Emperor Rasaec reaches up to run his fingers through his black hair, playing with the strands while ignoring the skewed golden laurel circlet as he watches Leomi Lance carry her fiancee away.

When their figures enter his Palace, leaving his field of vision, he glances down at the three swords buried in his marble bench and laments at the loss of his favorite spot in the garden.

“My Emperor, this woman was disrespectful.” Shayle says with a deep scowl.

“On the contrary, she has shown me more respect than many rulers by speaking her mind.” Rasaec dismisses.

“She dared bring a hybrid to see you, why let them go? She clearly had ties to the Rykz.” Shayle presses.

“Those ties remain.” The Emperor denies because his Shade master must know this even though it isn't necessary to tell her of the details.

“Even after she's killed the fiancee of Princess Celyz of the Silver Hive?” The Shade asks with wide eyes.

“Elizabeth Vil isn't dead.” Rasaec says with a slight smile as he turns to gaze at the calm pond. “Commend Spy for the way she handled her relationship with these two.”

Shayle startles at the revelation, unable to understand the situation. She scours through her memories to recall every report she's read but yet feels that she's missing several pieces of the puzzle.

Elizabeth Vil is a ruthless being who she long predicted would clash against Jessica Freepath for a variety of reasons, one of which being that the latter is known for her compassion while the former is inflexible.

“What of the hybrid?” Shayle asks and then pauses with a shiver. “Also what shall we do about their declaration that Elizabeth Vil is an Enemy of the Empire? It mattered not if she died but, if she lives, then the Order will eventually catch up with her. The Silver Hive made it clear to the First Phalanx that they will forever be enemies with the Empire should anything happen to Elizabeth Vil.”

The Emperor sighs in amazement as he realizes why none has yet uncovered Jessica Freepath's duality; they are all too focused on statuses, achievements, and reputations which causes them to overlook the obvious.

“Calm down, Shayle.” Rasaec says soothingly, aware the Shade master cannot settle down when she can feel so much concealed to her sight. “The matter of hybrids can be set to the side, the Rykz have shown what they can do but they won't be investing more resources into creating more when they have yet to find a solution to the fact we can neutralize their pheromones, this shall be solved whence we reach a treaty with the Rykz.”

“Very well, my Emperor.” Shayle acknowledges.

“As for Elizabeth Vil, are we to bend the knee to a single Hive's threats? No.” The Emperor utters with steel to his voice. “Tell the Silver Hive that Elizabeth Vil knew what she was doing so they shall have to deal with the consequences themselves.”

“I'll have the scribes prepare a few missives for you to choose from, my Emperor.” Shayle says with a bow.

Rasaec nods and turns to peer at the pond, wondering how Jessica Elizabeth Vil Freepath could have gotten engaged with a Princess and forged such strong ties with her Hive they would consider her one of their own.

Of all mysteries about her, this one eludes him but it may have to do with the fact that the Rykz are less a nation than a clan made up of dozens of families led by the First Queen.

“Summon Warrior and Archer, have them appear by my side in their civilian identities and gather my Exemplars.” Rasaec orders with a daredevil smile, suddenly less certain that Jessica Freepath wouldn't warn the Rykz of his arrival but only feeling a thrill for it. “We depart tonight.”

After saying these words, the Emperor gathers his flow and flies up to a balcony on the second floor of his Palace. He waves his hand at the windowed doors and steps into a room filled with bookcases from which he selects a few treaties on war that he throws on a desk.

Rasaec then makes his way to a reinforced door which he opens with his flow. Inside is an assortment of runic armors and weapons that were either newly forged or created long ago, all of them masterpieces.

He fondly caresses the sword with which he conquered Trident Hill but leaves it behind as its shredding runes are now completely obsolete. He picks up a longsword from a rack with a silver guard and golden engravings.

He unsheathes the blade to confirm it was engraved with the latest defensive and armor-piercing constructs, nodding satisfactorily as before using his flow to send it upon his desk as well.

The Emperor then selects a heavy round shield made of quality Vuskyt and engraved with runes that negates kinetic impacts before selecting a plate armor with magnificent golden engravings that conceal runic constructs of much use in battle.

