30th of Season of Fire, 159th year of the 32nd cycle

  “By the imperial decree, the majority of our order’s forces must advance to the border with Summersweald,” Greenthorn said to the gathered groups of his order’s elites.

  Five hundred people, just about all the talent they had spent a hundred years raising, plus a third of his order’s champions beneath the eighth realm, all offered because of the whims of those more powerful than they were. What’s worse, Greenthorn never, not even for a moment, considered rebelling. Going into an ill-conceived war meant near-certain disastrous losses. Going against the imperial family meant total annihilation.

  He was silent for a long while, a fraction of a second to commoner ears, but to him, it felt like minutes had passed as he took in all the faces, all the resources they had spent, all the future potential those people had. Wasted. Thrown away because he was powerless.

  I’m an exalt, and yet I’m powerless. He felt the bile he didn’t have churn in his gut. Then he remembered Master Dandelion’s words regarding Newstar.

  “Once he reaches his peak, you will be but a bonfire compared to the sun, and your order will stand above all others.”

  It was a glorious day he was working towards, more out of habit than sense of duty. He had long since forgotten why the order mattered. It was his, the only thing truly his in a world ruled by powerful madmen — men and women, who, like him, had forgotten why they were doing things they did. They just acted out of habit and in the belief that their judgement once upon a time was sound. For Greenthorn, the final string of humanity snapped with the death of his last living master.

  Even Newstar was more of a thing than a human being. An investment, an insurance, a pillar to hold his obsession in place, and perhaps a well of resources, assuming his power truly reaches the heights Master Dandelion had foreseen.

  Greenthorn had the time for such thoughts and many more before he uttered the next sentence.

  “The imperials have done us a favor. Since we were already meant to be stationed nearby, we can make Newstar Salamandra’s ancestral home our base-camp. The onslaught should be easier to withstand than the previous one, and I expect not a single casualty. The second part of the unified operation will be much more difficult.”

  Greenthorn paused, slowly scanning the crowd, letting each of them meet his gaze. Had they ever managed to locate the cults’ central hideouts, a force the likes of which the imperials had mobilized would destroy them five times over. Instead, they were wasting them for vanity and power play.

  “Marching into the weald has historically proven extremely risky. I won’t lie to you, the casualties will be high, but you!” He pointed a finger at the crowd, then moved it around. “Yes, You! You can make the casualties smaller. You can save a life. All you have to do is watch someone’s back, and trust someone is watching yours. Some of you are already battle-tested, and you know what I am talking about, but for all of you young stars, trust your seniors, for you are their little brothers and sisters. They will do what they can to keep you safe, even if it costs you your life.”

  He paused, feeling the surge of blood, hearing the excited hearts race. They had no idea what carnage awaited them, what death and suffering were, but they would learn and they would hate. Hate Greenthorn for sending them to their deaths, hate the imperials for forcing Greenthorn’s hand, and hate the saurians for goring their bodies and spilling their blood.

  “Now go. Make us proud! Show what you are made of, and once you return, you shall be rewarded, your path clear, the power closer, nearly within your grasp.” Greenthorn felt no shame as he lied.

  None of the youths there could make him proud, Newstar included. They were off to senseless death and culling because the imperials judged them dangerous and too powerful.

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  And yet, Greenthorn felt no pity either. He mourned the loss his order would suffer, the wasted resources, and years of labor which would bear no fruit. He felt like a farmer watching his field set aflame. A farmer with enough stashed away that the loss wasn’t despair-inducing.

  No. What he felt was hate. Hate the young ones would know once they figured out the truth. He didn’t know whether he looked forward to cultists attacking or whether he hoped the cultists would stay out of the carnage.

  On one hand, the deaths of his order’s members would be as worthy as could be if they also destroyed the cult menace. On the other, cultists meant more deaths, more suffering, and more losses.

  Whatever happens, the imperials win, and I lose.

  Greenthorn watched the mages and mageknights file into the four airships, trying to find a win in the situation, but failing to even find a ray of hope, let alone a path to victory.

  He stood there as the teeming mass of humanity became just four contraptions taking off into the air and flying south.

  “Gatemaster,” the chaplain from the chamber of instruction approached him. “Do you need something, Sir?”

  “No, thank you, Lagoon. I was trying to see things in a positive light and found nothing but darkness wherever I looked.”

  ***

  Newt was returning home for the second time since he had reached the sixth realm. He had naturally visited Magmin’s realm, the situation nearly identical to what he had experienced when he visited back when he was at the fifth realm.

  The only difference was that after being baptised by the celestial flames, Newt’s realm had transformed in such a way that it could support the seventh realm Magmin, despite Newt himself being at the sixth.

  “Sir Salamandra.” Lady Woodhopper approached him on the ship. “I look forward to seeing your ancestral home.”

  Newt smiled.

  “It’s but a provincial estate, a castle in a forgotten part of the world cut off from the rest of humanity.” While humans had once more claimed the contested part of the jungle, a twenty-mile wide belt of jungle still separated the Salamandra clanhold from the rest of the world.

  Once upon a time, the Salamandras had helped clear it, but Newt and Stronggrow agreed that perhaps letting the rest of the world forget about their clan wasn’t that bad of a choice.

  “Still, I have heard it was picturesque and that one could get a good look at dragons if they tried hard enough.” Lady Woodhopper joked, but Newt found little humor in her words.

  Magmin’s grandson would arrive in less than two moons and take Newt to meet his mother, Magmin’s daughter. An exalt dragon.

  Newt didn’t dare breathe a word of what would happen to anyone. He feared the conflagration would attack again, and if they decided to throw their lives away, they could annihilate the Explorer’s Gate, let alone the Salamandras’ paltry clanhold.

  “You seem worried,” Lady Woodhopper said.

  “This is a setup, and everyone knows it.” While Gatemaster Greenthorn didn’t say anything, Newt saw the dark looks passing across his master’s almost-always neutral and relaxed face. “The order sent those who need to be baptized in battle, and of the more senior members, they only sent those who had reached the limit of their natural talent.”

  Then he realized what he had said. “No offense meant, Lady Woodhopper.”

  “None taken. We have all noticed it, but there is little we can do or even object to. Had I been the gatemaster, I would’ve chosen the same people. It’s the most logical choice. Why risk someone with a certain future when you can send someone who is stuck? What’s more, the pressure might stimulate some of us and help us shake our realm boundaries. The choice is logical and beyond reproach. The problem is not the choice, but me. I had become the logical choice.”

  She flashed a self-mocking smirk.

  “What I should ask is why they sent you and Emeraldstreak and Rexheart.”

  Newt’s brother and sister enjoyed a wealth of resources. Nowhere nearly what he did, but enough to see them enter the sixth realm just a year and three years ago.

  “I guess Master thinks they also need tempering. Roselilly didn’t get drafted, despite entering the fifth realm.”

  Lady Woodhopper nodded. “Lady Monsoon’s longevity is approaching its end, and she lacks the time to take another ward. She is grooming Roselilly to replace her one day, but that day is still far away.”

  Newt nodded without saying a word. Rose was never the best combatant, but she was an exceptional healer for her realm. Especially since her master completely devoted herself to teaching her after the Blood Cult attack.

  “If you would excuse me, Lady Woodhopper,” Newt said stiffly, his manner of address always weird with the woman he once fancied. “I have to go around and see what I can do to raise morale before Lord Rexheart’s ship is ready to invade the heart of the Summersweald and slay the entire conflagration without any outside help.”