Through the wide window, we could see them. All six grandmasters, strolling toward the fireworks as if they were on some evening promenade instead of walking into manufactured hell.

  “Well,” I rose from my chair, brushing crumbs from my cloak. They scattered like little sparks, the last remnants of Pancake’s suspiciously green muffin. I forced a grin and looked at the two closest to me. “Lola, Pancake! Don’t forget to take the barracks.”

  “And you don’t forget to kill the grandmasters,” Lola snapped back, her voice nervous.

  I didn’t answer right away. Instead, I stepped forward and pulled her into a hug. “Sorry,” I whispered in her ear. “I know the stress is a lot, isn’t it?”

  Her shoulders trembled under my arms, the weight of command heavy enough to shake even her. She squeezed me back, her voice low, fragile in a way she rarely let anyone hear. “How… how can you be so calm? If you die… it’s the end for you.”

  I didn’t lie. “I don’t know,” I murmured. “I just feel it. Ever since I started meditating, it’s like everything is already going the way it’s supposed to. Sure, the square was closed, sure, half the plan’s duct tape and prayer… but the feeling’s still there. Like it’s all falling into place.”

  Her grip tightened. She wanted to believe me; I could tell. “But I know it will,” I said, pulling back slightly. “Now I have to go.”

  She kissed my cheek, soft and fleeting, her eyes meeting mine with desperate sincerity. “Please… be careful, Lady.”

  I winked at her, forcing levity back into the air before I drowned in her worry. “You as well, Seneschal.” Then I glanced toward our resident carb dispenser. “Can I get another muffin?”

  The baker monk snorted, shaking his head, and lobbed one across the room. I caught it one-handed and stuffed it into my inventory for later. A queen needed travel rations, after all.

  And with that, I turned, cloak swishing, and walked toward the door.

  Toward them.

  The street outside was quieter now. The fireworks sputtered above the square, their chaotic dance fading into drifting sparks. Just enough to paint the world in shifting neon.

  And there they were.

  The six grandmasters moved together like an old, practiced troupe. They didn’t march, didn’t stride with discipline. No… they strolled, casual, like predators who knew they were at the top of the food chain and didn’t need to prove it.

  I kept to the side, pressed against a low wall, the shadows clinging to me. They didn’t see me. But I saw them, every detail.

  The White Dragon master walked in the lead, his face as sharp and angry as ever, lines carved deep from years of glaring at the world. His fists clenched at his sides, every step heavy, purposeful, as though stomping the earth into obedience.

  Beside him, the Purple master stomped outright, each footfall loud and theatrical, robes swirling dramatically. His arrogance radiated like heat, and I half expected him to demand applause from the guards as he passed.

  And in the middle of them, like the calm eye of the storm, was Shad. Stillness wrapped around him. His steps were smooth, measured, neither hurried nor lazy. Just… unshakable. He didn’t need to perform. He was the center, and he knew it.

  Behind the front line came the other three, each cloaked in the color of their house.

  The Red Dragon master looked barely more than a boy, his robe too big for his shoulders, his steps too light, as if he’d float away if he stopped concentrating. His eyes weren’t on the square but on the drifting sparks in the sky, fascination gleaming in them.

  Magic, not politics.

  Yellow was the opposite… every inch of him polished and deliberate. His golden robe caught the firelight, making him seem taller, broader. Handsome, yes, but it was the kind of beauty that was cultivated, rehearsed. He moved like a performer who knew the audience was watching, flashing smiles and confident glances at his peers.

  And the Black Dragon master… gods, he just was. Tall, with hair as dark as his robe, cool confidence draped over him like a second cloak. His eyes were calculating, but his stride was smooth, relaxed. He didn’t stomp, didn’t strut.

  Then White decided he was bored.

  He thrust his hand toward the lingering light-show, muttering an incantation. Wind burst from his palm, a roaring column that cut through the illusion like a knife through cloth. The fireworks shattered in silence, the sky suddenly bare.

  The square fell still. The noise, the chaos… all of it snuffed out in an instant.

  “That’s it?” White sneered, voice loud enough to echo against the buildings. “This is the great danger?” He spat on the cobbles. “Child’s play.”

  The others smirked or ignored him.

  But I smiled.

  Because I’d been waiting for that moment.

  My hand slipped into my pocket, fingers brushing the cool vial of quicksilver. I drew it out; the liquid gleaming faintly in the dim light, alive even in its stillness.

  I whispered under my breath; the words meant only for me. “This one’s the real bang.”

  The silver melted in my palm.

  As the magic under the Binding Stone stirred awake, I stepped out from the cover of the side street. They hadn’t noticed me yet. The six grandmasters were still staring at the monolith, arguing quietly, their robes catching the flickering glow.

  I raised my voice in a mock-serious tone. “Woah! You defeated my plan!”

  They spun as one, the sudden movement making their cloaks whip around their legs. The White Dragon master stepped forward, chin high, smirk etched across his stern features. “Queen,” he sneered. “You’re weak. Your forces are weak. And you dare to face us?”

  This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  I felt the magic reach me from under the stone, like icy fingers clawing up through the cobbles. My stomach twisted, fluttering between nausea and exhilaration. This was it… the moment all the meditations, the planning, the chaos had been leading toward.

  Then it hit me.