Rasaec then makes his way through the rows of gear to a steel safe held inside a wall and deactivates the various defenses keeping it sealed. He opens it to take out a map that shows routes leading to several Rykz Hives and carefully rolls it up.

“Humans may not be great at escaping a Rykz' senses but the Lisilese are truly uniquely suited for it.” The Emperor utters with a smile.

As he walks back to his desk, he links to the runic table in his war-study and activates it, summoning the image before himself. He observes the Rykz drones fleeing the battlefield in disarray without a hint of surprise.

The Harvesters are already engaged with his advancing Phalanx but a half-dozen arcing trajectories appear on the illusion, causing the Emperor to nod and conclude that the battle is over.

Four catapults and two trebuchets fire, launching six kegs which crash in the middle of the Rykz ranks to release a substance that neutralizes pheromones in a wide area, causing most the Harvesters to lose their capacity to cooperate with their kind. Rasaec cuts off his link to the runic table to avoid wasting energy, hoping their losses will be light and knowing these 'easy' victories won't last.

--- --- ---

Ka'osla's talons fall upon the bony tail of a scaled warbeast and she climbs up the creature until she reaches its armored back where she stands tall to peer down through the horns.

Bellow her is a sturdy stone bridge connecting the Lisilese Grasslands to the Empire with a thick river running underneath. The flow of water is calm, which is why she is present this day instead of hunting the troops of cavalry constantly harassing the flanks of her Horde.

The Hersir watches calmly as younglings throw themselves at the company of phalangites holding the center of the bridge, most ending up impaled on their sarissas despite the steel armors protecting their torsos.

War is a sordid affair but she is determined to ensure their deaths shall not be in vain. She hisses in admiration as one black Lisilese barely a meter-thirty in height swirls around two points and crosses the dead-zone with a single bound.

The young Lisilese manages to strike out with his saber and break three sarissas before a thin air-blade severs his head from his shoulders. The Hersir takes note to reward this hatchling's nest-siblings if any are under her command, which is very likely.

{How are our losses so far, Hu'tsul?} Ka'osla asks her right-claw.

{A thousand these past two days, adding three hundred to that number from various skirmishes.} He replies.

{They haven't risked their cavalry, or even sent many companies.} She comments.

{The humans know this river won't stop us.} He says with a bloodthirsty and toothy smirk.

{Has a Hersir ever led a Horde this far with so few losses this early in the season?} She asks.

{Never.} Hu'tsul replies with a hint of pride.

{Then, it will be inexcusable if we accomplish less than those who preceded us.} Ka'osla utters without letting this hollow achievement get to her head. {Have the Kataphraktoi move up to the riverbank on the right side of the bridge but hold those riding Duarhs at the back.} She commands.

{These elites will complain at the discrimination, you know how they are about getting first blood.} The right-claw reminds her.

{Tell them this is a mere skirmish, the true battle will be had on their plains.} Ka'osla dismisses.

{Shouldn't we tell the Cataphracts to hold a ways off? The humans will know something's up if they get so close to the river.} He suggests.

{So what if they can tell? It won't change the end result.} The Hersir utters while revealing all her white teeth in a huge grin.

{Kss, kss, kss.} Hu'tsul chuckles mockingly as he gazes down at the human army. {A single Phalanx, they've underestimated us too much.}

{Don't divvy up prey you've yet to catch.} Ka'osla warns to soothe her right-claw's ardor, knowing of the dangers in being arrogant.

The Lisilese with bright green scales nods from below and heads off to transmit her orders. Ka'osla waits for her Cataphracts to split off from the back of the Horde and start trotting towards the riverbank before heading out herself.

She jumps off the warbeast and lands on the back of her closed talons. The Red Fear, composed mostly of short younglings, splits before her. The Lisilese begin slamming their weapons against their shields or any piece of metal they carry.

Ka'osla picks up in speed as she traverses the ranks of her Horde under this ovation, gathering red energy within her scaled palm to shape a complex construct composed of runic circles rotating around a singular point at the center that functions as the core segment.

