Dozens of Velmoryns lay inside. Most were already dead - bodies collapsed near the walls, blackened by smoke and heat. A few were still alive, struggling weakly, too burned or too disoriented to escape on their own.
Outside, several Velmoryns had arrived now that the blinding light covering the Blue Tribe had finally vanished. Among them were Lucas and Vaelari.
For all its strength, the basilisk was useless here. Its size made it impossible to move without crushing the survivors, and its venom made touching them with its mouth a death sentence. It could only wait inside, its body a shield against the spreading flames and collapsing building while the mortals rushed in.
Lucas didn’t hesitate. The moment he saw movement inside, he charged through the smoke, the heat biting into his skin. The eyes of the surviving Velmoryns brightened when they saw him - hope sparking even through pain and the stench of scorched flesh.
He found a young boy near the doorway, barely conscious. After a groan confirmed he was alive, Lucas hoisted him up and ran out of the flames, dropping to his knees beside Vaelari.
The healer was already casting, a glowing green diagram hovering before him. The spell radiated a soft hum, threads of light reaching out to the wounded bodies that were slowly gathering nearby.
“Can’t you use ice to contain the fire?” Vaelari shouted, his voice hoarse from strain. He still had not recovered his mana reserves and was now channeling what little he still had.
One of the mages nearby shook his head.
“No, if I freeze it, I’ll kill everyone still inside!” he said, voice flat. He turned toward the others, calling louder. “Those who can move, go and help! There are still survivors inside!”
Several warriors rushed in immediately, none of them mages. The spellcasters stayed where they were, shouting instructions but not daring to move closer. I couldn’t understand it. Even if they lacked the strength to carry the wounded far, they could’ve helped in some other way - at least shielded them or cleared the path. Perhaps they doubted their own strength, or feared their power would only make things worse. Whatever the reason, none of the mages stepped forward.
“Lucas, how many more?” Vaelari asked, his face pale, sweat dripping down his temples as he strained to maintain the spell.
“Not many,” Lucas answered shortly, already disappearing into the smoke again. His body was scorched, his skin blistered, but he ignored the pain. Unlike others, his life was not in danger; he could handle pain as long as it allowed him to save even one more life.
Ten minutes later, twelve Velmoryns had been pulled from the ruins, their burned bodies already beginning to mend under Vaelari’s healing magic. The air was heavy with smoke and the sharp scent of charred wood. The final tongues of flame sputtered out, hissing against ice as the mages froze the collapsing remains of the building. The structure cracked under the sudden cold, collapsing entirely, but at least the fire wouldn’t spread further through the tribe.
Once they confirmed that everyone who could be saved had been pulled out, the rescuers began clearing the area. Only a few Velmoryns stayed behind, those strong enough to help treat the wounded. The rest I sent toward the Silver Tribe.
With Shelya’s death, that tribe was leaderless, and I couldn’t risk letting Akrion reach them first. Even if he didn’t yet know she was gone, he would sense the weakness the moment he arrived.
After losing the Blue Tribe and letting the Night God act before I could, an uneasy feeling settled in my chest. It urged me to move, to act before another chance slipped away. I couldn’t afford hesitation.
So I moved almost every capable Velmoryn Mirion had gathered and sent them toward the Silver Tribe. From my own tribe, only Lucas, Vaelari, and Avenor remained behind. Avenor couldn’t be teleported because of his Hollow Core, and the other two were drained, their focus still on tending to the wounded survivors of the Blue Tribe.
I’ll learn what happened in the Blue Tribe later. Right now, I have to make sure the Silver Tribe doesn’t fall into the Night God’s hands as well.
“Don’t draw your weapons or cast any spells unless they attack first,” Mirion ordered as he marched at the head of the column. Nearly a hundred Velmoryns followed close behind him, their armor tattered, their bodies bruised, but their spirits unshaken.
Even if they were outnumbered, I wasn’t worried. I had seen how the Silver Tribe fought, and apart from Shelya’s unique and extremely powerful style, the rest were nothing remarkable.
Besides, the group Mirion commanded now were elites. Though they were tired, they were still lethal. And more importantly, they were not alone. The basilisk slithered beside them, its massive body weaving through the trees like a living wall of scaled muscle.
The Velmoryns couldn’t keep their eyes off it - the earth seemed to tremble with each movement of the creature’s body, the faint scrape of its scales against the ground echoing in their ears.
“Is this creature Lord’s creation?” Mirion wondered as he glanced sideways at the monster beside him. “It certainly looks like a sylnorath…”
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“Thank you, High Father, for sending one of your messengers to protect us.” Ninali’s voice reached me next.
My messenger?
I was confused why she thought the basilisk was my messenger instead of my weapon, but I had no intention of correcting her. Let them believe what they needed to. In time, I might tell Tekla the truth and let her decide when to share it, but not now.
“Who are you and why have you come?” a woman’s voice came as the Silver Tribe came into view. A curtain of mist from the nearby waterfall blurred the shapes, so at first neither Mirion nor the others could tell who spoke or how many people stood there.
But the basilisk did not need sight.
Its nostrils flared. Heat sensors tracked the faint pulses of breath and the rhythm of a single heart. Only one mage guarded the entrance. The staff in her hand flared with a bright silver light the moment she confirmed the approaching Velmoryns.
“I am Vael Mirion, of the Crimson Tribe. I speak for the Brown, the Green, and the Yellow as well,” Mirion stepped forward, softening his rough and hoarse voice as much as he could.
