Chapter 29: Signals [Both] (Patreon)

Leon sat before the war council with a grimace. His stomach felt squeezed, as if a rope was tied around it and the world was pulling it taught. These people were here to discuss war with the archwizards, the thing that he feared more than anything since Ryker had left. No other situation had made it more painfully clear that he wasn’t his son than this. If Ryker was here, his kid would walk to the front of his troops and say something like, Tonight, we shall have no casualties! We are indomitable! The sun never sets over the Everwood Empire, and our wrath will blot out the light from our enemies! 

… Yeah, right. He’d probably say something incredible, less dramatic, and more legendary, giving everyone an endless feeling of confidence. Hah. What was it he used to say to his son? Swing it like you’re showing off! Something like that. Now, his son couldn’t do something without showing off, and if he swung anything, all his problems would disappear. But what about him? What could he do? He was a margrave, not a king of a sprawling empire. Yet that’s what Ryker charged him with—right before hell broke loose on two continents.

Two days before, the same men and women sitting before him, waiting for his judgments and strategies, approached him and warned him that the archwizards were fighting. Leon asked how they learned about it, and they said a couple of wayward merchants saw the battle from afar. He asked how they confirmed it. They said, We’ll show you. And they did. No words could express what Leon saw there in that mountain valley or how he felt about it. The wind was freezing there, cutting through his face like a dull razor as icicles formed from his hair. Yet it wasn’t nearly as chilling as the devastation before him.

Deep, long gashes sliced through the icy ground as if the earth had buckled, and each side collided in a war for supremacy, causing spiderweb cracks through the ice. Trees were cut at the trunks for miles, many in pieces, other swathes burnt. In some areas, a cool breeze would push the snow, exposing molten glass from where lightning struck boulders in waves.

The area was twice the size of Sundell.

When Leon saw it, the first thing he thought was, I hope they don’t attack. His next thought: How the hell am I supposed to defend Sundell? He knew what was coming, and he had no idea how to stop them. Ryker did. His forces used his weapons. Weapons with strategies that only he understood. Strategies that defied the unchanging rules of war. But he didn’t.

The first thing that Leon planned to do when he returned was to have his squire pen a message to Ryker, asking for instruction and praying that the archwizards didn’t attack before then. Instead, the opposite happened. There, waiting for him, was a letter from Ryker, one he had read so many times that he could recite it verbatim. It began: “Dear Dad.” It was a beginning he would’ve cherished at some parts of his life, but given the context, it sent goosebumps rippling up his spine like a wave breaking on a shore.

“There’s too much to say, and I don’t quite know where to begin. So, I guess I’ll just start and see where that takes me.

“Queen Bouchard offered her kingdom and chastity for Garfield’s aid in the war, and he accepted. While that was once a blessing, Garfield has somehow summoned the whole Dark’thul kingdom’s army, as well as forces from Xandrial and Quarlith. It doesn’t make sense, and it makes me realize how little I know about Garfield.”

Leon gulped, feeling a bad premonition. Even when Ryker was facing the Valerian Kingdom as a child, he didn’t write so uncertainly. Or, he was just getting older, more patient, and more aware of his mortality. Knowing Ryker, the latter wasn’t likely.

“Tildalith has joined the war effort on Celestium’s side in exchange for land, I’m sure. Combined with forces from Pyrothia, we’re facing four armies with reinforcements. That’s assuming Queen Boudica keeps her promise and doesn’t make it five armies. The situation has become precarious.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is that the Everwood Empire will be welcoming a fifth of Antigua into its territory. So if you think your job’s hard right now, just wait until you meet the savages on this side of the Heliana.”

Leon chuckled in disbelief. Of course you would say something like that. 

His smile was short-lived. 

