The Emperor stood before the great plateau atop which sat the glorious city of Karmand. Its walls and striking black iron buildings packed to the brim against the beautiful Mount Pivox were a welcome sight after so many months away.

Or at least they would've been if they were still there.

Instead, a great flow of magma had exploded out from Mount Pivox, leaving a gaping hole on the mountain's south side. The copious scorching hot lava bubbled down like a fiery river and down onto the plateau below. All of the black iron buildings in the city had melted into molten iron that flowed southward against the city walls, which in turn tried in vain to hold back the unrelenting tide. The walls themselves glowed red. And then burst. The whole of the city poured over the plateau's cliff, washed away in that hellish tide. The Nulpan River sizzled and hissed as its waters evaporated, forming a cloud of mist that blessedly obscured much of the horror.

Rohmhelt watched as the lava and melted iron approached him across the plain, consuming the dry grass and soil as far as a mile past the city. Only then did it begin to slow, hardening into a solid block. The air smelled like nothing he had ever experienced. There was so much death on the wind, the acrid scent of burnt corpses numbering in the countless thousands and all of it was mixed with a foul sulfurous tinge.

"This can't be..." he muttered. "It can't."

He awoke in his command tent, resting in bed with Empress Evinda sleeping soundly tucked up against him, her red-skinned hand laying on his bare chest. He sighed deeply and simply stared up at the tent as the moonlight shined partly through it. The chirps of bugs and hoots of birds filled the otherwise quiet night sky outside.

How nice it must be to be able to just sit there like one of them. Chirp and hoot, he mused.

Just as he started to doze off again, thundering hooves approached his tent.

"I must speak to the Empress right away!" a frantic deep voice called out to the Solnahtern sentries outside the imperial couple's tent. "It's urgent!"

"They're sleeping right now," the muffled and plodding voice of one of the Solnahtern answered. "You can come back in the morning."

"No!" the messenger shouted. "It's something the Empress must know right away!"

"I'm sorry, but--"

"It's alright," Rohmhelt bellowed toward the tent entrance. Evinda jolted out of her comfortable sleep and instinctively grasped, pulling on some of the Emperor's chest hairs. "Just give us a moment to get dressed."

"Very good, Your Imperial Majesty," the Solnahtern answered and then muttered something to the messenger.

As Evinda got off him to put on her own nightgown, Rohmhelt struggled in the dark to find his. Patting around at the side of the bed, he finally found it crumpled on the ground with more than a couple spiders crawling in its folds. He shook them loose and slid it over his body. Evinda was already tying her hair back as he got his head through the top. He would've made a quip about how she beat him to it, but he thought better of it when he sensed her tension. He took to lighting a couple torches inside the tent and glanced at the mirror, seeing that his wiry blue green hair was in a hopelessly messy state. Regardless, he had to go on.

Evinda nervously nodded at him, taking a deep breath as she did.

"You may enter," the Emperor acknowledged and called out to the tent's entrance.

With little delay, a stocky messenger in a green and gold uniform stepped into the tent, his clothes covered in mud. Under his right arm, he carried a box. His chubby quivering face jiggled as he bowed to both the Emperor and Empress.

"Your Imperial Majesties," he rumbled in his exceptionally deep voice. "Empress, it's my sad duty to report to you that Adrenyk Manor has fallen. The entire garrison was killed or taken prisoner."

Rohmhelt reached out to grasp Evinda's left hand. It ran cold and shivered. She lightly grasped back. Swallowing, Evinda worked up the courage to ask the inevitable following question.

"What of Tujiv, my brother?" she managed through a series of suppressed sobs. "Is he..."

The messenger glanced down at the ground as he lifted the box.

"I'm told he's alive, but... I'm sorry. If you don't want to see the contents, I can't force you," he said, fighting back tears of his own.

Evinda gasped just even looking at the simple wooden container. Rohmhelt's own mind conjured a hundred different horrors that could be inside. He reached out and grabbed it with his left hand. It was light, but something inside shifted. Actually, two things. One felt like a small ball that rolled while something else scraped.

With a deep breath, Evinda reached out her right hand and slid off the box's top. She stopped breathing and closed her eyes immediately. Her left hand became even colder, and a cool clammy sweat broke out from it. Rohmhelt had focused so much on her that he neglected to look at the contents himself for a few seconds. It was as though a force kept his head focused on her and wouldn't let him.

