After their decisive victory over Orinovo, Lys-Akkaria's army crosses the border to take back territory that used to be theirs. With the combined forces of a lightweaver and shadowforger, Orinovo doesn't stand a chance.
In spite of their newfound a...
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Ainreth sighed as he glued yet another anti-war propaganda poster on a wall in a dark alley.
They always got torn down soon if left in a very visible place by either the guards or war supporters, so he'd taken to putting them up in the darker corners of Kyr-Toryl where the watchful eye of the guards didn't tend to reach.
Especially when he added his party trick to them.
Ainreth touched the poster, moving his other hand to make his power flow through him, making the big, bold letters glow just a little in the shadows here.
All the posters showed something different, but they were very obvious in their meaning. This one said Stop the war, which was incredibly basic, but it got the message across, Ainreth supposed.
Tyr-Haran had gotten into several arguments with him about calling these propaganda posters, but Ainreth wasn't going to stop, though not only because it pissed the older man off.
They were doing the same thing as Varilik. This was propaganda, plain and clear, and there was no reason to pretend otherwise.
The important thing was that they were winning, though. The unfortunate side of that was that that meant that Fenn was losing. And Ainreth hated that he was the reason for it.
The people had certainly learned to like him much more than ever before, as they should. Fennrin was a war hero, but he simply didn't have the fame that Ainreth had. People were just more likely to listen to him and to Fenn, and that wasn't the shadowforger's fault at all.
Ain was so sad that they were on opposite sides. It made whatever joy he got from beating Varilik fizzle out every time he thought about. Well, that, and the way Varilik seemed to be standing closer to Fenn every day. He'd gotten touchier with him, too.
When Ain had brought it up to Petre, they'd said that it couldn't mean anything, but Ainreth had his doubts. The thought of the misborn touching his Fenn made him sick to his stomach.
He didn't dare think about it. And yet his doubts and thoughts kept coming back to him. He wanted to corner Fenn somewhere, making him talk to him, but Petre had told him that would be over the line. Still, Ainreth didn't know how else to try to handle the situation.
Did Fenn have someone to talk to that wasn't Daryan? He hadn't had many friends. It had only really been Ainreth and Petre. But Fennrin wouldn't talk to Petre either.
One time, Ain had managed to convince Petre to go talk to him. And the first thing Fennrin had asked was if they were here on behalf of Ainreth. And Petre hadn't lied, which meant that Fenn had ended the conversation there.
Ainreth sighed as he packed up his bag that had the posters and the sproutkeeper glue in them, slinging it over his shoulder and strolling down the alley, his thoughts as gloomy as the place.
It was evening, and it was getting a little dark at this point. He did like getting the cover of night. No one bothered him when no one could see him. But he won't be able to make the posters glow at night, so he would have to head back home.
