Steel rang against steel. The training yard bustled with paladins drilling in formation, their shields flashing as instructors barked orders. Talia's blade darted through the air, sparring against a guard captain twice her size. She pressed him hard, eager to prove her worth and prove the Diviner wrong. She was slowly getting the hang of controlling her light, until a single word cut through the clamor.
"Sloppy."
The Diviner stood just beyond the ring, staff in hand, her blind eyes turned unerringly toward her. Talia froze, teeth gritted.
"What did you just—?"
"You're leaving your right side wide open," the Diviner said, calm as ever. "Any assassin would gut you there."
The captain hesitated, unsure whether to continue. Talia waved him off with a sharp gesture, stalking toward the Diviner. As a noble born she was already on equal rank with the captain, whether she liked it or not.
"I don't need a lecture from someone who doesn't even fight with a sword."
The Diviner tilted her head. "And yet I saw it."
Murmurs rippled among the trainees, eyes flicking between the two women. The rivalry was no secret anymore, soldiers lived for such drama. A rivalry between the famed elementalist and a paladin. Being paladins themselves of course they rooted for their fellow class. But the Diviner had a reputation. Talia leaned in, her voice a hiss meant for the Diviner alone.
"Do you enjoy making me look weak in front of them?"
The Diviner's lips curved faintly. "No. I enjoy making you better."
That stung worse than a blade. Before Talia could answer, the alarm bell tolled from the watchtower.
Shouts echoed "Raiders on the western road!"
Weapons clattered as soldiers rushed to their posts. Without missing a beat, the Diviner turned, staff tapping against the stones as she moved toward the gate. Over her shoulder, she called softly.
"Looks like our decree is calling on us. Try to keep up, Paladin."
Talia's blood boiled, her hands clenched at her sides… but her feet followed.
The squad rode hard along the packed dirt road, the glow of Tan'thalon fading behind them. Lanterns swayed from saddles, casting fractured shadows as dust rose in their wake. The night air was sharp with desert chill, and the distant thunder of drums carried faintly from the horizon. Talia's gauntlets clenched tight around the reins. Every hoofbeat, though metallic in nature, seemed to echo the words still burning in her ears—sloppy.
She was lucky enough to still have the magitech horse, which she urged forward until she was level with the Diviner, who sat perfectly upright on her mount, though she didn't ride a horse. No reins. No saddle. Her hands rested loosely in her lap, staff across her knees, as though she needed nothing to guide the beast. One quick look made Talia recognise the beast as the wolf she fought the desert colossus with. Now more clearly under the lantern light she could see crystalline shards in its mottled slate-gray and desert-brown fur. When it turned its massive head, she stared straight into its eyes. Amber colored with a faint hue, like molten stone beneath the surface. The Diviner only moved along with its movements.
Talia glared. "How do you even…?"
The Diviner turned her head slightly, the faintest smile tugging at her lips.
"Stonefang listens better when you don't try to control him. A little trust goes further than steel in the mouth."
"Easy for you to say," Talia muttered. "You don't have to keep anyone alive but yourself."
The Diviner's smile faded. She shifted, blind eyes finding Talia with unnerving precision. "That's where you're wrong. Every time I fight, I feel the weight of others on me. Their lives. Their hopes. Their mistakes. It's louder than you think."
Talia looked away, jaw tight. She wanted to snap back—wanted to tear through the calm in that voice—but the words tangled in her throat. They rode in silence for a few beats. Only the creak of saddles and the distant howl of desert wind filled the air.
Finally, the Diviner said softly, "You're still scowling."
Talia snapped her gaze back, heat rushing to her cheeks. "I am not."
The Diviner's smile returned, faint and infuriating. "Lies."
The guards ahead shouted for a halt, raising a fist. Dust plumed as the column slowed. Ahead, the road dipped into a ravine where faint torchlight flickered between jagged stones.
"Looks like trouble," the captain Talia was sparring against earlier muttered.
The Diviner leaned forward slightly, her hand brushing the earth. Her expression stilled. "More than trouble."
Talia's hand went to her sword. She felt her heart quicken, but whether it was from the looming fight—or the woman beside her—she couldn't say.
The ravine walls loomed high, jagged silhouettes under the lantern glow. The guards spread into formation, shields raised, but the enemy struck first. A hail of crude bolts whistled down from the cliffs. One soldier toppled from his horse with a strangled cry. Shouts erupted as raiders surged from the shadows, their chain-weapons clattering, blades flashing in the firelight. Talia leapt down from her saddle, shield up, sword bared. The first chain whirred toward her head—she batted it aside with a spark of holy light, the metal hissing where it struck her gauntlet.
"Hold the line!" she shouted, voice sharp and commanding.
But the Diviner was already moving, motioning for Stonefang to take care of the archers, staff sweeping arcs through the air. With each gesture, the stones around them rippled like water, jagged edges jutting up to deflect arrows. She pivoted, staff slamming into the ground, and a wave of dust surged outward, staggering a group of raiders mid-charge. Talia stole a glance—just in time to see an enemy closing on the Diviner's blind side.
"Behind you!"
Talia lunged, blade flashing. She intercepted the strike, metal screaming as her sword locked against the raider's axe. With a twist, she shoved him back. The Diviner didn't flinch. Instead, her hand brushed the ground, her head tilting as if listening.
"I knew."
Irritation flared in Talia's chest.
"Then maybe act on it faster!"