When he finally forced himself to do so, he saw the grisly reality for himself. A wilted eyeball with a milky white iris, a severed red ear along with traces of blood, and a single folded note off to the side. His stomach clenched tightly at the sight. So much so that it hurt. He instinctively moved the box to the nearby table and set it down, grabbing the note and closing the container, all with his awkward left hand while Evinda still weakly grasped his right. He unfurled the rough tan parchment and began to read the elegant script that, at the same time, had a sharp and jagged quality to it.

"My dear sweet Evinda. You should have used someone better than Cintov to come after me," he said in a low voice. He shot a quick glance at the Empress, who still kept her eyes closed. The messenger, too, looked away. "I will spare you the energy of wondering what happened. He failed and he is dead. But I was so angry about what you tried that I decided that poor Tujiv just would have to do in your stead. You have seen what I took from him. I have made sure he lived. For now. My dearest love, however, will not be pleased to learn what you did. Don't be surprised if you find yourself being sculpted into my new throne before long."

He skimmed the rest of the letter and stopped speaking. Taunts, threats, and worse. At some point, he reasoned that Selyn had just lost her nerve and decided to write down every crazed thought that popped into her head.

"I'll keep this," Rohmhelt said, holding up the letter. He then looked to the messenger and motioned toward the box. "Dispose of that."

Not even asking for more clarity, the messenger darted over, picked up the box, bowed to Rohmhelt, and ran out of the tent.

"The Empress and I need to be alone," he called out to the Solnahtern. "Nothing except critical business."

"Yes, Your Imperial Majesty," one of the guardians responded.

With that, he dropped his hand from Evinda's and began pacing near the tent's center, stroking his hair while Evinda stood silently, her fists clenched and her eyes still closed.

"Lady Selyn, if we can call her a Lady, makes a claim here, that you gave an order to have her assassinated," Rohmhelt started, running his right hand through his hair. "Before I get to anything else here, I want to know: Is this true?"

Evinda opened her eyes at last and those lovely milky white eyes were marred with tears. She managed to keep most of them in her eyes and swallowed back much of her agony.

"It is," she meekly responded.

Rohmhelt closed his eyes and sighed.

"We went through this already, Evinda," he seethed. "When there was that fucking stupid attempt to assassinate my brother that only ended up maiming his son, I swore that we'd never do that sort of thing again! And here you are, not only sending men up north without my permission, but also doing this!"

She slumped where she stood, fighting back tears. Her right cheek twitched under the strain of trying to contain her emotions. Rohmhelt realized for a moment that he should probably tread carefully, given the circumstances, but his fury wouldn't let him.

"I know you're furious about what she did to your brother and I'm sorry about that, but what you did has consequences! And now we've got to ponder what a furious Omonrel trying to hunt us down means," he bemoaned and sat down on the bed. "At least please tell me that you and Dastov, I assume this was Dastov, aren't doing anything else like this!"

"Nothing at the moment," she mumbled, turning her head slightly toward him.

"I take that to mean that you were thinking about it? Angels save me! When will this madness--" he continued ranting, but then she spun toward him, her eyes shooting open again with tears flinging at him.

"Damn it, Rohmhelt! WE'RE LOSING THIS WAR!" she screamed with her mouth open so wide he could see the back of her throat. "And you just keep fighting it the same losing way! At least I tried something!"

His face reddened. He rose from the bed and glowered at her.

"And even if this damn foolish thing had done what it was supposed to, what then? You think that would've just stopped them taking your lands? Hm? What's the theory here? Please tell me!" he yelled at her. "Is there one?"

"That killing their leaders at least buys us time!" she snarled. "A better sort of time, too, than just constantly retreating and retreating. Time on our terms! And they're so damn craven that they might just fall apart without these stronger leaders."

He cupped his hands around the center of his face and breathed deeply. Inconveniently, he recalled his nightmare of Karmand melting and pouring off the plateau. A sick feeling set in around his stomach and heart, one that deprived him of the energy to defend his strategy against her tempestuous anger. He didn't believe that dream to be prophetic as it was simply too ridiculous to possibly be literal, but it still gave him pause enough to be avoid arguing that point.

"It's hard for us to maintain we're the righteous ones when we do this sort of thing," he argued in a lower voice after dropping his hands from his face. "And I know you don't think that argument matters, but it does. Do I think we could keep our men in the fold, and our new allies in the fold, if we started killing all of our prisoners the way Selyn Kedholn does? No, I don't. Duronaht's supporters are following him and the angels with him because they think they'll get something out of it. Our supporters, they're doing what they think is right."

Evinda lightly shook her head.

