Planning a war was not like the stories. There were no grand strategy meetings around polished maps, no dramatic declarations. It was slow, meticulous, and utterly cold.
Victus provided the pieces. I arranged them on the board.
For three weeks, I became a ghost with purpose. The void's reservoir within me allowed for extended operations without the soul-erosion that once plagued me. I moved through the palace and the city beyond, watching, listening, cataloguing.
The Elements: A Census
Fire belonged to Valerius and his Ignis Guard. Three hundred trained mages, plus the Crown Prince himself—a blazing inferno of combat magic. Their barracks sat on the eastern ridge, a fortress of obsidian and flame-resistant stone.
Water was controlled by House Tidewell, ancient allies of the throne who controlled the navy and the city's aqueducts. Neutral, but bribable. Their manor overlooked the harbor, a gleaming palace of blue-veined marble.
Earth answered to the Stonewardens, a guild of architects and engineers who maintained the city's walls and foundations. They were slow to anger, but their magic was the sturdiest in the empire. Their guildhall was literally inside the city's outer wall.
Air belonged to the Zephyr Compact, a loose alliance of messengers, scouts, and weather-workers. They were everywhere and nowhere, their loyalties fluid as wind.
Wood was the province of the Verdant Circle, druids and foresters who tended the royal forests and the city's parks. They were isolationists, but the Circle Elder owed Victus a life-debt.
Metal was the rarest and most valuable. The Iron Legion, an elite corps of soldiers who could shape armor and weapons with their minds, served as the Emperor's personal guard. They were oath-sworn to the throne itself, not to any prince.
Six elements. Six factions. Each with their own territories, loyalties, and vulnerabilities.
The seventh element—void—was me.
---
"You're building a battlefield, not a plan," Victus observed one night, studying my notes spread across his study floor. "Every faction's location, every mana signature, every ley line intersection. This is cartography of destruction."
"It's engineering," I corrected. "The ritual requires six elemental deaths at a single point. I can't bring the mountain to me, so I must bring them to the mountain."
"And the mountain is...?"
I tapped a point on the city map. The Grand Forum. The largest public square in the capital, surrounded by government buildings and directly above the deepest ley line convergence in the region. It was also neutral ground, used for festivals, executions, and imperial proclamations.
"Here. On the solstice. When the ley lines are most active."
Victus stared at the map, then at me. "The solstice is eight weeks away. You're going to engineer six factions to fight each other in the Grand Forum on a specific day?"
"I'm going to engineer them to fight each other for the Grand Forum." I pulled out a second map, this one showing the faction territories. "Look. Each faction has a reason to want control of the Forum. The Ignis Guard wants it for military displays. House Tidewell wants access to the aqueducts beneath it. The Stonewardens consider it their greatest architectural achievement. The Zephyr Compact uses it as a message hub. The Verdant Circle wants the ancient oak in its center protected. The Iron Legion is sworn to protect whoever holds it."
"You're going to make them all believe someone else is trying to take it."
"I'm going to make them all believe Valerius is trying to take it."
Victus's eyes widened, then narrowed with appreciation. "Valerius is arrogant enough to want it. And paranoid enough to believe others are conspiring against him. If he makes the first move..."
"The others will respond. And once the fighting starts, the void will ensure it doesn't stop until enough power is released."
I didn't add the final piece: that Valerius's death would be necessary. Not just politically, but metaphysically. As the strongest Fire mage in the empire, his immolation would be the feast's centerpiece.
Victus understood anyway. "You're going to kill my brother."
"I'm going to use your brother to save mine."
We sat with that truth for a long moment. Then Victus nodded, once, sharply.
"Tell me what you need."
---
Phase One: The Spark
It began with whispers. Not spoken words, but impressions—carefully crafted emotional nudges delivered through my conduit-tapping. To Valerius's sleep, I introduced images of his brothers conspiring in the Forum. To his captains, I sent flashes of rival factions meeting in secret. To the other factions, I projected Valerius's contempt, his plans to "cleanse" the Forum of their presence.
The void's power, applied with surgical precision, made these impressions feel like their own thoughts. By the end of the first week, the city hummed with unspoken tension.