The Diviner smirked faintly, even as her staff cracked against another attacker's skull. "You're welcome."
They moved together then—clashing, covering, snapping at each other between blows. Talia's shield drove enemies into the Diviner's reach, where her staff and elemental surges finished them. The Diviner's earthen barriers turned arrows aside, giving Talia room to charge without fear of her flank. At some point—it was impossible to mark when—their rhythm stopped being forced. It flowed. Paladin and elementalist, defiance and precision, steel and stone in harmony. When the last raider fell and the echoes faded into the desert wind, Talia stood with her chest heaving, blood slick on her sword. The last distant screams dying out as the last of the archers met his clawed end. The guards regrouped, tending to the wounded, murmuring in awe at the sight of the two women standing side by side. Talia glanced at the Diviner, words catching in her throat. For once, there was no smirk waiting—only a calm, unreadable quiet. And for a heartbeat, Talia hated how much she needed it.
The squad weren't the only ones still up at this hour. Inside the city High Counselor Maranth and Counselor Veyra were still in the council chamber, the etchings in the floor catching the soft moonlight. They still had matters to attend to. Matters that couldn't wait.
Veyra leaned forward, her voice clipped.
"So it is true, then. Silent Wardens drew blades against the Diviner. Here, in our city. That kind of order does not move without sanction from a high hand."
Maranth let a heavy sigh escape his lip, clasping his hands.
"Rumor and half-truths. We must not leap to conclusions. The Wardens answer to no council decree. Perhaps they mistook her for another enemy."
Veyra arced an eyebrow, her response as sharp as a blade.
"An enemy who also happens to be a disciple of May'jahan? Who is whispered of in every ring of the city? No, Maranth. The strike was deliberate. And if the Wardens were turned, then Ba'ham's rot is already coiling inside Tan'thalon's veins."
Maranth shook his head with a grim expression.
"Even if you are right, what would you have us do? Strike against Ba'ham's cultists openly? The city trembles already with talk of desert sands at the gates. If we cry heresy in the streets, panic will drown us faster than the dunes."
Veyra kept her relentless coolness.
"And if we stay silent, his whispers will root deeper. Ba'ham thrives in the shadows, Maranth. He does not need armies — he needs doubt. The people already whisper of the Diviner as a savior. As May'Jahan's champion. If she falls to unseen blades while we say nothing, it will not be her blood that stains Tan'thalon. It will be ours."
Maranth looked away, his eyes on the swirling patterns on the wall. Signs of May'Jahan. The weight of twenty years of decisions pressed down on his aging frame. Veyra softened her tone slightly, though still carrying an edge to her voice.
"The Diviner is not the danger here. The danger is that we hesitate while Ba'ham acts without hesitation. The ambush is proof. We must root out where his hand touches — even if that hand could wear the glove of a paladin."
Maranth's eyes flicked at her words, perhaps the same thought had already crossed his mind but he couldn't bring himself to voice it. He leaned back, the silence weighing heavy on the room. Finally he spoke, quiet and troubled.
"To accuse a paladin would tear the council apart. But… to ignore this would be worse. Perhaps… perhaps a subtler hand is needed first."
Veyra studied him, her expression unreadable. Then she nodded once, sharp, like a blade striking a stone. For a moment they remained there in silence.
The quiet broke when the lazulli node in the center activated. Shards of light streamed out and blended together until they formed the image Shyra Vollten. She spoke without preamble, to the point as always.
"I have compiled the latest nights' reports. If you will. I now have an overview of the past year."
She tapped one of the data screens, the Haitreh's Kethri node flawlessly integrated her technology with the human's magitech as the Lazulli node formed the screen in the council chamber. A thin slice of light spilled over a map of Tan'thalon, points pulsing where incidents clustered. Maranth recognised the rooftop incident.
"Two clusters of cult activity in the Lower Ring in the last fortnight. Five confirmed meetings, three attempted recruitments at marketplaces. Resource flows show increased Lazulli crystal shipments to a depot in the west quarter—unusual routing for a quarter that has no mines."
Maranth narrowed his eyes.
"Lazulli crystals? Routed in secret?"
Shyra answered flatly.
"Yes. The Wardens' sudden movement correlates with the same timeframes. Contracts signed, payment delivered through a front merchant. The ambush on the Diviner fits the pattern of targeted silencing: public figure who draws attention away from the cult's work."
Veyra studied Shyra's display, fixing a stray strand of hair behind her ear.
"You have hard links—transactions, locations, times. Not merely whispers?"
Shyra nodded once. Even for a Haitreh, she always favored efficiency.
"Hard enough to justify an inquiry. Not hard enough to indict senators or high houses. But enough to launch a controlled investigation that will not set the city into panic or allow the Wardens to disperse."
Maranth leaned back, rubbing his temple. In doing so he angled himself in the lantern light, revealing deep wrinkles and creases. No one actually knew how old he really was. He answered quietly.
"We cannot treat this like a tavern quarrel. If Ba'ham's hand touches the Wardens, it may touch other offices. But naming it rashly—accusing the wrong men—will tear the council apart."
Veyra was the decisive one, her eyes fixed on Maranth.
"We need someone who can be both spear and scalpel. A champion who can marshal forces, yet operate with discipline and restraint. Someone the city respects, and the Wardens fear."
"And it cannot be the Diviner." Maranth intervened.
Veyra breathed for a moment before answering.
