Strategy is 10% preparation, 90% pretending you meant to do that.
Formation
The edge of the forest was alive with activity, though we kept our movements deliberate and hushed. The tree line provided enough cover to stay undetected while giving us a clear path for teleportation when the time came. I stood in the middle of it all, taking in the sight of the assembling forces.
Coffee arrived among the first with her vampires, and it was hard not to be impressed. She had managed to bring ten of her father's warriors—a number that was both surprising and formidable. These weren't the younger, less disciplined vampires I was used to seeing. These were seasoned, battle-hardened fighters, their expressions cold and unyielding like tempered steel. Their presence alone felt like a weapon in itself, a wall of pure intimidation.
In front of them stood Coffee, spear in hand, her posture regal and commanding. She looked every bit the cold mistress of war, her crimson eyes gleaming with focus. For a moment, I almost didn't recognize her. Mica hovered nearby, and despite his usual confidence, he looked like a fledgling beside the towering, muscular frames of the vampire warriors.
Not long after, Des emerged from the shadows with his hunters in tow. The contrast between them and the vampires was stark. Where the vampires were disciplined soldiers, Des's hunters looked like rabid dogs or a gang of outlaws ready to brawl. Their mismatched armor and feral grins didn't scream professionalism, but I knew better than to underestimate them.
Des himself strode at their head, his presence as sharp and biting as ever. His hunters followed him like a pack, their energy restless and electric. From their numbers, I could tell he'd left a good portion of his men behind to protect Alice, but those who had come were some of his strongest. Their rough exteriors concealed their deadly precision and unmatched resilience in battle.
As Des approached, he gave me a familiar smirk, his eyes scanning the gathering forces. "Hope you've got a good plan, little brother," he said, his voice carrying just enough bite to make me roll my eyes.
"I always do," I replied evenly, though I couldn't help the small smirk that tugged at the corner of my mouth.
The quiet tension at the edge of the forest was broken by the arrival of Calista, the Crystalline Mage. She moved with an almost ethereal grace, her robes shimmering faintly with embedded fragments of her magic. Her presence alone drew the eyes of everyone nearby, but she ignored the stares, heading straight for me.
Without saying a word, she stopped a few paces away and bowed deeply. My eyes widened in genuine surprise. "What are you doing?" I asked, my voice a mix of incredulity and mild discomfort.
She straightened, her posture immaculate as always, her expression calm yet resolute. "I'm offering my gratitude, Your Majesty," she said, her voice as smooth and polished as her appearance. "Thank you for recognizing my strength and for personally asking for my aid."
I blinked, caught off guard by the formality. I hadn't thought much of it when I'd suggested her earlier—it was simply the logical choice. But I could see this moment clearly meant something more to her.
I gave a small nod, keeping my tone steady. "You've earned it. Just keep an eye on Gil for me, will you?"
Her lips curved into a faint, almost imperceptible smile. "Of course," she said, inclining her head slightly before stepping back to join the gathering group.
I caught sight of Gil hovering awkwardly near the edge of the group, clearly unsure if he should approach. His wild hair and perpetually disheveled robes made him stand out among the polished presence of the other mages. I sighed and waved him over, feeling the weight of yet another conversation I didn't have the patience for.
"Gil," I called, and he scurried forward like a nervous rabbit.
"Uh, Shay," he started, bowing his head slightly. "Thank you for…for the opportunity. I'll do my best."
He sounded sincere, but his posture screamed uncertainty. I studied him for a moment before sighing again. "Gil, if everything goes as planned, you won't even need to fight," I said, keeping my tone measured. His shoulders visibly relaxed at that, but I wasn't done. "But if things don't go smoothly—and let's face it, they rarely do—I need you to listen carefully."
He straightened slightly, clearly sensing the shift in my tone. "Y-yes?"
