Twenty-four years ago, in the north of the Kingdom, near the city of Glacius, bordering Balder.
Edictus's last words, before departing for Balder, had been etched into his memory with painful precision:
"Bring victory to the Tower of Scabia. Prove what you are capable of."
From the age of seven, Dyan had trained to become a mage. But not one of libraries or esoteric studies. His training was not that of scholars, but of combatants. He had been molded for war, educated to survive. He was a battle mage, a figure expressly forbidden by treaties due to the risk they posed. To Edictus, however, treaties were empty words in the face of real urgency.
"Pacts between kingdoms are merely the postponement of the inevitable," his master used to say. "The first to break them always gains an advantage in battle. Who could blame me for wanting to save more lives? Unlike aristocrats and politicians, my duty as Counselor is to equip the queen with the best tools. Someday, that will be your duty too."
Dyan looked up. Despite the imminent combat, he felt no fear. His hands didn't tremble. No nerves, no anxiety. Only an unrelenting need to live up to expectations, to fulfill his duty to the one who had saved him from misery… and to his queen.
When Glacius appeared on the horizon, the rattling of the wagon could not silence the tense whispers of the others. Nervous glances crossed and avoided each other. Some sought comfort in the eyes of their companions, and found only the same pale reflection of fear.
Dyan brought his fingertips together. His reflective gesture caught everyone's attention.
"Brothers…"
The other mages looked at him, some surprised that he spoke, others hoping for something to cling to.
"You are surely wondering why a brat like me is in command. What did the Archmage see in me? Am I even capable of leading you?"
A pause. His voice, firm.
"Sometimes, I wonder too. But we are not here to question decisions, not now. We came with the same purpose: to win a battle, to avoid a war… and to prove that Scabia is still the most powerful Tower."
Dyan's gaze swept over each face.
"You can trust that this is my objective. And I will give my life for it. For you."
Their expressions changed, subtly. From desolation to bewilderment… and then, to nascent respect.
"We are a team. We came together… and we will return together."
It wasn't full confidence. But he had managed to remove the fear from their faces. And that, for now, was enough.
The wagon advanced to the outskirts of Glacius, where the northern garrison awaited. The place was commanded by Climberland, a veteran whose face was carved by wind and years. Five thousand souls camped outside the city, forming a small village of warriors. Some practiced, others ate by the campfires, while the most worn simply watched from their tents, their eyes empty like those who had seen too much.
The wagon stopped in the middle of the camp. A young woman with blond hair, braided with martial precision, approached the group. She had the proud bearing and sharp eyes of someone not easily impressed.
"Who's in charge here?" she asked, her voice deep, trying to sound more authoritative than it was.
Dyan leaned on the edge of the wagon. "I'm in charge. Dyan Halvest."
The young woman raised an eyebrow skeptically. She looked at the other mages for a denial that didn't come. She snorted, visibly disappointed.
"As long as you do your job, everything will be fine," she said, extending her hand to help him down. "We've prepared a tent for you. The mages from Shalmak Tower have also arrived."
Dyan gestured to his companions to descend. "Don't compare us to those from Shalmak," he retorted, with a hint of annoyance.
"It's too early to boast, boy."
Dyan looked at her firmly. "Dyan Halvest."
"Excuse me?"
"My name is Dyan Halvest, not boy. And you are…?"
She clucked her tongue, suppressing a smile. "Lena Caldrim. Captain of the northern Grimm forces. I'll be in charge of your unit."
Lena stood up straight beside him. She was a head taller than him.
"At your service, Captain," Dyan said, without looking away.
Lena guided him through the rows of tents, while the Scabia mages began to settle in, grateful to stretch their legs and eat something warm. As they passed, the clang of clashing swords, training shouts, and the whizz of arrows completed the camp's symphony.
"Dyan, Commander Climberland has asked to see you immediately," Lena announced, with an ironic smile.
He nodded, unsurprised. "Of course, Captain. Lead the way, please."
