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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A large effigy in the visage of Varilik was certainly not what Ainreth would have thought of, but he had to admit it was just insulting enough to get under the Herald's skin. And it was tall enough to be seen far and wide.
Ainreth couldn't help but chuckle at the sight of it, now burning. He really hoped it was clear who the effigy was supposed to symbolize. But even if it wasn't, he was sure that someone had already notified Varilik about the rebel gathering if nothing else.
He just hoped this would be provocative enough to make Varilik not wait until it was dark to get the army here. Hopefully the threat of the rebels riding off to hide once more would be enough to sweeten the deal as well.
And they were ready to ride off. There was always the possibility of the battle happening at night, even though it would be a logistical nightmare, just because at night Fenn was the strongest and Ain the weakest. But that would just be a slaughter, and so the plan for that possibility was to simply escape, no matter how embarrassing that would be.
Ainreth still didn't particularly liked this, though. No matter what, innocent people would die here. But if they didn't try to do this then even more innocents would die. No option was good, but one was worse.
He blinked when he was suddenly hugged, looking down to see that it was Petre. Ainreth hugged them back, sighing.
"Don't get hurt, you hear?" he said, despite knowing very well how absurd that was to say given the situation.
"Ain," they said, pulling away and staring up at him. "If we don't make it—"
"We'll make it," Ainreth immediately interrupted them, but Petre scowled at him in such a fierce way that Ainreth shut his mouth immediately.
"If we don't make it," Petre repeated, sighing. "I just wanted to say that I love you."
Ain blinked at the way their voice broke. Petre hugged him again, almost clinging, and Ainreth embraced them back, nodding. "I love you too, little guy. Little sibling."
Petre smiled as they pulled away. "Good, I just wanted to say that. And if I die, don't you dare feel guilty about it. I decided to be here of my own free will."
Ainreth sighed. "But—" Petre glared at him, shutting him up yet again. "Right. I'll...try. But we're not dying here, okay? We will win and fix everything."
Petre nodded and smiled, reaching into their satchel to give Ain three vials of healing tonic. "Here, take this. I've been stocking up."
Ain took them, nodding in thanks as he put them in his own satchel, definitely ignoring the way his stomach twisted when his fingers touched the hand clamps he had in there as well.
He was now in full armor, minus his red cloak. He, along with most of the deserter soldiers, had wanted to wear the cloak too, but it would be too confusing on the battlefield. It was confusing enough that most every soldier involved would be wearing lightforged armor.
