The roar of 6,000 loyal Zunian throats was the last sound I heard before the world dissolved into the chaotic symphony of war. Aether soared above the rising dust, his powerful wings beating a steady rhythm against the cacophony below. My eyes, enhanced by the clarity of my elemental senses, pierced through the swirling dust and the early morning haze. Below, Valerius's 10,000-strong army was a dark tide, now fully roused and charging, led by their 1,500 Eldorian elite. Their war horns blared, a discordant, arrogant sound.
I could feel the ground trembling, not just from Aether's powerful flight, but from the synchronized advance of the enemy. Their formations were tight, disciplined, a stark contrast to the passionate but less formal charge of my own loyalists. This was it. No turning back.
"Now, Aether!" I mentally commanded, my voice sharp and clear in our shared link. To their vanguard! Generate the storm!
Aether banked sharply, diving towards the heart of the approaching Eldorian lines. As we plunged, I channeled Air magic, a powerful gale whipping around us. Aether, sensing my intent, amplified it with his own elemental essence. Dust and loose debris from the dry plains erupted into a blinding vortex, swallowing the leading enemy ranks. Their war cries choked into gasps of surprise, their formations wavered as men stumbled into each other, disoriented.
"Captain Lyraen, Borin!" My mental command shot across the battlefield, carried by Aether's mental link to their beast companions, reaching my flanking commanders. Strike their flanks! Exploit the disarray!
Below, General Theronis roared, leading our main force. They plunged into the edges of the dust storm, clashing with the outer edges of Valerius's forces—the less disciplined Zunian conscripts and mercenaries. The sound of steel on steel, the shouts of men, the screams of the dying, rose to meet us.
I landed Aether just behind the swirling dust, Blade of Aethel gleaming in my hand. The Eldorian elite were regaining their bearings, their shouts of command cutting through the chaos. They were good. Too good. They pushed through the dust, their heavy armor absorbing hits, their discipline holding.
"This is where the brain comes in, Kael," I muttered to myself, the words of Master Lorien echoing in my mind.
I plunged into the fray, Aether a terrifying blur behind me. My every move was calculated. An Eldorian soldier lunged, spear aimed at my chest. I sidestepped, letting the spear pierce the ground, and a burst of Thunder magic from Blade of Aethel shot up the shaft, shattering his grip and sending a shockwave through his body. He collapsed, convulsing. Another charged, a heavy sword raised. I met his blade with my own, the clash ringing in my ears, and then channeled Fire down the sword, making his weapon glow white-hot, forcing him to drop it with a cry of pain.
The Eldorian elite were tough, relentless. They fought with a grim determination, their training evident in every block, every thrust. They didn't break easily, even when I brought down precise strikes of Air to disarm them, or manipulated Water to slick the ground beneath their feet, sending them sprawling. I saw General Zarthus, their commander, a hulking Eldorian with a cruel scar across his face, bellowing orders, keeping his core troops intact.
Aether was a whirlwind of controlled destruction. He didn't just smash through lines; he used his elements with frightening precision. A blast of superheated steam from his fire and water affinity would sweep across a group of soldiers, melting armor and flesh. A concussive wave of thunder-infused air would knock entire platoons off their feet, leaving them vulnerable to our loyalists. He was a force multiplier, creating openings I exploited with brutal efficiency.
But it was hard. So incredibly hard. Their numbers were a suffocating tide. Even as I tore through their elite, more would arrive. Our loyalists, though fighting with the fury of the oppressed, were taking heavy losses. I saw the flash of Eldorian blades, the grim determination on their faces as they pushed back, reclaiming ground.
My mental link to Captain Lyraen crackled. My King, we are engaged on the north flank! Their conscripts are faltering, but the Eldorian reserves are moving to shore up the line!
Hold them! I commanded. Borin, push harder on the south! We need to break their formation now!
I saw a group of our loyalists, cornered and fighting valiantly, about to be overwhelmed by a wave of mercenaries. I gathered Water magic, shaping it into a roaring torrent, and unleashed it. The muddy ground churned, sweeping away the mercenaries, giving our people a precious moment to regroup. But as I did so, three Eldorian soldiers, sensing an opening, lunged at me. One's sword grazed my arm, a fiery pain blossoming through my shield, reminding me that even with my power, I was still flesh and blood.
