Confrontation Long Overdue

The forest shook beneath their march.

For the first time in years—maybe in history—Emberhold had gathered everyone. Hunters, smiths, farmers, warriors… all armored and armed, moving as one. Drums pounded like a heartbeat, Brown banners snapping in the dawn wind.

For many, this was their first march beyond the Ironwood’s shade. Their first sight of the enemy that had haunted their lives in stories their parents had told them.

When the trees thinned, gasps spread through the ranks.

There it was.

The Glass Castle. Its walls rose like frozen waves, pale crystal catching the morning light. Its spires pierced the sky, beautiful and cold, untouched by time. The lie they had bled against for generations, now standing before them in full.

Rebels slowed, hands reaching for vials strapped to their belts. Bitter fumes filled the air as corks were pulled, and one by one, warriors downed the black-violet liquid inside. Faces twisted—some gagged, some shook their heads— but none spat it out.

The Aetherfruit elixir. Strength for battle, born of the forest itself.

The strongest could drink it like water. The weaker ones risked fever for days. For outsiders, even a sip could kill. Only the Ironwood mutations let the rebels use it at all. That was exactly why they drank it anyway. Their ace in the dark.

Selka drank hers with a grimace, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “Ugh. Still tastes like death.”

At the front walked Ravuun, axe slung on one shoulder. Beside him, Selka marched, leading the casters. This was Emberhold’s first true army.

But in truth, the battle was just a storm to draw eyes outward. The real strike—Rokuro, Kagi, and Lykos—had already broken off, heading for the hidden passage that would take them straight into the castle. Their task wasn’t to fight an army. It was to bring down the relic from within.

The horns blared.

Crystalor’s gates opened. Soldiers poured out in flawless lines, steel flashing. And at their flanks—beacons. Towers of light humming with sigils, forcing the Aetheralyx back into the sky.

The rebels roared and charged.

Ravuun was first into the clash.

He swung once, and five soldiers went flying. Another rushed him—Ravuun backhanded the man so hard he tumbled like a ragdoll across the dirt. The Warden wasn’t just the commanding figure —he was the embodiment of the rebellion’s strength.

Behind him, Selka raised her arms. “Casters!”

A wave of sparks surged from her hands, scattering arrows, melting shields. Her line followed, weaving Aether in sync. Every gap in the formation, Selka filled with light. Every surge of soldiers, she broke apart.

Then the beacons pulsed.

Their glow rippled outward, and Aether cracked. Selka staggered, magic faltering. The Aetheralyx’s cries grew thin above the barrier.

Crystalor surged.

But the forest had hidden its teeth.

From the flanks, rebels burst out—arrows flying, blades flashing. Within that troop, Nero rushed as well.

“Tear those towers down!”

Explosions lit the field as rebels swarmed the beacons. One cracked, then another—their light sputtering into nothing.

When the beacons had been destroyed, the sky answered at once.

Ava and Lami led the descent, wings blazing. Behind them, titanic shapes broke through the clouds, their presence making the earth tremble. The Aetheralyx swept across the field like a tidal wave, their roars drowning out everything else.

The Aetheralyx’s descent brought enough chaos to cause the perfect lines of Crystalor to crumble.

“This is the way!” Nero cheered with a grin.

Soldiers flew left and right, and the rebels finished off anyone who dared ran away.

As soon as the titans had descended, Emberhold’s victory in this first clash was predetermined.

The cacophony of battle died down, as the rebels stood victorious. Cheers filled the air.

“Wow, did you see that Nero?!” Selka walked over to him, grinning from ear to ear, “We actually won!”

“Hey don’t get too confident just yet.” Nero said as he flicked his daggers back into their sheaths.

“I know but they all went— whoosh and bam and—“

Nero shook his head. For the head of magic of Emberhold, Selka sure did act like a child most of the times.

Ravuun’s voice rumbled across the clearing.

“The strategy worked! We have tasted the first victory!”

“Aye!” The rebels responded.

“But we haven’t won yet! We now march to their gates, where the barrier will keep out any external help.”

The rebels nodded.

“Keep your wits about you.” He said finally. After finishing his speech, Ravuun looked at his son.

Nero in turn stared back.

No words between them were exchanged but the atmosphere sure felt electrified.

Before the rebels marched on, Nero turned to his winged companions. Ava and Lami stood there, waiting solemnly.

“What’s with those faces?” He grinned, as the beasts bent down to meet his hands with their heads, “I’ll just be gone for a moment.”

As he said that, the beasts roared in protest. Nero patted them once more.

“See you soon, guys.” He smiled and the roaring intensified. It was evident they weren’t happy to see him go.

But Nero moved alongside the forces of Emberhold regardless.