The glow intensifies as she pours more and more blaze into this construct she's spent all her free time practicing since it was taught to her upon becoming a Hersir. This construct is named heatsink, it is as crucial to the Lisilese as the lightning construct is to the Rykz and the armor-piercing construct is to the Empire.

This construct isn't the most advanced known to the Lisilese but it is the staple their elites rely on and it is now the one Ka'osla is the most skilled in, able to control it even when saturated with hundreds of portions.

She doesn't hold back and fills the construct up to her limit of three hundred portions, creating a complex system of red runic circles that becomes visible from the other side of the river.

The Phalanx' Marshal, witnessing this, hurriedly signals several messengers to depart and order his Phalanx to move out as a precaution in case this Hersir breaks through the hundred phalangites holding the bridge.

Ka'osla's maw splits, revealing a thin line of pointy triangular teeth, and she suddenly changes direction as she begins sprinting towards the right flank of her Horde as well as the right side of the bridge.

She suddenly finds herself at the lead of her Cataphracts who only now completely break ahead of the Red Fear's ranks to approach the riverbank, causing chills to run down the Marshal's spine as he realizes that the Lisilese are making a serious attempt at breaching their defenses.

“Split five companies from my Fourth, match their Cataphracts' movements!” He exclaims despite the fact they have plenty of time to deploy their troops. “Tell the flow-smiths to prepare to trigger their counter-measures and mobilize the auxiliaries!”

The Marshal's urgency sends his officers into a frenzy that is communicated to the rest of the army and thus the five hundred phalangites who depart are both more motivated than normal but also more nervous, which is unavoidable as the previous Hordes who made it so far in the summer had all been worn down by weeks of skirmishes.

The Red Fear is not only bolstered by tens of thousands of younglings who have everything to prove but also has no lack of veterans, none of them lacking stamina with no troops to oppose their journey.

“May the Emperor guide us, I truly hope he made the right choice for the Empire because Telnur may not hold if we fall this day.” The Marshal whispers as Ka'osla reaches the riverbank.

The Hersir with brown-green scales sends out the red heatsink construct a dozen meters ahead of her and activates it. The rings made up of runic symbols suddenly expand, causing the lower third of the spherical construct to enter the water.

Naught happens for a few moments as the heatsink initiates but then the air contained within the rings blurs while the water suddenly turns to a patch of ice that expands and quickly reaches the stone bridge's columns.

Ka'osla directs the heatsink construct with the palm she anchored it to, sweeping the area before her feet to create a platform of thick ice before working to expand it by a few meters.

The point at the center of the runic rings quickly changes from the red color of the blaze to a clear orange but that only remains so for a moment before turning to an intense yellow that is rapidly replaced by a vivid blue which is itself overtaken by a pure white spot that hurts the eyes of those that stare at it.

The Hersir nods satisfactorily and extends her talons as she steps on the thick layer of cold ice while unsheathing a serrated dagger from her hip that she uses to cut through the scales of her left forearm, opening a wound.

{May the blaze recognize my sacrifice as worthy.} She murmurs.

Ka'osla doesn't hesitate to start heading forth by herself and build a bridge for her Horde while blue blood pour out of the injury to trickle on her scales and fall upon the ice.

She allows her red blaze to seep out of her reserve and join her vital fluid to create a half-structured construct that will defend against direct attacks, slowly applying pressure with the blood-pouches along her spine to ensure her blood keeps gushing in appropriate quantities.

Ka'osla moves not too fast so as to ensure that the layer of ice is thick enough and anchored to the bridge's columns for stability but not too slowly to prevent the Empire from perfecting an exact counter-measure.

From what she knows, no Hersir has tried this ever before but she doesn't dare underestimate these humans. As she predicted, air-constructs are launched at her and the heatsink construct from a long distance but none of these projectiles make it more than ten centimeters inside the spherical segments before shattering.

The Hersir pays little attention to this, merely ensuring that she remains concealed behind her construct while feeding her blaze into it. As she reaches the half-way point, waves suddenly billow upstream to rush towards the bridge of ice.

Ka'osla stops advancing and sidesteps towards one of the stone bridge's columns. She hides behind it and shifts her spherical construct towards the incoming deluge.