"Your job is simple," I said, my voice firm. "Stay close to Calista and use your explosions to aid her. Remember, these will be enemies, not other apprentices. You don't need to hold back. If you get the chance—" I leaned in slightly, my gaze sharp and unyielding, "—just blow their heads off."
Gil's mouth opened, but no sound came out. His face turned a shade paler, and for a moment, I wondered if I'd been too blunt. But then again, the reality of the situation wasn't going to sugarcoat itself.
I gave him a pointed look. "Understood?"
He swallowed hard and managed a shaky nod. "Y-yes."
"Good," I said, stepping back and gesturing for him to join Calista. "Now get ready."
As he walked away, still visibly shaken, I let out another sigh. It wasn't easy dealing with people who weren't accustomed to bloodshed.
Mose's voice cut through the air.
"Will Gil be alright?" he asked, his tone calm but laced with concern.
I turned to find Mose standing there. His worried gaze was fixed on me and I caught the subtle tension in his stance. Speaking of people who are not accustomed a bloodshed... here he is.
Behind him, Alex and Rolo trailed in, Rolo, predictably, wore a grin as if he were just here for a picnic.
I sighed for what felt like the hundredth time. "Gil will manage," I said, my tone more curt than I intended. "He has strength, Mose. It's just buried under… a lot of hesitation. He'll either find it today or he won't."
Mose studied me for a moment before nodding. He didn't press further, but the lingering concern in his eyes told me he wasn't entirely reassured.
I sighed. "What about you, Mose? Are you going to be alright?"
His eyes widened, and for a second, he looked caught off guard. "I… I'll do my best," he said, his calm veneer cracking just slightly.
I stepped closer, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. "Then stick with Rolo and Alex," I said, my tone leaving no room for argument. "Rolo will keep you out of trouble, and Alex can hold his own in a fight."
Mose's gaze flickered to Alex, who stood a few steps away, arms crossed, his expression steady. Alex met the look with a small smile.
Rolo, who had been leaning against a tree, couldn't help but add his usual flair. "See? You're in good hands. Alex can smash things, and I'll make sure you don't get lost."
Alex rolled his eyes but didn't bother retorting. His sharp, focused gaze was enough to show he was ready, even if Rolo's antics were a constant distraction.
I nodded in approval. "Good. You three stay sharp and stick together."
"Understood," Alex said firmly.
Rolo grinned. "Don't worry, boss. We've got this."
Mose's shoulders relaxed slightly, though the unease in his eyes hadn't fully disappeared. Still, with Alex and Rolo by his side, I knew he'd find his footing when it mattered most.
The familiar shimmering presence of the fae doctor approached, his steps graceful and composed. Beside him, Ábel moved with a distinct bounce, his excitement practically radiating off him. His grin was wide and unsettling, a clear indication of his anticipation for the chaos to come.
"Shay," the fae doctor greeted, his voice calm and polite as ever, a stark contrast to his companion.
"Doctor," I nodded in acknowledgment, keeping my tone steady. "Thank you for coming."
"Hiya, bro," Ábel's eyes glittered with glee as he leaned slightly closer. "This is going to be fun," he said, almost humming the words.
I met Ábel's eager gaze with a sharp one of my own. "Ábel," I said firmly, "your job is to protect the doctor at all times. No wandering off to massacre unlucky mages, okay?"
Ábel's grin didn't falter, but he gave a casual salute. "Understood. No one touches the doc."
The fae doctor inclined his head slightly, unfazed by Ábel's peculiar demeanor.
I scanned the clearing until my eyes landed on the group of white mages standing a little apart, clearly marking their role as healers. "Doctor," I said, gesturing toward them. "You'll be with the healers."
The doctor nodded and began walking toward them, Ábel trailing close behind. The white mages turned to greet him, their composed expressions faltering as they noticed Ábel. His unrelenting grin and the way he twirled a dagger between his fingers made more than one of them recoil in discomfort.
