Published at 4th of June 2026 7:16 am

Chapter 295 - Inspiration

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Lily hated snow. She hated ice more, but she really wasn’t a fan of snow either. The way her magical glasses worked, it was hard to make out the subtle details that other people were able to see so they didn’t slip. Stupid Beatrice picking a stupid career in a stupid place.

As Lily walked, her feet kept sinking into the huge drifts that were piling up. At least the constant snowfall had made the wyverns retreat. She didn’t much like having them circling overhead, deciding whether or not they were food.

She would have felt better if they had some more powerful arcanists. Professor Runer, for example, who’d taught one of her spell enhancement classes. Instead, their little expedition consisted of one of Cassius’s apprentices who was going by the name “Two,” one of the merchants who usually did these trips up north in the summer when the passes were clear, two sixth-years who were aiming to be certified combat sorcerers, and one of the daughters of a local farmer who didn’t know any magic at all.

And Mirian had told them to watch out for glaciavores!?

At least the farmer girl knew how pack animals worked. Lily’s plan, if a glacivore attacked, was to feed the two donkeys to it and she didn’t care how much the girl cried.

Though, if she was being honest, she was the one who wanted to cry. The farmer girl hadn’t complained once, which put her in the same category as Two.

She kept trudging, the frozen winds biting through even her enchanted cloak and her warmth spell. It was only when she noticed the farmer girl shivering that she realized the girl wasn’t going to complain even if her fingers got frostbite, so Lily cast a second warmth spell, holding it in the air around her so it wouldn’t directly touch her aura. If it did come to a fight, she wasn’t going to have much mana left.

The girl nodded at her in thanks, and they kept on. Several times, the entire group stopped to rest to catch their breath. Lily’s legs were aching. None of the fitness requirements at the academy had prepared her for anything like this. The other sixth-years kept whining, but at least they’d pushed on.

At last, the obelisk at the top of the pass came into view. It was already half-buried.

Now they had to dig it out and prepare a campground. They’d have to move quickly; it would be night soon.

Together, Lily and Two used force spells to clear a space. The merchant started setting up the camp. Lily sighed, wanting to just sleep then and there, while the two six-years collapsed to the ground. Lily’s aura was waning and she was tired as the five hells, but the combat specialists needed to keep their auras flush in case of an attack. It was her job to charge the traveler’s obelisk, so she did. Two more days. Then she could finally go stay at that big building with the weird name—no way was she sharing a room with her sister again. Two more days.

In the distance, she heard the call of a wyvern.

It was going to be a long two days.

 

***

 

Palendurio was in its familiar chaos. By now, Mirian knew the patterns of these things. She could feel the flow of panic in the city like the movement of the sea beneath a ship. She could feel the anger and the fear. A hundred dice had been cast into the air, with all the possible outcomes ready to spill out onto the possible paths. She couldn’t control every roll. What she could do is nudge the probabilities, and then these dice would right themselves.

Until that happened, she was needed here in Baracuel. Only once the key moves had been made and the leyline regulator would inevitably be built could she consider taking the time to bring the fight to Akana. Given how hard she was being pressed, she might not have that opportunity. She was already tired, using the Lone Pine stance instead of getting a full night’s sleep, but she let none of it show.

Mirian surveyed the crowd of artisans, guild workers, merchants, and arcanists that had gathered in a plaza in one of the northern districts. The plaza and the adjoining streets were packed. Word of her and her task was spreading rapidly. Between that and the uncertainty of war hanging over the city, they yearned for her words. For direction and comfort.

Her task was to get them to see that their destiny was largely in their own hands.

“Until this crisis is over, every moment I spend talking to you comes at a cost. I could be relieving the siege of Cairnmouth right now. I could be healing their wounded. I could be rescuing crews in the Rift Sea. I could be directing an army. I carry a terrible burden; I must choose which lives to save, and how best to save them. So when I tell you my words to you are important, I hope that you understand just how important you are. Each syllable I speak here comes at the cost of lives.”

She could feel the discomfort of the crowd. Yet they listened, with more gathering every moment. With her amplify voice spell, her words rang across a crowd of thousands.

“The construction of a leyline regulator in Mayat Shadr will be what saves Enteria. The war against Akana will be what lets us build it. It cannot be done without you; you must be your own salvation. If you have petty disagreements with your neighbor, set them aside. If you have hatred in your heart for others, bury it. You will work alongside Persamans, Zhighuans, Tlaxhuacans, and even Akanans who have seen the err of their country’s ways. Know that no matter where I have traveled in Enteria, I have seen the same thing: humanity. Love has no border, and vice no people.

“You know what virtues are needed. They are no mystery to you. Cooperation, organization, discipline, and hard work. The Ominian needs the best of what you can offer. In this crisis, you must serve each other. There is not enough silver in all the vaults to buy what we need, so let your coins gather dust for another time. If a man is hungry, simply feed him. If a woman is tired, simply give her a bedroll. If a farmer needs a tool, simply provide it. Everyone can serve a role. Old grandparents can watch the children; even the children can help with simple tasks. No hand is not needed. For those of you willing to fight, begin organizing militias and have your captains report to the forts here. For those of you willing to build, you must organize yourselves into groups with representative councils. These decision-making bodies will not be governed by whim nor dictum. They do not strictly follow any ruleset. They exist to serve a purpose. They are to plan what needs planning, and serve who needs serving. First, you will build the holy device. Then, you will build your future.”

