Within a tent, far from the throes of battle, far from her homeland, a young girl awoke from a midday nap, discovering fragments of dark violet crystals forming around her eyes. During her slumber, she had forgotten. Pinching the powder between her fingers, she inspected it; the color and hue told her that it must have been a painful memory. Good riddance, she thought to herself, storing it neatly in a glass vial with a cork stopper next to her cot, thinking on it no further.

She peered past the entrance flap, searching for her boots, when to her immediate right was a boy sitting underneath the front canopy on a makeshift log stool. Their eyes met, and she grimaced. He was wearing a foreign armor she could not recognize, his expression blank, and his face unremarkable. He was so covered in dried mud, blood, and dust that she could scarcely tell what his original hair color was. Their eyes met.

“Are you the one under Lord Hadler?” he asked in a refined dialect, standing. He at least seemed to be noble born like herself, regardless of his appearance.

Proudly, she responded, “I am. Are you a messenger? Have you news from the front?”

“No, not a messenger in any official capacity. My name is Nils. Lord Hadler is being interrogated by the Imperial Army Commander at the moment, and I was told to wait here in the mage quarter until his return. I had thought being a prisoner of war would receive greater security, but-“

She stopped him there with a hand, “Hold it. Did you say prisoner of war? You’re a Cybelean? Left unguarded in a Helikan camp?”

“Not unguarded, I’m sure, but Lord Hadler did inform me that guards are forbidden from approaching the tents of mages. Do I have it true that you are Rania?”

“Rani-” she gasped, “No, I am not! Laughable! Is that who you’re looking for?”

“I am not looking for anyone. I was told to wait here.”

“I see. Then I have no other option it seems, prisoner of war. I’ll have to guard you myself. That’s obviously why you were sent here,” she said retrieving her boots at last and beginning to put them on within the tent.

Nils responded as he returned to his seat on an upturned log. “That should not be necessary.”

She poked her head back out and barked, “You’re telling me that Lord Hadler mentioned Rania to a prisoner but said nothing of me? I am insulted. Insulted!”

“Who are you to Lord Hadler then?”

She stepped out, having fixed her long, green-blonde hair, wearing an elegant dress brought from far away. “I am his apprentice and intermagia intern, Arche, a lady of House Concordie,” she said proudly, puffing her chest dramatically, “I imagine you must have heard of us, as our house has long served as diplomats, ambassadors, and emissaries even before the founding of the Empire. I do not know what he’s said, but Rania is just a lowborn slave. You and I need not associate with her at all.”

“How old are you, Lady Arche?”

“Me? I am thirteen years of age.”

“I do not know my age. I am of no house and have nothing to offer as lineage. I too am of low birth. My childhood was spent threshing wheat and tending to sheep before I came to serve my lord. Am I still not to associate with her?”

“Then why were you taken as prisoner if you claim to hold no value? I am no fool, Lord Nils. Whatever it is you seek to hide cannot be hidden from someone like myself.”

Weary, he dropped his head, “I do not hide and I shall speak it plainly. My only value is in relation to my lord, Sir Glenn of Labroaig. He took a peasant boy like me as his squire, and I am no more than that.”

Arche scoffed, crossing her arms, “Some lord. A shame that he failed to protect his apprentice from capture.”

As if pulled up by strings, Nils returned to his feet, taking a firm step towards her, “I care not what you say of me, but I will defend his honor lest you sully it.”

She shrieked, “Stay away!” as she hobbled backwards. With clenched fists, she caught herself, cursing under her breath. She brought her face to his with a snarl, “I meant to say stay down! I am not cowed by the likes of you!” The two stared tensely at each other. His face was that of a boy, but his dark eyes were trained on her like a soldier’s. No, she felt it was more like a hound’s. A chill slithered across her skin. “Are Cybelean men so barbaric as to harm a woman and call it honor?”

He faltered backwards. Her words were a stake piercing the sole of his foot. “You are right. My lord would not see threats against an unarmed woman as any worthy defense of his honor.” The boy seemed to deflate, his shoulders slackening. “I know not what I do.”

“No one threatens me and assumes no consequence,” she seethed through her teeth, her fingers stiffening into claws, taking another step towards Nils. Her eyes focused and her vision sharpened as power seemed to leap through her veins.

“I have no quarrel with you,” Nils responded, raising his hands, “But if you will insist upon-“

Crackling branches of light surged across her fingertips. “Quarrel? This is judgment.”

Within the Office of the Commanders at the center of camp, two men sat across from each other, separated by a small wooden desk covered in maps. “You gave him this whole thing, Lord Hadler?” The seated man said, unamused, turning in his hand a small vial filled with glittering iridescence, “And if I had not confiscated it, truly you would have been happy to let him keep it?”

