Letharion Sylvaris 

“Move it!” I barked.  “The vanguard was breached!” 

Soldiers surged forward. Spears, swords, bows, shields. No hesitation. 

Mages held the rear. 

I lead the supporting unit through the thick grove of trees toward the battlefield. 

I picked up my pace, dashing forward without hesitation. 

The soldiers followed close behind, elves and humans alike. 

How the hell was the vanguard brought down?! 

Goblins weren’t supposed to be this strong after the previous war. 

My gaze fell on the blood-stained earth. 

I stopped. 

The supporting unit halted with me, confusion rippling through the ranks. 

I crouched and pressed my thumb against the dark smear. 

Fresh. 

My jaw clenched. 

Something was wrong. 

“We advance.” 

I rose.

“Yes, sir!”  

Moments later, we reached the battlefield. 

I stopped again. 

Goblins stood over the torn bodies of humans and elves. 

For a heartbeat, no one moved. 

The battlefield lay in a shallow clearing beyond the trees. Broken shields and scattered arrows littered the churned mud. The vanguard’s banner had fallen, half-soaked in blood near the center.

The goblins were not disorganized. 

They stood in loose clusters, weapons raised, breathing hard but not panicked. That alone was wrong. 

My jaw clenched. 

“Forward!” I ordered.

The supporting unit didn’t hesitate; they recovered quickly and surged past me, their boots pounding against wet soil. Humans formed the front line, shields locking with practiced precision. Elven archers moved behind them, already drawing.

The first clash came fast.

Steel met jagged iron. Shields collided with a heavy crack. I stepped into the opening between two infantrymen and struck. 

My blade cut across the goblin’s throat before it could swing. I turned, redirected a second blow, and drove my sword through its chest. 

They were stronger than before, even faster. 

But still crude. 

How did they defeat the vanguard? Something’s amiss. 

Our formation tightened and began to push. Archers released in measured volleys. Arrows dropped on the goblins attempting to circle the flank. A human sergeant barked commands, steadying the left side. 

We began reclaiming ground. 

Several goblins tried to retreat toward the rear, but our soldiers pressed them down. The grove echoed with the metal and strained breathing. 

This was salvageable. 

Then the air shifted. 

Not a sound. 

Not movement. 

It was pressure. 

It brushed against my senses like cold fingers. 

I sliced down another goblin. 

That’s when I noticed the three goblins that stood near the far edge of the clearing, separated from the melee. They were not engaging. Their weapons lay discarded at their feet. 

One raised its arm. 

I felt it before I saw it. 

The air bent inward. 

A distortion formed, faint and violet, coiling around its hand like unstable smoke. 

“Shields!” I shouted.

Too late. 

The distortion exploded forward in a violent surge. It struck the center of our formation with crushing force. The impact did not burn or cut. It compressed. 

The human captain at the front lifted his shield instinctively. The metal caved inward as if struck by an invisible hammer. He was thrown backward, armor split, his body limp before he hit the ground. 

Blood pooled around his body; his chest was but a hollow hole. 

The battle seemed to pause for a second. 

The soldiers were taken aback by the goblins' unexpected attack. 

I was, too. 

Is this…magic? 

The second goblin lifted its hand. 

This time, I saw the threads of energy gathering, twisting unnaturally. It wasn’t elemental or structured. 

The blast rippled through our right flank. The spell struck an elf, and he fell to his knees. Blood burst from his mouth as he collapsed onto the ground. 

Mud sucked at armored boots as the line fractured under the blast.

Confusion replaced discipline. 

More goblins stepped back from the fight and raised their hands. 

No wonder the vanguard was brought down…they’ve changed. 

The pressure in the clearing thickened. 

This was no longer a battlefield governed by steel. 

Something else had entered. 

And it did not belong to them. 

My grip tightened around my blade as a goblin near the rear shifted its stance and lifted its arm toward me. 

I did not wait.

Crimson eidra surged from my core, wrapping around my body in a controlled blaze. Heat rolled outward in a sharp wave, wrapping the air around me. 

