Out of the center of Starlight Duchy, flame tore the heavens asunder. A blinding pillar shot upward, curling like a spear flung by the gods, before exploding into a monstrous mushroom cloud that engulfed the sky. Morning’s soft light fell beneath the shadow, the firmament smeared with fire and smoke as if the world had been tried and sentenced to death.
The shockwave arrived a heartbeat later. It pushed outward in a ferocious tide, pitching warhorses back upon their haunches, sending armored men stumbling as steel clanged against bone. The air itself became malevolent. It burned lungs, brought the metal taste of iron and ash, harsh and bitter, as if the blood of the earth had been pulled and ignited. Soldiers gasped, swore, teeth rattling together from the rough jolt, some falling to their knees as if the heavens had slammed into them.
Another blast tore the air open, louder, heavier, and then another. Each explosion pounded the earth mercilessly, the earth shaking at boots and hooves. It was more than war—it was something else, something pitiless, the pealing of an ending too great for men to halt.
And silence followed. Not silence of peace, but the empty hush that comes after destruction. The clanging of metal, the bravado forced, even the anxious whispers among the troops—all were stilled. Each soldier, grizzled or raw, looked toward the horizon where the Duchy had been. Red fire seethed like an ocean in uprising, smoke twisting on high in great, strangling curls, the earth itself obliterated before their eyes.
The fiery wind whipped his black locks across his pale face, his silver armor shining with flashes of the conflagration. The polished steel seemed to dance with flames as if hell itself had selected him as a mirror. His lips curled, not with malice nor benevolence, but with the pleasure of purpose accomplished. Each rune etched, each line of forethought, had flowered as he had envisioned—flawless, unmarred. Annihilation as art.
The sound of hooves shattered his trance. A stallion charged out of line, golden bridle flashing in the firelight. On its back rode Gary, warrior and king, his green locks streaming behind him like a flag beset by storm. His golden armor glowed in the blackness, his chiseled face cracking into a grin both feral and victorious as he brought the horse beside his friend to a stop.
Bending near, one hand firm on the reins, he slapped Edric’s shoulder with the flat of his gauntlet. His voice was low, almost whispered, but his smile was as keen as a knife.
"My friend... you know, I always did enjoy this shade of fire. Shining. Decisive. The best means to kill—or send a message."
Edric’s smile grew, weak but unshaken. "I think so."
Gary’s laugh grated out, gravelly rough, hanging in the smoky air. He drew closer still, his black eyes shining with fevered delight as if he could sup on the flames themselves.
"Of course you do. That’s why you gave General Dire this gift—the plan, the runes, this storm without equal. Enough to erase a duchy, tear away Moonwalker’s pride, and bring Silver City to its knees. To take off Duke Leon Moonwalker’s legacy with one blow. Just like that... gone."
The troops couldn’t pick up their whispered words. If they had, perhaps they would have seen Edric for what he really was—the soft-handed patron, the darkened hand behind chaos, the brain that had given rise to this act of war.
Fire tongues licked the sky, their glow dancing within Edric’s eyes. His lips curled into a wry smile as if suppressing laughter, then into the barest shrug. "It succeeded. At least, mostly so. Only that I regret... a few miscalculations in my scheme cost you a general."
Gary’s jaw tightened. For an instant, the black depths of his eyes hardened like obsidian, but just as quickly they softened again. He gave a small shake of his head, his voice low, rough, and final. "I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. Don’t waste your breath on apologies. Dire’s death isn’t yours to bear. It’s his. Carelessness killed him, nothing else. He should’ve been sharper. Don’t shoulder the weakness of another man."
Edric tilted his chin in slight acknowledgement. In reality, he didn’t care—not for Dire, not for any soldier that had died, or would die. To pretend otherwise was a game he never played. And Gary—Gary was the same. The king’s anger could flare like flames, but when it came to the burden of human life, he cared not at all. That was the odd connection between them: two men who didn’t particularly care about anything except their own ambition and survival.
Gary squared in the saddle, his voice reclaiming its steel. "Enough of that. Now—let’s go. By now, the King of Moonstone and his wretched court are aware that the Starlight Duchy is naught but ash."
Edric looked up at the sky. The sun towered above golden and unbroken, though half its face was obscured behind a great column of smoke clawing into the heavens. A thin smile touched his mouth. "Yes. Let’s move.
Gary once nodded, tightening the reins. His warhorse snorted and tossed its head, ready to bolt forward. With an even pull, the king pressed the beast ahead, the way leading. Edric’s horse fell into step beside him, and the two rode forward, the din of polished steel and banners swelling behind.
Step by step, the army poured into action. Lion pennants unfurled in the smoky mist, shields clashed in cadence, and steel caught the morning light. The beat of ten thousand marching together swelled under the sky—a rolling war heartbeat. Their shouts echoed, their arms held aloft in salute, their banners blazing like fire under the new sun. Vellore was advancing.
But their push only continued for a few steps before the ground... shook.
Initially, it was a whisper in the earth, thin as distant wagons. The horses pricked ears, hooves stamping anxiously, breaths snorting through flared nostrils. Soldiers grumbled, adjusting grips on reins, some tightening their grips, others looking warily at the shaking earth. The vibration intensified, trembling through legs and into chests, rattling teeth in jaws.
"Go on!" Gary yelled, jerking his reins, but the horses refused. They screamed and wrung their heads, their muscles tensing with terror, unwilling to move.
Gary’s face was blackening. His brows narrowed, a harsh crease slashing across his good looks. Indignation was in his voice. "What the fuck is all this? Why won’t they move?"
The ground shook again, more violently, more loudly. The ground shuddered up like a creature ripping its way out of the earth, vibrating through the ground, wriggling into bones, heavy in the very air itself. Horses shrieked in panic, hooves scrabbling at the earth as they retreated from nothing.
Gary’s gaze jerked to Edric, hard and insistent. "What is happening?"
Edric’s brow snapped into a frown, his voice tense as he remained seated. "How would I possibly know? I’m with you."
Gary’s head spun toward him, jaw clenching in fury. "You—!" His oath was cut off as a scream pierced the noise.
A commander screamed, panic naked in his voice. "My lord! My lord! See—there! Something is coming!"
One of the commanders shouted out, panic raw in his voice. "My lord! My lord! Look—there! Something is coming!"
His arm darted forward, shaking, finger extended toward the horizon.
Gary and Edric turned, as did every man surrounding them. The field grew silent, all eyes tending toward the far edge of the world.
At first it had been just a thin smear across the light—a mere black line drawn against the horizon. A trick of the eye, maybe, but apprehension spread along the ranks. Soldiers squinted, their mutterings restless.
The line grew. Thickened. Moved.
It wasn’t a line. It was movement.
And then the reality came into view—shadows sweeping over the earth, a wave of living blackness. Monsters. Dozens—no, scores of them—moving as one. Fangs, claws, and armor shining in the dim light, their own numbers overwhelming the earth beneath their onslaught.
The murmurs in the army turned to low cries of disbelief.