soon, finally getting to spend some time baking and making it up to her feline friend for being gone so long. The purrs would be worth the agonisingly itchy scratch wounds.

  The town bells were tolling incessantly. It was getting even harder to rest. Why were they not hushing their infuriating ringing?

  By the four hells. It was an assault.

  As the realisation crystalised in her mind, the first explosions hit.

  Had they captured their artillery prototypes? The prototype squad assured everything had been destroyed, down to the last speck of dust.

  She threw her equipment on and grabbed her close quarters weapon. Looking out he window, she could see the cause of the explosion. The cursed fools hadn’t destroyed everything. Tanks, emblazoned with the flag of Prasidia, were emerging from the forest.

  Amelia made note to thank the twin gods of war and peace that they hadn’t gotten hold of the artillery shell prototypes that could have reduced the town to dust in an evening if magic-infused variants were mass-produced. It appeared their mages were using the ports to cast offensive magic and fire rifles from relative safety.

  Counterattacking weapons hadn’t been created yet. The Federation had not been notified of the Tank’s capture, thanks to the foolish prototype squad’s incompetence.

  Rushing to her position, she waited. Hers was a foxhole atop the hill the town sat on, where the edge of a narrow line of trees and the fields met. This was a location the enemy could flank to and gain control of a key bridge a little down the road. The Prasidians still didn’t seem to grasp tactics well, but they had certainly been improving.

  **Lucas – Fields of Merith**

  Lucas was advancing behind the cover of the armoured carriages. The field still made him uneasy, as did the rain. As his incredible luck would have it, he was right.

  Only it wasn’t just the men getting bogged down. The carriages too, with their incredible weight distributed on such small surfaces, sank into the mud like anvils.

  Lucas darted to the left. The mages could modify the earth to escape if they so pleased. He wasn’t waiting for a fireball with his name on it.

  Along this small hill ran a treeline and a field. Just ahead would be buildings in which Lucas could gain an overwatch position on the bridge. Just like old times, he thought.

  He snuck through the treelines alone, wondering if the Elf had felt this unbothered, charging into her likely demise. Ahead, he seen a faint glow, and sensed something coming.

  Lucas dodged into a ditch, rounds snapping over his head.

  “Must have thought of this one eh?” Lucas wondered out loud. He charged his aura in response, ready to return fire with his weapon, or a fireball if he absolutely had to. It would probably fizzle out before it hit, given he’d never managed to cast it before, but that wouldn’t stop him from giving them a scare.

  The magic-infused death screaming overhead relented, and a familiar voice called out to him. “Surely bloody not…” he thought, popping his head above the dead ground.

  There she was, as pretty and distinct as he remembered.

  How did she know it was him? Was it his mana?

  For some ungodly reason, she was calling him over. Lucas knew better, but found himself approaching her as if automatically. He kept a tight grip on his weapon, but mirrored her courtesy of keeping it lowered.

  “I discovered recently that we do indeed speak the same language,” Lucas said, wandering up to the edge of the foxhole that had been remarkably well concealed. “Why in the gods didn’t you stop me rambling and talking like you were a child?”

  “Well Lucas, it didn’t seem the right time to fraternise with the enemy. The lack of cover was particularly uncomfortable.” Amelia replied.

  Lucas crawled into the foxhole. She was alone, as he’d assumed. Her gear was hastily thrown on and looked new. The name, medical and unit patches were absent.

  “Wow, you remembered my name, that’s a shocker. Now that I think about it, you called out to me just now. How did you recognise it was me?” Lucas asked.

  “Well, it’s apparently not as common as I once thought, but I can sense aura and its users. Not as well as others. A few talented mages, theorised to have been reincarnated from godhood, or perhaps many cycles, can see the stuff.”

  “At first I could sense you, but you weren’t very distinct. Then you seemed to get sad. Like you had before we first met, staring at the injured man, only with a lot more anger. I recognised your signature right away. I suppose the anger was my fault – bullets do tend to discourage a good time.” She said.

  “That certainly is correct. The discouragement bit, I mean. The bullets didn’t concern me much, I was more surprised to be alive, honestly.” He replied bluntly. “What’s your name anyway? You’ve still not told me. A little rude to invite a man into your hovel without sharing that much right?”

  “Perhaps.” She agreed. “It’s Amelia. Non-humans and half-breeds aren’t allowed surnames in the Federation, so that’s it unfortunately.” Amelia explained, giving a sarcastic bow. “What had you so upset down in the ditch if not for my bullets? There shouldn’t be any of your comrades down there.”

  Amelia reacted as though she felt the aura shifting. Lucas assumed as much, since she said she could sense his presence.

  The swirling aura inferno began once more. Lucas explained how Alex was tortured to his final breath. All he had was a patch from the ones who killed him.

  “Lycan bastards. I’ll hunt down every last one and make them pay.” Lucas muttered through gritted teeth.

  He noticed Amelia looking uncomfortably at a bag on the floor. She protested, but he moved to it and pulled open the canvas.

  Why was a Lycan patch there, along with her name and medical patches? Why did she have to be one of those disgusting bastards?

  “Lucas, could you get your head out of my belongings please?” Amelia asked, feigning ignorance to both the patches and the intensifying tornado preventing her use of aura. Anything she tried to push felt as if it was carried up into the eye of the storm.

  Lucas turned and raised his weapon. Amelia raised hers in turn.

  “How could you be one of those disgusting cowards?” Lucas asked, practically spitting the words from his mouth. “These blighted animals that brought torture and bloodshed wherever they went, and cried like bullied victims when we finally got them?”

  Amelia started turning pale, weapon still trained on Lucas’ head.