The distortion forming in the goblin’s palm twisted as it approached.

It struck. 

The moment it touched the edge of my eidra, the violet mass sputtered, not burned, not deflected, but unraveled. The energy tore apart as threads pulled too tight, collapsing into nothing before it could reach my skin. 

I did not move. 

The goblin staggered backward, its arm trembling as if something had been ripped from it. 

My eyes narrowed.

Then widened.

There was structure there.

Inside them was a core.

But not one born naturally.

The energy they wielded was not arcis. It did not flow. It pulsed. Jagged. Forced. Like something hammered into shape rather than grown.

It was unstable and artificial.

My hesitation vanished.

If they could wield it, they could not be allowed to retreat.

Flame erupted around my blade, controlled and dense. I stepped forward.

The first goblin lunged.

It never finished the motion.

My sword cut clean through its shoulder, fire sealing the wound before blood could spill. I pivoted, lightning cracking from the edge of my swing, tearing through the second before it could form another spell.

They tried to regroup.

But they were too slow and too crude.

Their magic flared, unstable bursts of violet distortion ripping through the air, but refinement defeated force. Each time their energy met mine, it fractured. Each time their blades met steel, they fell.

One by one.

I did not allow them to breathe.

In less than a minute, the grove was quiet again.

Smoke drifted upward.

Only one remained.

It stumbled backward, clutching its chest, its unstable core flickering beneath its skin like a dying ember.

I stepped toward it slowly.

This one would not die.

Not yet.

I turned toward the soldiers. “Check the surroundings. Those who are injured go back to the camp. The rest, stand guard here while the other batch arrives.”

The soldiers moved immediately. No questions. No hesitation.

I crouched and gripped the goblin by the collar of its torn armor. It thrashed weakly, violet light pulsing erratically beneath its skin. The core inside it flickered again, too bright, too strained.

It would not last long.

Which meant I did not have long.

I tightened my grip and rose, dragging it behind me as I stepped away from the field.

The forest thinned as we approached the forward command encampment. Banners of silver and deep green hung side by side, human and elven insignias woven together in uneasy unity. 

Soldiers parted when they saw me returning.

And when they saw what I was dragging.

At the center stood the command pavilion. Larger than the rest. Guarded, but not heavily. The real defense was who stood inside it.

I pushed the flap aside.

Two men turned.

General Arcturus Kepler, the Human King’s right hand, stood over a spread of maps, gauntleted hands resting on the table. Broad-shouldered, scarred, eyes always calculating. His black hair was neatly combed, his brown eyes locked on me.

Beside him stood High Marshal Elion Thraeven, blade at his hip even in council, posture straight as if carved from marble. He ran a hand through his dark-brown hair and fixed his sharp, green eyes on me as well.

Silence fell when they saw the goblin.

Arcturus spoke first. “Report.”

I glanced down at the goblin. “They wield magic,” I said.

No one laughed.

No one dismissed it.

Elion’s eyes sharpened. “Impossible.”

“So was the vanguard falling in under ten minutes,” I replied evenly.

I dragged the goblin forward and forced it to its knees. 

“It has a core,” I continued. “But not one that grew naturally. It is… implanted.”

That word settled heavily.

Arcturus straightened. “Implanted by whom?”

That was the question.

The goblin’s breathing was ragged, uneven. The unstable glow beneath its skin flickered weakly, like a flame struggling against its own fuel.

Elion stepped forward first. He crouched, gloved fingers hovering just above the creature’s chest without touching it. The violet light pulsed in response, erratic and hostile.

“It’s not circulating arcis,” he said quietly. “There’s no natural flow.”

Arcturus circled once, studying it as though it were a weapon rather than a living being. “Then what is it circulating?”

I answered before anyone else could. “Something forced.”

The goblin bared its teeth weakly, but its earlier aggression was gone. Its body trembled under the strain of whatever had been placed inside it. This was not power earned. It was power endured.