"Most of those who follow us, at least those from the Empire, do so because you're your father's rightful heir and have the right claim. Or they're doing so because of Forynda. Or our new allies were lobbied by Aberos, whom they revere. I think if you went out into the camps tonight and got honest answers, very few would say they're here because they think you're a nice bloke," the Empress's words dripped with venom. "So many of them will leave if they think you're doomed to lose. You know that."

He bit his lip and looked down, thankful that at least the shouting had stopped even if the cutting words didn't.

"I do," he conceded and flung his arms open to Evinda. She was charitable enough to accept his gesture and embraced him. He held her tightly, rubbing his hands up and down her back. "We'll get the victories we need. And soon. I know it."

Just then, Rohmhelt noticed Lohs's head sticking into the tent from the front entrance.

"Oh, I see you've worked that out already," the old man's wrinkled face rose into a high smile. "Sleep well. We've got a difficult march coming up. Can't have our leaders in a spat, now can we?"

"No, I suppose not," Evinda forced a laugh while still embracing Rohmhelt.

"Thank you, Lohs," Rohmhelt sighed. "We'll try to do better."

~

Hastily saluting his lower commanders, Grand Marshal Vildrious made for the Emperor's command post overlooking the most recent crossing of the Cersomin River to the south. Starting to stride up the steep rocky hill, he glanced at the floating presence of the angel Omonrel, but paid it no mind. It certainly wasn't unusual for one of the allied angels, Omonrel most of all, to be near the Emperor.

However, there was an unusual air radiating from Omonrel that day.

The Sculptor Angel swept forward and grabbed Vildrious by the throat just before Vildrious came to the crest of the hill and picked him up at least five feet into the air. Vildrious squirmed as the cold ivory hand of Omonrel squeezed around his neck. The angel looked at Vildrious, his sapphire eyes flashing and eyebrows sloping fiercely downward.

"Wha... What is this?!" Vildrious squeaked out, his legs kicking wildly while he tried to pry Omonrel's grasp from his throat.

"You sent that traitor Commander Cintov to aid Selyn. Did you know anything about him before you did?!" Omonrel hissed. "He easily could have killed her. It was only by her skill she survived."

"I didn't know! How could I have possibly known?!" Vildrious protested, still struggling against that crushing grip that didn't relent. He worried that his throat was already crushed and he'd just find out that he was doomed a few minutes later. "Why would..."

"Because you want us to lose," Omonrel interjected, deeply chilled air escaping his mouth and wrapping around Vildrious's neck. "Or you envy me. Or you somehow think this is to your advantage. I know the whole range of mortal motivations. I consider them an inspiration after all these years."

"I... This is ridiculous! I didn't have any fucking idea! Let me go!" he pleaded, his voice now just barely squeaking out above Omonrel's grasp. The world spun and flashed around him as the angel's fingers dug deeper.

Omonrel then grunted and dropped Vildrious to the ground.

"You are too pathetic to have even tried to kill my Selyn," the Sculptor Angel sighed, his voice turning purely disdainful. "You were simply incompetent. You never gave a second thought about Cintov's loyalty, or even his ability. You just sent him because he was available to send."

Gasping for air, Vildrious tried to stand, but he couldn't. He still wondered if Omonrel had squeezed hard enough to kill him and he just didn’t know it yet as he struggled to breathe again.

"That's right, if... if you must know," Vildrious coughed, tasting a hint of blood in his mouth. "If you want to believe I'm stupid, inept, or whatever else... go ahead and think that."

Omonrel growled and floated away, leaving the Grand Marshal to slowly regain his breath. Vildrious eventually rose to see numerous commanders and lower ranking staff gawking at him and mumbling amongst themselves. He decided to just recompose himself instead of drawing any further attention and proceed to Emperor Duronaht's command post just over that rocky hill.

The Emperor, surrounded by a detachment of Solnahtern, sat on a large boulder while looking out over the Cersomin River. Immediately it became clear that the Water Angel Cyrona had yet again blocked off portions to the north with ice walls that loomed high over much of the front. The angel Parlon, dressed in a flowing dark gray and red robe, floated off to the right in front of the Emperor.

"I tried to tell Omonrel that there was no chance you intended any of that, but he only listens so much," Duronaht said without turning to face Vildrious. "He's always loved his mates. My brother's wife made a serious mistake in trying to kill her. That’s suicidal."

"Apparently," Vildrious grumbled, still having to cough to be able to speak at all. "But at least that's one front down. Unfortunately, Bohruum is invading down the Segrison Marche and Nitandra has taken Sicahn and a few other cities along the southern coast."