They crossed the camp, moving between archers shooting at straw dummies and sweaty warriors practicing relentlessly. The commander's tent was the largest, flanked by two guards with their spears, firm as statues. Lena gestured to them, and they stepped aside without a word.
Inside, a brazier provided warmth and some humanity to the canvas interior. In the center, a large map table occupied the space. Wooden pieces represented allied and enemy troops at different points along the border, giving the enclosure an air of latent urgency.
Climberland, enormous and with an intimidating presence, watched them enter from the other side of the tent. His face was stony, his gaze clear and tired. Beside him, a young corporal refilled his cup with diluted wine, not daring to interrupt.
The silence between them weighed heavily, like a prelude to something inevitable.
Lena stepped forward with firm stride. "Commander, I've brought the leader of the Scabia Tower mages unit: Dyan Halvest."
Commander Climberland, as imposing as a mountain and with a face hardened by too many battles, looked up. He fixed his eyes on the young mage with a glacial gaze, sharp as a dagger's steel. He took a long drink from his cup, letting the silence between them stretch uncomfortably.
"Was Edictus drunk when he named you leader of his unit?" he asked, his voice grave, deep, as if rising from the bowels of the earth.
Dyan stood firm, although the commander's mere presence was enough to disarm anyone. "With due respect, Commander, my master had reasons for choosing me. Neither you nor anyone else can question them. It was his prerogative. Besides, the decision was ratified by Her Majesty."
The words tightened the air like a rope about to snap. But to everyone's surprise, Climberland smiled. "I see why that stubborn old man chose you. You've got guts. Whether you have the skill, that remains to be seen."
He gestured to the corporal assisting him. "Pour him a drink. I hope you don't have a baby's throat."
Dyan approached the table. The corporal, without a word, filled a cup with watered-down wine and handed it to him with some apprehension.
"Captain," Climberland said, turning to Lena, "where is the leader of the Shalmak mages?"
Lena also approached the table, still somewhat tense from the previous confrontation. "She should be arriving soon," she replied, holding out her hand for the corporal to serve her too. "Those mages think we have time to spare… they act important," she grumbled as she brought the cup to her lips.
"Relax, Lena," the commander said, looking towards the tent entrance. "I hope she has a good excuse for keeping us waiting…"
The guards at the entrance stepped aside just then, and an imposing figure entered without rushing. Each of her steps was accompanied by the slight sway of her robe, which billowed with measured grace. Upon reaching the table, she firmly struck her staff into the ground.
She observed Dyan from head to toe with a raised eyebrow, tucked a lock of her long black hair—streaked with violet strands—behind her ear, and gave him a sneer full of disdain.
"Commander, forgive the delay," she said with a sibilant voice, "but a mage of my caliber requires adequate rest to perform at her full potential."
Lena rolled her eyes and hid her exasperation behind another sip of wine.
Climberland, without losing his composure, decided to ignore the provocation. "Welcome, miss…"
"Volka von Helbrandis, of House Helbrandis. Advanced Mage of Shalmak Tower, source of glory and knowledge for the kingdom."
The commander emptied his cup in one gulp. Then, with a metal rod, he pointed to the large border map spread on the table. He moved some wooden pieces with the end, marking allied and enemy positions.
"Our latest scout information indicates that Balder's forces camped here last night," he pointed precisely to the spot. "The plan is to intercept them at the border. Part of our troops will leave soon and remain hidden. The rest will depart at dawn to directly confront the enemy."
He tapped his cup against the table for the corporal to refill it again.
"We will divide our forces. While I distract the enemy, Lena will flank them with her unit. The Scabia mages will go with her. The Shalmak mages will come with me."
Lena and Volka nodded, without exchanging glances.
Dyan brought his hand to his chin, thoughtful. "What makes you assume the enemy will still be there? They could be marching here right now."
"Didn't you hear me, boy?" Climberland growled. "The scouts said they were at that point since last night."
