"What I am about to ask of you," began Juárez, stopping at the edge of the table, "is an unprecedented act. Mexico's sovereignty is at stake, but not only on our lands. If the Confederates win this war, their expansion vision will include our country. We have already suffered the American invasion once, and we cannot allow slavery to take root here."
Coralina Ixcheli, accustomed to maintaining her composure under pressure, passes her hand over her mouth.
"Mr. President," intervened Ezequiel, alias Tláloc. "Are you suggesting we side with the northern Americans? Those who also stole our lands?"
"I know it's difficult to accept, but history obligates us to act pragmatically. Lincoln is different. He has made it clear that his fight is not just about maintaining the union, but about ending slavery. If his government falls, the balance of power on the continent will change forever."
Coralina raised her eyes. "What exactly will our mission be, Mr. President?"
Juárez spread a map on the table. "You will travel to Washington D.C. as representatives of Mexico and as a gesture of goodwill towards the Union. But your true objective will be to support Lincoln with your magical abilities and eliminate any supernatural threat the Confederates are using."
"What about France, England, and Spain?" asked Mateo, alias Coyote. "Their intervention here is already a problem. What prevents them from also supporting the Confederates?"
"I have no guarantees. But if we can tip the balance in this war before they advance further, we will have a chance to avoid a greater disaster."
Ramiro, alias Nahual, laughed from his seat. "And how do we know the Americans will welcome us with open arms? They might see us as intruders."
"They will receive you because Lincoln has personally requested you," interrupted Juárez.
Coralina evaluated her squadron's behavior: Ezequiel was reflective, Mateo restless, Santiago, alias Chacal, was impassive, while Ramiro maintained his usual skepticism.
"Then we depart at dawn," Coralina finally said, breaking the silence.
Juárez nodded. "I trust you. Mexico trusts you."
The regiment crossed the mountains and valleys of a Mexico marked by war. As they advanced towards American territory, faces and landscapes changed.
They arrived in Washington D.C. 10 days after departing. A feat worthy only of the elite wizards of the old continent.
The arrival.
Coralina leaned back in the carriage seat, one leg crossed over the other, her boots gleaming under the faint morning sun. Her white hair fell in unruly waves, framing a smile that Mateo always found suspicious.
"What's so funny now, Ixchel?" he muttered, casting her a sidelong glance.
"Funny? No. Bored, maybe," Coralina replied, drumming her nails on the window frame. "I'm just imagining what kind of person President Lincoln is. I bet he's not expecting a group like us."
"Perhaps because we represent an entire country," Ezequiel interjected. "You could try showing some decorum."
"Decorum?" Coralina let out a mocking laugh. "Please, Tlaloc, the man needs us. And when someone needs something from me, the last thing I do is behave."
Chacal leaned forward from the opposite seat. "What are you planning to do? Provoke him?"
"I plan to make sure Abraham Lincoln knows the Sixth Peninsular Regiment isn't the same as it was before the war."
The carriage came to a halt in front of the White House. It was less impressive than Coralina had imagined. Outside, a U.S. officer awaited them.
The man who greeted them was Major Nathaniel Porter. "You're… younger than I expected," he commented, extending his hand.
Coralina ignored the gesture and instead inclined her head with a smile that could be interpreted as either a greeting or a provocation. "We were well-trained, Major. How much have you read about us?"
Taken aback by her audacity, he cleared his throat. "Quite a bit, miss. I've reviewed your CV. You studied at the Imperial Institute of Magical Warfare in Vienna, correct?"
"Das Kaiserliche Institut für Magische Kriegsführung," Coralina corrected, pronouncing each word in German with flawless precision. "A lovely place. Quite literally."
Porter raised an eyebrow.
Ezequiel spoke up, mediating the situation. "We studied military magic and trained in the European theater in Italy and the Balkans."
"And here we are," Coralina added, raising a finger theatrically, "ready to save your war and my country from being enslaved."
Porter chuckled. "You're definitely different from any unit we've seen before."
"Will you take us to Lincoln, or will you keep sizing us up, Major?" she quipped.
"Of course. Follow me."
The Oval Office was bathed in light, with maps and documents scattered across the wooden desk. Coralina immediately noticed the tall, lean figure of Abraham Lincoln, who rose as they entered.
"Welcome," Lincoln said warmly. "It is an honor to receive the Sixth Peninsular Regiment."
"Coralina Álvarez de Castilla, alias Ixchel. I'm sure you've read my file, Mr. President. Descendant of the magical lineage of Castile. A pleasure to meet you."
