Scorched Earth

Daniel paced. Back and forth, then back again. 

His boots wore down the wood, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered anymore—except the conclusion that had been scratching at the inside of his skull for days.

He was damned for what he did.

Not just among the masses. Among their own.

This was the danger of mass recruitment, he supposed. The ones who had started the fire had the fuel to finish it. But the new ones? They didn’t have the guile. No fire in their bellies. No gratitude. Just beneficiaries of years of sacrifice and subterfuge—beneficiaries who now turned their backs at the first sign of daylight.

Traders, barons, quiet backers from the old merchant class—gone. Not a letter. Not a coin. Now that the cat was out of the bag and halfway across the continent, no one wanted to be caught feeding it.

The new blood even showed up late to the war and acted like they were owed something. As if revolution was just a ladder to climb!

Crucial outposts—emptied in days. The forest gods’ trees shrivelled. That stupid Cassie girl interfered—again. First to let Elisa know of her mother’s state, then let her go…

She would pay too.

Cowards, the lot of them. All it took was Kael parading around with his concubine and tossing the word “compromise” like it was sacred scripture.

Now the people had forgotten guarded their borders while they slept. Forgotten the countless hands that had built this from scraps and spit and desperation.

Short-term happiness, he thought bitterly. That’s all it takes to kill a movement.

And what came next? Highcliff, gutted. Its legacy, diluted. A footnote in Concordant history. Or worse—absorbed into the demonkin's empire like every other “neutral” state before it. A name on a map that no longer meant them.

No. That was not the plan.

The real plan—the one they dreamed of in the mines, in the fields, in the hidden caves and forgotten glens—was sovereignty. A Highcliff that bowed to no one. Magickal, old-world, unshakable. A place where the trees whispered to their own kind and the soil remembered every drop of blood spilled upon it.

If he had to ruin it to remind them of that dream, so be it.

So this meant war. Not with skirmishes or sieges.

It was time to Salt the Soil.

Bombs. Raids. Fire in the fields. A shock so violent it would leave the demonkin limping for generations. 

He’d make the people remember what could happen if they were left to roam unchecked.

He loved Highcliff. And so, he would destroy it.

His eyes turned toward the statue in the Basin.

It stood taller now—more awake than it had any right to be. The incantations had worked. Not perfectly. But enough. He didn’t know exactly how, or why, but he felt it—its pulse, its anger, its alignment.

It hurt the demonkin.

Which meant it was on their side.

A divine insurance policy.

Let Kael play king. Let Elisa play wife and saviour. Let the world believe this was peace.

Highcliff would isolate again. Bite the hand of anyone who tried to cradle it.

He’d seen how these stories ended. An annex here. A treaty there.

Not here.

Not ever.

\\\\

Legion felt it before they saw it.

At this time of day, the light usually fell just right across the sandstone blocks, catching every shimmer of magick dust and sweat alike. But now… it felt wrong.

They turned slowly from their checkboard of runes and measurements, hand resting against the smooth wood of the support beam.

A figure stood near the water channels. Hooded. Barefoot. Clearly not one of theirs.

Legion frowned. They made it a point to remember everyone on-site—their names, their quirks, even how each of them took their tea. This one wasn’t from here.

Their voice came out low, cautious. “You’re not one of my men. Who sent you?”

The figure didn’t move. Didn’t breathe, it seemed.

Then—hands raised slowly from under the cloak. Wrapped tightly in one hand was a rune-bound seal, pulsing faintly. Old forest script ran up the arm. And strapped around the waist… gods.

Magickstone. Volatile. Enough to vaporize half the site.

“Woah there, easy…”

\\

“Scorched earth,” Daniel whispered, and for the first time in weeks, he smiled.

Not a warm smile. Not a hopeful one. Just teeth.

\\

Mr. Tonoli knew something was wrong the moment he stepped onto the lower levels.

Too much noise. Yelling. Steel clashing with something softer. Earthier.

The guards were trained well. Kael even put more in the manor for when he flew away.

But now they were groaning in piles—bloodied, bruised, and bested. Their assailant hadn’t used ordinary steel. No, it was bark and magick.

His jaw clenched.

He took on a corporeal to phase against the floors and walls. But the consequences of this intrusion—those had already begun to take shape. For some demons and humans alike… it was already too late.

Finally, he found a form, one he recognized… “Cynthia!”

She was crumpled against the wall ahead, her robes torn, blood dripping from her shoulder.

He hurried to her.

She gasped. “Look out—”

A snarl. From the left!

“RAAAA!!”

Tonoli pivoted sharply—just enough.

A blade made of bark and green light whistled past, slicing through his cloak. The attacker, young, wild-eyed, staggering from a gaping wound at his hip, lunged again, weapon shaking in his grip.

Tonoli caught the movement. Raised a single hand, fingers curling as shadows clung tighter around him.

“If you knew what was good for you,” Tonoli rasped, “you’d put that thing away before we’d all regret it.”

The air fell still.

But only for a second.

\\

This was necessary.

Daniel already made his mind a sunless space—sealed it shut, walled off the cracks where doubt could slip through. He couldn’t afford light.

Because if they wouldn’t learn from speeches, they’d learn from ruin.

And when the smoke rose and the forests screamed, maybe—just maybe—they’d remember what Highcliff was supposed to be.

\\

“It—it just grew out of my house!”

The tree was fused with metal, its bark twisted around glowing seams of magickal alloy. It had erupted from the ground like it had been waiting—waiting for this moment, for this day. And it went through poor Marcus’ house.

Since Count Kael’s visit, things had been going well. Suspiciously well. The village elder had known better than to trust peace when it came gift-wrapped.

She squinted at the thing. No… not just magick. Something worse.

Something familiar.

Her wrinkled hands trembled as she backed away. “I’ve seen this before…” she whispered. “Gods help me—I’ve heard it in stories before.”

Nearly a hundred years ago. She'd only been thirty then. Back when the Concordant tried something similar, and the demonkin retaliated with something far worse.

This—this was both.

And now it was powering up.

A sharp hum filled the air—it rattled your bones before your ears could catch it. Sigils blinked alive in its twisted trunk, and its limbs creaked like they breathed.

It had picked a target.

The old woman’s eyes widened.

“EVERYONE GET DOWN!!”

\\

The forest gods gave them gifts of martial prowess unseen in eons. Structures which defy logic yet used for a singular purpose: to do damage. A lot of it.

But there was one thing he wouldn’t leave to the hands of soldiers or shadows.

Kael Blac’hil.

The snake who poisoned Highcliff from the inside. Who took everything pure and bent it into something palatable for the demons.

Daniel would have something to say about that.

\\

Kael touched down hard, boots skidding across the earth.

“Sanza, what’s the situation?”

Sanza turned, face pale. “Sir? You came at a really bad time—”

That’s when Kael saw it.

The statue.

It was glowing.

Pulsing with rhythm that made the air itself vibrate. Magick clung to the sky like smoke. The very ground beneath them throbbed like a heartbeat out of sync.

Kael’s eyes swept the clearing—and there it was.

The necklace.

Elisa’s necklace.

Blood on the chain. Still warm.

“Elisa…” he breathed.

Then, without warning—

The statue shuddered.

A crack tore down its chest, glowing white-hot, and then—

BOOM.

A shockwave blasted outward in all directions. The trees bent. Kael flew back, arms thrown up to conjure a ward that shielded both of them as dust and debris tore through the air.

Everything went white.

\\

Kael would squelch beneath Daniel's boot. Gasp beneath the shadow of the Lake God Jujilbarka.

“Your end will be divine,” Daniel muttered. “By god or by my hand, you will burn.”