“While I am confident of victory, I’ll likely be unable to provide support to you in the event of serious trouble. The only exception is if King Elio leaves his harem den. If he so much as takes a shower outside his kingdom’s walls, I want you to tell Carter to fuck the war effort in Antigua and to focus on our contingent efforts. He’ll know who to talk to. Trust me, Dad. If Elio threatens our family, we’ll rip the fucker’s cock off and whip him with it…. Forgive me for the language. Thea’s writing verbatim. She says it shows my love clearer. If that’s true, I think it also shows that she cares about you guys, too. Speaking of which, we’re getting married.”

Leon’s jaw slackened, staring at the page. The ease and casualness with which he dropped that news was appalling. 

“I haven’t asked Thea yet, but judging by the way she’s smiling and blushing as she scribbles this, I think she’ll say yes. (I will!!!). 

“We won’t get married immediately. Putting a will together before a battle is a declaration that failure is a possibility, and it’s not. If I can’t beat Garfield’s forces with modern weaponry and ancient magic, I don’t deserve Thea or a wedding.”

“I wish I shared your confidence,” Leon whispered.

“My only regret was not understanding the extent of King Elio’s power. Now, I’ve found myself worrying about you, mother, Samson, and Eris and wondering if I haven’t been good enough to you all.”

Leon swallowed and turned to the next page.

“I’ll tell you the truth. I wasn’t close to my last parents. My memory was a breeding ground for resentment. ‘I didn’t say I’d go, Ryker.’—Yes, you did. ‘Don’t do that, Ryker!’—you did that three days ago! 

“Nothing’s really forgiven, and as a kid with a temper problem, that resentment boiled. And after so much mutual frustration, I left the house at eighteen, and my family shared passive-aggressive holidays ever since. When I died, if you could really call it that, I had a habit of buying my mother groceries once a week, but we never spoke more than three sentences. That was the life I had before I came here. It was bitter, cold and lonely—

“—and then I met you.”

Leon’s eyes welled with tears.

“I’m not going to say that my original parents (God, I feel like an asshole putting it that way, but it’s how I feel) wouldn’t have been equally great if I was born mature and had a better grasp of my memory. I don’t know, so I can’t say. But I can say that when I met you and Mom, I could truly appreciate your love and what it meant. Despite that, I didn’t know how to interpret it or interact. I always had that nagging feeling of being an imposter. A fake son. The demon lord’s reincarnation. Not your son. But… you knew that and never felt different toward me, and neither did I. Now, facing down an unknown enemy of unimaginable size, I’ve truly grasped just how ridiculous it was that I didn’t spend enough time with you, and more so for Samson and Eris, neither of which I truly know. So, once I destroy Garfield, I want to get to know you all better.”

Scarlet ran over, asking, What’s wrong? and then promptly started crying alongside Leon.

“That’s why I need you to take care of everyone, Dad.”

Leon collapsed on the bed as Scarlet ran her fingers through his hair.

“I’ve done what I can to help you. Talk to Carter. You’ll understand. Be well, Dad. I believe in you. And if you do find yourself in trouble, for the love of fucking God or whatever people believe in here, pick up a sword and ‘swing it like you’re showing off.’

“With love and sincerity, 

“Your son, Ryker Alexander Everwood, and your future daughter-in-law, Thea Everwood.”

Leon cried until his eyes burned like hot coals, and he could barely comfort Scarlet, who went from playing with his hair to crawling into a ball. Then, they fell asleep from the sheer exhaustion of emotion. It felt good, healing even. But when he awoke, and the emotion wore off like a splitting hangover, he understood the ground-shattering weight of the task that was on his shoulders.

Thankfully, Carter Phobes was, if nothing else, a bitter man who understood his struggle. What? Ryker’s puttin’ the weight of the world on your shoulders?] Carter had asked, pounding three fingers of malt liquor at 7 am. I wish I had time to empathize.

Leon smiled bitterly. Carter shrugged and poured a second glass of the rank spirit. No thanks, Leon said. Trust me, you’ll need this, Carter replied. Just wait until you see the “power” of Ryker’s love.