"Serenya Kael."
This reaction caught Maranth by surprise.
"The Iron Vanguard? She commands the city's elite militia. She answers to the council—but publicly, she is a symbol of strength. Why her, Veyra?"
Veyra kept a calm composure.
"Because she already has authority. Because her name opens doors the Wardens close. And because her method is not spectacle—Serenya is surgical. She has led investigations before: rooting out smuggling rings and corrupt quartermasters without drumbeats in the streets. Her unit can move at the council's behest and make any necessary arrests under martial pretext, avoiding public hysteria."
Shyra looked pleased, summing everything up.
"A public face that doubles as a veil. She can reinforce the wall visibly while her vanguard probes behind it. If you present the reinforcement as civic defense, the people are pacified. Behind that curtain, Serenya's teams find the cult lines."
Maranth was a little hesitant.
"And if a paladin is behind it? What about that show off Eldarion? If he learns that a champion is investigating the Wardens— He'll spread the rumor through the city and the council like wildfire"
Shyra's response came sharp.
"He must not learn. He is useful to the council in public, and dangerous when affronted. Any direct accusation linking a paladin to the Wardens now would either make that paladin defiant or drive him or her to drastic acts. This must be done with secrecy: limited orders, sealed transmissions, a small chain of command."
Veyra's answer came soft, but with iron in her voice.
"Serenya answers to the council. But she answers most readily to a clear mandate. We give her a single charge: investigate the Wardens' recent contracts, trace the Lazulli crystal shipments, identify the front merchants, and dismantle the cells found. She will report only to Maranth and myself—and to Shyra for the data."
Maranth's eyes flicked between the two, then he responded resolute.
"Only us. No minutes recorded beyond this chamber. No mention in the public docket. If Serenya is to move, she must move as if the city itself ordered a reinforcement—no more, no less. We avoid naming Ba'ham. We avoid naming a Paladin. We save the naming for when the net is ready to close."
Shyra tapped a point on the map, the respective part lighting up on the shared display.
"Good. If I coordinate the intelligence feed—market rhythms, merchant ledgers, Wardens' movement—Serenya can pick targets with minimal collateral. She will not raid temples or homes without proof. If the cult's grasp reaches into more official hands, she is authorized to detain and bring suspects to the chamber for sealed questioning."
Veyra steepled her fingers.
"And if we find a paladin's hand in this?"
Maranth's answer came slowly.
"Then we remove him from the field and expose him with proof. Public spectacle then, yes—but only when the council can present incontrovertible evidence. Until then, we protect the city's stability."
A long pause followed. The map dimmed as Shyra removed her hand. Then Veyra said softly.
"I will send word to Serenya tonight. Quietly. She will know what to do. If the Iron Vanguard moves, you will have eyes and force where the Wardens thought they were safe."
She laced her fingers together now.
"And Maranth—prepare the pretext: an order to reinforce the Arc Wall, a public show that keeps the people calm. Serenya will take troops under that banner; behind it, she will act."
Maranth slowly rose to his full height, a knee cracking as he did. He leaned on his staff. having made his decision.
"So be it. We act now—quietly, precisely. For Tan'thalon."
Veyra repeated. Shyra, being a Haitreh, refrained from it. In it's core, Tan'thalon was still a human city. Besides, her mind was already busy with which files to open first. Her image slowly faded as the Lazulli node deactivated. Maranth stared at the floor, as though he remembered the argument he had twenty years ago with Drenn Veylak, and with it, the price of being late.
The campfires burned low along the ravine floor, their smoke curling lazily into the night sky. The guards, bruised but alive, had fallen into weary silence—murmured prayers, the clatter of armor being unbuckled, the soft hiss of poultices being applied.
Talia sat apart, perched on a slab of stone where the firelight didn't quite reach. She had cleaned her blade twice already, though it hardly needed it. Her fingers worried over the hilt, restless, unable to let go. She hated how her chest still thrummed with the rhythm of the fight. Not the usual rush of battle, but something sharper, more dangerous. A memory of moving in perfect step with her.
The Diviner.
Talia ground her teeth and pressed her gauntleted palm against her thigh until it hurt. She'd seen the way the soldiers had looked—awed, whispering. Paladin and elementalist, back to back like some tale out of a bard's song. But it hadn't been perfect. She had covered for the Diviner more than once. She had caught her blind side—blind side. Talia swallowed, her brow furrowing. The thought nagged, insistent. The way the woman fought, never turning toward the threats that came from behind, yet somehow always meeting them. The way her gaze never really… landed. Talia exhaled sharply, shoving the thought away. Rival, she reminded herself. Arrogant, smug, impossible rival. Not someone to be admired. Not someone to think about now, when the bruises still burned on her body.
Still… she caught herself staring across camp once, toward where the Diviner sat with the officers. Her staff rested across her lap, her blind eyes closed, her hand brushing the dirt beside her as if listening to something deeper. Her horse, that was actually a wolf, laid a little beside the horses. Stonefang knew he could guard them, but he was still a predator, so he kept his distance so as to not spook them.
Talia tore her gaze away, scowling into the night. She pushed her sword back into its scabbard and leaned back on the stone she was perched upon, placing her hands behind her so she would not topple over, eyes fixed on the stars wheeling above. Anything to stop her mind from circling back to that infuriating, calm smile. She would not give it more space than it deserved. She would not.
