SIXTH BOOK OF THE CHRONICLES OF FANTASILIA SERIES
𝘚𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘵. 𝘚𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥. 𝘕𝘰𝘸, 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘥𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘴.
Xanthiene Vivenca has to find allies and legendary objects of po...
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2412, Diori 22, Velpa
Shots rang across the field in an array of soot-scented fumes and clinks of discarded bullet shells. Black-clad soldiers ran across the plain with one thing in mind—to capture the fortress the Sovereign assigned for them. Hopefully, they would get rewarded for this after.
Such were the thoughts running through the mind of an average soldier in the Sovereign's army. Despite what background, what race of fairy they were, and which platoon they were currently assigned to, they were all holding on to the same thing.
A wish. A hope that only the Sovereign and the Heiress could make come true for them. One soldier wished for his son to grow up without any kind of pain while another wished for his dead wife to come back to life. Thousands of desires were said across time and thousands of people were out here, today, bearing flintlocks, swords, and armor in hopes of fulfilling their wishes.
They fought against a small horde charging across the battlefield to meet them. Day after day, they thought their enemy's number would dissipate. It has been quite a few weeks and the enemy was still there. Penleth still stood.
So, the Sovereign was forced to do something she hasn't considered doing. She brought out the whole force to show her hand in an ultimate attempt that would surely bring these insurgents to the ground.
It has been going well for the past few hours, if a normal soldier could be allowed to say. Warriors from both sides fell and were trampled to dust or kicked aside. The earth had never felt so fluid with so many earth sprites vying for control over the only thing keeping them off the endless sea.
The air crackled, whipped, and whistled; the sky had never looked this dark since the Hundred Years' War. Spells met halfway only to explode in a shower of magic, lights, and sometimes, a random detached limb. Screams of pain, aggression, defiance, and death rang across the battlefield.
A young soldier froze in panic and was immediately struck down. Fear and hesitation were not rightful tools to bring into war. Fire ate at everything it touched, always hungry for more but never satisfied. Water sprites rushed about, either restoring health or taking it away. Ice, for the first time in centuries, graced the battlefield with elegant sculptures of icicles, glaciers, and hail.
Cannons from the Heiress's flying island resumed operation, razing the ground with shrapnel, dirt, and the occasional shower of blood. A single figure above them all was the only one in the way of the flying island from torching the rest of the field.
Xanthy, the Virtakios, took it upon herself to avenge the deaths she had witnessed the past few days. Each made their own sacrifice so Penleth could survive another day or buy enough time for them to mount an offensive.
At the mouth of Rabante, behind the now-torched walls after the heathens at Penleth rigged the cannons, the Sovereign peered at the live battle-maps and deemed only one course of action—go to the battle herself and end this once and for all. Unlike the Heiress, she was not hesitant to get hurt.
