The room went still after the revelation.

  “Law?” Elof repeated, startled.

  Marius’s eyes went wide, then a slow grin spread across his face. “That’s it. Fledgling, I hereby declare you a true genius, worthy of the Crimson Knights.”

  “Is it… really that good?” Shayara asked, still sounding unconvinced.

  “Yes,” Marius replied without hesitation. “Alteration of a spell usually requires altering its catalyst. For ordinary magic, that’s a material or energy source. For a Law, the bearer’s mind is the catalyst. Like a musician whose body is the instrument. What you did, altering your perception, changed the spell without changing the catalyst. Now it makes sense.”

  “You’ve outdone yourself, Shayara,” Elof added warmly. “I wish I could tell the Grandmaster of House Kino that one of their disciples has managed to brush against a Law. They’d be ecstatic.”

  Shayara’s cheeks flushed at the praise. Still, she looked to Ragnar for the final word.

  He rose from his chair, his gaze steady. “You have a rare gift, Shayara. If you cultivate it, you could become the finest Enhancer in the kingdom. And perhaps… even create miracles. But the path will be arduous. Have confidence, and you will overcome it.”

  She listened intently, drinking in the weight of his words, until Marius broke in with a clap of his hands.

  “Alright, enough praises. Now that we know Fundamentalism can lead to the creation, or at least the shaping of a Law… how does that help our grand plan?”

  “I have an idea,” Ragnar said at last, “but that’s enough for today.” He glanced at Elof and Shayara. “Go and rest. Tomorrow will be a hard-fought battle. I need to address the camp.”

  Shayara and Elof bowed respectfully and left the tent.

  “I knew she was good,” Marius said once they were gone, “but not that good.”

  Ragnar raised an eyebrow. “You knew?”

  “Why do you think I sent her to you?” Marius replied with a sly grin.

  Ragnar thought back to when she’d first arrived with Marius’s report. The day had been long, too long. Many of his comrades had fallen, the tide of war had shifted against them, yet now… there was the faintest glimmer of hope.

  “That old man Elof has sharp instincts too,” Marius went on. “They’ll both be valuable assets. I can already think of several ways to put them to use, but I know you won’t approve.”

  Ragnar chuckled dryly. “You, my friend, are a terrible person.”

  “I never disagreed,” Marius shot back with a smirk. “So… what’s the idea?”

  “I’ll explain on the way,” Ragnar said, reaching for his cloak. “We need to visit the eastern camp.”

  Marius’s eyes lit up. “Are we finally going to punch that bastard Arabus in the face?”

  “What? No. But he does need to explain his absence in the field. Our primary objective is Arin. He’s one of the strongest mages alive, and a devoted follower of Aver. I want his perspective on Fundamentalism.”

  “If Arabus hears about that, he might accuse you of heresy, you know?”

  “Then we punch him in the face,” Ragnar said with a rare grin.

  Outside the command tent, Ragnar called for Johan—the commander of his First Wing, a veteran whose reputation had been earned blade by blade.

  “Sir Johan, Marius and I will be visiting the eastern front. You’ll hold the fort until we return.”

  Johan saluted crisply. “Yes, General.” Then, after a moment’s hesitation, he added, “Before you go… might you address the troops? They’re strong-willed, but today’s battle was bloody. The eastern front suffered heavy casualties.”

  “Yes, which is why we’re going,” Ragnar replied. “Have the troops gather. I’ll speak to them before we leave.”

  Ragnar stood atop a wooden platform, hundreds of soldiers arrayed before him. Some swayed on their feet, wounds hastily bandaged, but not a single one faltered. They stood proud.

  “Today we bled,” Ragnar began, his voice carrying across the camp. “Some of us fell. Those who stood beside you this morning may never march with us again. That is the cost we carry as soldiers of Arcadia.”

  “Every drop of blood spilled today was in defense of our home, our families, and the oath we swore. And as long as one of us still draws breath, Arcadia stands.”

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  “Our enemy grows bold. Their champion draws near. We will meet him, not as prey, but as the hunters we were trained to be.”

  “Hold your lines. Watch your brothers’ and sisters’ backs. When the time comes, we strike together, one voice, one blade, one will.”

  He lifted his arm. “Stand tall, Crimson Knights! Remember the blood, the gold, and the oath we swore. When the enemy sees our banners, let them remember what follows.”

  His voice rose like a battle horn: “With red wings on our back, with golden sword in hand…”

  The soldiers roared the response in perfect unison:

  “We drive away the darkness that befalls our land! Our enemies tremble at our might, behold the power of the Crimson Knight!”

  The sound rolled through the camp like a wave of steel.

  When the gathering dispersed, Ragnar noticed Shayara standing at the front, a crimson cloak draped over her shoulders. Her face held something new, determination.