  The wave of power crashed into me, knocking my balance sideways. I staggered a step, catching myself, breath catching in my throat as the edges of the spell dug into me, searching, pulling.

  My hands trembled, the raw weight of mana threading into my veins like liquid fire.

  White was still smirking. “Do you see it now? Standing before the great Grandmasters of Altandai? Too late—” He raised his hand, about to finish his villain monologue.

  And then a whistling sound tore the air apart.

  This one wasn’t an illusion.

  The pitch climbed, shrieking higher and higher until it shattered the surrounding windows. Glass rained onto the cobblestones. Even the grandmasters staggered, their composure cracking for a moment as the noise rattled their bones.

  They turned in unison toward the Binding Stone.

  It was no longer just a carved pillar.

  The runes etched into its surface flared bright, burning like molten metal, searing their patterns into the world. Mana poured out of it in thick, oppressive waves, like smoke you couldn’t breathe. It pressed against the lungs, heavy, suffocating. The cobbles shook underfoot, groaning as though the entire square resented what was happening.

  Purple was the first to break. His face twisted, his voice shrill as he pointed at me. “What—what is the meaning of this?!”

  The mana surged downward, rushing from the stone into the web of runes I had primed beneath it. I could feel the pathways ignite one by one, like fuses burning, racing toward detonation. There was no coming back now. Not even Saevrin could save the Binding Stone from what I’d set in motion.

  The ground buckled. The air screamed.

  Tens of thousands of demonic runes ripped free from the cobbles like teeth being pulled, rising into the air with blinding speed. They formed thirty distinct circles around the stone, each spinning slowly, perfectly aligned. A vast wheel of fire and shadow.

  The demonic script glowed faintly at first, just little embers crawling across the stone, but soon the entire base of the stone was ringed with fire-etched symbols. Their light spilled outward, throwing shadows across the empty square. Those shadows stretched and twisted unnaturally, as if the runes themselves were painting the air.

  It was… awesome. Terrifying, too, but mostly awesome.

  I could feel the hum of it in my teeth, in my bones, in that uneasy place under my ribs that always told me when I was standing too close to something game-breaking.

  The air vibrated with a low bass hum, the kind of sound that rattled your chest even if you clapped your hands over your ears. Then the outer circle flashed to life… a massive band of script that wrapped around the entire formation like a crown. Mana roared outward in a surge so violent the grandmasters stumbled again, their auras cracking under the pressure.

  And then it hit me.

  The torrent slammed into my chest, filling me until I thought my skin might split. My vision went white. My pulse synced with the rhythm of the circles, every thud of my heart another spin of the runes.

  A new awareness bloomed within me.

  Target. I could target.

  The fighting circle. The energy waited, eager, demanding a focus. My gaze swept the grandmasters, then inward.

  Myself. Them.

  The choice locked.

  A thin, shimmering dome erupted from the runes, rising around us in a fiery film that bent the light like heat waves. It enclosed me and all six grandmasters in a bubble, isolating us from the world outside.

  But the dome didn’t stop there.

  Above us, the sky itself rippled. The air tore open like a curtain, and projected onto it was a perfect copy of our battlefield.

  A colossal dome shimmered across the heavens, bigger than the city itself. From every street, every rooftop, every hill outside the walls… every single person could look up and see what was happening here, magnified and blazing above them.

  The crowd outside gasped. Even from inside the dome, I could hear the echo of their awe.

  I grinned, unable to help myself, the adrenaline burning away fear. “You can’t stop me anymore. The Binding Stone will be gone in a few minutes.”

  The circles spun faster now, each one glowing brighter as they siphoned mana from the monolith. The stone’s surface cracked and wept light, every line bleeding into the array. One after another, the rings blazed, until the entire square was nothing but spinning fire and humming shadow.

  The grandmasters stared at me with a mix of fury and disbelief, their robes whipping in the violent wind of magic.

  And I just stood there, cloak snapping behind me, feeling the impossible storm of mana coursing through my veins.

  “I name myself the grandmaster of Altandai, from the house of Irwen, the master of the blue dragon.”

  Mana surged into me, raw and endless, flooding every nerve, every vein, every hollow corner of my soul. It didn’t just fill me; it stretched me, like my body was a vessel far too small for what it was being asked to hold.

  And dear Saevrin, it felt… amazing. Not the sharp burn of overloading mana, not the jagged pull of forced magic, but something smoother, cleaner.

  Power that wanted me as much as I wanted it.

  My breath hitched, and then I felt it… the link snapping into place. A tether dragging me sideways, downwards, into that cold, alien depth I’d touched only on test servers before. The demon realm. I could feel it breathing, vast and indifferent, pressing at the edges of my mind like a thousand watching eyes.

  Something heavy settled on my head. Not crushing, not uncomfortable… just there, inevitable, like it had always been waiting.

  I raised my gaze to the projection above the city, and my heart nearly stopped.

  There I was, cast across the heavens, massive and undeniable. The crown on my head gleamed, impossible and wrong. Black iron thorns spiraled skyward, woven with burning runes; voidlight dripped between jagged arcs, the eternal abyss whispering with every flickering flame.

  Thanks for the spell, mom.

  I straightened, a grin splitting my face despite the storm raging inside me. My voice echoed through the dome, carried to the heavens.

  “Altandai, let my voice be the voice of freedom. Tonight, slavery ends; I lift your chains. Grandmasters, I declare war.”