Arcturus exhaled slowly. “If this is spreading among their ranks…”

“It already has,” I replied. “The vanguard did not fall to numbers. It fell to coordination.”

Silence followed after that.

Elion rose to his full height. “We cannot kill it yet.”

“I did not intend to,” I said.

Arcturus nodded once. Decision made. “Send for the research division. Both human and elven.”

A guard stepped out immediately.

Elion’s gaze hardened. “We will dissect the core if we must. I want to know how it was implanted, how it’s sustained, and whether it can be replicated.”

“Replicated?” Arcturus looked at him sharply.

Elion did not waver. “If they can force power into their soldiers, we must understand the method before it is used against us at scale.”

That was the correct answer.

I looked down at the goblin again.

Its eyes were no longer feral.

They were vacant.

Not mindless.

But empty. As if something had burned through whatever used to reside there.

“Place it in a suppression cell,” I ordered. “Layered barriers. Fire containment and anti-flux seals.”

Arcturus gave a faint glance. “You think it will destabilize?”

“I think,” I said slowly, “whatever was placed inside it was not meant to last.”

A faint pulse flickered again beneath its skin.

It was weak, but unnatural.

And for the first time since the battle began, a quiet realization settled in my chest.

This was not evolution.

This was an intervention.

And someone had just tested it on the battlefield.

A robed scholar entered at a measured pace, his expression unreadable beneath the thin silver frames resting on his nose. His gaze moved once over the goblin’s trembling form, lingering on the faint violet glow beneath its skin.

“So this is it,” he murmured.

Two assistants followed with restraint bands etched in suppression runes. They secured the creature carefully, as though handling unstable glass rather than flesh. The goblin did not resist this time. Its eyes flickered weakly, unfocused, as it was lifted and carried toward the rear pavilion where arcane studies were conducted.

The tent flap settled shut behind them.

The tent felt smaller after that.

Before I could speak again, another presence approached, light steps, disciplined.

A royal courier.

He bowed low and extended a sealed envelope, the emerald crest of the Elven Crown pressed in wax.

“For Commander Letharion Sylvaris.”

I took it.

The seal was unbroken. The parchment inside was smooth, deliberate.

The message was brief.

The borders grow restless, though Grayfen remains untouched. I trust Rendal Vael, and I do not doubt his household. Still, trust does not quiet a father’s thoughts.

It has been six months since Valmira left our lands. She is young, and though she is brave, she has lived among humans without one of her own beside her. I cannot help but wonder if she has felt the weight of that.

Go to her, Letharion.

Stand before Princess Valmira Daevarys and see her with your own eyes. Speak with her. Listen to her.

When you are certain she is safe—and not alone in spirit—send word to me.

Only then will I be at ease.

Arcturus watched my face carefully. “You’re being recalled?”

“Temporarily."

Elion crossed his arms. “That farm again.”

“It is not just a farm,” I replied evenly.

And now, after what I had just witnessed on that field, it certainly wasn’t “just” anything.

I folded the letter and handed temporary command to Arcturus without ceremony.

“If anything similar manifests again,” I said quietly, “do not engage recklessly. Contain first. Observe second.”

“And if containment fails?”

“Then burn it.”

—— ✦ ——

The road to Grayfen felt longer than it had six months ago.

Not because of distance.

Because of thought.

The forest stood quieter now, the wind brushing through the trees in low, familiar murmurs. I had walked these paths before, though never for war. Never with questions weighing this heavily.

By the time the Vael household came into view, dusk had begun settling over the fields, the sky fading into warm gold and amber. Smoke rose lazily from the chimney. Light spilled from the windows.

It was Ordinary yet peaceful.

The kind of place a child should be allowed to grow.

For a brief moment, I remembered a much smaller Valmira tugging at the hem of ceremonial robes, demanding to hold a training blade twice the size of her arm. Stubborn. Proud. Bright.

Six months is not long for a kingdom. But to a child, it is everything.

I stepped forward.

Three firm taps against the door.

Not as a commander answering orders.

But as someone who had watched her grow from a child with wooden blades to a princess far from home.