  “Red suits you,” Ragnar said. “Stand tall. You are a Crimson Knight now.”

  “Thank you, Sir. I will do my best.” Her voice still carried a trace of hesitation, but the resolve in it was undeniable.

  “Uhm… Sir, are you going to the eastern camp?” Shayara asked.

  “Yes. How did you know?” Ragnar’s brow furrowed.

  “I didn’t mean to… I overheard Commander Johan telling Commander Boris. I was practicing a hearing enhancement spell and accidentally heard.”

  “Another spell that alters perception…” Ragnar thought aloud.

  He studied her for a moment. “I see. Don’t do it again. There’s a reason we have a chain of trust, spying, even accidentally, disrupts it. I know you’re not familiar with military protocol, so take this as a lesson. And for your magic experiments, don’t go in blind; Magic is a gift from the gods, but it carries consequences.”

  Shayara’s gaze fell to the ground, silent.

  After a pause, Ragnar asked, “Do you want to come to the eastern camp? Why?”

  Her eyes widened in surprise. For a heartbeat, she wondered if he could read her mind. “Yes, Sir. I thought I could be of service. We’re still not allowed on the frontlines… Commander Boris says students are the future, they should only fight when necessary.”

  Ragnar knew it was true. Most students who joined the war were kept as vanguard, handling only the stray enemies that slipped through. But her determination was plain in her eyes.

  “Alright then,” Ragnar said at last. “Come with me.”

  Ragnar, Shayara, and Marius moved toward the far end of the western camp, away from the battlefield’s charred earth. Ahead, a circular stone structure rose from the ground, its surface etched with ancient sigils. The air around it shimmered faintly.

  A Divine Gate.

  Built at staggering cost and powered by magic few could harness, the gates could send travelers across the kingdom in a single breath. Only a handful existed in all of Arcadia and this one linked to the far edge of the eastern front.

  A line of Templars guarded the structure, their polished armor catching the dim light. Four more stood like statues in front of the priests of Amun. These were the Hounds, towering seven-foot sentinels sealed in iron from head to toe. Not even their eyes were visible. Ragnar wasn’t sure if they were even human. Not even the Hemar reached such height.

  As they approached, Ragnar swung down from his horse and gave a sharp signal toward the priest at the front. “We’re going to the eastern front. Open the gate.”

  The priest inclined his head slightly. “Lord Ragnar, I’m afraid we cannot do that.”

  “Cannot,” Marius said, stepping forward, “or will not?”

  The priest’s expression did not shift. “These gates are costly to use, Lord Ragnar. Without a meaningful reason, we cannot open them for anyone. Not even you.”

  “Reason?” Ragnar’s voice hardened. “There’s a war going on. The eastern front has taken heavy casualties. We’re going to assess the situation.”

  “We are aware,” the priest replied. “Lord Arabus assured us he will handle it. There is no need for you to intervene.”

  “Handle it?” Ragnar barked a laugh. “His men were slaughtered while he cowered in his tent. Even now, he’s probably drunk or warming himself in a brothel rather than leading his troops. If you don’t open this gate, I swear in the name of Holy Amun, you’ll find out why they call me the Crimson Lord.”

  The priests paled. The Hounds’ gauntleted hands tightened around the hilts of their swords.

  “Please, Lord Ragnar,” another priest said quickly, “calm yourself. We have orders from Lord Arabus. And… the Holy Prophet is there as well. Our hands are tied.”

  “The Prophet?” Marius’s eyes narrowed. “Now that’s interesting.”

  He stepped closer, grin curling at the edge of his mouth. “You should let us pass. Everyone will believe you if you say you couldn’t stop us. But if you try… even with all of you here, can you really keep us from going through?”

  The priests exchanged uneasy glances, then began the preparations to open the Divine Gate. Their faith in the Prophet might have been unshaken, but in that moment, their attachment to life was stronger.

  The etched sigils along the gate’s stone surface flared to life, one by one, bathing the clearing in golden light. The air thickened, humming with raw magic. Even a non-mage could feel it, like a storm pressing against the skin.

  “First time, eh?” Marius asked, glancing at Shayara.

  She nodded faintly. She’d seen the structure from afar when arriving from the south camp, but never imagined she would actually pass through it. Now, standing at its threshold, the magnitude of what she was about to do left her momentarily breathless.

  The light grew blinding. For an instant, the world dissolved into black. There was no sound, no ground beneath their feet, only the sensation of being pulled through the fabric of the Veil itself.

  Then, in a heartbeat, reality returned.

  The scent of ash and blood hit first. The distant roar of siege engines followed. As her vision cleared, Shayara saw new terrain stretching before them, trenches, battered fortifications, and smoke curling into a grey sky.

  They had arrived at the eastern front.