Young Flame

The Mercenary Order’s headquarters sits at the far eastern border of Meja. Right in the centre of the entire pact nations.

Well, the centre of what used to be the pact nations. Now, so much ground has been lost that the headquarters may as well be on the front line itself.

I soar through the air in Tore’s grasp once more. It’s become more bearable to handle his unique form of transportation, but I would still prefer to fly under my own power. No matter how much faster this allows us to travel, I don’t think I could ever truly be comfortable relying on someone like this.

It isn’t even an issue of trust. I don’t believe Tore would do anything to me. Not only because he’s already helped me in the past, but because he has the power to do pretty much whatever he wants and I would have no way to resist. No, if I can do something, I would prefer to do it myself. And if I can’t, I will improve until I can.

The earth passes below us too fast to make out many details, but some are simply too eye-catching to miss. A massive, ancient castle stands in the centre of a city spanning tens of thousands of metres. Dozens of towers arranged in a spiral stand higher than the other the closer they are to the centre. At the centrepiece of the city, is an enormous spike of a structure that reaches higher than any other building I’ve seen.

It is an exquisite view as we pass overhead, but the sight of artillery and cannon-fire detonating much of the land outside the castle’s walls takes away from what would be a serene view. A ring of buildings around the castle are nothing but rubble. A constant barrage of explosions demolishes the city. Smoke obscures many of the outer regions.

The Meja Matriarchy is still holding out against the mermineae. Despite the rest of the city being taken, their castle is not so easily overcome.

I wonder if Imiha is down there, fighting for her people? I haven’t seen her since we split over on the other side of the Alps. She was overbearing with her curiosity, as mages tend to be, but she was still a good person. I want to go down and help her fight off her attackers, but I can’t.

It isn’t a decision I’m happy to make, but we need to get to the Mercenary Order’s headquarters and scare off the invaders before this war elevates. Tore is the only one who can do that. Only he has the strength to send the Viisin running with a glance. Only he can stop the ursu pushing in from the south.

If the world is reasonable, then the Mercenary Order’s elite will be reasonable. They’ll be unleashed upon their enemies and only kill those strong enough to put up a fight. They will listen to my warnings of a greater strength watching over all.

Unfortunately, I know the world isn’t reasonable.

The chance that those elite will care is slim. My experience with the Beiths leads me to believe that there is little chance they will hold back. While Imiha is understanding, she is the only one. That fire mage I’d met a while back, I wouldn’t trust to not burn everything he thinks he can get away with. I mean, he tried with me, and I’m an áed.

Spenne is my primary concern. As admittedly fun as my fight with him had been, all he cared for was the thrill of battle. If the elite share his views, his enjoyment of war, then there will be no persuading.

Soon, Meja’s castle is out of view. Those still holding out are left on their own to defend what is left of their country. The rest of the Mercenary Order have pulled back, returning to defend the headquarters. As do we. I wish the best for Imiha. Hopefully, this war will be over soon.

Tore continues to fling us through the air. Every metre we travel without a sign of the defensive line is concerning. The mermineae have already pushed farther than I expected. It’s strange; Spenne held off a few Viisin by himself. If only one of him could survive so long against that many, then how have the Beiths not been able to push back their offence? Considering each has similar abilities, how have the Beiths not slaughtered them all yet?

I can understand we were losing before the Mercenary order gave the Beiths freedom to fight, but even after they entered the battles, the mermineae’s encroach has not slowed. It is suspicious.

Is this Kalma’s influence?

Do I even need to ask? This is obviously Kalma’s influence. She admitted to preferring when both sides are even. But how has she controlled the mermineae’s battle strength without giving them a reason to believe they are playing within her hands?

There are too many unknowns, but there isn’t anything I can do about them. The only thing I can do is push forward and hope everything works out.

Actually, I hate that mentality. ‘Hope everything works out’? No. Things never work out when you hope for the best. I need to do anything I can to achieve the best result. Even then, it might all go wrong, but as long as I’m alive, I can force my way forward.

I notice a chill in the air. Despite the Eternal Inferno resting high in the sky, the air just got a whole lot colder. Tore notices as well, but he must have felt something more, as his next leap angles us to the north. Far off our current heading.

The reason for our change in direction becomes immediately clear as we bound over the hilly terrain; we’ve finally reached the battlefield.

As we crash amongst the mermineae, the temperature becomes distinct. It is as cold as the snow-tipped mountains at the base of the Titan Alps. There is no snow, but as I look around, frost takes a grasp on the earth and spreads. The air continues to chill.

I have no issue anymore with this cold. My body is simply far too hot for the freezing temps to have an effect. It might be less efficient to stand around in this than a normal heat level, but the difference is so minuscule to me now, it’s not even worth the effort to worry.

The battle is in full swing. Unlike the typical poke and prod method of offence the mermineae have adapted in the past months, they are attacking in full force. A few hundred metres away, a Viisin tears through mercenary teams. Explosions of dust rise with each attack. The mercenaries show excellent coordination, but they still struggle against the power of its decay.

Not far from the unopposed Viisin is a second locked in a brawl with a Beith. Somehow, the khirig doesn’t decay on contact. It throws punches with antlers shining with markings. Each blow tears off limbs from the Viisin, but it always recovers. Their grappling and physical blows send the two all across the battle. Wherever they land, the earth strips clean, including all mercenaries, soldiers and mermineae unlucky enough to be in their way.

We aren’t too late. The battle is in full swing, but it hasn’t yet reached the headquarters. If Tore can scare the mermineae off here, then we can plead the higher ups of the Mercenary Order to cooperate with Tore to take on Kalma.

