A schoolboy at Camp Regis Elementary was celebrating his birthday. He often sketched Schemel in his notebook, admiring her as a hero. Today, she came to surprise him. The school day was over, the children and teachers gone home, yet she remained on the playground, perched on a swing with a serene smile. The children loved her, and their praises rang in her ears.

  As the sun dipped low, Mariel walked through the school gates, a faint displeasure on her face. She made her way to the swings, where Schemel still sat.

  “I never got to push you on one when we were girls,” Schemel said.

  “You shoved me off our balcony once,” said Mariel. “That was enough for me.” She sauntered over and took the swing next to Schemel. Placing her purse in her lap, she idly twisted the chains of the swing.

  For a while, they simply watched the sunset.

  “It always reminds me of him,” Schemel said. “Do you remember? He’d come home just around this time for ‘lunch-dinner’ and leave immediately after.”

  Mariel’s expression darkened. “I don’t know why we were so eager for him to return from his travels. He spent every minute he could away from us. It was as if the government were his true daughter.”

  They both sighed.

  “Is it ready?” Schemel asked.

  Mariel handed over her phone. A video awaited.

  The footage opened with an establishing shot of the southern lands, transitioning to a village where the health ministry had set up white tents. Earthen children lined up to receive ascension shots, some smiling and saluting at the camera. A voice-over of Schemel, edited from past television interviews, spoke of justice, honour, and loyalty.

  The scene cut to the I.A.A. facility, where Doctor Leonard walked down an empty hallway, clad in a white lab coat with a stethoscope around his neck. He explained the complex formula he and his team had spent years developing. “...and now we have it,” he said. “Our very first earthen ascender. One of a thousand more who will be ready for battle. A thousand Gaverians every day.”

  The New Black Army documentary released just a few days later, shaking Henrikia awake. Schemel and Leonard hit every media studio in sight, giving interviews to explain the shocking revelation: a thousand earthen ascenders were poised to join the war on Henrikia’s side.

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  “Another question,” the host pressed, “how did you get the Assembly on board? I was shocked when Mistress Sorel stood in front of national television and claimed she was fine with you injecting her precious earthen. How did you persuade her?”

  “Mariel knows how long we’ve been testing the drug,” Schemel replied. “She understands the procedure and has as much confidence in me as I do in the formula. There is no danger. Leonard is as brilliant as he is responsible.”

  “When do we get to meet the new magicians? We want to see them in action as soon as possible.”

  “Soon,” Schemel said, and excitement surged tenfold.

  The documentary became a sensation. Everyone watched it—more than once. Critics labelled it propaganda, claiming the drug didn’t exist and the entire affair was staged. Proving Schemel had misled the public was difficult, though; her lies were the subtle kind, the “white lies” the devil might tell. True, the earthen children hadn’t been injected with ascension at all—only harmless sugars like Jenne—but the results of the experiment remained unknown. Perhaps real ascenders would emerge from the hoax.

  Schemel mobilised her supporters against the sceptics, branding them unpatriotic Sexton apologists. Her backers defended her fervently, their voices drowning out anyone who dared question the truth too closely.

  To the question of when Jenne would appear in public, she would reply, “I respect the privacy of my students. Allow him to focus on his training at Se Fina while he waits for his colleagues.”

  Before long, the news crossed their borders. President Luis of Soden called to check in on the High Commander, reminding her of the peace that existed between the two countries. “As long as you keep your Bannermen off my land, we have no problem,” she told him.

  For days, she sat alone in her tent, drumming her fingers in rhythm with the ticking clock. Another call came from Yuna. The Yunnish emperor expressed mild interest in her activities and summoned her to the West. She declined. What made the westerners think she would leave her home in times like these?

  Weeks passed before her Seconders drew her attention to an unusual occurrence on the Midder-Lands. Calimer was holding back his troops from engaging Henrikian soldiers. His Gaverians had stopped returning to the battleground altogether. Could it finally be happening? Had her plan worked?

  Then, on a fateful morning, a secretary emerged from the House of Sentry, racing towards her tent, screaming, “Frissa, frissa, frissa, frissa.”

  She ran through the fields, white paper fluttering in her open hand. The High Commander reached the secretary and snatched the paper. Soldiers, administration staff, cooks and cleaners rushed in her direction. Her eyes scanned the document. Halfway through, she screamed. Schemel spun around and leapt into the arms of the soldier behind her.

  Suddenly, there was a roar of victory. Soldiers embraced, collapsing together in the grass. Co-workers kissed and shouted into each other’s faces. She wrapped her legs around the soldier carrying her, lifting the paper with her free hand and waving it like a flag.

  The letter was from Calimer himself. After years of fighting, he was finally open to negotiations. A war she was bound to lose had turned decisively in her favour.