As it turned out, Ryker loved them a lot. But would it be enough? Sitting there, staring down the table of war generals and advisors, Leon wasn’t sure. Because Ryker’s love was what it was, “Ryker’s,” and even though he had given Leon everything, he wasn’t smart, cunning, or… whatever-the-fuck-Ryker-was enough to pull it off. Still, he rubbed his breast pocket, feeling that sheet of paper that he had memorized but felt comfort keeping close, and addressed the advisors and generals before him.

“I am not my son,” Leon said. “If there were two of him, this world would not be standing.”

An eerie silence befell the area, strangely electric but jarring. The gravity was so tense, the pressure so suffocating, that when he finally spoke, it felt like his words were guns, pointing straight at them and waiting to pierce them and take their lives. So, to hear a joke was surreal, twisting, and confusing. And the thing about that joke was that it was no joke at all. Cold, raw fact, just as true and intrinsic as the existence of magic and the presence of trees and air and water. Perhaps as evident as life itself, elusive and unexplainable, but there, bold and undeniable, begging even those in the throes of lunacy to question it as anything less than fact.

So when they heard it, they held their breath. Then one person chuckled, and then another. Soon, the whole table was looking at one another with twisted grins as if they were just now facing the reality of the situation for the first time. Then came the laughter, like a supporting string ensemble, permeating the room with a thick sense of satisfaction until the roaring came in with a crescendo, leaving every at a loss for words.

“That’s right,” Leon said. “I’m not my son, but I’m his father. And like you, I stand a benefactor of his greatness. I’ve been given everything, and so have you.”

The table fell silent again, equally pressurized but this time like carbonated wine, ready to pop, ready to roar in triumph.

“He’s given us guns and bombs and economic strength. Fuck. The kid’s given us double-ply toilet paper and flushing toilets. If we can’t kill the people he left us with, we don’t deserve to take a shit in his presence.”

Laughter broke out, grim and delighted, horrifying yet jovial.

“I don’t know what my son taught you all,” he continued. “To be honest, I don’t know shit because my son doesn’t tell me shit and coddles and pampers me like a damn toddler, it turns out. But it’s for that reason that I know that he didn’t leave his family unguarded.” Leon turned to the military generals. “He taught the military to protect us.” His gaze panned to the advisors. “And he cultivated advisors that make my job irrelevant.” 

Leon swallowed hard. “As for me, he’s set up everything, so my only job is to raise my sword and release the battle cry, and for the love of my son and country, I will damn it!” He stood up and slapped the table. “I’ll be the first on that battlefield, acting like I have real power. I’ll get onto that stage and whip those people into a frenzy. But you! You’re the people he entrusted to protect this kingdom, so I expect you to! I’m doing my job. Will you!”

The military generals didn’t have a moment’s hesitation. They gave their bold consent, and after three hours of strategy meetings, everyone left to set their plans into motion. Everyone knew they might die. But whatever happened, they would not, under any circumstance, let the kingdom fall. And, through unanimous consent, they swore alongside Regent Leon Everwood that they’d protect Ryker’s family with their lives.

2

The next three days were the most grueling of Leon’s life. Soldiers marched down the streets, leaving dread-filled expressions on all the citizens’ faces. Yet it also brought them comfort. With the heavy-hitting soldiers roaming about, the citizenry was reminded of the indomitability of Ryker Everwood and his empire.

Their empire.

Leon attended military meetings and learned that the military’s claim that Ryker was prepared for the archwizards to attack wasn’t a lie. They outlined their strategies, showed him their soldier’s training, and, to his surprise, there were special soldiers who were trained with Ryker’s new weaponry. That left Leon stunned beyond words. The Ryker he knew didn’t trust anyone, let alone weapons designed to kill people like him. Yet he did, and when Leon saw the weapons in action, he was stunned.