"Precisely. If I were the enemy and wanted to surprise you, I would march at full speed during the night. Assuming they will stay put is risky."
Lena slammed her open palm on the table. "The scouts would have sent a raven if the enemy were moving. If something had happened, we would already know."
Volka hid a malicious smile, concealing it behind a delicate hand.
Dyan was not intimidated. "Excuse me if my words are unsettling, but if we have scouts, it's logical to think the enemy does too. If I were them, I would eliminate ours first… then make my move. Assuming silence means tranquility is naive. They could be dead, and we, marching straight into an ambush."
Silence filled the tent like a thick fog. Though difficult to accept, the young mage's words carried weight. Climberland narrowed his eyes, evaluating him.
"And what do you suggest, since you are so well-versed in the arts of war?" he said with a half-ironic smile.
"I suggest sending magical reconnaissance before making any move. My mages can use wind spells to scout from the air and ensure the plan remains viable."
Volka stepped forward. "Wait a moment, Commander. Our mages are much more advanced in wind spells and animal control. Let us handle that task."
The commander looked at Dyan, awaiting a response.
"No problem," Dyan said, unperturbed. "If they are so confident in their abilities, let them do it. My mages have just arrived from a long journey. If they are going to march all night, they better conserve their energy."
Climberland nodded, satisfied. "Good. Proceed as suggested. You have four hours to confirm the enemy's position. Otherwise, we will march as planned."
Volka nodded without another word, raised her staff, and withdrew with the same haughtiness with which she had entered. Though this time, her violet eyes betrayed a slight discomfort.
Torches flickered in the icy wind. Dusk was advancing rapidly. The soldiers slept wrapped in furs, but the camp did not rest. Volka walked with firm steps between the tents, escorted by two silent guards. Her cape swayed with the same rhythm as the standards driven into the frozen earth.
She reached the black canvas tent with symbols embroidered in copper threads. The tent of the Shalmak mages.
She pushed the canvas decisively.
Inside, a bluish light illuminated the pale faces of about fifteen sorcerers guarding the defensive circle. They were thin, their eyes sunken, their hands long like dry fir branches.
"Two of you," Volka ordered without raising her voice, but in a sharp tone. "Avian transformation. Head north. Look for enemy movement. I hope the Scabia brat isn't right, but I also don't want dead bodies on my records."
The three mages looked at each other. Two of them nodded, wordlessly, and approached the center of the circle. One took a red feather, the other, a black one. They uttered an ancient Shalmak formula, and their bodies began to distort like out-of-focus shadows. Bones breaking inward. Wings emerging from their backs. Feathers. Talons.
Where there had been two men, now there was a dark-plumed hawk and a crimson raven. They looked at each other one last time and flew swiftly north, beyond the cliffs and the frost-covered grove.
Volka was left alone with a third mage, who kept his eyes closed, channeling the link with his companions.
"Do you see them?" Volka asked, without looking away from the sky.
"They've already crossed the last cliff… There's something," the mage murmured. "Movement. Slight smoke. The snow… disturbed. Wait… they've split up, two columns are marching relentlessly."
The mage suddenly paled.
"What's happening?"
"The scouts… dead. One of ours is circling. The other descended to check… it's an ambush, they're coming from both flanks."
Volka waited no longer. She spun on her heels and ran out, pushing aside canvases, dodging half-asleep sentinels. Her shadow was a black lightning bolt among the tents.
She reached the heart of the camp and pushed open the commander's tent entrance without announcing herself.
"General Climberland!" she exclaimed. "We're under attack! They've split up. They're going to pinch Glacius. One of the flanks has already eliminated our scouts. The ambush is imminent!"
Inside, the officers immediately straightened up. Climberland stood up, his eyes bloodshot.
Lena adjusted her belt and looked at the young Scabia mage as if he were to blame.
"Are you sure?" Climberland asked.
"I've seen it with my own… borrowed eyes." Volka was breathing heavily. "If we don't act now, Glacius will fall before dawn."