And yet, as the camp quieted into sleep and the desert wind whispered through the ravine, Talia found herself wide awake—stirred by a presence she could neither name nor banish.
When the wind had shifted colder, Talia drew her cloak tighter around her shoulders, sitting in the half-shadow where the campfires barely reached. Her eyes had grown heavy, though sleep refused her. Her thoughts circled like restless wolves around wounded prey. A faint scuff of stone made her stiffen. She reached for her sword—only to stop when a familiar figure stepped into the glow.
The Diviner.
Her staff was absent, left behind with the officers. Without it, she seemed… smaller somehow. Less a weapon, more a woman.
"You're restless," the Diviner said softly.
Not a question—an observation, spoken with the calm assurance of someone who had listened to her unease from afar. Talia straightened, defensive.
"I'm fine."
A faint, knowing smile touched the Diviner's lips.
"You've been staring at the stars for over an hour. Fine isn't the word I'd choose."
Talia bit down on a retort, heat rising in her cheeks.
"And you've been watching me?"
"Not watching."
The Diviner's head tilted slightly, blind eyes catching the flicker of firelight in a way that felt unsettlingly direct.
"Listening. You carry… noise."
She lowered herself to sit on the stone beside Talia, close but not intruding. For a long moment, only the desert wind spoke. Then, quietly the Diviner spoke.
"I don't… understand this," she admitted.
Her hands folded loosely in her lap, fingers tightening and loosening as though betraying nerves.
"The way I look for you, even when I shouldn't. The way your presence… unsettles me."
Talia's breath caught. She turned sharply toward her, searching the calm, unreadable lines of the Diviner's face.
"Why are you telling me this?"
"Because," the Diviner said slowly, as if testing the words, "I was never taught what to do with feelings like these. My parents raised me to lead. To command. To know. Not to…" She trailed off, lips pressing into a thin line. "…not to feel."
The admission hung between them, startlingly bare. Talia shifted, suddenly aware of how close they sat, the warmth of her rival's shoulder almost brushing her own. Her throat tightened, part of her wanting to snap back, to armor herself in defiance. Yet another part—a quieter, dangerous part—longed to lean in.
Instead, she said gruffly, "You don't even know what it is you're feeling."
The Diviner's head turned toward her, the faintest crease in her brow.
"Perhaps. But when I stood with you today, blade and stone together… it felt like clarity. Like the first thing in years that made sense."
Talia swallowed hard, unable to muster an answer. The Diviner's hand brushed the stone between them, then withdrew, as if the gesture itself had been too much.
"I don't expect you to answer now. I only… wanted you to know."
She rose smoothly, her cloak whispering against the rocks, and turned away—leaving Talia staring after her, heart hammering, her carefully built walls beginning to crack.
-Two decades ago-
The council chamber was already in a heated discussion. The acoustics of the room caused it to sound louder than it really was. The source was High counselor Maranth, back when he still had a full head of light brown hair, though the gray already seeped in, and Counselor Veyra, who lacked gray hair at this point. Another councilor joined them. They were standing around the Lazulli node. The technology was already present, albeit cruder and bulkier. A pixelated form of Drenn Veylak stood firm and impassioned.
"Your Arc Wall is not eternal. It breathes, it weakens, it frays. The Lazulli veins are leeching power faster than they regenerate. If you do not reinforce them now—before the fractures spread—the wall will fail when you most need it."
The unknown councilor spoke up, skeptical and dismissive.
"Nonsense. The wall has stood since Tan'thalon's founding. It is blessed by May'jahan herself. Are you claiming the goddess's gift is failing?"
The fact driven Drenn snapped back.
"I am claiming that stone cracks, Lazulli weathers, and blessings, if they are true at all, fade without care. You claim that your so-called goddess gave you the wall—she did not tell you to let it rot while you sang her praises."
"Shieldarchitect, you ask for coffers emptied, mines reopened, caravans risked across hostile land—all for what? To repair what does not appear broken?" Maranth said stern, trying to hold a balance between the two. Drenn slammed a fist on a pixelated table. Even through the hologram they could see his eyes blazing.
"Because when it appears broken, it will already be too late! You measure in gold, I measure in fractures per Lazulli vein. Do you want numbers? Fine—six percent degradation every decade. In a hundred years, the wall will be brittle glass! Remember, the wall is your shield, and I am the shield architect."
"A hundred years? Then let our grandchildren fret about it. We will not bankrupt Tan'thalon for your paranoia." The unknown councilor snided.
Drenn rose to his full height, easily towering over most humans. His usual harmonious voice now furious.
"Paranoia? You think me a doomsayer because I refuse to worship stone like an idol? Very well. Ignore me. Sing your hymns and polish your monuments. But when the wall buckles and the desert pours in, remember this day—and whose warnings you scorned."
Without a warning, the node deactivated, leaving the camber to fall silent. While the councilors exchanged uneasy glances among themselves. Maranth stared at where the image of Drenn was, troubled but unmoved.
In the present day, Maranth stared at the order he had carefully written. His handwriting was gracious and fluent from decades of practice. He remembered the past discussion with Drenn and their current predicament with reïnforcing the wall. How they had been late with that.
"No more of that" he whispered to himself "We will not be late with this".
Talia had barely settled back onto her cot, trying to smother the echo of the Diviner's words in her chest, when the sharp blast of a war-horn split the night. She shot upright. Outside, shouts rose in the camp, orders snapping like whips. Steel rang as soldiers rushed to arm themselves.