Then, the advisors started working their magic, riling up the citizens and having them do drills in underground bunkers that Leon wasn’t aware were in construction. Each was a massive area underground, built with reinforced concrete and fortification arrays. As for the bunker, he left Scarlet and the kids—it was more elaborate than their Valerian Estate. It was absurd, a masterpiece of mana-supported lighting and what Ryker interpreted as “modern” decor.

All of that gave Leon more confidence, but he still gravely wished that an attack from the archwizards wouldn’t come to pass. 

And he felt hopeful. Seven days passed in silence since the incident in Razor Pass and all felt still. That seemed natural to Leon. It was unimaginable that anyone would attack the Everwood Empire. It unified all of Novena. It had conquered a behemoth in Antigua. It had incredible technology, weapons, and connections on a scale Solstice had never seen before. And what about the Wreaths? Ultimately, they were a council of weapons. God-defying weapons, certainly, but weapons nevertheless—and Ryker had the weapons to kill them. So it was reasonable to believe that the Wreaths wouldn’t attack—

—but he was wrong.

The attack came around ten in the evening, 20 miles north of Sundell. A vortex developed in the sky, followed by crackling electricity and the boom of distant thunder. Next came the lightning, striking down and the sound of yelling, a sounding alarm, and hysteria as citizens fled to the bunkers. The lightning was distant, like a dream that promises death but never comes to pass, but Leon knew it was true and they were coming. 

Leon immediately rushed out of the castles but was stopped by his son Samson.

“Get to the shelter!” Leon yelled.

“No! I’m going!” Samson yelled back.

“No, you’re not! Get to the shelter, now! I don’t have time to argue with you!”

Lightning flashed and crackled across the sky, followed by another boom. Any second, the skies would finish charging and bring death to the soldiers stationed outside the walls. There was no time for petty squabbling, least of all with his eleven-year-old son.

“Dad!” Samson yelled. “You need help, and I can do it. I’m stronger than all these soldiers. I can—“

“What do you think this is?” Leon asked. “A game? A great opportunity to showcase your talent and prove yourself to your brother?”

“No! I don’t think that!”

“Yes, you do. You want to be like your brother, and I get that. Right now, I’d kill to be your brother, but I’m not. I’m scared shitless because the enemy out there can summon the fucking skies. And you should be, too.” 

Samson clenched his hand.

“Samson,” Leon said.” Samson. Look at me.”

Samson looked up defiantly, his face scowling.

“One day, you’ll be famous and revered like your brother. You’ll be strong, stronger than any of us. But that’s not going to be today. Right now, out there, these enemies… I don’t even know if we can handle them.”

“That’s why you need me!” Samson yelled.

Leon was a temperamental man. He believed that one should never use violence or threats for what could be accomplished through words and politics. But given the dire stress of the situation and the absurdity of his eleven-year-old son focusing on his wants, he felt a raging desire to slap him and have Iska drag him away, unconscious if necessary. However, that thought passed as soon as it came, and he knelt down. “Listen, Samson.”

“No, you listen! You keep telling me I’ll be like brother, but I won’t. When he was my age, he was running a barony. Fighting monsters that were stronger than the soldiers running around here. And what have I done? Nothing. I’ve been hunting, but I’ve never even been in a fight. Why? Because you won’t let me! This is my duty as a future Margrave of this empire!”

Leon felt a pang twist in his stomach. That was true. Samson wasn’t a kid in a traditional sense. He was a future Margrave of the Everwood Empire. As such, his role was in battle. Right now, that seemed like a ludicrous role, but it was true nevertheless.

“Sir! We need command!” A military general ran up as more lightning crashed overhead, echoing in the city streets.

Leon gritted his teeth, snarling, angry, and lost. He didn’t have time to weigh the pros and cons of letting Samson watch the battle, take part, or think of the repercussions of his dying, something that was very likely. The memories of the long gashes that split the earth in spider cracks entered his mind, as well as the burning forest and fallen trees. Death was very real. But Samson was right.