One of the mages, a middle-aged woman with a sharp gaze, seemed ready to speak up, her lips parting as if to protest. Before she could utter a word, the fae doctor cast her a cold, piercing stare, one that froze the air around them. Her mouth snapped shut, and the group quickly busied themselves, avoiding Ábel's eccentric presence entirely.
Ábel, of course, was oblivious—or perhaps entirely aware and enjoying himself. He leaned toward the nearest mage and muttered something that caused their face to pale. The doctor glanced back at him, the smallest lift of an eyebrow serving as a warning. Ábel chuckled but straightened, falling into step beside the fae doctor like a dutiful shadow.
Satisfied, I turned my attention back to the rest of the gathering. Everything was falling into place.
Eden approached next, his presence as composed and regal as ever. Beside him, three young men followed in a neat formation, their strides measured and confident. It was clear they had inherited their father's poise along with his striking dark hair and skin.
"Hueless King," Eden greeted, his tone formal. "Allow me to introduce my sons." He gestured to the tallest of the three, whose sharp features and rich brown eyes radiated a quiet intensity. "This is Sylva."
Sylva inclined his head respectfully, his expression stoic but his demeanor polite.
Eden's hand moved to the second, whose piercing blue eyes stood in stark contrast to the rest of his appearance. His stance was more relaxed than Sylva's, but there was a watchfulness to him that suggested he missed nothing. "And this is Elan."
Elan offered a slight bow, a subtle smile gracing his lips.
Finally, Eden introduced the youngest, who stood slightly behind his brothers. His golden earrings glinted in the sunlight, complementing the warm, kind expression in his golden eyes. "And this," Eden said, "is Soran."
Soran stepped forward with an easy grace, his movements carrying an openness his brothers lacked. "It's an honor to meet you, Your Majesty," he said, his voice soft but steady.
I nodded in acknowledgment, my gaze sweeping over the trio. While they all carried themselves with the polished manners of diplomats, I could see the subtle differences in their demeanors. Sylva was a blade held steady, Elan a silent strategist, and Soran... there was a warmth in him that almost seemed out of place in this gathering.
"Thank you for coming," I said, addressing them collectively before focusing on Eden. "You've raised them well."
Eden dipped his head slightly, "It's the merit of my wife."
"I see," I replied evenly, my gaze lingering on the three of them for a moment longer. "I'll make sure they're put to good use."
Sylva and Elan both gave firm nods, their expressions resolute. Soran, however, offered a genuine smile, his golden earrings swaying as he tilted his head slightly.
"Let's hope we're up to your standards," he said, the lightness in his tone a rare reprieve in the somber atmosphere.
I allowed a faint smile to tug at my lips before turning my attention back to Eden. This fella is funny.
As they stepped away to take their positions, I couldn't help but notice how Soran lingered for a brief moment, his golden gaze meeting mine. It was a fleeting but deliberate exchange, one that left an impression even as he turned to follow his brothers. Funny indeed. A wolf in sheep's clothing.
I looked at Livius, who was deep in the middle of orchestrating the formation of the white mages. His movements were precise and calculated, a testament to the discipline he held within himself and expected from his apprentices. He spoke in low tones, issuing instructions that were met with nods and focused determination. There was no hesitation in him, not even as the weight of the impending battle pressed down on everyone present.
For a moment, his eyes found mine across the clearing, sharp and unreadable. I met his gaze with a steady stare. But there was nothing to read—just a smooth, composed mask. Good. If Livius was feeling the weight of the situation, he buried it deep, beneath the surface where no one could see. His ability to remain unwavering under pressure was reassuring; it meant that he could lead the white mages through the chaos to come, even if it would be their first true test in battle.
The formation was a mixture of seasoned mages and young apprentices, their faces set with grim determination. The older mages stood with their chins high, their hands ready, murmuring quiet words of encouragement or concentration. But most of the group were young, their youthful faces pale with tension, eyes darting nervously to the perimeter and back to Livius for reassurance.
