2412, Diori 19, Daleth

Screams, blood, swirls of magic.

The plain contained nothing but those for the past few hours. The shadow of the flying island dwarfed the entirety of Penleth stronghold and the one thing keeping it at bay was a solitary figure shrouded in light.

Xanthy, the Virtakios, had her arms extended. Her magic ran wild and turned the air around her into electrifying tendrils. The only thing preventing her from losing control of her unruly power was a solid presence at the back of her head, a piece of the Arbotro's essence.

Whenever the cannons by the flying island's base extended in preparation to blast, Xanthy was there to intercept, using the Virtakios to change the course or wink the ammunition back into their initial forms.

All of these, of course, didn't go without a price. Every time Xanthy dealt with the cannons, her magic became wilder and hazier. Her form was closer to unraveling now compared to other times in her entire life. Still, she continued to resist the call to give up. Not now. They've come this far.

She has come this far.

Below her, foot soldiers from Cardovia, Synketros, and Penleth clashed in some sort of a three-way battle. The down-side was Penleth struggled against two opponents while Cardovia and Synketros focused only on one.

Such was the state of this war. Penleth had been at a disadvantage from the start.

Something flashed by Xanthy's periphery and she cursed as she extended her hand towards another cannon that's about to fire. Hold on. The Virtakios screamed in her veins as loud as Xanthy was aloud as she fought to unleash her magic against the cannon's ammunition. Just a few more seconds. Then, her magic faltered, turning off in a wave of cold like a faucet refusing to channel water from the well. She tried again. No luck. Queen's breeches. No.

Xanthy barely veered away and covered her ears as the cannon, aimed at the outer quadrant's walls, blasted a ball of pure odian powder. It slammed against its target, sending debris and fire raining down on the poor people trying to defend it from being overwhelmed from below.

She wasn't able to stop it. Too late. She was too late. A scent similar to incense wafted in the air.

From the inner quadrant's battlements, Reeca cursed. She pushed scouts out of the way as she followed the trajectory from where the ammunition fired. What in Umazure was Xanthy doing up there? She had one job!

"Soldiers!" Reeca called to a group of people she assumed were behind her. "We march to the front lines!"

"Right now, Commander?" a clueless boy in his fifteens asked.

Reeca slapped upside the head. Her own blood boiled in a calm rage. "Unless you want to be left behind by your platoon like a mad pelgar," she hissed. "Of course, now."

It's the kind of abusive talk she had developed over the months of being in constant action. She watched the boy try so hard not to wet his trousers as he rejoined a small band of fairies ready to march towards the outer quadrant's now-exposed walls.

Reeca gritted her teeth and leaped from the battlements, spread her wings, and aimed for the outer quadrant. Hopefully, the platoon assigned to her wasn't a bunch of vulkrainis in armor all along. She soared forward. The wind drove her hair away from her face. This was going to be a long day.

Reeca dropped to the ground to spot Denara in the battlefield, slicing her way towards the weaker flank. The nymph-turned-sprite was covered head to toe in blood. The near-feral flame in her eyes made Reeca glad she wasn't spearing Penleth's allies instead.

"Denara, assist the ones by the wall," Reeca ordered as she dropped low. "I'll take it from here."

The sprite nodded before bounding towards the wall. They would have to rebuild in the night.

Reeca pushed forwards, screaming with all her might until her throat grew hoarse. Her sword was her only companion as she met three people at once. She executed the moves Rhys taught her all those years ago. Deflecting. Dodging. Parrying. Stabbing. Arcing. Playing dirty. Techniques wouldn't matter in a real war. It's every fairy for herself.

Up ahead, Elred and Canelis were back to back, dealing with the aerial cavalry. These were mostly air sprites who knew nothing but to send hails of air at the two of them. Together with a band of pixies and shard fairies, they're working on a plan to buy some time before these fairies turn their attention towards land. If that happens, they're all tornado whipped cream.

Elred worked quickly, calculating the distance between each fairy. The gadget Cyrdel invented for her to be able to fly again was tight against her back. It's a working prototype making use of a lot of mechanical concepts but as long as it gets her distances away from the ground, she'd take it.