“Yes, General Tener,” the mage said in stoic tones, composed but stiff, “I pray, a fair bargain in order to prove my conviction on the matter.”

“The amount that the guard captain can expect to be paid for this Cybelean excursion would be dwarfed by a vial of mnemos. You of all people should know this.” He placed the vial back on his desk and began tapping it against the wood. “Do not make a habit of bribing my men. Mercenary and cowardly though they may be, their obedience is required. And although I do not have direct authority over the mages, your obedience is requested as well.”

“Yes, and I would not resort to such means unless it was something worth bringing to your attention. I imagine the Empire had every means to subdue Cybele through violent conquest, and yet myself and those like myself are on the front line. The abuse of intermagia has well-documented but poorly understood results, so for the Emperor to go so far…”

“In military communications, we say the bottom line up front. Get to the point, Lord Hadler.”

The mage furrowed his heavy brow, “There must have been something about the Cybelean esoteric that would give cause for concern. I have brought back a body of one of their Lords, which, as we speak, is in a state of rapid decomposition. Therefore, I request the resources to conduct immediate research in order to hasten victory to the Empire. I require a tent, more mnemos, and information. Specifically, I would like to know what the military has deemed so dangerous regarding the Cybeleans. You see, I actually know quite little about our enemy and the briefings have been rather brief.”

The general placed the vial down with a final thud, the sound of his fist hitting the surface of his desk, sliding it forward to the mage. “You may have your mnemos back, and that is all. You may use your personal tent, and that is all. I cannot tell you military secrets, and that is all. Would that I could have you under arrest, I already would have done so, and if you believe this is to help further our cause, I only ask that you move with the utmost discretion. You are to report to General Porfyrian once she returns.”

“I see,” the mage said, somewhat crestfallen. “I may have had better luck if I recruited the other mages to serve as a united front,” Hadler said under his breath, loud enough for his commander to hear, “You know how we can be, an ungovernable flock of carrion-eaters burdened with power.”

“Captain,” the general called to the man standing guard by the entrance to the tent, having witnessed the entire conversation. His eyes had not left the vial still upright on the general’s desk. “You are to escort Lord Hadler back to his tent and have two men keep watch.”

“Hold, I have only one more thing to say,” the mage said with a hand in the air, “All the water in the ocean can never turn the swan’s black legs to white. Hm, that is not quite what I meant to say.” With a whimsical glance across the tent, he retrieved the vial from the desk and stood to leave. “I shall bring proof of my progress, and then we can continue this discussion, General.”

“Dismissed, both of you,” the general said, exasperated.

“By your leave,” the captain saluted, stiff as if the tension of a wire held his arm in place.

In that moment, the snap of thunder echoed through the camp, causing all three men in the tent to turn their heads in unison. They raced outside to see the young Arche standing over a body on the ground, faintly smoking. She was panting heavily before she too fell to the ground.

When Nils awoke, he found himself bleary eyed and numb, setting himself upright from a low cot with a groan. There was no one to be seen within this tent. It felt as if a mule had kicked him in the back of the head, the stomach, and the knees simultaneously and a wave of nausea washed over and through him. Frankly, he was surprised to have been alive.

“Are you awake, my lord?” a dreamy, quiet voice said. A young girl with skin like copper and graying hair entered, heaving a bucket of water. She set it down beside him and held one of her small hands to his forehead. “You were sweating and feverish, but you appear better.”

“I am well. I am grateful for your care,” he responded. She smiled weakly as if holding back, and he noticed that she would not meet his gaze. In many ways, she reminded him of his younger sister. “Are you Rania?”

“How do you know my name?” she said, a glancing eye meeting his at last.

Nils sat up, noticing at last that she was wearing fine clothes as well, not that of a servant as he had expected. “I had met Lord Hadler. He mentioned you, and I have guessed well.”

“He brought you here himself after Lady Arche attacked you. She is being reprimanded,” Rania said, almost gleefully, clasping her fingers together loosely, “And I hope she is sent away at last.”

“Has she been cruel to you?”

“She considers me her lesser, but I am not hers to command. At first I would do as she asked out of my own kindness, but when it became burdensome, I refused. She hit me, but that is not cruelty.”

“What is it then?”

“Weakness. Her mind is sharp but delicate like a needle made of ice. It snaps. She pushes herself into freezing wastes to remake it.” She stopped for a moment, standing to leave as she placed a small metal cup of water in the boy’s hands. “But I cannot win against a mage in violence. They are incarnations of violence.” Rania adorned herself with another gentle smile, looking into his eyes at last, and said, “Pray, rest. Lord Hadler needs your help.”