Phase Two: The Kindling
I needed a physical incident. Something small, deniable, but inflammatory.
Elara found it for me. A low-level Water mage from House Tidewell had been seen meeting with a Verdant Circle druid near the Forum's ancient oak. Innocent—they were lovers. But to eyes poisoned by suspicion, it looked like conspiracy.
On my instruction, she "accidentally" mentioned this to a guardsman whose cousin served in the Ignis Guard. The story spread. By the time it reached Valerius, the lovers had become a delegation, and the meeting had become a treaty.
Phase Three: The Flame
Valerius did exactly what I predicted. He sent a squad of Ignis Guard to "investigate" the Forum at night. They were clumsy, aggressive, and when a Stonewarden patrol challenged them, a fireball was thrown.
No one died. But the message was sent.
The next night, the Stonewardens reinforced their positions around the Forum's perimeter. The Zephyr Compact began routing all messages away from the Forum hub, citing "security concerns." House Tidewell quietly moved a company of water-mages into the harbor-side buildings overlooking the square.
The pieces were moving into place.
---
Four weeks before the solstice, Victus came to me with news.
"Father is dying."
I looked up from my maps. The Emperor had been a distant figure, a name more than a person. But his death changed everything.
"When?"
"Weeks. Maybe days. The physicians say his core is collapsing. Too much mana use in his youth, too many battles." Victus's face was unreadable. "If he dies before the solstice, Valerius becomes Emperor. He'll have the Iron Legion's full loyalty. The factions will fall in line. Your war won't happen."
I calculated quickly. "Then he can't die before the solstice."
Victus stared. "You can't stop death."
"No." I rose, gathering my cloak. "But I can slow it."
---
The Emperor's chambers were guarded by the Iron Legion's finest. They stopped me at the door, swords half-drawn.
"The prince is not permitted—"
"The prince is dying," I said flatly, letting the hollow weight of my words sink in. "I have nothing left to lose. Let me say goodbye to my father."
The guards exchanged glances. One disappeared inside, returning moments later with a nod.
The bedchamber reeked of sickness and desperate herbs. The Emperor lay on a vast bed, his once-mighty frame reduced to bones and papery skin. His eyes, when they opened, were milky with pain—but recognition flickered.
"Kieran." The voice was a whisper of wind through dead leaves. "My ghost child."
I sat beside him, not touching. Through the void's senses, I saw his core: a cracked, fading ember, leaking the last of his Fire mana into nothing. Days, yes. Perhaps less.
"Father. I need you to live a little longer."
A weak laugh, which became a cough. "Why? So you can watch me die at a more convenient time?"
"So I can use your death to save someone who matters."
His eyes sharpened, just slightly. Even dying, the old strategist remained. "The girl. Victus told me. Your sister from another world."
Victus had been busy.
"Yes."
He was silent for a long moment, studying me with those ancient, fading eyes. "I failed you. All of you. Your mother most of all. I let them kill her because I was afraid of what she'd found." A trembling hand reached out, gripping my wrist with surprising strength. "If you can save one person you love... do it. Damn the cost. Damn the empire. Damn me."
I looked at the dying man, this stranger who was my father. For the first time, I felt something other than cold distance. Not love. Not forgiveness. But... acknowledgment. Two survivors, recognizing each other's scars.
"I can slow your core's collapse," I said. "Not heal. Just... delay. It will hurt."
"Do it."
I placed my hand over his chest. The void within me stirred, recognizing the task. Not consumption—preservation through stasis. I wrapped the failing ember of his core in a thin film of void-stuff, not consuming the leaks, but slowing them to a crawl. Each escaping spark of life-energy took ten times longer to fade.
It was delicate, exhausting work. The Emperor's face contorted in pain, but he made no sound.
When I finished, I was drained, the reservoir within me significantly depleted. But his core, while still dying, was now dying in slow motion.
"Weeks," I breathed. "Maybe a month."
He nodded, sweat beading on his brow. "Go. Build your fire. I'll hold the door a little longer."
I left him there, the old emperor buying time for a war he'd never see.
---