“Okay, I think you’re good to go. Rested up and feeling okay, ready to get back to it.” Sean smiled at Theo, as he made notes.

Theo bolted out of the chair, rushing to get out as fast as possible and make up for lost time.

“Good timing too.” Sean mused, offhandedly.

Theo paused his impression of an arrow leaving a bow, and turned to regard Sean once more. “Why is it good timing?”

“Because an army is in sight.” Sean responded, in a calm manner unsuited for the news that he delivered.

Sean passed Theo as he stood there, frozen, patting him on the shoulder. “Have fun.”

---

Theo left the Guild to the sound of thousands of approaching footsteps, the creaking of wooden wagons trundling through uneven mud, and anxious horses whinnying.

What seemed to be the entire population of the College of War was standing in formation outside the city wall, waiting as they watched the hopefully-soon-to-be-repelled invaders come to a stop just beyond the border of The Woods. Some bards, including Drew in his usually loud (but currently silent) suit of jangly armour had joined them on the front, but most of his classmates were on the city wall, with the guard and the College of Spells.

The air was charged, both literally with mana but also figuratively with tension.

Theo sidled up to Drew, keeping his eyes on the approaching army.

“You good?” Drew muttered through the side of his mouth.

“Got the seal of approval and everything.” Theo considered taking out the note from Sean but decided against it. It was probably a good idea to not distract himself right now.

“Stay alive.” He heard Jenny behind him, feeling her imposing presence comfortably near.

“You too.” He didn’t need to look back.

The enemy army kept coming, and coming, and coming. They stretched past the horizon, an endless series of dots. Rows upon battalions upon massacres of warriors were in formation, armour shiny from regular use and maintenance, spearheads glinting in the mid-day sun.

But they weren’t a monolith. Theo was reminded of something Thelonious had told him during one of his many tangents.

“The might of Etol is not only in the zeal of their most devoted, but also in their conviction of victory in anything they declare a holy war.” Not everyone was here to kill.

They were mixed in with the warriors, humble folks in sackcloth setting up tents and unloading carts. They were not here to fight, merely support in their capacity as pacifists (through choice or necessity). They may have been complicit and assisting those that were here to kill him, but they were not here to bloody their own hands.

Not to mention conscripts and people who clearly weren’t here by choice. He’d already spotted a few in chains. Etol may have had overwhelming military might, but they weren’t ones to do things by halves.

He had no idea if he could kill them if it came to it, or if he would just freeze up. He certainly had no idea how it would make him feel.

Either way, he would have to book an appointment with Sean once this was all over.

He imagined it would be a rather busy time for that.

A small mote of mana drifted upward as Theo sent a quick prayer for mercy (on all sides). It joined the mingling maelstrom of motes, barely visible in the daylight, slowly drifting up from both sides.

“My fellow children of the Gods, worry not.” A voice carried over the terse silence, but even if it had been as loud as The Pub after midnight, it would have cleaved through the noise. It was a wizened voice that commanded respect, hoarse with age and slightly phlegmy. It was deep and booming, the kind of voice to perfectly preach about damnation in the same breath as salvation.

The sea parted, as a man as old as his voice slowly walked forward. There was no urgency in his voice or his step, almost as if he was strolling and glancing around in a moderately-interesting garden. It was the walk of someone looking with disdain at a bug scurrying around in the trash in the dirtier part of town he didn’t visit.

It was the arrogance of someone who knew that he had won already.

“We are here to right the wrongs that have been committed against the Gods, to demand retribution and justice from those who have gone against the will of those on high.” The air crackled with his words as he gesticulated wildly.

“For the heretic who was stolen from their redemption by a demon who has warped magic. For the holy texts of our former high priest that were stolen from us. For our high priest herself, deceived by honeyed words that led her astray centuries ago.” The priest closed his hand into a fist, slowly drawing it down, as if casting judgement.

“We have gathered here today to deliver Salvation!” All the prayers floating in the sky, from both Etol’s side and theirs (including Theo’s own prayer for mercy), halted in their ascent, wobbling.

Every prayer, even Theo’s own prayer for mercy, fell.

They fell down to earth, never to reach their destination. Never to reach an ear of the Gods.

Instead, they exploded, one after the other, into temporary suns, blindingly bright. The world was reborn in white, as Theo lowered his raised hands that did nothing to protect his sight, spots swimming around his vision.

The priest stood, smiling politely, back straight, robes fluttering as rivers of mana flowed around his being.

“We will set the terms of war.” From Theo’s side, four individuals walked to the front. Behind them stood all the teachers at all four Colleges.

On the right, stood John the receptionist of the College of Prayer. His white hair covered his face, hiding any trace of emotion the blindfold did not already. The robe he wore did not move, in direct contrast to the billowing robe of the priest from Etol. Theo still had the feeling that he was furious.

Next to him stood a suit of armour taller than anyone Theo had seen before. The suit was chipped and dented, but moved without any sound. A full helmet covered their head, eye slit almost too thin to be noticeable. In their left gauntlet was a staff longer than Theo was tall, with a spearhead on one end and a mace on the other. In their right, a spiked shield.

Next in line was a hunched figure in a simple dress leaning on a cane, a portrait of a kind grandmother who lived in a cottage. That is, until one inspected their cane and found the whorls and knots in the wood pulsing with mana, filled with intricate inscriptions and inlaid with veins of glowing metal.

Finally, Maria stood on the left, dressed for another day at the reception desk, nonplussed.