With the pomp and circumstance of a parade that nobody asked for, Burn led his army from the grandiose gates of Edensor Royal Capital, bound for the war in the Elysian Kingdom.
The march was quite a grand affair, if one's idea of grandeur involved trudging through mud and dodging the occasional overly affeate horsefly.
As they moved, the ndscape shifted from the manicured opulence of Edensor—with its buildings that looked like they were trying too hard to impress visiting dignitaries—to the rugged, untamed wilderness leading to Elysiaory.
Here, the trees stood tall and unyielding, much like the morale of Burn’s troops, fed on a steady diet of rousing speeches and the promise of glory.
Burn rode at the front, his face set in a mask of cold that could easily be mistaken for iion.
On his p, Momo g to her own posure with the tenacity of a cat in a bathtub, her eyes sing the path that Yvain, the boy wonder and actal military strategist, had carved through the enemy’s defenses.
Ah, young Yvain.
At the tender age of twelve, he had mao surprise everyone—probably himself most of all—by morphing from a royal novice to a ander with a knack for not getting immediately overrun.
Though being supported by a cabal of seasoned generals and a certain Sir Gahad, whose guidance was as invaluable as Burn’s.
Together, they had turned potential disaster into a somewhat less disastrous adventure, pushing through Elysian defenses with the finesse of a bull in a a shop—assuming the bull had a really good pn.
The path they marched was littered with the relics of these swift victories: abandoned Elysian banners, discarded ons, and the occasional piece of armor that looked as though it had decided it just couldn’t go a step further.
The sery was a mix of battle-wearied fields and forests that bore silent wito the hurried passage of Yvain’s forces, now marked by the heavy boots of Burn’s own men.
As they he Elysian Kingdom, the air grew tense, charged with the electricity of impending flict. Birds, wise to the ways of meheir distaheir silence a stark trast to the metallic symphony of armor and ons g in rhythmic harmony.
Truly, as Burn and his army marched on, one could almost hear the whispered prayers of the local flora and fauna, hoping fervently to remain untrampled by history’s heavy feet.
Such are the joys of military expeditions—glorious to some, a dht nuisao others. Especially if you’re a squirrel.
Also, this squirrel on Burn’s p.
“You got pale again. What’s wrong?”
“Your body is hot. I’m sweaty,” Momo replied with the warmth of an arctic breeze. “My body’s moisture is leaving me.”
In all his emperor-ly wisdom, Burn failed to grasp the full extent of her disfort. To him, she was merely a tad moist, her sweet st amplifying as if she were a human diffuser rather than a suffering panion.
“Drink water,” he suggested helpfully, as if hydration could solve the existential woes of their journey. Momo reached for the teen, her hands trembling from exhaustion. It dawned on him that she hadn’t slept a blink sihey departed from Wintersin.
Suddenly, a herald annouheir arrival, “Elysian Capital is up front, Your Majesty.”
“We’ve arrived—” Burn began, but Momo cut him off urgently.
“I feel something. we get out of here? y me quickly to the east now?” she jolted, her intuiti up like a poorly timed firework.
“What?” Burn frowned, his face t into a map of fusion.
“’t you feel it?” Momo’s eyes wavered dramatically. “It’s Yvain. He needs me now. Brihere!”
With a single blink, Burn halted the chariot, shog the procession of knights and generals as if he’d just announced his iion to elope.
He scooped Momo out of the chamber with the urgency of a mag a pizza from an oven.
“I’ll go first. Follow through,” he decred to his men, who responded with a chorus of “Yes! Your Majesty!” that echoed through the air.
By the time their voices settled, Burn had vanished with Momo in his arms.
GASP!
Fast!
Momo, cradled rather unceremoniously in Burn's arms, found herself suddenly hurtling through the air at a velocity that would make a cheetah envious.
The sery whipped past them so quickly it was as if the world had turned into a poorly tuelevision, all statid blurs.
As they dashed toward the capital of Elysia to their location—or as Momo thought of it, 'in the general dire of impending doom'—the wind howled around them.
Trees bent in deference (or possibly in self-preservation), and the small wildlife likely filed noise pints about the sonis left in their wake.
The speed was exhirating, or so Burn's tightly set jaw suggested. Momo, oher hand, could barely keep her eyes open, what with the gale force winds threatening to turn her eyeballs into a pair of dried apricots.
Her hair, already disheveled, noted the look of a bird's post-tornado, waving wildly in the airstream, attempting to establish tact with low-flying birds.
But she didn’t care.
“Quick!”
“I know.”
BZZZZZZZZZZT—!
It almost looked like he forcibly ripped the spa half.
As Burn and Momo made their whirlwirao the Elysian capital, it was immediately apparent that they were not just fashionably te to the party, but had arrived at the grand finale of some apocalyptic pyroteic dispy.
The city was abze, with fmes lig the sky as if trying to escape the chaos below. Screams and cries provided a haunting melody to the fiery dance, crafting a se straight out of a disaster artist’s fever dream.
In the epiter of this inferno was a giant tornado of fire, swirling with the kind of fury that would make even the most seasoorm chaser resider their career choices.
It was tered right where the pace stood—or, more accurately, trembled on the brink of iion.
"Yvain's there," Momo stated, pinpointing the location of the young king in the heart of a firenado.
Burn didn't miss a beat. It wasn’t as though she would agree to wait where it was safe while he stepped into the bze. He didn’t slow down, using the wind to create a force field of his own, shielding them from the heat.
As they advahe fire raged on, almost offended by their audacity to defy its destructive embrace. The fmes danced madly, reag out with fiery fingers, only to be rebuffed by Burn’s wind-crafted barrier.
SSSHHHH!
They burst through the fire tornado.
…
Silence
…
Inside, in the eye of the storm however, was a vacuum of air. Nothing could escape, nor survive. No shadow, no sound. The space was suffused with thick, colorless mana, the kind touted as 'the purest of the soul's vision’.
No air—pletely repced. In this domain, only those with a master in mana maniputio Vision or Force—could survive.
For the Force users, who were used to breathing mana like oxygen, the enviro was somewhat tough, but bearable. Meanwhile, Vision users found it akin to stumbling into a field of enlighte.
A bit farther iral to this avant-garde performanana mastery, floated a small figure. The 12-year-old boy king, suspended a meter in the air, his eyes glowing with the eerie emptiness of a ghost.
It was quite the sight—here was a child who could barely be trusted to run a bath, let alone a kingdom, now floating ominously, berserk.
What actually happened?
“Y— ca—t, Mo—”
Burn's voice evaporated into the thick mana, utterly useless and frustratingly intangible. He was clearly mouthing, “You ’t go, Man,” his words f silent wisp that failed to reao.
But even in that brief, mute exge, Burhe truth: Momo wouldn’t listen to him, even if his words had mae the dense mana divide.
Instead, she turo him, her hair floating backwards from the explosion of mana. Attempted to speak, her words fragmenting in the dense space, “Ca—urn S—n Pe—dr—n, p—”
Burn, struggling to piece together her chopped audio, could only catch glimpses of her i, “Ki— m—”
Kiss me.
.
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