“And why have you come, Vael of the Crimson Tribe?” the mage asked again, her tone cold just like before.
“I have come to speak with your leader,” Mirion said carefully. “If you will not let our group enter, we will wait here. Please ask your leader to come.”
“If you are who you claim to be,” the mage snapped, her tone turning icy, “then you should know our leader fell to the monsters. No one will enter our tribe until a new Vael is chosen.”
How does she know?
The news about Shelya’s death shouldn’t have reached the Silver Tribe yet. Thinking about the worst, I focused on the settlement, scanning for any trace of Akrion’s energy or the Night God’s aura, but found nothing. The tribe seemed completely normal, untouched by foreign divinity.
Mirion hesitated, searching for words that would not spark conflict, but diplomacy had never been his strength. Before he could speak, Ninali stepped forward. She met his eyes briefly, asking for permission in silence. When he gave a small nod, she turned to face the mist.
“We’ve not come for a matter that can wait, nor will we accept refusal as an answer,” she declared. “We carry the divine will of the God of all Velmoryn and we stand in the presence of His messenger.”
Ninali’s words weren’t polished and they could hardly be called diplomacy, but their effect was undeniable. The mage said nothing and though I couldn’t read her thoughts, the faint flicker of her staff’s shimmer made it clear - she was hesitating.
Ninali advanced a step. “We shall advance and you may witness the greatness of High Father’s messenger.”
“Do not move or I will attack,” the mage warned, but there was a tremor in her voice now. It lacked conviction.
“If you choose violence, the blood will be on your hands,” Ninali shot back, anger sharpening her words. “None shall stand in the way of the Lord’s will. Stand aside and embrace High Father’s grace, and I swear no harm will come to your kin.”
The basilisk moved before I could issue a single command. Its body scraped against the damp earth as it advanced, the crimson runes beneath its scales pulsing faintly through the mist, looking both eerie and divine.
The squad behind it, however, did not move. The Velmoryns stood disciplined, waiting for Mirion’s word. Ninali hesitated, her foot already raised, then turned back toward him for instruction.
“Oh, right,” Mirion muttered, snapping out of thought. “Everyone, advance slowly, but no weapon is to be drawn and no spell cast!”
He raised his voice at the end, ensuring the mage ahead heard him.
But it wasn’t just her anymore. The light on her staff seemed to be a warning spell, and now shapes emerged through the mist - dozens at first, then hundreds. The Silver Tribe had gathered.
Almost all of them are females…
I was surprised. Among the many approaching Velmoryns, only a handful were men.
“What is this…”
“Protect us, Goddess…”
“Guide your daughters, High Mother…”
The whispers spread like ripples through the crowd as the basilisk slithered closer. When it reached the tribe’s entrance, it dipped its massive head, lowering itself to pass beneath the carved wooden arch that served as their gate. The gesture was small, yet it was proof enough that the creature was not a mindless beast, and it meant no harm.
Soon fear began to waver, replaced by curiosity. Some even lowered their weapons, their gazes locked on the creature’s slow, regal movements.
Then, one mage stepped forward, face covered by the hood of her robe.
“How may I address you, O messenger of the God of Velmoryn?” she asked and bowed slowly.
The basilisk tilted its head toward her. Its tongue flicked out, tasting the air just inches from her face. It examined her aura - she was strong, but not a threat.
“I am Vael Mirion of the Crimson Tribe,” Mirion stepped in quickly, realizing neither basilisk nor I would speak. “We come from the Blue Tribe. Vael Akrion has betrayed our kin and sworn himself to an evil God. He sacrificed his people in His name and burned them alive. The Blue Tribe is gone.”
The woman gasped, her breath visible in the chill air as she struggled for words. Mirion continued.
“High Father wishes to protect us all. The other tribes have agreed to move to the Crimson Tribe, where we will build a single, united home under His protection.” He paused, choosing his next words with care. “There, we shall live in peace, shielded by the Divine Guardian He has created for us. You may take your time to embrace His grace, but know this: even if you hesitate, High Father’s protection will not fade. He will still watch over you.”
Not only the Silver Tribe but even his own squad turned to look at him, startled. Lyle had already resolved to join, and Othrien likely would as well, but their followers hadn’t heard the news until now. Yet none questioned him.
The mage before Mirion hesitated as she reached into her robes and drew out a small disk inlaid with a silver gemstone.
“Please, Vael Mirion, tell us how our Vael died,” she said quietly. “This will reveal whether your words are true.”
Mirion didn’t flinch.
“She chose to conspire with the Blue Tribe’s Vael,” he said flatly. “She abandoned her allies to die so she could claim something for herself. But Vael Akrion betrayed her and fled, leaving her to face her fate alone. She was executed by the Brown Tribe’s Vael for treason, by the will of our Lord.”
The Silver Tribe fell silent. Every gaze turned toward the woman holding the disk. Her hands trembled as the gemstone remained dull.
Then the woman exhaled, a long, weary sound that carried more sorrow than surprise.
“Why did you dishonor yourself and our entire tribe, Shelya…” she whispered. A single tear slid down her cheek and dropped onto the disk. It trailed along the carved patterns before reaching the edge, vanishing as she straightened and slipped the relic back into her robe.
“Vael Mirion,” she said finally, her voice low, “may I speak with you in private?”
She gestured toward the heart of the tribe, where the mist parted just enough to reveal the faint outline of their central hall.
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