Razia pulled out two cups and a strange bottle that smelled like fermented garbage. "Do you drink?"
"I'm familiar with most wine."
"I doubt you're familiar with this one. This is Rakdos rotgut, we confiscated this from a raid last week." He poured two generous portions. "Cheers! Here's to surviving another day in this cursed city."
I took the offered cup and sipped it. The liquid hit my tongue like liquid fire, harsh and unrefined, with a really bad aftertaste. I spat it back into the cup immediately.
"That's vile," I said, staring at the liquid with something approaching horror. "That's genuinely one of the worst things I've ever tasted, and I've accidentally consumed Stygian water."
Razia blinked, then laughed. The sound carries amusement. "Most people would be too polite to say it, and they'd just force it down and pretend it's not terrible."
"I spent millennia being polite about things I hated. I'm done with that." I set the cup aside and reached into my dimensional storage, pulling out Dionysus's gift. The wooden crate materialized on the table, its carved surface depicting vines and grapes in intricate detail. "Here you go. Try this instead."
I opened the crate and extracted a bottle. The wine inside glowed faintly amber, carrying the scent of summer festivals. Not Dionysus's best work, that was reserved for truly special occasions, but still leagues beyond anything most mortals typically encountered.
I poured some into Razia's cup. He sniffed it cautiously, then took a sip. His eyes widened.
"By the Guildpact," he breathed. "What is this?"
"It is wine from my reality, and it was made by a dear friend who takes his craft seriously." I poured myself a portion, savouring the familiar taste. "It is much better than whatever that rotgut was."
"I can admit the rotgut isn't meant to be good. This is indeed incredible!"
"A parting gift when I left home. The crate refills itself as long as I keep it powered. Magical essence, divine energy, whatever's available." I took another sip. "I've got plenty to share if you're interested."
"I'm very interested." Razia drank deeply, his expression relaxing. "This is the first thing that's tasted good in weeks. Everything in Ravnica now tastes like ash and smoke right now. Even magical cooking can't salvage having no good ingredients."
We sat in comfortable silence for a moment, drinking wine in companionable silence and thinking of the past. Of festivals in Athens, of Dionysus's eternal parties, of moments when Olympus had felt more like home.
"Tell me about the Boros," I said eventually. "You mentioned you're in the Legion. What does that mean in practice?"
Razia set down his cup, his expression turning more serious. "The Boros Legion is Ravnica's primary law enforcement and military force, and we were founded on principles of honor, justice, and protection of the innocent. Where the Azorius write the laws, we enforce them. When the civilians are threatened, we defend them."
"That sounds noble."
"It is, when we're allowed to actually do our job. Right now, everything's complicated by guild politics and the war." He refilled both cups from the divine wine crate. "The Legion is traditionally led by angels. Ancient, powerful, righteous beings who embody our ideals. Our current leader is Aurelia, Warleader of the Boros. She's brilliant, and absolutely committed to protecting Ravnica's citizens."
"And you serve under her?"
"I serve the Legion's ideals, which Aurelia represents. The chain of command is clear: Aurelia leads, the sunhome garrison commanders coordinate strategy, battalion commanders like me handle ground operations, and the soldiers execute." He paused. "But it's more than hierarchy. The Legion functions because we believe in what we're doing. We're not conscripts or mercenaries. We're volunteers who chose to stand between civilians and everything else."
I could hear the conviction in his voice, feel it in the red mana that still clung to his form. This was his purpose, identity, and the core of who he was.
"You mentioned the Legion is led by angels," I said.
"Boros angels are warriors first, everything else second. They fight alongside us, bleed alongside us, and sometimes die alongside us. Aurelia's lost soldiers under her command before, and she takes every death personally." Razia's expression turned complicated. "That's both her strength and her weakness. She cares too much, feels too deeply. Red and white in an eternally struggling balance."
"You keep mentioning color combinations. Red and white specifically. How does that work in practice?"
"Red is passion, emotion, freedom, the desire to act according to your heart. White is order, community, structure, the desire to protect and serve something larger than yourself." He gestured broadly. "Combine them, and you get the Boros philosophy: passionate protection, aggressive defence, righteous fury channelled through military discipline."
I thought about that. Two opposing forces, chaos and order, are working together instead of fighting. It reminded me of how I'd combined celestial bronze and celestial steel in the sword I'd given Urgala. Different properties, carefully balanced, creating something stronger than either component alone.
"What about the other guilds?" I asked. "What color combinations do they use?"
"Izzet is blue and red, intellect and passion. They're scientists and inventors, brilliant but completely reckless. Dimir is blue and black, knowledge and ambition. They are spies and assassins, operating from the shadows. Golgari is black and green, death and nature, and they're farmers and necromancers, feeding the city while living in its undercity." He ticked them off on his fingers. "Gruul is red and green, passion and instinct. Barbarians who want to tear down civilization. Selesnya is green and white, nature and community and are pacifists who believe in collective harmony. Orzhov is white and black, order and ambition. They are organized crime dressed up as religion, selfishness combined with order."
"That's seven. What about the other three?"
"Rakdos is black and red, ambition and passion. They are hedonistic cultists who worship through performance art and murder. Simic is green and blue, nature and intellect. Mad scientists, the lot of them, who experiment with biology. And Azorius is white and blue, order and knowledge. The bureaucrats who write the laws and think rules solve everything."
There were ten guilds and ten philosophies, all convinced they had the answer to how society should function.