  “We don’t get to pick the squads we’re placed in, Lucas. There’s more Lycan squads than just mine.” Amelia shouted back. The air itself had started being directed by the swirling aura’s vortex. This could turn very bad, very fast.

  “Lycan three.” Lucas returned. “Alex had a patch in his hand when he died. There’s the same number of lines below the beast’s head here. Did you and that cowardly captain do it?”

  Other units had started to react. Mages had left one of the tanks and were running into the treeline, beelining at them. Lucas could vaguely see the light of a staff’s gem swaying through the trees.

  Soldiers from the Federation were noticing too. Thankfully, they were being held in place by the sheer number of spells and rounds flying at them.

  Amelia struggled to get her reply out, the pressure on her chest becoming overwhelming. “Gods no! They despised and ridiculed me. I couldn’t stand to hear their stories of torture. I was alone that day. They gloated about some torture on their return to camp, they mentioned a boy shouting for a girl named Liz. Was that him?”

  Unbeknownst to Lucas, Amelia had been trying to cast the same magic on the air as she had against her comrades. Whether it was due to the raging storm of aura disrupting her flow, or fear of hurting the man that was clearly going mad, she couldn’t manage so much as a breeze.

  Lucas’ face twisted. He was being blinded by rage, oblivious to his irrationality.

  “I think you’re lying to me, you blighted demon. I think you heard those cries yourself.”

  Lucas did find it strange that she would invite him into her fighting position despite killing his friend. Stranger still that she hadn’t put him down despite the threat he posed/

  Despite his fleeting whisps of rationality and Amelia’s continued protests, the clouded mind of the former watchman was made up.

  He squeezed his rifle’s trigger twice, slamming rounds into her chest and neck.

  Darkness.

  The sensation of floating enveloped him, as if he were floating on a warm, pleasant lake.

  How had he ended up here? What was his name?

  The soul that used to be named Lucas had no idea, no memories remaining. It was as if they had been stolen from him in an instant. All it knew was that it had returned to the pool of souls once more.

  All that was left was to continue along this gentle current for as long as the gods deemed fit and return to the world anew.

  The soul could not tell how long had passed before its senses returned.

  A shake and a bump here, muffled laughter there, a warm fluid enveloping them. The soul had returned to the land of the living, and eagerly awaited it’s new name and fate.

  **Amelia – Wermor hill, Merith**

  Lucas wasn’t in his right mind. Amelia could tell as much from the torrent of aura screaming past her.

  She’d invited him to keep him safe. To quietly pass him of as a prisoner of war before the rest of the Federation got hold of him – surely furious after such an incredulously stupid, yet unexpected assault had likely taken many Federation soldiers to their graves.

  And yet here he was, raising his weapon at her, accusing her of the vile crimes she had disavowed.

  Before Amelia could comprehend it, her chest was impacted, a bright flash of light before her.

  Time itself seemed to have slowed down, giving her extra time for equal parts rage and mourning for the friendship that could have been, if not for this pointless war.

  “Dirty coward!” she fumed internally, as she raised her weapon to his head once more. It was her turn to release herself to revenge and savagery.

  She squeezed her trigger as a second flash of light came from Lucas’ weapon.

  This time, her neck was hit.

  She’d dropped like a sack of potatoes.

  Lucas was fortunate.

  Amelia’s shot landed true. It was as if a puppet had its strings cut free.

  He’d have had no time to feel the pain. To bleed out wondering why in the gods he hadn’t been trusted. This would be the fate of Amelia’s final breaths.

  She turned what little grieving she had left into anger. Sadness would only slow her efforts down.

  “If those damned priests are right about the next life, I’ll reduce him to dust on sight!” She thought, putting what little pressure and magic her strength allowed into stopping the bleeding from her chest.

  Amelia’s healing magic was good, but it could only work on one place at a time. It certainly wasn’t fast enough to cure the internal bleeding from wherever Lucas had hit, either. Not before she would lose consciousness.

  Healing Magic required visualisation, re-knitting the fibres of muscle and bone. Unfortunately, Amelia lacked the anatomy knowledge to visualise the targeted fix she required without being able to see the damage.

  Lucas’ round had initially grazed her aorta. The expansion and collapse caused by the passing of the bullet had ruptured it, causing arterial bleeding inside her ribcage.

  While she was trying to pinpoint the source and blanket healing the wound, blood was pouring out of her neck and down her throat, causing her to choke. She could do nothing to stop it.

  “Mark my words,” she thought, “I’ll teach you the true meaning of fear.”

  As the world faded, some comrades appeared before her, late as usual. They weren’t doing anything, however. Perhaps her eyes had already glassed over. That, or they were being as useless as usual, she mused.

  As the world faded to black, the warm floating sensation enveloped her for the first time in twenty years.

  “The fountain?” the soul thought, recognising the familiar sensation. Amelia’s soul had retained the memories. “Hopefully I’ll still remember the blighted madman when I return.”

  The clergy had recognised the retention of memories after reincarnation. It was uncommon, but not unheard of.

  Some theorised it was due to the way a soul died. If the head was destroyed by violence or disease, there was hardly a way for the soul to retrieve the memories within as it departed.

  Others believed it was due to willpower. Sailors who wished to return a message to loved ones as they drowned at sea. Relatives wishing to reveal a family legacy that was kept from their relatives.

  None had mentioned retaining memories while in the fountain, but that must have been a given, the soul supposed.

  The reason was of little importance to it. It tried to look around, but there was only darkness, and the vague sense of others around it, with a gentle current propelling it forwards.

  It tried to push itself faster – swim with the current rather than passively pulled by it, but it was no use.

  Hopefully, the next life would be worth the wait.

  The soul decided to rest, weary from the emotional turmoil of its latest demise.

  The soul slept through the sensations of the womb, until the harsh light of a new life rudely interrupted its rest.