The sharp crack of a clay disc shattering turned Legion Commander Locust's frown into a scowl.
"Commander, that was Operative Zabi's disk." The man who spoke was portly and robed in black, his breath thick with fire and brimstone. He was the strongest Fire Mage in the Legion—Spelix by name—and he announced the death with neither panic nor reverence. His tone held no fear, as though he considered a mere Legion Commander beneath him. On paper, he was subordinate. In truth, he was anything but.
"I'm aware," Locust muttered, eyes fixed on the war map before him—missing battalions, vanishing contact, and now Dark Shadow Legion gone dark. "What the hell is going on here?"
Each disk was attuned to a poison artifact the operatives kept hidden in their mouths. When one shattered, it meant the operative had taken the poison—or been forced to. The design was simple: if an agent died, the enemy couldn't quietly replace them with a spy.
"SIR!" A woman burst in, her camouflage armor marking her as the Commander of their scout regiment. She carried the remains of armor and a half-melted guidon, which she dumped unceremoniously onto the stone floor. "I fear the Dark Shadow Legion has been wiped out," she said.
Spelix knelt with surprising agility, sniffing the warped metal like a bloodhound. "Low-level fire spell," he noted, lifting a piece of slag with thick fingers. "But for metal to melt like this… there had to be dozens of casters."
"Dozens?" Locust's voice grew tight. "Are you suggesting a few dozen low-level mages took out an entire Legion?"
The scout commander stepped forward. "Sir, based on burn patterns and the scale of destruction, I'd estimate the attackers numbered in the hundreds—possibly a thousand."
"A thousand fire mages?" Locust turned to Spelix. "How many do we have?"
"A dozen," Spelix replied coolly. "All mid-ranged. We could easily wipe out a large group of low-tier casters."
"Zabi was last assigned to Topoc Hill," Locust said. "Take your mages and investigate the site. Be swift. I'll send an initial report to the Field Marshal—you can explain the rest when you return."
Spelix stiffened, a flicker of dread passing through his gut. He recognized the ploy for what it was. Locust would offer partial truths in his report. If the situation worsened, the blame would fall squarely on Spelix's shoulders.
Once the Fire Mage had gone, Locust turned to the scout commander.
"Wena," he said. "Take one of the drakes and shadow Spelix. Stay as close as you can without being seen."
"I understand, Sir." She nodded.
Only two drakes existed on the continent. One belonged to the Field Marshal of the Western Front. The other had once been commanded by Legion Commander Terror—before his death. Calling upon one now meant only one thing.
This mission was vital.
Cane sat motionless inside the command tent perched atop Topoc Hill, his eyes glowing with amber light as he searched through Pudding's vision.
Above them, the falcon-owl hybrid circled in wide, deliberate arcs. The hill had been divided into a grid, and every unoccupied soldier had been assigned a slice to search—nearly three dozen of them, along with Pudding and both shadow wolves, all scouring the area for any sign of a familiar or hidden artifact left behind by Zabi.
"Closer… What's that?" Cane narrowed his focus.
In the crook of a gnarled sagebrush tree, barely a few meters from the command tent, a small snake lay coiled and still.
He dropped the link with Pudding and moved toward it with care.
Gadira said to contact her immediately if we found anything.
Reaching inward, Cane sent his senses into the ringworld. "I found a small snake—might be what we're looking for."
"Bring me out," Gadira's voice replied in his mind. "If it's a familiar, I can contain it."
A moment later, she stepped into reality beside him.
Cane gestured toward the twisted sage. "There, in the crook. About a meter off the ground."
Gadira spotted it instantly. "Yes… That's it."
She began to chant, her voice low and even, carrying a soothing rhythm. The snake remained still, as if lulled by her tone. Stepping close, she carefully lifted it into a cloth-lined pouch and tied it shut.
"I'll set up a proper containment. Give me half a day and I should be able to recreate everything it saw or relayed."
"Perfect," Cane nodded. "Back you go."
He returned Gadira to the ringworld and called off the rest of the search. Then he found Teek near the perimeter.
"Send the scouts back out. No gaps," he said.
Teek raised an eyebrow. "We just ran the last sweep."
"Then we run another. Every two hours from now on." Cane didn't flinch under her look. "We're exposed and undermanned. If it comes to it, I'll use the ringworld to let the scouts rest."
Teek nodded, recognizing the seriousness in his voice. The ringworld's time dilation was a marvel—what felt like hours inside could pass in mere moments outside. As a deployment tool, it was unmatched.
"I'll send them," she said, turning back to her unit.
Dusani crept north, sticking to cover. One misstep and he'd silhouette himself on the ridgeline—a mistake that could be seen for miles.
At the edge of a clearing, he dropped low, pressing his ear to the ground like always.
For a moment, there was only the thud of his own heartbeat. Then came the faint staccato rhythm—riders.
Cane stood outside the command tent, eyes on the map. With a single glance at the TOC's markings, he placed the 1st and 2nd battalions far west, near the lowlands. Beyond that, the map was barren—no fresh intel.
Nearby, Teek stood stiffly, her psi-rune flaring. "Understood," she said aloud. "Find somewhere to hide. We'll deal with it."
Cane turned to Fergis. "Get ready. What's going on?"
"Dozen riders coming fast from the north," Teek answered. "If they're moving that fast, they're either elite troops who don't fear common ranks… or mages. Arrogant bastards."
"Hey…" Fergis raised a brow. "Mage here."
Teek smirked. "You're one of the good ones."
Cane leaned over the map. "Where are they now?"
"Scout's at the Dramir River," Teek pointed. "They cross that, it's eight miles out."
Cane gave a sharp whistle. The shadow wolves padded over, alert.
Pudding took to the skies a moment later. "Fergis, you're with me." His eyes scanned the map—the platoon sergeants had already marked ambush points.