“Sir!” the general yelled.

Leon’s face contorted. “As of this moment, you’re a lieutenant for General Moro. You’ll run communications and do tasks. But if I hear you so much as unsheathed your sword outside of self-defense, you’ll never live with your brother. Do you understand?”

Samson’s eyes glittered for a moment before his face turned stiff, and he stood up straight with a salute. “Sir!”

“Let’s go!” Leon yelled, striding to the general and disappearing into the wet, dangerous streets of Sundell.

3

Archwizard Emery’s face twisted into a scowl as he surveyed the battlefield. He expected Leon Everwood to be prepared, but he couldn’t anticipate what he walked into. 

His strategy was straightforward: one wizard would chant a calamity spell while nine Wreaths protected them. In the last three centuries, such a strategy wouldn’t warrant preparations. Two of them could lay waste to a kingdom. Ten could combat invading forces from Antigua. The King Killer changed that. With just one shot, it could kill an archwizard in a way that even explosions and slashes couldn’t. 

Yet the King Killer had two crippling limitations. First, the weapon was only deadly because it concentrated all of its power into a piercing projectile. If it hit a barrier or wall, the bullet became as harmless as an arrow. So, to bypass it, they only had to adapt to using barriers. The other weakness was that it required the wielder to hit them with pinpoint precision. They overcame that by starting a devastating rainstorm that eliminated combatants’ ability to aim. Those two things alone rendered the weapon meaningless—

—and it did. The King Killer wasn’t the problem.

It had started five minutes ago, twenty miles north of Sundell. The archwizards were flying Lyconas, white birds that blended into clouds and had the ability to move at speeds no “sniper” (as reports called them) could aim at. They should’ve been safe, but that’s when they learned of the magical prowess of the Everwood Empire. 

Suddenly, the clouds underneath then turned orange. Emery shot to the side just in time for three fireballs to cut through the clouds, turning them to steam.

Disperse! he yelled, weaving through the air, expecting another flurry of attacks. However, none came. Something worse happened. The clouds half a mile in front of them turned bright red as fireballs shot through them. Then, a mile away. Two miles. They’re signaling the attack! he yelled. Dras! Go down there and blanket the area!

Yes, sir! Archwizard Dras dipped through the clouds. Emery and the others continued flying full speed ahead, expecting to see the area under them turn black as night from a light-absorbing spell, but it didn’t happen. Instead, there was a queer rattling sound below, followed by an eerie silence. Then, the fireballs continued, moving through the skies.

How many people did he teach that fucking spell too! Emery internally yelled. Everwood didn’t just give normal citizens weapons that could kill archwizards—he taught dozens or even hundreds of people a B-class spell that they were using for a damn signal flare!

Change of plans! Emery shouted when Sundell was five miles away. Activate cloud cover! We’re starting the attack! Show no mercy!

Archwizard Twana slowed her Lycona and started chanting. The air turned cold around them, water clinging to their barriers as the clouds formed. Descend and charge it!

Emery and the other archwizards shot through the clouds, allowing electric charges to develop without killing them. From 4,000 feet up, they could see Sundell’s grand walls, made of reinforced concrete and array technology—their array technology.

As soon as the rain started splashing against their barriers in the cyclones, ensuring that snipers couldn’t aim at them, they charged ahead. 

Emery summoned the rain and froze it into thousands of projectiles as he charged downward, finding a concentrated outpost of soldiers. Just as he was preparing to strike, the true horror began.

That strange and distant rattling restarted, erratic, like listening to Everwood’s Steam Train rattling rocks under the tracks, and muted red lights blinked down below. Then, there was a strange swishing sound. Are they firing blindly? How much ammo will they—

Suddenly, one projectile hit the barrier—one stronger than the King Killer. It left a crack, and Emery recoiled by reflex. Then, a bad premonition hit him, and he found himself grabbing the reins with both hands, abandoning his ice projectiles. Up! he screamed to the Lycona.