I refilled both cups from the wine crate, watching Razia as he savored the divine vintage. "How did they maintain peace for ten thousand years?"
"It was the Guildpact. A magical treaty signed by the ten guild founders, binding them to cooperation and preventing any single guild from seizing total control." He drained his cup. "It worked, mostly. There were always tensions, always minor conflicts, but the Guildpact kept things from escalating to open warfare. Then someone killed the Azorius Guildmaster, and everything fell apart."
"Do you know who killed him?"
"Officially? The Gruul are blamed. Unofficially?" Razia shrugged. "Could have been anyone. The Gruul, sure. Or the Dimir framing the Gruul. Or the Orzhov eliminating a political rival. Or even internal Azorius politics gone wrong. Nobody knows for certain, and everyone's too busy fighting to investigate properly. The only thing we know for sure is that it was not the other guild leaders, as they were bound by the guildpact. My personal theory is that it was an outsider."
I thought about that information, trying to map the complex web of alliances and rivalries. Each with their own agenda, their own enemies, their own vision for how Ravnica should function. It looked like the assassination had simply been the spark that ignited tensions that had been building for ages.
"You mentioned someone named Niv-Mizzet declared martial law," I said. "Does that mean the Izzet control the city now?"
"Not exactly. Niv-Mizzet declared himself a temporary arbiter, separate from his role as Izzet Guildmaster. He's trying to impose order from a position of neutral authority." Razia's expression turned skeptical. "Whether he's actually neutral or just advancing Izzet interests under the guise of peacekeeping is a matter of debate."
"You don't trust him."
"I trust that he's brilliant and probably has plans within plans within plans. Whether those plans benefit Ravnica as a whole or just the Izzet specifically?" He shrugged. "Time will tell."
We drank in silence for a moment, the divine wine smoothing away some of the tension that permeated everything. Outside, the sounds of combat continued. Distant explosions, shouted orders, the clash of magic against magic.
"Tell me more about the color system," I said. "You mentioned that Boros combines red and white. How does that manifest in your magic specifically?"
"Red gives me aggression, speed, the ability to act decisively in the moment. White gives me protection magic, healing, the ability to shield others." Razia held up his hand, and red mana coalesced around his fingers like smoke. "When I channel red, I can enhance my physical capabilities. Move faster, strike harder, endure more damage. It responds to emotion, to passion, to the intensity of my commitment."
"And white?"
"White is different. Calmer and more rigid." The red mana shifted, taking on a pinkish tinge as white mana mixed with it. "When I channel white, I can create barriers, heal wounds, inspire my soldiers to fight beyond their normal limits. It responds to conviction, to duty, to the belief that what I'm doing matters."
Hmm, it probably inspires zealouts?
I watched the mana flow around his hand, fascinated by how it responded to his emotions and thought processes.
"Can you use other colors?" I asked.
"In theory, anyone can access any color. In practice, most people naturally align with one or two based on their personality and worldview. I could probably channel green if I tried hard enough, tap into instinct and growth. But it wouldn't come naturally, and the magic would be weaker as a result."
"What about the colorless mana?"
His expression turned troubled. "Colorless is... strange. It exists, you can sense it if you know what to look for, but it feels empty. Hollow."
"Has anyone tried to fix it?"
"There is nothing to fix?" Razia laughed, though the sound carried no humor. "That's beyond even Niv-Mizzet's capabilities. The Guildpact was supposed to maintain balance, keep the plane stable. With it failing, things are only going to get worse."
I filed that away for future investigation. Problems that might require solutions that only someone from outside the system could provide. Getting involved in planetary-scale problems was how you ended up trapped fighting wars that weren't yours.
Still. The challenge was appealing. The worst thing for an immortal is boredom.
"One last question," I said. "The Boros Legion. What's your actual structure? You mentioned angels leading, but how many soldiers do you have? What's your command hierarchy?"
"That's a lot of questions, my friend, but for the great wine I'll indulge you. Roughly ten thousand active soldiers across all districts, plus support personnel and civilian auxiliaries. We're organized into battalions of approximately five hundred each, commanded by veterans like me. The battalions are grouped into garrisons, each one responsible for a specific district or strategic location. Sunhome, our guild hall, coordinates overall strategy. These are all public information for all the other guilds."
"And the angels?"
"Aurelia commands overall, supported by a council of senior angels who handle logistics, recruitment, and long-term planning. Below them are the warleaders, angels who lead from the front and inspire through personal combat. Then come the commanders like me, mostly mortal, handling day-to-day operations." He refilled his cup again. "The angels are powerful, inspiring, absolutely committed to our cause. But they're not invincible. We've lost three in the last two weeks alone. The war's taking its toll on everyone."
I could hear the exhaustion in his voice, the weight of losses accumulating over weeks of constant fighting. Watching people you cared about die while trying to protect civilians caught in the crossfire.
"I'm sorry," I said quietly. "For your losses."
"Part of the job. We all knew the risks when we joined." Razia stood, stretching. "Come on. I'll show you where you can bunk for the night if you're staying. Tomorrow you can figure out what you want to do in this mess of a city."
I followed him through the safe house, noting how the soldiers moved with trained discipline despite their exhaustion. Weapons cleaned and ready, armor repaired where possible, wounds tended with whatever healing magic was available.
These were good people. Fighting for something they believed in, protecting those who couldn't protect themselves, maintaining discipline and purpose in the face of chaos.
On our way towards the bunker, a great beam of light shot up from the centre of the city.