"Western road—skirmish party spotted!" a runner cried, dashing past her tent.
Cursing under her breath, Talia buckled on her armor. Of course. The enemy hadn't waited for dawn. She shoved her way into the fray of movement, only to nearly collide with the very woman she had just walked away from. The Diviner stood at the center of the chaos, her staff now in hand, its unusual crystal pulsing faintly with gathered light. Though blind, she turned her head toward Talia at once, as though she'd felt her presence even amidst the noise. Their gazes—one sightless, one storming—locked.
"Talia," the Diviner said evenly, though beneath the calm there was an edge, a lingering echo of their rooftop exchange. "You're with me."
It wasn't a suggestion. Talia bristled, half a heartbeat from refusing—yet a messenger shouted over them:
"The council ordered a joint command! Paladin and Diviner both at the front!"
The words dropped like chains. The Diviner's lips curved in the barest shadow of a smile, more steel than warmth.
"Seems the gods like forcing our hands."
Talia grit her teeth, torn between anger and the dangerous heat curling low in her chest. Still, she tightened her grip on her blade and moved to the Diviner's side. The camp surged around them, soldiers forming ranks. And in the middle of it all, two women bound by rivalry, unspoken confessions, and now—by duty. Together, whether Talia liked it or not.
The night swallowed them whole as the vanguard spilled onto the western road, torches cutting ragged lines through the dark. Sand hissed beneath boots and hooves, and paws, the desert wind carrying the acrid stench of oil and steel. Ahead, enemy shadows surged from the dunes—mercenaries, raiders and a corrupted spell-caster with jagged runes carved into her skin. A warband too large for mere harassment.
"Shields forward!" One of the female captains barked, voice cutting across the clamor.
The paladins snapped into formation, iron discipline clashing against the wild cries of the desert host. Their shields started to glow, illuminating the surroundings.
Beside Talia, the Diviner planted her staff into the sand. A ripple pulsed outward, unseen but felt in the bones, like the city's own heart beating. She tilted her head, listening—not to the noise of men, but to something deeper.
"Twelve coming from the ridge," she murmured, soft but certain.
Talia blinked. The ridge was cloaked in shadow; even a hawk-eyed scout would struggle to see that far. But she raised her sword anyway.
"Archers! Loose at the ridge!"
A volley of arrows hissed upward. The air split with screams as half-hidden silhouettes tumbled down the slope. Talia turned sharply toward the Diviner, a growl on her tongue.
"How—"
But she had no time. The enemy slammed into the shield wall with a thunderous crash, steel sparking, sand exploding underfoot. Talia met the charge head-on, blade flashing, her voice a rallying cry. Yet through the crush she was aware—always aware—of the Diviner just behind her, her staff weaving patterns of light that cut swathes through the attackers. Lightning followed the flow of the crystal, cutting through the attackers. Blades swung toward the elementalist, only to meet Talia's shield. Spells arced toward the paladin, only to shatter against walls of earth and stone the Diviner conjured. They were moving in rhythm again, whether she wanted it or not.
"Behind you!" Talia barked, wheeling to catch a raider's axe before it could cleave the Diviner's skull. The Diviner didn't flinch. Her staff spun, the ground bucking upward in a jagged spike that impaled the attacker. Double so, as Talia drove her blade through him at the same time.
She exhaled slowly, then said, almost amused: "I heard him before you did."
Talia scowled, shoving the corpse off her blade.
"Then why let him get that close?"
"Because you were there," the Diviner answered simply—too simply, as if it cost her nothing to admit.
The words lodged in Talia's chest, distracting her just long enough that a whip of chain caught her pauldron and yanked her sideways. She snarled, struggling to rise—only for the Diviner's hand to catch her wrist, pulling her up with surprising strength.
"I thought paladins were unshakable," the Diviner teased, though her breath was ragged.
"Shut up and fight," Talia snapped, but there was no bite in it.
The battle raged, brutal and bloody, until the last of the raiders broke and fled into the dunes. Silence fell in jagged waves. The wounded groaned. The dying whispered prayers. The living raised their swords in ragged triumph. Talia stood at the center of it all, her chest heaving, her armor dented and smeared with sand. She became aware, suddenly, of the Diviner still gripping her wrist. Their hands, bloodied and dusted with grit, were locked together as if neither had thought to let go. The Diviner's blind eyes turned toward her, unreadable, yet charged with something unspoken. Talia pulled free first, too fast, wiping her blade clean with jerky movements.
"Don't think this means anything," she muttered.
But the words felt hollow, even to her own ears.
The battlefield smoldered in its uneasy quiet. Fires guttered in the sand, casting warped shadows across the ruined ground. Paladins and soldiers moved among the fallen, dragging the wounded to makeshift cots, stripping the dead of weapons and insignia.
Talia wiped her sword clean again and again, though the steel already gleamed. She couldn't stop her hands from working. Couldn't stop the memory of the Diviner's fingers locked around her wrist, grounding her when the chain had yanked her off her feet. Her gaze flicked toward the woman now, unbidden. The Diviner knelt in the sand, palms flat against it, her breathing steadying as she "listened" for stragglers. Her blind eyes were turned slightly downward, but still—Talia swore she could feel the weight of them.
"You're staring again," the Diviner murmured.
Talia stiffened. "I am not."
A faint smile tugged at the corner of the Diviner's lips.