It was almost too late. Ten more projectiles smashed into his barrier, shattering it, and two pierced his Lycona’s chest, sending bright-white feathers shooting everywhere as it let out a blood-curdling shriek.

Fall back! Emery yelled, but it was too late for those who led with him. Three Lyconas were falling from the sky, two with archwizards creating powerful barriers, one just freefalling. Then he watched as the rattling returned and one of the archwizard’s barriers shattered, followed by their Lycona getting shredded. It all happened in a few seconds.

New… weapons? Emery thought in shock. Already? Whatever these weapons were, they were far stronger than the King Killer. And more importantly, they had never been discussed around the Wreath’s sources or shown in public. They were hidden. A trump card.

Suddenly, a massive wind blade cut through the forests outside Sundell’s walls. The slash cut through the dozens of trees and then sliced straight through an enemy outpost, causing the soldiers to shriek from the explosion. Then lightning struck down, destroying another outpost, and another archwizard sent a fireball the size of a train car crashing into the enemy field, lighting it ablaze.

What are you doing? an archwizard yelled. Attack! 

Emery nodded, creating another barrier and then developing thousands of ice balls, hovering across the pouring skies until he saw those orange glows. Then he rained death upon them, silencing the shots. It became apparent at that moment that the weapons were powerful, but the people weren’t. Blanket attacks would kill them. That gave him confidence. That was, until Archwizard Zona, whose Lycona had been shot down, made it past the Solsa River, entering the battlefield that claimed Archwizard Roman’s life. Once she got to the center, she released a massive groundquake—and that’s when everything changed. 

A cataclysmic chain reaction of underground explosions ripped across the land, instantly killing her and destroying the area in a rain of rock smoke and debris. There must’ve been hundreds of explosives under the ground, and the attack triggered them all. Worse… the wall. The attack barely broke through Sundell’s barrier and cracked the outer perimeter. 

Emery’s body trembled slightly. It wasn’t from helplessness or fear but from a revelation. It wasn’t about Everwood’s might or their naivety about thinking that he didn’t have a trump card in place before leaving for Antigua. It was something else, something unthinkable in the last 600 years he had lived. These people… they didn’t have a leader. Neither Ryker nor Edikus were on that battlefield. There was no battle between emperors like Elio fighting against Temüjin. There wasn’t a person fighting Zona. These people, normal people, were fighting against Archwizards alone. That rooted a horrifying thought in his mind: if he seized Sundell—could he hold onto it? Just the thought made him shiver. It was clear now, more than ever, that only cold politics could win out in a situation so dire. If he wanted to keep the kingdom after breaking through the defenses, he needed to kill Leon Everwood and his entire family, ensuring that there was no one but a memory of King Everwood to rally behind. Tonight, they would die. He would make sure of it.

A cyclone of water crashed into him, waking him up as he shook from his bleeding Lycona’s shaking. Fifteen more minutes, Emery thought, turning and looking at Archwizard Ront, surrounded by two others holding a barrier around him as he chanted in the night. Then he looked at the crack in the wall and Solsa River. In fifteen minutes, when the Lost Field’s spell was completed, a devastating amount of water would crash from the skies, breaking through Sundell’s grand barrier over the capital and then slamming into the crack into the wall, destroying all the buildings and making anyone there drown. It would be a pity to lose the economic district, but he needed Carter Phobes and other industry leaders, and they were safe. The rest could die.

In fifteen minutes, he would watch as Solara shed righteous tears on Sundell, cleansing it of its blasphemy and destructive ways that embroiled the world in chaos. 

4

A group of soldiers sat inside the captain’s house of a mid-sized boat in the Heliana Straight, feeling the rocking of the waves. They were sitting around a mana crystal, gold, and silver coins on the table as they played “Texas Hold‘em,” as The King called it when he taught the soldiers. Tres Livema was one of the people he taught firsthand, so he made sure to teach the other soldiers. He hadn’t regretted anything so much.