Canelis busied herself in collecting shafts of sunlight. Before them were the remaining varichriais bearing the brownies' shields meant to deflect any air sprite attacks. Nobody knew how long they would hold.

Elred clenched her jaw, teeth clamping down at the side of her cheek in concentration. Her lips were already dry, her eyes stung from all the wind whipping back and forth, and her hair was driven to every direction known to fairies at this point. She shifted her hands, delivering shards of glass to their rightful places.

She nodded at Canelis as soon as she finished. The pixie shone one beam to where Elred told her to. As expected, the light bounced off the glass until it bounced to a mirror at the zenith, dispersing the light rays into a dozen different directions, each finding their own target.

Cries of both alarm and pain ensued from the air sprites around them. The wind lessened. The varichriais relaxed. It's going to be for another while before their attackers could see properly again. Why not work at the next onslaught? Elred chuckled as she summoned her magic again, crafting more shards to use for a wider scale in one go.

On another flank, Geradine led the ice sprites in a separate unit against half-bloods, humans, and banshees—all too eager to spill blood. They were responsible for keeping the west side of the fortress free from any one who could scale up the wall and get inside.

Intangible spirits shone green as they mobbed against the ice sprites. Geradine cursed as she struggled to wrestle control over her own steed. Dead-eyed spirits with mouths hanging open in eternal hunger rushed for the walls. The banshees responsible for the summoning were standing mere miles away, no doubt grinning.

Geradine shouted orders at the ice sprites who were all trying their best as they were pushed back, slowly. Efficiently.

The land sloped towards the wall which meant that for miles ahead, Geradine and her men were fighting a literal uphill battle while the spirits, covering the entire spread of the valley, surged downward along with the earth's pull with them.

Geradine was never one who got afraid or hopeless easily but this was almost calling it. Those were just spirits...

True enough, able-bodied humans and half-bloods wreaked havoc on Geradine's own men. Her friends—Airene, Airese, Eldan, Anahel, and Zeral—were locked in fierce battle with only just daggers as companions. Geradine feared for her friends considering their bunch wasn't the best performer in combat classes back in Academy.

From the corner of her eyes, she saw Eldan grow plant life from nothing. Airese and Airene winked in and out of sight, pressing their hands on unsuspecting temples, exerting their thyminka abilities on weak minds. Anahel and Zeral had their backs pressed together, glass swords in hand. For once in Geradine's life, she hasn't heard Anahel mutter about the blood or the dirt on her dress in the duration of the battle.

Geradine gritted her teeth and unleashed a torrent of hail at the nearest clump of green spirits which did little to no damage. The ice just slipped through their translucent bodies. This was bad.

The spirits piled on one another. Oceans of green turned the dark soil into an ethereal landscape as more spirits were summoned. Gods of Calaris. Geradine shouted for her men to rally to her. She glanced back atop her paulsare and saw that she was just ten fortweres from the wall. This was bad.

Then, the spirits howled as one and began clambering faster than before. They were told to hurry. Geradine urged her steed and pushed forward, swinging her sword to no effect. The spirits slammed into the wall, suddenly tangible. Cracks spread from points of impact. Oh gods. They're planning to topple the walls, literally.

"Hit them as they slam into the wall!" Geradine called. She knew it to be pointless, though. She watched as spirit after spirit slammed into the wall, creating an increasing number of webbing cracks and falling debris. Her order was carried efficiently, disposing of a few at a time as her men jabbed swords at the spirits.

Too slow. This wouldn't work. The spirits howled. Geradine gritted her teeth. Someone—

The nearest spirits blinked out of existence. Eldan swooped in to support the near-crumbling wall with vines and branches. Geradine inclined her head at a figure shrouded by sunlight, shifting by the battlements. Ugh. "Ezril!" she called. "Get your ass down here!"

A shuffle of robes and a thud later, the banshee High Priestess appeared, gray hair tucked inside a turban sporting feathers and fake hair. Such a show-off. "Quit frowning, Geradine," Ezril strode past her. "Be happy that I even forced myself out of bed for you."

Ah, Ezril. Forever the latecomer and the High Queen of sleeping in.