"Lies."
Talia's jaw tightened. "Do you ever stop talking in riddles?"
"Do you ever admit what you feel?"
The words came too smoothly, like she hadn't meant them until they slipped free. The paladin's face heated despite herself. She slammed her sword into its scabbard and turned away sharply.
"You're insufferable."
"And yet you keep ending up at my side."
That one landed, sharper than it should have. Talia folded her arms, armor creaking, and kept her back to her.
"Don't flatter yourself. You just happen to be where the fighting is."
The Diviner tilted her head, listening to something in the ground—or perhaps in Talia herself.
"If that helps you sleep, Paladin, hold on to it."
The silence that followed wasn't comfortable, nor was it hostile. It pressed on Talia's chest like a weight she couldn't shift. She told herself it was exhaustion, blood loss, the press of duty. But when she risked one last glance, she caught the Diviner adjusting her grip on the staff, fingers lingering faintly where Talia's hand had been moments before.
She looked away quickly, furious at herself.
The courtyard near the barracks of the Iron Vanguard was slick with rain that night, courtesy of Tan'thalon's famed weather system. The lanterns casted fractured light across the stone. A council envoy, cloak heavy with damp, waited as a pair of armored guards stepped aside to let a tall woman through. Clad in plain steel rather than ceremonial regalia, she strode forward. Her cropped dark hair was wet from rain, but her posture was unbending. Her hazel eyes were already locked on the envoy. The envoy bowed slightly, keeping his voice hushed.
"Commander Kael. The council sends sealed words, for your eyes only."
A produced a small obsidian tube from his sleeve, etched with faint sigils. Serenya immediately recognized them as the marks of Maranth and Veyra together, an unusual pairing. She took the tube without ceremony, practical and to the point. The seal was cracked with her thumb, and she unrolled the parchment within. Her eyes scanned the lines quickly. The writing was coded, reduced to formal phrases and careful omissions. She recognised Maranth's hand in them. He always had a way with wording delicate matters. After a long pause, she lowered the parchment before she summed it all up with an even voice.
"Reinforce the Arc Wall. Secure shipments. Identify irregular flows. Report only to the signatories. Discretion paramount."
Her eyes locked on the envoy again with an unreadable expression.
"No mention of why. Which means I already know."
The envoy got a little hesitant under her constant stern gaze.
"The council trusts your judgment, Iron Vanguard. They ask for precision, not spectacle. The city's calm must not fracture."
"Calm is a curtain, nothing more. I'll hold it steady while I cut out what festers behind it." Serenya snorted softly, humorless.
She rolled the parchment again, tucking it away in her gauntlet.
"Tell Maranth and Veyra this: the Vanguard moves at dawn. If they want whispers silenced, they'd best be ready to hear truths they don't like."
She turned on her heels, already barking orders to her guards, almost as if she had been waiting for this moment. The envoy watched her go with a mix of relief and unease — as though the council had unleashed a weapon that cuts with its own edge.
The western road skirmish left the camp ragged with exhaustion. Fires burned low, soldiers patched wounds, and the healers worked in grim silence. Talia slipped away from the bustle the first chance she got. Her armor still carried the stink of blood and smoke, but she stripped off the heavier plates and laid them aside, content to be alone. She busied her hands with mending a strap, oiling the blade again, anything to keep her thoughts fixed on steel instead of her.
The Diviner's words echoed anyway.
You're staring again. Do you ever admit what you feel?
She gritted her teeth, muttering under her breath, "Insufferable woman…"
The camp passed hours in uneasy quiet. Soldiers who recognized her gave nods of respect, but she kept her head down. She didn't linger by the firepits. Didn't seek out her fellow paladins. And most of all, she avoided the spire of pale canvas that marked the Diviner's quarters. She told herself she had no reason to go near it. That it was better—safer—to keep her distance. Rivalry was useful. Rivalry kept her sharp.
And yet… she caught herself listening. For the sound of the staff striking stone. For the calm cadence of her voice giving orders. For anything.
When none of it came, the silence pressed harder.
The camp had quieted completely now. Torches guttered, embers collapsed into ash. Talia had retreated to her tent, hoping to catch some sleep. Instead, she sat awake in her tent, boots off but armor still half-fastened, staring at the ridge of her gauntlets in the dim light. She couldn't quite make herself lie down. How could her body relax when her mind was in chaos. That was when she felt it—that faint hum in the air, the shift of presence that meant her.
"Talia."
The Diviner's voice was soft at the entrance, not commanding now but probing, almost hesitant. Talia's stomach twisted. She should send her away. She wanted to send her away. And yet she didn't speak. The flap stirred, and the Diviner stepped inside, staff loosely in hand, her head tilted as if listening for something only she could hear.
"You've been avoiding me."
Talia clenched her jaw. "Maybe I've just been busy."
A faint smile curved the Diviner's lips. "Lies."
The flap fell closed behind her, muting the sounds of the camp. The Diviner stood still, listening, her blind eyes turned toward Talia in that infuriating way that always made her feel seen despite knowing it was impossible.
"You barge into my tent in the middle of the night, and I'm the one avoiding you?"
Talia's voice had a bite, her arms folding across her chest.
The Diviner tilted her head.
"If you truly didn't want me here, you would have said so already."
Talia scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Arrogant, as always."
"Direct," the Diviner corrected softly. "There's a difference."
Talia shot to her feet, heat prickling under her skin.