"You speak like I don't know that," Duronaht turned to face his Grand Marshal. His eyes were calm, though his square jaw was clenched as he looked at the massive frozen wall to the north. "None of that matters nearly as much as the fact that Cyrona is damn impossible to deal with. But she can only be so many places at once. Do I understand correctly that Myrvaness managed to sweep far up to the north a few hours ago, about twenty thousand men with her?"

"That's right," Vildrious answered. "Again, we are getting enough of our forces past the river by swinging wide enough that their position will soon be unstable. They'll have to retreat. They've been outmaneuvered."

"And there are few rivers of note between here and Karmand," Parlon sang, dancing as he spoke. "That will solve the worst of Cyrona's meddling, for the moment, but I wish to assure Your Imperial Majesty that I am attempting to devise a more permanent solution to the problem."

"That'd be appreciated," Duronaht said wearily to Parlon. "No single force or other angel has been nearly as much of a problem as her. Without her, I think this whole damn war would've been won months ago."

"That is assuredly correct. However, the Cyrona nuisance will be resolved in due time," the Music Angel chuckled.

"Do let us know when we can expect that, since we lost three divisions yesterday sending them across the river where there seemed to be an opening. They got overwhelmed and, before they could get back here, they were cut off by one of her ice walls," Vildrious boiled over. "I'm sure Marshal Kordov and Grand Marshal Agrehn found that all very funny. Thirty. Thousand. Men. All gone. Right, again, Cyrona is a serious problem and I appreciate that a solution's coming, but we need to know when."

Duronaht scowled at his Grand Marshal while Parlon's amethyst eyes flashed.

"My dear Vildrious," Parlon sang as he floated up alongside him, "I will let you know."

With that, the Music Angel skipped and twirled off into the distance, singing haunting melodies that reverberated in the air as he did.

Duronaht folded his arms and looked back to the northern stretches of the river where Cyrona's towering walls of ice still stood. He shook his head.

"Those three divisions you mentioned, I want to say that I'm sorry about that," Duronaht mumbled.

"I... what?" Vildrious gasped.

"I know you had your reservations and I pushed you," the Emperor said calmly. "As we get closer to Karmand, as my brother retreats, be sure to tell me when you see a trap. I admit, I've been falling for them more and more. His whole plan is clearly to suck us in as far as he can and spring a trap."

"Um... agreed, Your Imperial Majesty. We've suspected that since he retreated from Methrangia," the Grand Marshal stammered.

"And we're getting closer to whatever his big moment is. Whatever he has planned to try to hold on, it's coming soon. I've know him my whole life, of course. I know what he's doing," Duronaht awkwardly laughed. "Did you have brothers, Vildrious?"

"Two, both younger. They're mayors back in the east, actually."

"Huh, I never looked into that. But you fought with them, right?"

"Oh yes," Vildrious laughed.

"As the older brother, you sometimes would suck them in, right?"

"I understand Your Imperial Majesty's point," the Grand Marshal acknowledged, finally coming to understand why the Emperor was behaving oddly that day. "Yes, I'll be watchful and inform you right away when I see problems."

Duronaht stood at last and towered over Vildrious.

"Good. Well, we should be ready to chase him. As you say, he's outmaneuvered to the north and south. Retreat is his only option," the Emperor grinned. "It's hundreds of miles to Karmand, but I think this can go quickly if we do it right."

"Agreed," Vildrious smiled and bowed, though still acutely feeling the pain from Omonrel's grasp around his neck. "I'll make sure that the full army is ready for as soon as tonight."

"Go to it, then," Duronaht said with a deep breath. "If we're lucky, this is our final push. He has nowhere to go after Karmand."

~

When the order to withdraw came early that evening, Lyfress noted conflicting emotions in most of the men. They understood how necessary it had become and that reinforcements were waiting for them as they got closer to Karmand. Indeed, news of the swelling tide of Varanians coming out of their winter burrows and the first arrivals of the birdmen of Osilintis in Karmand became the talk of the camps. However, there was also the profound sense of dread that they had been pushed so many miles in defeat, surrendering city after city.

After three days of heading west, they went through the strange and ugly lands directly west of the Cersomin River where the trees themselves were blanched, lacking nearly all color and hanging over the land as sickly sentinels. Then the army reached the broad expanse of darker grasses littered with rocks that comprised the long approach to Karmand and the western provinces.

"I'd always heard these lands were hard," Cesord said to her as they marched with their company of healers, "but even now I can't believe quite how bleak they are."