Teek tapped one. "Here. Natural choke point. Tight pass, good cover, easy lines of fire."
"Set it. We'll stay in touch." Cane and Fergis jogged down the hill with the wolves close behind. A moment later, Moxie flashed into view, opening a rift. They disappeared into it together.
Three jumps later, they reached the Dramir River.
Dusani crawled from under thick foliage, calm and coiled despite the fire mana humming beneath his skin. Fury training had changed him—where once he'd been quiet, now there was heat in his gaze, fight in his posture.
"Captain," he nodded. "Still a few miles off."
Fergis sniffed the air, face grim. "Trouble, boss… big Fire Mage incoming. I can feel his pool from here."
Without hesitation, Cane tapped Dusani's shoulder. "In you go." He vanished into the ringworld.
"Can he sense you too?" Cane asked.
Fergis shook his head. "No. We're trained to mask. Zuni mages don't bother."
He drew Azar, the blade gleaming. "The others with him are mid-levels. Nothing we can't handle."
Cane unsheathed Starstrike. "You want the elite?"
"Yep. You clean up the rest." Fergis exhaled slowly. His eyes shimmered with growing fire.
Cane's eyes glowed amber as he watched the riders through Pudding's vision. "Thirteen targets. All wearing mage robes."
"Robe color?" Fergis asked.
"All red—except one. Black."
Cane dropped the shared vision and let Moxie and Pudding sync. "Open a rift right in front of them."
Moxie gave a low, eager whine, and Tazi bounced in place. Both had trained under Tor for strike-and-retreat tactics—something shadow wolves excelled at.
Cane placed a hand on Moxie's head. "Target the horses. Hit and vanish. Just like training."
Fergis readied a spell, nodding once.
"Let's go."
The rift bloomed. Fergis leapt through first, sword ablaze.
Flames belched from the rift, rolling across the path ahead of the riders. Hair and fur singed in an instant, smoke curling low to blind and panic.
Spelix slid off his horse as it reared, unnaturally agile for someone his size. "You dare cast that crap in front of me?"
He assumed these were low-level fire casters—easy prey.
"Kill them all!"
Two horses went down, riders tangled and dragged. The shadow wolves vanished before spells could lock on. Screaming mounts kicked and bolted, manes smoldering.
Cane surged forward, power drawn from the ringworld. He became a blur—cleaving one mage's head from his shoulders, slicing through another's arm in a single motion.
Spells lit the hillside, sparking through brush and grass—but none touched him.
Fergis faced Spelix, Azar held high.
"A sword?" Spelix sneered. "Let me kill you properly."
FLAMEBURST
Three spheres of fire hurtled forward. Fergis swatted them aside with precise strikes, stepping into range.
FLAME HANDS
Spelix's fists erupted in fire as he lunged—hands reaching for Azar.
Fergis chuckled, dancing back. "Really thought you'd be more."
His eyes flared white. Mana surged around him like an endless ocean.
Spelix stumbled back in shock.
"S-Savant…" the Zuni mage whispered, eyes wide.
BALEFIRE
Spelix unleashed his trump card, crushing an evasion rune with desperate fingers.
Fergis batted the twisted flame aside and drove Azar straight through the mage's chest. The blade flared white-hot, cauterizing him from the inside out.
The redirected balefire incinerated a nearby mage. Cane dodged just in time.
HOOOACH!
Pudding's shriek tore across the battlefield. Cane looked up—saw the falcon-owl hybrid diving at something massive.
"Shit!" A stray fire spell scorched Cane's leg. His ice runes pulsed in protest. "The hell is that?"
"Drake," Fergis spat, lunging to down another mage. Two shadow wolves tackled the mage mid-cast.
"They're retreating—south!"
"Clean up the rest." Cane vanished into the ringworld. "TOR!"
Inside the ringworld, Dhalia looked up from her work. "Training accident. Broken arm."
Cane's eyes scanned. An empty perch. Sophie.
"Shit—Sophie, I need a rider."
She was already moving. "On it."
Cane leapt up behind her. The gryphon launched skyward, climbing hard until it highlighted against the sky and vanished from the ringworld.
"There." Cane pointed at the distant drake. "Can we catch that?"
Sophie nodded. The gryphon cut through the air like black lightning, closing the gap with every beat.
"Get me above it!"
Miles blurred. Finally, the gryphon soared high overhead—silent, deadly.
"Thanks," Cane said. "Get back to Fergis."
He leapt.
Wind howled. Cloak snapped. Starbolt held in his hand.
He struck the drake like a meteor, unseating the rider with a scream.
Cane touched the beast—sent it to the ringworld—then snapped a coiled rope from his belt, catching the rider's torso mid-plunge.
"Shit," he hissed. Not enough time to reel her in—
A shadow overtook him. Sophie's gryphon plummeted in a dive, talons snapping shut on his arm.
The ground rushed up.
Wings stooped wide, buffeting the earth. Cane's captive slammed into the foliage, then the dirt. Cane hit hard—but stayed upright.
The gryphon landed in a crouch beside him.
The woman groaned, bloodied and broken in a shallow crater.
"Sophie!"
She came alongside as Cane lifted the rider.
A moment later—they vanished into the ringworld.
Tents and tables went flying. Brammel held tight to a rope—at the other end, a shrieking drake thrashed, held fast by Psi students and Chanzi. The air around them pulsed with power, dancing around their hands.
"DHALIA!" Cane ran into the med tent, laying the prisoner on an empty cot.
"I've got her." Dhalia's hands glowed, steady and calm.
Cane turned to Zio, who stood nearby like a thunderstorm given form.
"Keep an eye on her in case she wakes up."
"You got it," Zio said, aura crackling with stormlight. "I'll make sure she behaves."