"Your family has a long history, Miss Coralina Álvarez. Strategists, leaders… and, by some accounts, quite unpredictable."
"Ha, you know me well, don't you?"
Lincoln let out a soft laugh before addressing the others. "Ezequiel, alias Tlaloc. Master of rain and water. It is a privilege to have you on our side."
Ezequiel responded with a slight bow. "I hope not to disappoint."
"Chacal," Lincoln said, looking at Santiago. "Known for his brutality on the battlefield. A man of results and a Nahual. A gift that, as I understand it, requires immense control."
Turning his attention back to the group, Lincoln continued, "I know our nations have had their differences. But now we face a common enemy. The Confederates don't just seek to maintain slavery; they aim to expand it, and I have no doubt Mexico would be on their list of targets."
"We are aware, Mr. President," Coralina said.
"We are also aware of the occupation of Veracruz by England, France, and Spain. We don't want the chaos here to lead to a European occupation of the entire continent."
"Then we're on the same side of the coin. This is a battle for the future of the Americas."
He studied Coralina for a moment before clasping his hands atop his desk.
"Your expertise is not limited to your studies in Austria. I'd like to hear about your campaigns in Europe."
"Where should I start, Mr. President? How many corpses would you like me to decorate my story with?"
Mateo, standing next to her, murmured a low "Ixchel…" but she ignored him. She stepped forward, taking center stage as if she were an actress about to perform.
"The first time I saw a battlefield was in Italy, during the unification. 1855, to be precise. Garibaldi marched with his famous Redshirts, and the Austrians tried to stop the inevitable. We were there to support an ally of the Empire, though deep down, we knew the chaos in Italy was an opportunity to learn…"
"I remember the first time I charged an enemy line. It was in Milazzo, northern Sicily. They had the advantage in numbers, and we were just a handful. But bullets can't compete with magic."
She made a dramatic gesture, wielding an invisible sword. "My style is a mix, Mr. President. Magical swordsmanship and firearms."
Ezequiel let out a barely audible sigh but didn't intervene. Coralina continued, now moving about the room.
"A nineteen-year-old girl, riding straight at them, my sword shining like a fallen star, my pistols spitting enchanted lead. Bang, bang."
"Milazzo was the beginning, but then came the Second Schleswig War. The Danes had a mage on their side, someone named Johannes Carlsen. A genius with runes and protective enchantments."
She stopped in front of Lincoln's desk, leaning lightly on it with both hands as she smiled.
"Carlsen was good, but he made a mistake. He thought my weapons were all show, that there was no substance behind the flames. At Düppel, I faced his magic directly. I let him think he'd cornered me, both of us out of magic. I forced him to use my own pistol, overloaded with my magic, to finish me off. Boom!"
"And what would you say was your greatest lesson from those European theaters?" Lincoln asked.
"That war has no rules, Mr. President. Only winners and losers. And I wasn't born to lose."
"But don't misunderstand me. I'm not just a warrior. My charms have also proven useful. Nobody says war has to be boring."
"Coralina, you're enjoying this too much."
She shrugged dismissively. "I'm just telling the truth, Nahual. If Lincoln wants to win this war, he must know who he's dealing with."
"What I see, Miss Álvarez," Lincoln replied, "is someone unafraid to get their hands dirty to achieve results. But keep in mind, this war is different. We're not just fighting for territory or ideology. We're fighting for the soul of this nation."
"Yes, yes, yes, Mr. President. Now, tell me, what's the situation?"
"Union forces are being pushed back on several fronts. Confederate troops are disciplined, better equipped in some regions, and, most concerning, have significant magical support. That's where Simon Hawthorne comes in."
Coralina tilted her head, intrigued.
"Hawthorne," Lincoln continued, "is a mage of considerable power. A descendant of one of the oldest British magical lineages. His magic is tied to human sacrifice. His rituals have bolstered Confederate resistance in key areas. Among the most fanatical slaveholders, he's seen as almost a messianic figure."
"British?" Coralina leaned forward. "Interesting. It seems the Hawthorne family and mine have something in common."
"In fact, that's something we need to discuss. The Confederates, like you, Miss Álvarez, have descendants of British lineages. In your case, I understand your heritage traces back to Castile, Spain, but the ties between European magical families are… complex."
"My family may have mixed British heritage, but we don't share the ambition to enslave an entire continent."
"I don't doubt that, Miss Álvarez. But I cannot ignore that the Confederates have access to mages with similar roots. Simon Hawthorne and others of his kind have united to strengthen their cause."
"Perfect," Coralina interrupted. "Nothing I like more than tearing out rotten roots."