The commander nodded. The camp bells began to ring seconds later. And the war, finally, moved again.
The forces under Lena's command advanced steadily towards the east flank of Glacius, while Climberland headed towards the opposite flank. Night descended upon the field with a grim urgency, as if even the sky wished to deny Willfrost's hosts an advantage.
As soon as the enemy appeared on the horizon, Lena raised her sword decisively, the steel reflecting the last traces of light in the blackened sky.
"For the kingdom!" she shouted, and her voice spread like an invisible banner among the warriors.
Dyan, riding at the rear with his mages, raised his staff. "Illuminate the sky with comets! Attack the rear with fire! Let terror be their herald!"
Four magical comets rose like blazing stars, tearing through the darkness with their brilliant trails. For a moment, both armies were frozen by the spectacle.
And then, fireballs descended.
They impacted with the force of a volcanic eruption among the archers who closed the enemy column. There was no time to scream. Bodies flew engulfed in flames, their silhouettes outlined in the light like nightmare figures. Some ran, wrapped in fire that refused to extinguish, climbing their armor like living tongues devouring metal and flesh.
Dyan stopped his steed. "Half of you stay here, without using your magic!" he ordered in a firm voice. "We might need healers! You four, keep the comets in the air. The rest, bombard until your mana is exhausted."
One of the mages, a veteran with a weathered face, asked: "And you, my lord?"
Dyan pointed to the front. "I'll cover the vanguard. If things go south, flee."
"Yes, sir," they all replied in unison.
Dyan rode quickly to the front and, as soon as he joined the ranks, he found the real battle. The clash of swords, splintered shields blocking the enemy advance, spears flying back and forth, the shouts and moans of dying warriors.
As soon as he reached near the front, he managed to see Lena fighting a fierce battle, surrounded by enemies.
He spurred his steed, but an enemy spear flew between the bodies and plunged into the animal's flank. The horse neighed in pain and fell, dragging Dyan with it. The world spun. Earth, blood, screams.
Dyan rolled to the ground, got up with a jolt, and ran to help Lena and her men. His breathing was heavy, and his heart pounded in his chest with such force that it seemed it would burst at any moment. The shouts of the warriors around him were drowned out by the beats of his heart, which resonated in his head with chilling clarity.
He uttered arcane words and, with a gesture, extended his hand towards the first row of enemies. Lightning bolts shot from his fingertips, lashing the ground like dazzling whips with a life of their own. A dozen fell dead. The look of terror from allies and enemies around him spread equally.
He cast the magic again, incinerating the enemies surrounding Lena.
The captain closed her eyes as the light from the lightning covered her. She simply heard the crackling thump of the magic, smelled the stench of charred flesh and the steel sticking to the skin of those killed by the current. When she opened her eyes, she caught sight of him.
Dyan.
Just as a dying enemy gathered his last strength to plunge a dagger into his side.
The young mage recoiled with a gasp. He made the attacker explode with a gesture charged with rage. Then he fell to his knees, groaning, blood flowing freely from the wound.
He stood up, swaying.
In that fleeting second, Lena only saw a child fighting to survive, she saw what he was, a young man trying to fulfill a duty that was too great for such small shoulders.
The mage, with one hand on his side, pressing the wound. He drew silver letters in the air, while his mouth uttered inaudible words in the heat of battle. A rain of lightning bolts pierced the sky, incinerating several hundred enemies in the blink of an eye.
The enemy captain shouted for retreat, before the wild act of the enemy. Dominated by the fear that this would happen again.
Balder's troops fled among charred corpses and red-hot armor. Some stumbled over their own comrades, others ran aimlessly, trying to escape the burning sky.
The comets began to wane. Darkness returned to cover the battlefield, concealing the flight… and the horrors that remained behind it.
Dyan clutched his wounded side tightly, as if with that gesture he could prevent life from escaping him drop by drop.
But he was still standing.
Still breathing.
And the war… for that night, had allowed him to live.