I took a breath, my mind already racing through contingencies. The young mages were vulnerable—too untested to face what awaited them. But they were also the backbone of Livius's magic. That must be enough.
I shifted my gaze to Mazen, who was standing at the center of his dark mages, a commander in his own right. He moved with an air of authority that was nearly tangible, and the way he spoke left no room for debate. He was issuing orders, his voice low and commanding, each word weighted with the power of his presence. A mage near the edge of the group muttered something, a complaint about the plan or the positioning, and before he could even finish, Mazen's icy stare cut through the air like a blade.
The mage's words faltered and died, swallowed by the fear that flashed across his face. Mazen's eyes were cold and sharp, like steel forged in the dark. He said nothing, but his glare was enough to put the entire group back in line, the murmurs silenced and replaced by tense, focused silence. It was a formidable sight—dark mages, known for their erratic, untrustworthy nature, now standing straighter, eyes wide with something like apprehension.
Managing these mages was a task few could handle, especially when they were used to operating alone, fueled by their unpredictable magic and volatile tempers. Their power could be a weapon or a curse, but Mazen knew how to mold them, at least for now. And that was enough. The dark mages feared him, and that fear kept them from tearing each other apart. It was an edge we needed—something that would keep their chaos in check when the time came.
I let out a breath. The storm of dark mages might be chaotic, but under Mazen's watchful eye, they would be a storm with direction, their fury harnessed into something formidable. Mazen's ability to command their respect, even their fear, was a critical asset in the fight ahead.
I nodded slightly to myself.
The last group to arrive was the contingent of lust mages, led by Violan himself. Their entrance was impossible to miss; their robes were a vivid, almost blinding shade of pink, adorned with embroidery that shimmered with subtle hints of gold and silver.
They moved as if the forest had just been transformed into a grand ballroom, laughter and chatter trailing in their wake. Smiles were plastered across their faces, their eyes glittering with mischief and delight. The other mages cast glances at them, some frowning with suspicion, others looking outright annoyed. Violan was directly mocking them.
Violan approached, his gaze catching mine as he strutted like a peacock, the folds of his pink robes fluttering with each step. He stopped a few feet away, that signature smirk spreading across his face. He tilted his head, eyes glinting with playful challenge. "Well, Shay, do you like my outfit?" His voice was light and teasing, carrying through the slight rustle of leaves.
I let a small smile curve my lips, leaning forward slightly as if to inspect his attire more closely. "I must say, Vio, it's... impressive," I said, my voice tinged with amusement. The way he dressed, with such flamboyance, made me wonder if he had a different agenda in mind. But I knew that under that bright, unassuming appearance lay a formidable power.
Violan chuckled, the sound as smooth as silk. "I knew you'd have good taste," he said with a wink.
His eyes, though full of jest, had a sharpness that revealed he was fully aware of the stakes here. I couldn't help but notice that even amidst the relaxed chatter of the lust mages, there was a subtle tension, the way they stood alert, eyes flickering with anticipation and readiness.
They might play the role of jesters, but the truth was that Violan's group was among the most dangerous here. They were unpredictable and ruthless, their laughter often concealing the edge of a blade. People underestimated them—for most that was their last mistake.
I asked Violan how many of his lust mages he would allocate to the spatial isolation group and how many would remain in the protection squads. His answer cut through the tension like a blade.
"All of them will be in the protecting group," he said, his voice unwavering and his smile sharp as ever.
A stunned silence fell over the gathering. It wasn't just the mages around us who were stunned; even Eden looked back from afar, his eyes widened, the green orbs flicking toward Violan and then back to me, round and unblinking. The implications were heavy, the decision daring. One-third of the burden for the spatial isolation spell would rest solely on Violan's shoulders. He would carry the weight of that alone.
I nodded. "Okay."
I knew better than to be surprised. It had taken an army of a thousand hunters to bring him down, and even then, they barely succeeded. Violan had been the second most powerful mage of his era, a force to be reckoned with.