Tres looked at the table. He was down to his last five silvers, and after the turn, he was staring at an underwhelming pair of twos. Once they turned that last card (the one The King called “The River” but the soldiers called “The Luck”), he’d be dead broke if he didn’t strike it big with a pair from his Jack. Assuming that’d be enough. His damn luck ensured the misses would flay his ass alive from bettin’ his entire month’s pay at sea. But at present, he couldn’t care about that. He just didn’t want to be bored.

The soldiers were going crazy out there at sea. They were there just to send messages between Novena and Antigua in 20-mile intervals and to allow Griffins and other reinforcements to fly over the ocean by stopping between boats. But the work itself, just sitting there in the ocean and waiting, was maddening. There was nothing to do other than feel the waves and get intimate with your demons—and the demons of others. It was only three months in, and they already hated each other, and the rye was almost out. Without money, playing poker was boring, and without cards, he’d have to play with himself to keep busy. It was a shit-ass situation.

“Oui! You gonna play or keep feelin’ sorry for yourself?” one asked.

“Fuck of Marn, I’m strategizin’,” Tres replied.

“Well hurry up,” Marn said.

“Hold up, Marn! Let ‘em ‘strategize.’ I’ve made a fortune off it!” The table burst into hearty laughter, making Tres flush with humiliation and anger. He looked at his cards again, swallowing hard. His palms got sweaty as he fondled the coins in his hand. He was just about to say fuck it and go all in when the scout on duty started yelling. “One red!”

Suddenly, Halton, the only sober man in the bunch, shot up. The guy had a stick up his ass most of the time, refusing to drink. Said he was duty-bound, even though no one had the rocks to attack The King. Well, that night, he proved his determination, kicking down the door. There was a bright red streak in the sky to the east, twenty miles away. One. Three meant: write immediately. Two meant: political problem. One meant the archwizards were attacking. 

“Hurry the fuck up, Tres!” Halton yelled. “Sundell’s under attack!” 

“Why me?” Tres asked. “You’re the sober one!” 

“Look, you fucking idiot!” 

Tres stumbled onto the deck and looked to the west. To his horror, there was a massive storm with crackling thunderclouds in the direction of Antigua. 

That was the worst-case scenario. 

Their job was to send messages with flares. It was an ingenious system. Using light, the message could travel twenty miles to the next boat in a second. Even with the time lag to set off the next spells, a message could travel six hundred miles to Servene in ten minutes. 

Despite it’s usefulness, it had two problems. If there was one ship that was missing or couldn’t see the flare, the message would never reach Antigua, and in a storm, the next ship wouldn’t see the signal!

“God damn it!” Tres said. Drunk and useless as he was, he had the strongest mana reserves and skill. This fell onto his shoulders, and he resented that. But that was just the alcohol talking. In truth, he was a piece of shit that wasn’t good for nothin’. He only had one girlfriend, and she left him. He even got fired from Carter’s Metalworks, a place where people drank on the job every day and still quit a month in from the workload. He told that to The King when he got his magic, real magic, and immortality shit he couldn’t understand, and The King just smiled and handed him a deck of cards. Then it’s your job to keep these people entertained. That’s the man that was in trouble. His family was out there, needing him. And while he wasn’t worth a shit, he could do this much.

Tres churned his mana core and started chanting. A fist-sized fireball developed in the open air, and it grew and grew until it was the size of a damn wagon wheel. Then he lifted it to the sky, arms trembling as he angled it right into the storm. Please be enough… he thought. Then he released the monstrous fireball into the storm ahead, losing motor function immediately afterward and hitting the deck with a case of the chills. “Please… be enough,” Tres whispered. Then darkness clouded his eyes.

-

[Thanks again for your patience last week. Holidays.... Hope you're enjoying the story!]