.𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘳𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘢𝘴𝘩.

FENRIR

Kaiva froze when Fenrir’s words finally broke through her anger. He watched the emotions flit across her face, so rapid there were a few emotions that he was unable to identify. Another wry smirk slowly crept across his visage as he stared back at Kaiva; there was a rather mischievous, potentially malicious, gleam in his dark eyes.

“And where, might I ask, are we –” Kaiva’s words abruptly died when Syd yanked her away, steering her back towards the camp. Fenrir watched as the man leaned close to whisper something in the phoenix’s ear. He tracked the pair as they ascended the hill, and finally disappeared.

“My prince?” Heron ventured, clearly confused. Fenrir shifted his wings reflexively; had he been fully dragon, such a movement would have portrayed that he was not upset or angry, and instead felt slightly guilty at the general’s confusion. Alas, Fenrir was only partly dragon; neither he nor Heron could elucidate the meaning behind the small motions of a dragon’s wings.

“It’s fine, Heron,” Fenrir told him. “Come. We will speak of it in the commander’s tent.”


A short time later, Fenrir stood before a wide wooden table, elegantly crafted. Spread across the table’s surface was a map of the known world, with the borders of Selva and Traeterra clearly marked. There were several groups of what appeared to be chess pieces, or little flags embroidered with the heraldry of either country. He let his gaze drift between each piece, studying them carefully, for they were the best-known locations of their own troops, and that of the enemy. Heron was sitting behind him, having collapsed into a chair from surprise. Considering that he’d just told the general of his crazy plan, Fenrir wasn’t shocked.

“We will travel between the major camps, recruiting,” Fenrir continued, moving a piece that represented him between places on the map. The piece was a remarkably accurate figurine of him, complete with a pair of half-extended dragon wings. “From there, we will head towards the capital. We’ll spend a night or two in the capital to try and throw off any potential pursuers, before the real journey begins.”

“My prince, you must – this is –“ Heron paused, clearly trying to gather his thoughts. “The dragons are but a legend, are they not? Whatever eggs were found were fossilized beyond redemption.”

“True,” Fenrir responded, “but I have found manuscripts in the Royal Library that suggest otherwise. Tales of when dragons roamed the world, and stories of when they began to vanish. Everything I’ve read suggests that the mountains of Traeterra were the heart of the dragon’s territory.” He turned to stare directly at Heron. “We are losing this war, Heron,” he said, voice grim. “The fact that this conflict has gone on for nearly four decades – that is a loss in itself, regardless of who the true victor is. I am tired of watching my people march to war. Tired of memorizing faces that will be lost to a conflict so old there are few who even remember why it started.” He let his eyes close. “I am to be king one day. What legacy would I leave for my people? War? Suffering?” He shook his head. “I am many things,” he continued, voice softening, “some, perhaps, more than others. I will not be one to stand aside while my country burns. If finding these dragons means we can finally end this war…”

“My Prince, you cannot go on this journey yourself,” Heron pleaded. “You are the crown prince, the future king, as you say. You cannot risk yourself.”

Fenrir gave the man a sad smile. “I will not ask of any man something I am not willing to do myself, Heron,” he admonished gently. “I will not stand aside as people die for me. I am the prince, as you say. I am meant to be the shield that guards Traeterra. It is time that I shouldered this burden.”

He stood, straightening out. “Kaiva is only one of those who will be accompanying me. I plan to convince Shayne to join me.”

“Shayne? The healer from the capital?”

“There’s no one better.”

Heron sighed, but relented. “I will help you pack, my prince.” Fenrir inclined his head.

Fenrir was waiting at the makeshift camp stables when Kaiva arrived; two horses were saddled and ready, outfitted with the necessary gear to spend the nights in the wilderness. When he saw Kaiva approaching, he straightened his spine. “I do hope you have everything you might need,” he told her. In a swift, smooth motion he stepped forward, placed his hands on Kaiva’s hips, and lifted her from the ground, settling her into the saddle on her horse. Just as quickly, he strode to his own steed – a dark bay stallion – and lifted himself into the saddle. He picked up the reins, and turned to nod at Heron. “We make for the next camp,” he told Kaiva, and then spurred his horse forward. The bay tossed its head, and slid into a smooth canter. The camp slowly faded into the background.

LES

Les felt a chill run down his spine as the alchemist explained the purpose of their meeting. The use of their powers without implosion? The thought of it was certainly alluring. If the Phoenixes could use their flames endlessly, they would not be absent from battle for days at a time. Their collectors could focus on fighting rather than scouring the ground for soot amongst the dirt. He could know what it felt like to cast flame from his hands and not fear what happened after.

But he knew better than to trust the alchemists completely. They had promised him the world before, and he knew now that every great reward demands something in return.

“Volatile?” he echoed, speaking up for the first time since they had entered. “What do you mean by volatile?”

Pelter jumped in before Norris could explain completely. “I-it’s probably for the best if we go as soon as possible. We’re losing daylight and we want to administer the full test before it gets late.”

Les gave a cautious look to Maewen, then uncrossed his arms with a heavy sigh.

“Don’t worry, Phoenix,” stated Pelter in his paper-thin voice. “You will have time to relax once we have tested the elixir. In the meantime, Norris will lead the way to the testing area. Please, help yourselves to the potions so the substance has time to take effect before we begin.”