She could feel the energy of the crowd building. She let illusions of light bloom around her, emphasizing her words.

“Together, we spread Their grace. Together, we shall venerate the Ominian by showing Them that Their sacrifice was not in vain! The path ahead is full of toil. We follow a treacherous road. But Their light guides us, and They call for your aid. Palendurio, how do you answer?”

The roar she received was louder than most loops. She had to admit, there was nothing like war to galvanize a population.

Frankly, though, the speeches were the easy part. Inspiration was quick, easy, and just as fleeting. Discipline was the tricky part. Hundreds of thousands of people were watching the life they had known be thrown into disarray. They were used to their routines, and in routines, there was comfort. She knew that well enough. Back in the beginning, it had taken several deaths for her to realize she needed to retreat from Torrviol while gathering her strength against Troytin. She had to help push people past the fear and discomfort that came with change.

But soon enough, they would experience it for themselves. And Zhuan had certainly been right about one thing: once they started to truly feel the power they wielded together, there was nothing else like it.

When the speech was over, she moved around the area helping organize efforts, settling disputes, and explaining some of what she was talking about in detail.

“I can’t just give away my vegetables!” one farmer said to her, aghast at the idea. She’d brought two full carts, intending to sell them at the market like usual, but there was nothing usual going on today.

Mirian spoke both to her and the crowd that always gathered near her. “The soldiers need it to fight to protect you. The masons need it to help build the artifice that will save you. Why would you charge them?”

The farmer’s face flushed in shame at that.

Mirian had to use remote whisper to encourage her. “Say what your needs are,” she told the farmer. “This doesn’t just go one way.”

“A-ah, b-but, respectfully, Prophet, I need to buy foss for the spellward around the farm, and pay a smith to repair the plow, and I’ve been saving to pay a cobbler to—”

“And can she get those things?” Mirian asked the crowd.

Volunteers came forward almost immediately.

“And is this so complicated that a Prophet needs to explain it?” she asked.

A chorus of ‘no’s, and a bit of laughter.

“Good,” she said, smiling. “Then spread the word. The dogmas of the past are inadequate for our task. To face this crisis, we must think and act in new ways. If a rule does not serve our purpose, let it perish. If there is a need, let us meet it. We must disenthrall ourselves from the chains of the past in order to forge our future.”

Her father had found some ancient Viaterrian books that miraculously hadn’t perished. One was full of dramatic speeches and inspiring moments, and she’d found that plagiarizing heavily from them went over well with the crowds. Of course, she couldn’t help but jumble them up with whatever point she was trying to make, but as metaphors went, this one certainly hadn’t been her worst. In one of the cycles, she’d come up with an extended metaphor comparing their task to parts of a salad before an embarrassed Gabriel had pulled her away.

Thinking of him and the others still stung. She’d been prepared for a betrayal, but she hadn’t truly been ready. That they could spend so much time together and still see her only as a threat—that they could see so much of the world and of people and still not understand… part of her still didn’t comprehend it. There was some delusion that overcame certain people, and even after all these decades, she wasn’t sure how to break them from the thrall of it.

She ate lunch with Pontiff Oculo, several members of Parliament, and the generals in Charlem palace. All of them now had far less power than they might still suppose, but preserving parts of the bureaucracy and leadership were most useful for the war effort. As the food arrived, Mirian outlined the broad strokes of the strategy they needed to follow and dozens of possible plans and fallbacks they might need depending on the Akanan disposition and Gabriel’s attempts at sabotage. She discussed the need for the Luminate priests to both work on the regulator project and be available to support the army. She went through how they needed enough fighters to guard the refugees and workers moving to Mayat Shadr. Mirian already knew a massive chunk of the Baracueli labor usually assigned to the regulator would instead be fighting.

Through the meal, she could see that they were mildly uncomfortable as she was tucking into her third wyvern steak and had already signaled a servant for another course, but with the amount of mana she was consuming, like hells she was going to pass up food this good.

Then she dismissed them and flew to the Lowfort District.

It was simple enough to find Rostal at the Isheer Sanctuary. Liamar had made contact days ago, and now the old dervish would want his test.

In proper dramatic fashion, Rostal was kneeling in the Sanctuary, blade set to the side.

“I have to apologize, Rostal Bedeu,” Mirian said, walking forward, robes swaying in the breeze. When she’d first met him, her Adamic was rusty and mostly forgotten. Now, it was perfect. “Your other student was supposed to be here too, but there’s been a break among the Chosen. It’s just me. There should have been a full day of celebrating and feasting. Instead, Liuan Var insisted on a war, and Ibrahim’s fallen back to marshaling his forces.”