A gust brushes past me, sending a freezing chill through my body. The wind swirls slowly over the battlefield, almost casually as it casts an icy sheen across the earth.

I fling myself from Tore’s grip, expecting him to dash forward and put a stop to all the fighting. He doesn’t. Instead, I catch him gazing to the south, focusing on something other than the battle before us. What is he doing?

“I won’t be long.”

I don’t even have the time to ask what he means. The shock-wave of his leap sends me staggering. Tore is gone from sight within a few moments, bounding across the land far faster than when he held me.

He’s leaving us? How am I supposed to scare the mermineae off now? How do I convince the Mercenary Order? I don’t have the power to do this myself.

It’s a terrifying thought, but even without him, I need to find a way. I clamp down on my writhing flames and straighten myself. This is my plan, and even without what is supposed to be the key piece, I need to move forward.

It’ll be hard, but if I make an imitation of the Titan again with my flames, I might frighten off many of the weaker units on both sides. It worked back in the gulag; why shouldn’t it work here? As long as I can get most of their forces to rout, I’ll have just a little longer to convince the Order. Assuming they’ll even listen to a fugitive.

Before I can spread my fires and start on my plan, the swirling icy wind accelerates. I take a step forward, only for the sleeve of my outfit to slice open. I stare at it for a moment, uncertain of what exactly attacked me. The blade passed through my arm so fast I didn’t even register it.

It’s a tiny, little cut in the cloth over my arm, but if I was flesh, I’d be bleeding right now.

A hiss no different from rain lifts my head to the sky, only for a tiny shard of ice to pierce right through my eye. The frozen fragment slices through the back of my head before it has time to vaporise. It stings a bit where it left, but otherwise it cut through so smoothly I hardly felt it.

The spiralling air converges. Thousands of minuscule blades of ice no bigger than a fingertip spin through the air with such speed I don’t think I could have noticed had they not pierced me. The shards grow as the wind increases. A whirlwind of ice grows from the densest section of the battle.

The air howls as more ice forms from nothing. I stop suppressing my external heat. The icy blades disintegrate as they come close, creating a thin wall of mist that is dispersed by the ever-increasing wind. My snowsuit fits well, but even it whips around my body as the howl of wind becomes a scream.

Around the epicentre of the frozen twister, thousands drop dead. The shards slicing through their bodies without resistance. Far more mermineae fall, but it is not exclusive. Mercenaries in the throes of battle collapse, almost regardless of rank. The only ones truly able to brush off the sharp icy wind are the two Viisin and the khirig Beith.

Every second I watch, the wind increases, centralising around a twisting pillar of frost that has grown too dense to see through. Everything within range is shredded. As the tornado of ice condenses, the range at which the shards reach extends, cutting down all as they attempt to flee.

I have no idea what’s going on, but thousands fall as I watch. The ice disperses harmlessly into my heat. It’s surprising; I would have expected it to hurt as the ice melts into water, but there’s such little water content in the frost that it only stings as it whips against me.

Not long ago, I wouldn’t have cared for all this death. I mostly still don’t, but as these people, both mermineae and those of the pact nations die, I can’t stop myself imagining how Leal or Grímr might react knowing I do nothing. I’ve already caused such immense pain to Leal that I struggle to see a day where I won’t feel guilty about burning Morne and Calysta.

Unlike the ursu city, my killing of the mermineae has been entirely intentional. I have never cared about them, nor do I now, but they have been slaves to Kalma for who knows how long. I feel some sympathy for them.

It might not be the most beneficial thing I’ve ever done, but I spread my flames wide over the battlefield. I ease the freezing temperature and melt away the shards that continue to pelt the backs of those amidst a rout. My flames grow into an inferno empowered by the wind from the ice storm and spread farther than I could normally control.

Any of my fire that moves too close to the spiral of ice extinguishes immediately. I simply can’t keep up the temperature to keep them burning with only my yellow flames, and I would rather not jump into the vortex to see how well my hotter fire handles.

It may not be much compared to the numbers I’ve killed in the past, but my flames give many of the mermineae and mercenaries enough time to escape the ever-growing storm.

Oh, how I wish for the battle to end here, but as I continue to shield the less enhanced from the incredibly unnatural phenomenon, the tornado of ice makes a drastic change. It condenses one last time before collapsing in on itself. The towering pillar of frozen wind crashes into a point and blasts outward.

The roar of rushing air is deafening. Wind and ice explode along the ground, expanding faster than I can witness. Within moments, the rushing opaque air tears through the battlefield, reaching the horizon and beyond my sight.

I thought it was cold before. Immediately after the blast, the air comes to a standstill. Even with my body as hot as it is, the world wants to slow my movement. Frost visibly grows over the fur of the mermineae adjacent to the path of the ice blast. Even my inferno barely heats the air enough that they don’t freeze on the spot.

Spiky crystal formations line the edges of the blast zone. In the centre of its path stands the body of the Viisin that only moments ago was butchering mercenary teams. Its body, frozen in place, has a million tiny fractures and holes through it. So too are the mercenary teams it was fighting. Nothing survived the explosion of frost. All that remains are the shredded, frozen corpses and a wasteland of ice.

This is far beyond anything any Beith I’ve met has been capable of. Even Spenne. The width of the icy path is consistent and not all that wide, but it has devastated all life it passed for leagues.

The shards of ice build up once more, carried along by the wind as the effect restarts. I turn to the centre of the spiralling wind, and standing amongst the haze is an albanic shining with intense white markings.

We are too late.