There was no point in arguing. Les knew that if he refused, another would be forced to take his place. Besides, despite his trepidation, he could not resist the accompanying temptation. He would do nearly anything to end the constant cycle of death and rebirth. And he would be lying if he denied that he liked the idea of using his powers without limits. He, and all the other Phoenixes, would become infinitely stronger if they were stripped over their handicap. The flames within him were cued unconsciously, and he felt warmth flooding to the palms of his hands.

Before he could stop himself, he was standing at the edge of the table, bottle in hand. He held the glass to his lips and tipped his head back, feeling the liquid drain into his mouth and down his throat. It was thicker than water, than most other liquids, almost like an oil. It coated his throat, nearly prompting him to choke. But he managed to get it down. The aftertaste was metallic and bitter, with a hint of sourness.

Pelter offered him some water to wash it down.

“Excellent. Now let us be on our way.”

---

KAIVA

Her horse was a gift from Lexar: a young stallion with dancing hooves and a penchant for biting. As she led him across camp, he nuzzled her fingers in search of carrots or apples. He was a spoiled horse, not yet accustomed to the lifestyle of war.

“We’re in the prince’s entourage now, Jack. Maybe some treats are on the horizon,” Kaiva told him as she smoothed out his black mane. Syd walked behind her with his black mare, and he scoffed at that.

“Are prisoners supplied treats for their horses now?” he asked teasingly, but there was a warning in his tone. He was reminding Kaiva not to get too familiar. The whole journey, after all, had been advertised as a form of punishment. Besides, she was not exactly in Fenrir’s good graces. For all she knew, he wanted her along so she could carry his luggage or shine his shoes.

When they arrived at the meeting point, she was pleased to see Heron was not in attendance. She halted where Fenrir stood with his horse. She held tightly onto Jack’s reins as he tossed his head excitedly in greeting; clearly he had not gotten the message that this was a solemn affair.

“I do hope you have everything you need,” the prince said.

“If travel clothes and our own two feet are all we need, then yes,” stated Kaiva, unable to suppress the hint of sass that always saturated her tone.

She did refrain from speaking as he stepped toward her, even as he got close enough that she could see the intricate patterns of his armor. Is he going to give me a stern lecture? she wondered, or with a flash of humor, Or a headbutt? Instead however, she felt his hands around her hips as he lifted her easily up into her saddle.

Kaiva managed a soft ‘thank you,' as she settled onto her horse’s back.

“We make for the next camp,” Fenrir told them as he pulled himself into his own saddle. 

They were on their way before it occurred to Kaiva to look back, so she never did. Jack was eager to be on the road, and he pranced after the prince's horse with the excitement of a colt. She followed his lead and chose to be eager rather than sullen. Punishment or no, she preferred a ride to latrine duty. There was still the question of the purpose of their mission. And she wondered why her outburst had provoked the prince to invite her of all people along. 

Soon the rows of tents melted away from her periphery, making way for open stretches of white and blue landscape. The road was a rudimentary one, little more than some hoofprints in the frost. Soon the ground became level, and she spurred Jack forward so she was riding beside Fenrir.

"Care to enlighten me?" she began. Even she did not know where she was going with the line of inquiry. Perhaps she should have asked where they were going, or how he intended to make her life miserable. Instead she asked, "Why is it that you look so familiar?" 

---

ZANH

No one suffers over small wounds like a perfectionist. Zanh had made herself strong in order to enter the war room. She was not immune to the skeptical stares of Adelard and Langhan, but she was at least prepared for them. Mokh, on the other hand, she was not prepared for. He barged into her war council and promptly threw a wrench in all her plans.

She watched, brows knit, as the Marquis requested she reorganize the pieces on her map. Meanwhile, Mokh took control of the room with his theatricality and his bright charisma. Yew and the Baron nodded in agreement with everything he said, often voicing their encouragement with phrases like, “Brilliant, your royal highness.”

What annoyed her most was that he was right—gathering all the men together would leave them vulnerable to coordinated attacks by the Traeterrans. She had thought of this, yes, but she also understood that no perfect plan existed. War was about weighing risks and rewards. It was not, however, about bickering amongst old men in stuffy chambers. She could feel her sister watching her. Zanh hoped that Rekh was the only person in the room who could sense the frustration that radiated off her.

“Agreed,” she stated, back rigid. “The plan could use some refining.” Her tone was measured. It was mostly sufficient in masking her urge to argue. She wanted to tell Mokhnaran with animated gestures that getting the Pillars to do anything beneficial to the war effort was like playing tug-o-war with a rhinoceros. She wanted to tell him that any perceived criticism of her intellect was fuel for Adelard and Langhan to resist her at every turn.

It had not yet occurred to her that he was aware of her situation, nor that his motive was to help her. She was too blinded by her own annoyance with the whole situation.

“I pass the reins to you, your highness,” she stated evenly. “When the meeting is adjourned, would you do me the honor of giving me a moment of your time in private?” In her periphery, Yew and the Baron gave each other significant looks. Zanh was determined to maintain her dignity, even if that meant going toe to toe with the prince and his marquis.