The air turned notches colder as Ezril raised her arms and her magic answered her call. It was a kind of cold that Geradine was not quite accustomed to despite having ice running through her veins most of her three-hundred years plus of existence. This cold seemed to have escaped from the void of the Land of Wonders itself. A cold which didn't belong to this world.

Green mist swirled around Ezril until the banshee grunted and sent the mist forward which developed into thick lances of pure banshee magic. Everything the lances touched dissolved into patches of smoke with a haunting scream to go along with it. Geradine gaped as almost half of the spirits dotting the whole valley exploded into a chasm of smoke and unholy shrieks.

"What about the other spirits?" Geradine asked Ezril.

The High Priestess could only smile. "You'll see."

Almost on cue, up the plain, sneaking past the unsuspecting banshees was Kymalin Iaro, cloaked head to toe with Cyrdel's anti-tracking hood. When she closed the distance between her and the nearest summoner, she drew her sword and struck him at the base of the nape in a fluid motion. Good.

She carried on tackling the ones at the back without drawing blood. It's one of the annoying codes they have back at Penleth Kymalin now has to adhere to. No blood until yours was spilled. Ugh. She would have solved half of this flank's problems by now if not for that rule.

But she swore an oath and she knew enough about what happens to people who break their oaths. She's a banshee, for the gods' sakes.

She slammed the butt of her sword on more necks until a soldier noticed her. "Hey!" he yelled at thin air.

Kymalin smiled and threw off her hood, eliciting screams of fear from the others around her. She always loved that kind of noise. She wiggled her fingers in a sly greeting. "Hello, boys," she purred. "Care to dance?"

Geradine and the others watched from the base of the slope as Kymalin threw men after men down. The half-bloods and the humans noticed this and began treating the battle seriously. Airese dropped into a fighting stance. "Here they go."

Geradine gripped the reins to her steed tighter. "Let them come."

That's when cries from the frontal quadrant broke through the sounds of explosion.

Up above, Xanthy berated herself on repeat. She missed again! How stupid! The blast hit the frontal flank. She considered for a moment to go down and help with the terrain battle but another cannon took her attention.

As the soldiers from Penleth and the opposite side gathered their wits, soldiers from Penleth's western flank ran to aid. Xanthy breathed a sigh of relief. Then, she was forced to swallow her relief as quickly as she found it.

Anahel, Zeral, and Kymalin found each other in the melee and stood their ground. With Geradine and the rest of the ice sprites launching themselves to the front line, it left the western flank cold and weak. A minor misjudgment in Geradine's case but the ice sprite heir was somewhere in the blast radius of the latest cannon spit.

Anahel retracted her glass sword and faced her companions. She tried blocking out the noise from the explosions, the cries of pain and shock, the screams of defiance, and the crashes of different synnavaimis slamming into one another.

Zeral looked at her. His right arm hung by his side, useless. Kymalin braced the wall, limping. The first wave of attacks did those. Zeral was able to drive their enemies back as soon as the frontal flank provided the right distraction, costing him his arm.

"Listen," Anahel rasped with her throat drying up. "Run inside and let me deal with this."

Zeral knew exactly what his wife was thinking of doing. He grabbed her wrist. "You're coming with us."

Anahel looked at her husband with soft eyes. How she wished it was her daughter instead. "One of us has to keep this side defended," she said. "Take Kymalin with you."

"I won't let you use it," Zeral hissed, eyeing the attacking horde of half-bloods and humans. It's only a matter of time before all of them start firing spells at the walls.

Anahel smiled. "Some of us just have to," she pushed her husband gently. "Go."

"No," Zeral planted his foot in the ground in a firm stance. "You're coming with me."

A single tear escaped from Anahel's rebellious eyes. "Then I just have to make sure you won't interfere."

Before her husband could realize what was going on, Anahel encased them both with glass and lugged them to the edge of the cliff. Zeral would know how to escape alive but by then, it would be too late.

He would be too late to save Anahel from herself.

The shard fairy exhaled and focused all her energy into reaching for the dormant well of power in her soul. Another part of her, if she could call it that. The ancient magic of the Glass Mountain that has protected it for thousands of years sang to Anahel, begging to be released. "Alright, mountain," she whispered. She steeled her nerves about what's going to happen. "Have it your way."