"You think you know me? You think just because you can… sense whatever it is you sense, that you've figured me out?"
The Diviner didn't flinch. She simply let the silence stretch, listening the way she did with stone and sand, until Talia's words frayed on their own. Then she spoke, quiet but steady.
"I don't know you, Paladin. That's what bothers me."
The words hit harder than Talia expected. Her retort caught in her throat. The Diviner stepped closer, her staff angled lightly against the floor as if it were more for habit than support. She stopped just close enough for Talia to feel the faint warmth of her presence.
"I don't know why your anger sharpens when I'm near. Or why your heartbeat skips every time I call your lies." Her blind gaze tilted upward, unreadable yet piercing all the same. "But I want to."
For the first time, Talia didn't have a blade ready. Her mouth opened, then shut again. She hated how that silence felt like surrender. Her jaw worked, the retort caught somewhere between her chest and her tongue. She wanted to scoff, to shove the words back at the Diviner until the silence broke in her favor. But instead—something softer escaped.
"You… get under my skin."
It wasn't loud. It wasn't sharp. Just raw enough that the second it left her lips, she felt her stomach twist with regret. The Diviner's lips curved, not in triumph but in something gentler, something achingly earnest.
"Then at least I'm not alone in that."
That smile. That voice. It rattled her worse than any blade had that day. Talia's heart lurched, and just like that, she slammed the door shut.
"You should go." Her tone was iron again, the wall rebuilt in an instant. "I don't need lectures or riddles tonight."
The Diviner lingered, head tilted as though weighing whether to press further. Then she inclined her head, the faintest of bows.
"As you wish, Paladin."
She withdrew, quiet as falling sand. The flap of the tent swayed once and stilled, leaving Talia standing in the silence she had demanded. Her hands curled into fists at her sides. She hated the rush of relief. She hated the ache of absence more.
At dawn, Serenya had gathered her captains in the Iron Vanguard war room, located deep in the city's bastion. Maps of Tan'thalon's districts laid spread across a heavy oak table, pins and markers already in place. Five captains stood in disciplined silence as Serenya entered, her armor already – or still – buckled, her cloak still damp from the night rain. She tossed a small, rolled piece of parchment on the table. The coded orders.
After a short silence she spoke, clipped and firm.
"Council says the Arc Wall needs reinforcement. That's our banner. That's the story we tell the city. Every patrol, every inspection, every knock on a merchant's door—we wear that story on our shields."
The gathered captains nodded. One of them, a scarred veteran, cleared his throat.
"And the truth, Commander?"
Serenya met his eyes flat. "The truth is that Lazulli crystals are bleeding into the city through veins that don't belong. The Wardens move like hounds off their leash. Something festers, and the council wants it cut out without panic in the streets. That's where we come in."
She gestured sharply to the map, using a ruler to tap the Lower Ring.
"Varros—you'll reinforce patrols along the west quarter. Eyes on the depots. Don't announce, don't rattle sabers. Quiet inspections, full ledgers. If you smell Lazulli crystals, you bring it straight to me."
The ruler moved up to a higher point on the map.
"Captain Elira, the marketplaces. Recruitment always leaves a trail: coin changing hands, bread traded for promises. You'll plant ears and eyes. Disguised. I want names, not corpses."
Elira nodded, already jotting notes on the small notepad she always carried with her.
Serenya's tone hardened.
"And if you find a Warden hand behind it, you do not draw steel. You mark the time, the place, and you pull back. We don't bleed the Wardens in public. Not yet."
The captains exchanged a few weary glances among themselves, but one younger officer spoke up.
"Commander, if they move against us, we'll be cornered. You'd have us retreat before assassins?"
The commander stepped closer, lowering her voice until it edged like a blade.
"I'd have you remember we're not here to make martyrs. We're here to carve out rot without collapsing the city on top of us. The Wardens want spectacle. We don't give it to them. Not unless I say so."
A long silence ensued. Finally, Serenya straightened, sweeping her gaze across all five captains.
"We move at dawn. Shields polished, orders clear: the people see guardians of the Arc Wall. Only we know the second blade hidden under the cloak. Fail in your duty, and the city burns from within. Hold the line, and we give Tan'thalon a fighting chance."
The captains slammed their fists to their chests in unison.
"Iron Vanguard, iron will!".
Serenya gave a court nod, already marking routes and points of interest as the briefing dissolved into action.
The camp on the western road was alive with movement. Armor clinked, orders barked, steeds pawed the dirt. Talia was already saddled up, visor down, her posture stiff as a statue. She had managed to avoid the Diviner since last night.
That is, until fate—or command—intervened.
"Lady Surifarah. Diviner." A commander's voice cut through the bustle. "You'll lead the vanguard together. Western skirmish point. Scouts report heavy resistance."
Talia's gut clenched. Of course.
She turned in the saddle just in time to see the Diviner approach, staff in hand, blind eyes catching the morning light. Calm. Serene. Infuriating. And her wolf mount not only extended her combat, but he was as serene and infuriating as her.
"You have got to be kidding me," Talia muttered under her breath.
The Diviner inclined her head as if she'd heard anyway.
"I'll try not to slow you down, Paladin."
"Slow me down?" Talia snapped, heat flaring before she could temper it. "I'll be the one carrying you when you trip over your own staff."
A flicker of a smile touched the Diviner's lips.
"Then I suppose I'll trust you not to let me fall."
