The table was set when Commanders Johan, Borris, Farlow, and Gray entered the tent, saluting in unison.

  Johan, commander of the First Wing, spoke first. “Good evening, General. Commander Marius. And Arin, good to see you among us.” His sharp eyes then flicked to Shayara, standing quietly at Ragnar’s side.

  Borris, commander of the Second Wing, added with a broad smile, “So, Shayara, you’ve earned the insignia. Well done. She’s one of ours, from the Second Wing. A novice, yes, but talented.”

  Gray, of the Fourth Wing, crossed his arms. “I’ve heard of her support work too. Some of my soldiers couldn’t stop talking about it.”

  Farlow, commander of the Third Wing, leaned forward with an approving grin. “Then that makes you one of us, a core of the Crimson Order.”

  Marius clapped his hands once. “Gentlemen, take your seats. We’ve much to discuss.”

  Everyone took their seats, with Marius and Shayara beside Ragnar.

  Marius was the first to break the silence, his usual playfulness gone. “You all know of Moloch—the enemy’s champion. What you don’t know is this: we have intelligence confirming he is a demi-god.”

  Johan frowned, folding his arms. “A demi-god? How certain are you, Marius?”

  “Certain enough.” Marius’s voice was steady. “He killed the drake, Diablo. The way he did it, the feats he displayed, leave no doubt.” He recounted the details of the battle, the raw display of power that had left even the mighty beast broken.

  Farlow exhaled slowly. “That is… troubling. Against such a foe, we may not stand a chance.”

  Gray slammed a fist lightly against the table. “We can still fight. We’re the Crimson Army. We are the best this kingdom has.”

  “And fight we will,” Marius agreed, leaning forward. “But not blindly. That’s why we set a trap for Moloch.”

  Ragnar spoke at last, his tone measured but heavy. “General Collin is aware of the situation. He has agreed to lend us some of his war machines, one great ballista, along with limited ammunition. They will arrive by morning. Our troops will place them at the far end of the eastern camp, where they’ll be positioned to disrupt Moloch himself.”

  Gray leaned forward. “I’ll see to it personally.”

  “Good,” Ragnar continued. “Marius will coordinate the placement and ensure precision.”

  Marius gave a sharp nod. “I’ll mark the ground myself. You’ll have exact coordinates before dawn.”

  Ragnar turned his gaze on Farlow. “Your cavalry is the fastest. When the time comes, you will cut the line between Moloch and his army. Hold it, no matter the cost. If he is isolated, we can strike.”

  Farlow’s face tightened, but he nodded. “Consider it done.”

  Then Ragnar’s eyes shifted to Borris and Johan. His voice lowered, grim. “Borris, I need twenty of your mages. Johan, twenty of your defensive infantry. Together, they’ll form the core team to disrupt Moloch. Understand this: I cannot promise their survival. The likelihood is… they will be martyred.”

  A silence fell across the tent. The weight of his words pressed down like stone.

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  Both Borris and Johan exchanged a glance, then nodded in unison. Johan spoke first. “I’ll prepare my best men.”

  Ragnar’s expression hardened. “Their task is clear. Johan, your infantry will shield the mages. Borris, your men will be split into two divisions, shield-bearers to maintain the wards, and attackers whose sole purpose will be to disrupt Moloch. And I…” his voice dropped to a grim finality, “…I will face Moloch directly.”

  The tent fell into uneasy silence until Borris suddenly leaned forward. “General, let me come with the mage detachment. I’ll fight beside them.”

  Ragnar shook his head. “No. Your men will need your command. We need your leadership on the line, Borris, more than your spells. Tomorrow’s assault will be brutal. Hold them together.”

  Before Borris could reply, Shayara’s voice rang out, quieter than the others, but steady. “Then I will go with the General. As his enhancer. My perception magic is strong, and I can cast enchantments to bolster him.”

  The commanders turned their eyes to her, surprise flickering across their faces.

  Arin straightened. “And I will lend my firepower. I may still be wounded, but I am an archmage of Aver. I will not let the General face a demi-god alone.”

  Marius leaned forward. “Shayara will accompany Ragnar. Her perception is unusually strong, it’ll give us the edge we need to lure Moloch.”

  Borris frowned. “Isn’t it too early for her?”

  Before Ragnar could answer, Shayara spoke up, her voice clear and steady. “Commander, I volunteered. This is something only I can do.”

  Borris studied her for a long moment, then nodded, though unease lingered in his eyes.

  Johan broke the silence. “Then how do we draw Moloch out?”

  Ragnar met his gaze. “I will pose as the Radiant Son. I have a trick, and Shayara’s perception magic will make it convincing.”

  Gray arched a brow. “That’s blasphemy, isn’t it?”

  Ragnar’s tone didn’t waver. “It is. And if I survive this ordeal only to have the Kingdom demand my head for heresy, I’ll accept it. Until then, it’s our only choice.”

  Gray smirked faintly. “Well, they’ll have to get through us first if they want your head, General.”

  A rumble of assent followed as the other commanders voiced their agreement.

  Ragnar inclined his head, acknowledging their loyalty. “Then we are decided.”

  One by one, the commanders filed out. Arin chose to remain nearby, setting up under Gray’s command to jot down what he knew of fundamentalism. Soon only Ragnar, Marius, and Shayara remained in the tent.

  Ragnar turned to her. “You should get some rest.”

  Shayara hesitated. Her voice was quiet, but steady. “Can I ask you something, Sir? Promise me… promise me you’ll try not to die.”

  For a moment, Ragnar only studied her. He saw the weight in her eyes—the fear, the resolve. Finally, he answered, low but firm. “I promise.”

  Shayara bowed slightly, then left. The flap fell shut behind her.

  Marius leaned back in his chair, watching Ragnar. For once, his tone carried no mockery. “She cares about you deeply.”

  Ragnar’s gaze dropped to the floor. “Tomorrow, once Moloch is lured… I need your men to knock her out and drag her back to camp. Lock her in the prison if you must.”

  Marius sat forward, his eyes narrowing. “Have you lost your mind? I know you want to protect her, but you can’t cage her. You have to trust her, like you’ve trusted the rest of us.”

  “She is still a child,” Ragnar said, his voice low. “Talented, yes, but she cannot face a demigod.”

  Marius replied without hesitation. “She’s not just a child. She’s a soldier, and a damn good mage besides. If she’s wounded, I’ll have my men carry her back to camp. With luck, Moloch won’t notice the camouflage and strike them with lightning.”

  The corner of his mouth twitched, but there was no real humor in it.

  Ragnar lowered himself into his chair, the weight of command pressing heavier than his armor. For the first time in years, fear crept in, not for himself but for another. He had long since made his peace with death, yet that resolve was showing cracks now.

  Morning broke with the pounding of drums and the thunder of artillery spells. Across the field, Marius and Gray directed crews to haul the war-machines into place. Every move risked enemy fire, but the work had to be done. Only a few hours remained before Moloch’s arrival.