Rostal stayed kneeling as the crowd gathered around them.

“I’ll say no more. You always preferred to speak with a blade.” Mirian dismissed Equinox, leaving behind the simple but elegant outfit she’d worn underneath. The tailor who’d made it was from Falijmali, a detail that would not go unnoticed in this crowd.

The old dervish rose slowly to his feet. He turned and faced Mirian and unsheathed his sword.

Mirian let Eclipse manifest into her hand.

They saluted each other.

Rostal opened up with Dance of the Dusk Waves Across the Ocean, coming in like lightning. Mirian met it with The Spear That Cuts Water. As he slashed out, she was always just a step out of reach. Her parries were lazy and infrequent. As soon as she saw him shift to that stance himself, she shifted to Lone Pine On the Mountain. His attacks came from every direction, and this time, their swords clashed loudly as his blade found hers, striking from every angle but finding her parries implacable.

The old dervish nodded almost imperceptibly, then moved into Lone Pine himself.

Mirian responded by moving into the Last Breath of the Phoenix. With relentless blows, she forced him back until he moved back into the Dusk Waves form. He was beginning to sweat.

She disengaged. Her soul flashed through Blooming Red Iron, then touched his aura with Sinister Hand of Shadow. She raised an eyebrow at him.

The crowd continued to gather, a hushed silence over them.

Rostal shook his head.

He wanted more, then. She would show him the ones Ibrahim had taught her. First, she moved into Sheathed Blade Splits the Light. That was Ibrahim’s favored stance against arcanists. It took his already robust spell resistance and intensified it. She came at Rostal with no physical enhancements at all, merely the bladework he’d taught her. Her rapier flashed through the air.

Then she switched to The Desert Flower Blooms Without Rain, another auramancy form. With her aura, she reached out to the crowd. They would feel a surge of strength, and an unconscious coordination. This was Ibrahim’s greatest weapon. With it, he could temporarily turn an entire regiment of soldiers into a coordinated and precise machine.

Mirian didn’t just touch the crowd. She let Rostal feel it too, lending him her own strength.

Rostal’s eyes went wide.

She wasn’t done yet though. Mirian had never found a way to use the dual forms that Ibrahim was able to use, but she’d come up with a replacement. She shifted rapidly, moving from Dusk Waves to Desert Flower, then returning. Her outer soul stuttered and churned. It might have looked like the chaos of a waterfall, but each current was directed and controlled. As her blade moved towards Rostal with enhanced speed, he went to meet it—only for her to change her rotation. Now she shifted between Desert Flower and Last Breath, letting the latter turn her lightning fast blow into one with impossible power.

Rostal saw the shift and moved from Spear That Cuts Water to Lone Pine. His parry was perfect.

But Eclipse shattered his blade. The shining edge stopped a centimeter from his neck.

A single tear ran down the old man’s cheek. “Promise me when this is done you’ll teach a new generation. Such beauty must be preserved.”

“You’ve had my oath before. You have it again.” She let Eclipse vanish into her soul, and let Equinox build up around her until the breastplate was again gleaming in the light.

Rostal stayed standing. He tilted his head slightly. “There is no doubt that Mirian Nezzar was my student. I proclaim her Chosen.”

Mirian turned to the crowd, and let the Desert Flower Blooms Without Rain spread even further into the ranks. “Feel that. This is the strength of unity. If we are to fail, it is because someone has divided us. We all yearn for a better future. Now, I call on you to build it. I do not call on you because you are strangers. When I came here, I had lost touch with my heritage. I was ignorant of history. Here, I found kindness, and saw what the strength of community could be. I found yet another of the many families I’ve now accumulated. In many of the timelines, Palendurio descended into chaos because of a military coup. Many neighborhoods became wastelands of hostility and suspicion. It was the Lowfort District that stayed true to each other. You all. None of you need tell me your character, for I’ve seen it.

“Many of you left Persama and vowed never to return. Today, I ask that you do. No doubt, the winds have told you what we must build in Mayat Shadr. That old ruin stands as a testament to an old greatness, and a cursed scar of hubris. A great wrong was done there. Together, we shall right it. A great wrong has been done to Persama. Together, we shall right it. Through our actions, we will form an unbreakable unity. The beauty of old traditions will rise and be spun together with a new future, for you, and all of Enteria!”

The cheers of the crowd were familiar, but welcome.

She turned to Rostal. Quietly, she handed him a small notebook. “Those are contacts in Mahatan and Alatishad, along with information that will help convince them. Watch out for the Chosen Gabriel Arjen. He likes to move in shadows and manipulate the richest and most powerful of men. Cut off the fossilized myrvite. Not another gram to Akana. I’ll connect the Palendurio Gate to Mahatan in a few hours, then escort everyone who wants to go through.”

Rostal took the notebook and gave her a curt nod.

“And I meant everything I said. Thank you for being my teacher. I only wish I could share the memories with you.” She pulled him into an embrace.

Awkwardly, he put a hand on the back of her cuirass.

“May the Ominian watch over you,” she said, and then departed. The work was only just beginning.

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