The words landed with the weight of something more than banter. Talia's chest tightened, but she forced a scoff.
"Don't mistake necessity for trust."
The commander's voice barked again, urging them forward. The moment broke, leaving only the churn of hooves, paws and boots as they moved toward the road together—whether Talia liked it or not. The column pressed westward, the road narrowing into a jagged canyon path. Dust kicked up in clouds beneath hooves and boots, and paws, the air thick with the scent of iron and sun-baked stone. Talia rode ahead, her mount steady, her armor gleaming in the harsh light. Every sound sharpened her focus. She could feel the Diviner's presence at her side without needing to look — staff planted rhythmically against the stone, her movements deceptively sure for one who couldn't see. It grated. It fascinated. Talia hated that it did both.
"Careful," the Diviner said softly, her head tilting toward the ridge. "Loose shale. The ground narrows."
Talia bristled. "I can see for myself. Unlike you."
A faint smile tugged at the Diviner's lips. "And yet, you hadn't slowed."
Talia's jaw clenched. She spurred her horse forward, but the truth gnawed at her — the Diviner had heard something she'd missed. Again.
A few moments passed in silence, filled with the creak of leather and the scuff of boots. Then, unbidden, the Diviner spoke again.
"You don't like that we're paired."
"No," Talia shot back, sharper than intended. "I don't."
"Because you don't trust me?"
"Because you're reckless. You fight like the rules don't apply to you."
The Diviner's expression didn't falter.
"Maybe they don't." She shrugged casually.
Talia turned to glare at her, but the woman wasn't even looking her way — her blind eyes were lifted slightly, as if listening to something only she could hear. That calm, maddening serenity made Talia want to shake her. The Diviner lowered her chin then, turning her head just enough to let her words cut close.
"Or maybe I fight like someone who has nothing left to prove."
The statement caught Talia off-guard. She bit back a retort, unsettled by the weight of it. She hated how it lingered. Before she could answer, a scout galloped back down the line.
"Enemy ahead! Archers on the ridges!"
The column stirred, weapons unsheathing, shields lifted. Talia's pulse surged, her hand gripping her sword hilt. The Diviner straightened beside her, staff aglow at the head, face tilted toward the ridgeline. The skirmish had found them.
The column slowed, shields raised as the first arrows hissed down from the ridge. Horses snorted and pawed, soldiers hunched beneath the rain of shafts. Talia yanked her visor down, steel whispering as she drew her sword. The air trembled with the weight of battle about to begin. Beside her, the Diviner tightened her grip on her staff. The crystal at its head pulsed faintly, casting pale light across her face as she dismounted from her wolf. It didn't seem too phased by the situation as it strolled off, already knowing the Diviner expected him to protect their flank. She looked unhurried, almost tranquil, as though the storm above was no more than drizzle. That serenity set Talia's teeth on edge.
"You don't look nervous," she said, voice hard over the clang of shields.
The Diviner tilted her head slightly toward her. "Should I?"
"You're about to face an ambush. Men with real blades. Real arrows."
"Arrows I've already counted." The Diviner's smile flickered. "Fourteen archers, high ridge. Three shifting left. One with a drawstring about to snap."
Talia's grip faltered for just an instant. "You can't possibly—"
The Diviner leaned closer, her voice low and cutting. "You doubt me, Paladin. And yet you'll be glad I'm here when the ridge lights up."
Talia opened her mouth, a retort on her tongue, but the commander's voice roared down the line:
"Shields up! Vanguard, forward! Break their line!"
The words were swallowed by the sudden thunder of arrows loosed in unison, the hiss of death cutting through the air.
The skirmish had begun.
The commander's cry broke the tension like a hammer striking glass. Shields lifted, boots thundered, and the vanguard surged forward. Talia spurred her mount, sword raised, her armor catching the sun like a shard of fire. Arrows screamed down from the ridge. The front rank lifted shields just in time; a few shafts rattled off Talia's pauldron, stinging but failing to pierce. She drove her horse straight through the line, cutting down the first brigand who rushed from cover with a jagged blade. Beside her, the Diviner didn't rush. She moved forward at a measured pace, staff sweeping arcs of light through the dust, trailing the head of her staff. Suddenly, the nearest cluster of archers staggered, their footing lost as the ground itself seemed to tilt beneath them. One toppled over the ridge with a scream.
"You should keep your guard up," the Diviner said calmly as a bandit lunged for Talia's flank.
She turned, blind eyes lifted, and the staff struck out like a serpent — cracking across the brigand's jaw with bone-snapping force. Talia gritted her teeth.
"Stop telling me what to do."
She wheeled her sword in a tight arc, cleaving the next attacker before he could close. But the words rang hollow; she knew the strike would have landed if not for the warning. The battle spread out fast. The ridges spat brigands in waves, desperate and furious, their blades clashing against shields. The air filled with the metallic chorus of war — iron on iron, men screaming, the heavy scent of dust and blood.
But something was off. Even Talia noticed it. Stonefang was not in his usual mood. She had witnessed the wolf in combat before. A fearless companion. This time he kept unusually close to the horses. Almost protective. His ears were upright and alert. He kept scanning the horizon. Nervous. Not the predator hunting prey. Talia could only wonder what it meant. She realised that the Diviner was more tense than usual as well. Sure, they had constantly been bickering back and forth, but that had never gotten her of her game.
Then the sky shifted.