With a shriek she didn't know she had in her throat, she unleashed every drop of that mysterious but special magic in her soul. On and on, magic poured from her, swirling for her enemies, hitting them where it hurt.

She could have stopped there but she wasn't only focusing on the western flank. Urging her magic to reach deeper into her soul, she brought out the rest of the untapped magic underneath the Glass Mountain, connected through the soul of the Abshire Rose, and set it against the people who made their lives hell for the past three days.

They ruined her glamour, her dresses, and even her perfect, smooth skin. Simply unacceptable. Anahel smiled within herself but her amusement was replaced by a pang of regret and sadness. Zeral wouldn't be able to see her smile again, it seemed.

Oh. It's a life well-lived.

Perhaps.

The agony came afterwards. It tore apart the same soul which kept her together for two hundred and eighty two years. Anahel collapsed to her knees and clutched her head. The Glass Mountain's magic flowed through her in a torrent that she couldn't control anymore. Explosions died in her ears as screams doubled and tripled in her head, most of which were hers. Her skin chipped and peeled away. Her hair fell from her scalp. Her wings turned brittle until it cracked under the torrent of magic. Blood—her very own—swirled with the current of winds whipping around her. She was breaking down. Melting. Too far gone to be saved now.

Magic and madness. Mayhem and mirrors. Every spell comes with a price.

Zeral whizzed past the edge of the cliff, carrying Kymalin in his arms just in time to see his wife kneeling in a blizzard of shards, blood, and screams. The skin she had spent countless hours perfecting had been stripped away. The hair he had loved her having was ripped apart from her head in a cruel taunt.

For the last time, Anahel fought against the growing pain in her neck and raised her head just to see her husband looking down at her. She tried smiling. He loved it when she smiled. He didn't smile back. Anahel knew why. She probably looked like a ghost now. Ghost....

She gazed up at her husband, the one fairy she spent the best days of her life with, and surrendered herself to the torrent screaming for her soul. She didn't feel it but what do shard fairies shatter into when they pass on?

That's right—glass.

The camp was muted even though they won today. Elred tore through the crowd of wind-stricken soldiers. Past the infirmary and the earth sprites repairing the broken walls, Elred trudged forward, searching for the familiar face of her father.

Elred found him with her brother. Both looked like the world had just ended. They saw her and averted their gazes just as quickly. Was her father's shoulders shaking? Gods. "What happened?" Elred strode forward. Her heart began pounding. She had a hunch when she recognized the power which tore half of the enemy forces to shreds. She used it herself to erode the plateau all those months ago.

Cirasa raised his head to reveal bloodshot and puffy eyes. "Mother, she..." he started before breaking down into anguished sobs.

"Anahel unleashed every drop of magic in her and did not survive," Reeca appeared out of nowhere and laid a hand on Elred's shoulder. "I'm sorry."

Elred choked out a laugh. A sense of doom hung by her head and landed heavily on her shoulders. "T-that can't be true, right?" she rasped.

The look of the people around her told her otherwise. Gods...

Elred cursed. And cursed. Tears joined it at some point. Someone cradled her shoulders. When had she sat down? Did she fall? Someone was whispering calming words but none worked on Elred. Mother...she...

All those years Elred had spent ignoring the Helinfirth Queen. All the time spent bickering. All the days Elred let pass by only to be reduced to something like this. She should be hating Anahel. She knew she hated her mother. But why... why was she feeling like the world has deserted her? Why did her chest feel like it's going to explode? Why...couldn't she breathe because of her tears?

Do you know what you're going to do when I'm gone? Her mother had asked her back then. Elred assumed she was merely talking about the time the crown would be passed to Elred. She had snapped at Anahel back then, claiming she would abolish everything her mother had built.

Perhaps, Anahel had been talking about a different kind of "gone" back then. Elred knew that now. Do you know what you're going to do when I'm gone? Her mother asked again in a memory Elred could never relive again. She knew the answer to that now.

No. Elred didn't know what she's going to do. No.

The sky rumbled. The birds cawed for the evening. The world moved on. Elred remained on the ground, cradled by her father and her brother, mourning a woman she had taken for granted until it's too late.

I love you, mom. She would have said after the war had ended.

It's too late now.