I reacted instinctively. A quick burst of Fire sent one screaming, his armor blistering. The other two, I dispatched with Blade of Aethel, the sword a conduit for my wrath. Their disciplined training was no match for a true king's rage.
General Zarthus, recognizing my presence, roared, directing a concentrated spearhead of his elite towards me. They were converging, trying to pin me down, to negate Aether's impact. They knew I was the linchpin. This was their tactical response: eliminate the leader.
"Aether, high!" I commanded, and we rocketed into the sky just as a volley of crossbow bolts whistled past where we had been. From above, I surveyed the chaos. Our loyalists, though fighting fiercely, were beginning to show the strain. The numerical disparity and the Eldorian training were taking their toll.
I spotted General Zarthus, barking orders, his force a well-oiled machine. This was my target. If I could shatter their command, the rest would crumble.
"Aether, prepare for a focused elemental strike! We hit Zarthus!"
We dove, a screaming arrow of elemental fury. I gathered Thunder magic, channeling it through Blade of Aethel until it hummed with raw, electric power. Aether simultaneously charged his most potent breath attack, a swirling vortex of multi-elemental energy that pulsed with devastating potential.
The Eldorians saw us coming, raising their shields, but it was too late. I unleashed the Thunderbolt from my sword, a searing, focused blast that tore through their formation, directly impacting General Zarthus. He roared, his armor crackling, and was thrown backward, unmoving. Simultaneously, Aether unleashed his elemental breath, a controlled, scorching wave that didn't obliterate, but scattered and disoriented the surrounding Eldorian elite, shattering their cohesion.
The blow to their commander, combined with Aether's devastating attack, caused a ripple effect. The Eldorian lines, so rigid before, now wavered. Their commands fractured. This was the moment.
"Now, General Theronis! Push!" I roared, my voice amplified by Air magic, carrying across the field. "Captains Lyraen, Borin! Converge! Break them!"
General Theronis, seizing the opportunity, rallied our main force with renewed ferocity. Captain Lyraen's and Borin's flanking forces, now free to press their attack, slammed into the Eldorian wings, already reeling from the loss of their commander and the disruption. The Zunian conscripts, seeing their Eldorian masters falter, their morale already brittle from tyranny, began to break. Fear spread like wildfire. They dropped their weapons, some fleeing, others surrendering.
The battle turned into a rout. The remaining Eldorian elite, though still fighting with grim determination, found themselves surrounded, their rigid formations dissolving under the relentless, chaotic onslaught. They were eventually overwhelmed, many falling, some captured, their arrogance broken.
The last Eldorian banner fell. The sounds of battle began to die down, replaced by the cries of the wounded and the triumphant, ragged cheers of our loyalists.
I stood on the battlefield, chest heaving, Blade of Aethel still hot in my hand. The ground was churned earth, stained with blood. My breath hitched in my throat as I saw the cost.
General Theronis approached me, his armor scuffed, his face streaked with dirt and blood, but his eyes gleaming with pride and awe. "My King," he said, his voice hoarse. "A decisive victory. They are broken. We... we lost many, but we won."
My gaze swept across the field, landing on the fallen, the wounded. My stomach clenched. "What is our count, General?" I asked, my voice raw.
Theronis lowered his head. "We estimate seven hundred of our loyalists have fallen, My King. And at least thirteen hundred are injured, many grievously. But Valerius's forces... they suffered far worse. Their elite Eldorians are largely annihilated or captured, and their Zunian conscripts scattered. We estimate their casualties are over five thousand, with thousands more routed."
Seven hundred dead. Thirteen hundred injured. A heavy cost for 6,000. It was a victory, undeniably. The first crucial step. But it was bought with the blood of my people. I felt the sharp ache of their loss, the heavy weight of command. This was the true face of war.
As I looked over the field, the loyalists, exhausted but exhilarated, began to tend to their wounded, their cheers now muted by the gravity of their sacrifices. They looked at me, not just with reverence, but with a deep, profound hope. I had led them to victory. The Serpent's Coil had truly unfurled, and its bite was decisive. Valerius would know that Zuna had a king, and he had returned.