The violent stream of water crashes into the length of bridge but fails to truly shake it as the ice is too thick while the waves that come into contact with the heatsink construct swiftly freeze up as well.

The few shards of ice born of drizzle that make contact with the bright white spot at the center instantly turn to vapor which condenses into rain as it rises and freezes over once more before falling down.

The Hersir hisses in annoyance because she immediately realizes that this is a weak-point of her method as these successive transformations drain her energy, meaning the Empire's flow-smiths could suck her energy dry by sending consecutive tidal waves.

As it isn't an issue yet, and it isn't likely for them to realize this, Ka'osla steps out of cover and returns on her steps to rebuild the portion of the blood-sacrifice half-structured construct wiped out by the flood.

She estimates the flow-smiths won't be able to send another of those tidal waves before it's too late and aren't likely to even try as their first attempt completely failed.

With this done, she continues making her way to the other side of the river, creating a ten-meter wide pathway for her Cataphracts. Once she's two-thirds of the way, she raises her hand.

{Kataphraktoi, advance!} Ka'osla bellows.

The troop of cavalry equipped with scale armor from head to hoof moves forth upon the ice to advance one squad of ten at a time while ensuring their advance is desynchronized to avoid damaging the pathway, the same way they would when crossing a bridge.

The closer the Hersir gets to the shore, the more constructs are launched at her from ever-widening angles which forces her to go on the offensive. She activates a runic construct engraved in her armor and expands it into a large-scale construct separate from the material, a technique the Empire has yet to master.

The red construct takes the shape of a turtle shell that expands to cover her, destroying the constructs and projectiles that impacts it by obliterating tiny quantities of blaze in short but violent discharges of energy.

The Fourth Phalanx's flow-smiths quickly give up on attacking the Hersir because none of their attacks are landing and it's very unlikely they'll be able to outlast a Hersir who has a hundred-thousand Lisilese following her.

The Empire thus begins launching long-range constructs towards the mid-section of the ice-path, considered more vulnerable because Ka'osla is too far to defend them and the Cataphracts haven't reached the mid-point yet.

Explosive constructs are launched within air-constructs and cruise through the air to fall upon the ice yet a red flash rises from the white sheet, destabilizing them and causing them to explode prematurely.

The flow-smiths next attempt to launch fireballs only to encounter the same result and conclude from the results that the Hersir applied a blood-sacrifice construct, which makes it unlikely they'll succeed in time to stop her.

“Marshal, our only option is to use brute force or allow them to set foot on the riverbank.” An elderly flow-smith with gray hair reports to the man observing the Hersir's advance with a spyglass. “That turtle shell will block all our attempts, and she can expand it to intercept the more powerful constructs before they reach.”

“Then, it is a foregone conclusion this Hersir will set foot in Telnur.” The Marshal determines. “Maintaining these constructs alone will empty the Hersir's reserves for the month so end your attacks and preserve yours for the battle, order the archers to keep firing as we have arrows enough to supply them.”

“Will the other two Phalanxes make it in time?” The old man asks.

“No, it'll take at least two days for their advanced forces to reach us so we must depend on ourselves.” The Marshal replies with a somber expression.

As the Empire's high command rallies their troops to hold back the incoming Cataphracts, Ka'osla herself is discreetly tasting the air with her forked tongue.

{The ice won't last more than a day before it becomes unreliable, and that is without interference. The bridge must this be taken in the second wave.} She mumbles. {Heart-breakers, advance!} She shrieks with a murderous expression, her maw wide open as her vertical orange irises scour the enemy army for an opening.

A troop of two thousand Lisilese breaks off from the rest of the Horde following the distant call relayed by the Cataphracts. Each is equipped with a salvaged steel armor and carry mean-looking heavy maces embedded with giant teeth or sharp chunks of scrap metal.

As the sun rises to its highest point, Ka'osla of the Red Fear finally sets a sharp talon on Telnur's land. She is welcomed by five-hundred sarissas but she gazes upon them and the shield-wall behind with excitement, confident they won't hold long before the might she's assembled here, today.

{Kataphraktoi! Charge!} The Hersir commands.