The creatures populating the lands weren't much to look at in their own right. Instead of the robust livestock and wildlife of the central portions of the Empire, these were spindly and gaunt things, frailer and more cautious than their eastern brethren.

Lyfress, however, found the new scenery a needed distraction from the deeply unnerving memories of how Parlon had nearly forced her to kill her father. That utter powerlessness gnawed at her. Not only that she had been made a spectator in her own mind, but that she genuinely seemed to be on the verge of enjoying it. She tried convincing herself again and again that those were alien thoughts, imparted onto her by that malicious angel. Yet, it felt far less clear than that.

Her father, despite never mentioning the abject terror that moment had caused him, hadn't been quite the same since. They still walked together, but he maintained more of a distance than he had before. His warm expressions also turned into fleeting glances where he dared not look into her eyes. She wanted to broach the topic, but it never seemed the right time.

On the third night, they were around a small campfire eating the meager rations provided to them when the Mind Angel Simel floated before them. Simel had his eyes closed at first and rubbed at the right side of his head with one hand while his other hand wiggled freely in the air.

"I have sensed great distress from both of you, just as I have from your companions among our healers," the Mind Angel said, his eyes still shut. "There is a manner in which I can aid you, if you wish to utilize its power."

Cesord glanced briefly at Lyfress and then back to Simel.

"I'm afraid I don't understand," her father responded.

Simel opened his eyes and those haunting metallic irises shifted toward the old man.

"I regret that I was unable to stop Parlon's evil until it was too late for some of you. Many did not even survive. You were fortunate that nothing irretrievable occurred, but I failed you regardless," he said sorrowfully. "For a father to be nearly slain by his own daughter, or for a daughter to have to be a slave to a malicious will to murder her father. These are things no one should have to live with."

"You're saying you could... make us forget entirely?" Lyfress inquired, her voice incredulous. "But, is that..."

"There are so many misgivings even I have about such a thing," Simel continued, harshly rubbing at his head just under his graying black hair. "It became clear to me, however, that Parlon means to inflict these traumas upon you mortals over and over again, eventually breaking you. I cannot allow that to happen, and it is not reasonable to expect that you should have to live with those horrors he placed into your minds."

Cesord's jaw became almost unhinged upon hearing this. For all that he and Lyfress had witnessed so far, the ability to invade one's mind and cull distorting memories and thoughts seemed the most staggering, at least to her.

"Is this a thing that can be done with care? Just those and nothing more?" Cesord inquired intently.

"Provided that your mind is clear and free of chaos, yes," Simel dryly answered. "My own misgivings center around the fact that memories, inclusive of dark ones, are the core of your entire existence. My kind never forgets anything. That, however, is its own curse. What decision you make is yours, and I shall respect that."

Shuddering as she recalled the terror of standing over her father with that knife, knowing that she was not only about to kill him but enjoy doing so, she made her choice.

"I never want to think about it again. It's a needless distraction and it shouldn't be part of me," Lyfress declared. "It's a parasite from Parlon, nothing more."

Her father gently nodded. Simel floated forward, his dark green robe waving slightly in the mild spring breeze, and placed his cold hands upon their heads.

"Keep your minds calm," he instructed.

As clear as the moment it had happened, it flashed in her mind again, playing out before her in vivid terms. Her father's terror at seeing his own daughter standing above him with such malice. The strange glee she felt knowing what she was about to do to him. The other healers mindlessly hacking at their own patients and one another. The screams. The sounds of ripping flesh. The... nothing.

Nothing.

She came back to the present moment bewildered. Her father's face carried such confusion on his wrinkles that she knew he must've been in the same situation. As she saw Simel, she recalled that he had offered to purge painful memories from both of them, but she couldn't recall in the slightest what it had been. Had it been something she would regret not remembering? No, she was confident she would've only made that decision for something that deserved it.

"It is done," Simel breathed deeply and winced. "Unfortunately, memory is a shared enterprise, an integral part of the Auras. All that has been perceived is forever maintained in full, but it can be shifted, its burden housed elsewhere."

At first, Lyfress simply nodded in acknowledgement. But as she saw his eyes, expressionless as they could be with that unreadable metallic shine, turn deeply sad, she realized what had happened.

"You don't mean that you..." she started.

He looked directly at her, his face drooping.

"I now fully know why you made the choice you made. It was the correct one. Be relieved that this is no longer part of you," he weakly mumbled and turned to float away.

Lyfress and Cesord looked to one another and fully embraced, neither knowing what burden had been lifted from them, but treasuring the lack of its weight all the same.