“Advance!” The rebels moved within the barrier, weapons raised and ready. Another battalion from Crystalor came, yet this time it looked… thinner.

The rebels clashed with the battalion outside the gates. Steel rang, arrows flew, magic sparked—yet something felt off.

Ravuun cut through the soldiers like a storm, his axe biting through armor, but his eyes narrowed between every swing.

“These numbers…” he muttered under his breath, “too few for a capital’s defense.”

Selka was already panting lightly, hands glowing as she blasted another shield apart. Nero too was cleaving enemy after enemy, almost too easily. Then he turned to his father.

“Too few? There’s hundreds!”

Ravuun smashed another soldier against his comrades with the force of a truck.

“And still not enough.”

The skirmish was fierce but short. Soon, the field outside the barrier was littered with fallen soldiers, and the cheers of Emberhold rose once more. Ravuun lifted his axe high, his voice booming across the clearing.

“Forward! Bring down their gate!”

Casters surged ahead, weaving sigils in the air. Smiths-turned-siege-men hauled great logs forward, their tips wrapped in steel. With every synchronized strike, the Crystalor walls shuddered. Cracks spidered outward.

“Again!” Ravuun roared.

The air itself trembled as Emberhold’s strength hammered the gates. Then, with a sound like thunder, the great doors splintered and swung inward.

Cheers erupted, louder than before. Rebels rushed forward, banners streaming, the promise of victory glittering in their eyes.

But inside… silence.

The wide avenue beyond the gates yawned open, eerily empty. Too empty. No panicked defenders, no retreating soldiers. Just streets gleaming beneath the pale morning sun.

Selka slowed, unease creeping into her features. “Wait… there’s no one here?”

Ravuun’s brow furrowed. His instincts bristled.

“Hold formation!”

Too late.

From alleys, rooftops, and hidden choke points, Crystalor’s true army revealed itself. Steel gleamed as ranks poured in from every side, shields locking, crossbows snapping into place.

The first volley of bolts rained down, cutting into the front line. Cries rang out. Blood spattered across the street.

Crystalor had countered Emberhold’s strategy with her own. They had sacrificed a few troops to lure them inside the city where THEY held the advantage. Where THEY knew how to move.

Suddenly the rebels’ triumph had turned bitter. Because for all it was worth, it looked like they had just played into their enemies’ hand.

“They were waiting for us…!” Nero growled, daggers clenched in his hands.

Ravuun’s teeth bared. “So be it. Rebels, brace yourselves—our battle begins here!”

╒ 🗝 ╛

The clash outside the walls still echoed faintly, muffled through stone. But here, deep below, the air was heavy with damp and silence.

Rokuro, Kagi, and Lykos moved cautiously through the narrow stone corridor, the hidden passage their informant had promised.

“Does this go on for long or…?” Rokuro’s voice trailed off.

“Did your training not teach you patience?” Lykos didn’t look over his shoulder as he answered.

“It taught me how to hold my breath.”

“Then hold it till you go purple.” Kagi retorted.

“This little—“ Rokuro gritted his teeth.

At last, they reached a rusted iron door.

“Here.” Lykos whispered, pushing it open.

The hinges creaked. Lanternlight spilled in—revealing the castle’s vast cellars, lined with barrels and casks. Sunlight filtered in through the iron bars at the top of the wall on the far right of the room.

Yet the smell that met them wasn’t wine. It was iron.

As their eyes travelled across the room, they saw him.

Solon Valëkyr stood in the center of the room, silver claymore gleaming faintly. Blood dripped from its edge, spattering onto the pristine floor. At his feet lay the body of an old man, royal robes adorning him and crimson pooling beneath him.

Lykos froze, breath sharp. His hand tightened on his spear.

“…Advisor Bernard.”

Rokuro’s stomach dropped, as he recognised Solon as the commander who had almost succeeded in catching him.

“Tch… this sucks.”

Kagi’s gaze flicked between the body and Solon, her voice low but steady. “Was he… our informant?”

“The king’s advisor.” Lykos gave a short, bitter nod.

“Traitors die the same as enemies,” Solon said flatly, stepping past Bernard’s body without a second glance. “He thought himself clever. He paid the price.”

Solon’s eyes rose to them at last, cold and merciless. His voice cut through the cellar.

“And I knew if I followed the rat…” He raised his blade, crimson still dripping from the steel. “…I’d find the other vermin.”

The three of them tensed. The cellars suddenly felt very small.

“And to see my student amongst them…” Solon glared, “It saddens me.”

“I’m no student of yours, Solon.” Lykos’ anger bubbled beneath his voice.

And just like that, the true battle inside the Glass Castle had begun.