I caught sight of Rolo, who stood a little apart from the others, his expression eerily calm. His eyes were fixed on Violan, unblinking, as though studying him. There was no tension in his posture, no fidgeting or nervous energy. It was as if he were watching a performance, taking in the intricate details with careful precision.
Mose, who stood next to him, glanced at Rolo, confusion crossing his face. He couldn't understand the source of Rolo's composure, his expression that looked so assured while everyone else was wrapped in varying degrees of worry.
Alex, standing slightly behind them, had a different reaction. He leaned toward Mose with a frown, his brows furrowed in bewilderment. "What's he staring at?" Alex whispered, eyes darting between Rolo and Violan, searching for an answer that wasn't there. To him, the situation was nothing more than an enigma.
Rolo finally broke his gaze, turning to me with that small, knowing smile that only he could manage. It was like he knew something none of us could grasp, some unspoken truth or insight. But well, I knew too. I imagined that my smile mirrored his.
"We'll stay with him, Shay," Olie said, voice steady as he met my eyes.
Edie's gaze lingered on Violan, assessing him with a focus that I remembered from the night I first met them.
Olie's grin widened. "We are all greys in the end."
Olie's grin, sharp and full of unspoken truths, seemed to cut through the tension. Edie let out a low, knowing chuckle, breaking the brief silence. He shifted his stance but his gaze was still locked on Violan.
They were followed by ten other mages from their coven, their expressions a mix of readiness and uncertainty. Two other neutral mages, who had their own small covens, stood behind Olie and Edie, their eyes darting nervously between the larger factions but they stayed.
The sight of their modest numbers was a stark contrast to the white or dark mage fractions. However, I knew better than most what it meant for Violan to go into this with Olie, Edie, and their allies and covens. Violan would never accept help from anyone else, nor did he need it.
Violan's smirk was barely contained as he acknowledged Olie and Edie's presence, eyes sharp with amusement and pride. "Thank you for your kind offer Oliver," he started, his voice sounding like sweet honey that melted people's hearts. Well, Olie's heart was definitely melting.
"But don't you dare hold me back, or I'll make sure you regret it," Vio warned, his voice low and laced with danger.
Olie's grin faltered as his eyes narrowed at Violan's words, the challenge sparking something in him that almost snapped. He took a step forward, fists clenching. The tension in the air crackled, so palpable I could almost hear it humming.
Before Olie could speak, Edie's reflexes kicked in. With a swift, practiced movement, he stepped in front of Olie and wrapped him in a bear hug that forced the tension from Olie's frame. The sudden contact caught Olie off guard, his breath whooshing out in surprise. For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of Olie's indignant huff and the amused chuckle from Violan.
"Calm yourself, Olie," Edie said, his voice even but laced with the faintest edge of amusement. "Save your rage for the spell, when it will matter."
Olie's shoulders relaxed, and he glared over Edie's shoulder at Violan, his expression fierce but controlled. "This better be worth it," he muttered, but his words were swallowed by the heavy silence that followed.
Violan's smirk softened, his eyes catching mine once more. "Quit playing," that was all I said and Vio hummed that could be taken either as agreement or a damn near disregard for my opinion.
The lust mages moved seamlessly into position, joining the makeshift protection force. They fell into place beside the vampires, the rabid hunters, Felis, and the two light mages. Without much conversation or fanfare, they formed three smaller groups, each with a specific function and role to play. Finally.
I watched them for a moment, then I turned my attention elsewhere. There was one more person I needed to find. I easily spotted her—sitting under a sprawling oak at the edge of the clearing, her figure still and serene. Lil. She was the first to arrive, but now she seemed to have retreated into herself, eyes closed, her posture regal yet relaxed. Her breathing was slow, deep as if she were gathering the last reserves of her strength before the storm.
She opened her eyes, as if sensing my gaze.