It was difficult to kill a post-Apotheosis mage. Even for a stronger mage, preventing one from running could be a tall order, especially if the post-Apotheosis mage in particular had a lot of experience in combat or hidden enchanted items they could call upon in a pinch. Even just by themselves, however, the sheer physical robustness, especially after the twelfth-tier, that such powerful mages had meant that killing one was essentially impossible without getting a good hit on their soul realm. Killing one with an element that they were skilled in using was similarly difficult and could result in disastrous collateral damage.

Antigonus was not a particularly strong mage for his tier, nor was he experienced or well-equipped. He was, however, loyal, and a distant relation of Antipatra’s. And now, she stared down at his eviscerated corpse, burned to near-unrecognizability. Eleventh-tier, almost a thousand years old, and a proper Strategos in the Burning Lands—now dead, and by his own element.

“It was the dragon thing,” Damon said with the strained voice of a croaking frog. “Antigonus charged. The monster burned him.”

“And you?” Antipatra hissed, her ire distracting her from her shaking hands. “Where were you?”

“That water snake was a woman,” Damon said. “Took me by surprise when she returned to normal. Or as normal as a nonhuman can be. I… I was injured quickly, and retreated.”

“And left my nephew to die.” Antigonus wasn’t her proper nephew, but he was still of her extended family and had been raised in her castle. Antipatra had no children, but she sometimes imagined that Antigonus was one.

“I had no choice,” Damon desperately protested, his voice still wavering with pain. He’d had both of his arms nearly torn off, if her healers spoke truly—not that they had any reason to lie. They’d been reattached, but he’d lost a tremendous amount of blood and magic power, and he apparently also had some soul realm damage to heal. The immediate damage to his arms would heal quickly, but to his soul realm…

‘Your death would’ve been preferable.’ She didn’t speak it aloud. She didn’t even believe it. But such a personal loss was… not easy to take.

“Recover quickly,” Antipatra ordered as she turned from her last living Strategos in this fleet and strode out of the bay. All around her was the evidence of her loss. Her flag ark wasn’t overly damaged, but it had accepted the wounded from other arks, as well as those that her people had managed to evacuate before abandoning Urnos. By pure numbers, she had lost twenty percent of her fleet to both critical damage over Urnos and the haste of her retreat crippling the most severely damaged. If Leon Raime chased now…

Her heart fluttered, and she nearly stumbled in the crowded halls around the overflowing healer’s bay. She barely managed to keep her composure in front of her wounded, though several of her adjutants behind her noted her behavior. She silenced any thoughts of asking her about it with a glare and continued on her way back to her private quarters. With every step, she renewed her attempts to ignore her shaking hands, but the weakness in her fingers was acute and insistent.

The moment she was behind closed doors and alone, she collapsed to the floor, her vision swimming, her mind filled with bolts of black lightning. Without the White Dragon scale, she had no way to protect herself against such an attack…

She nearly burst into tears, and it took almost five minutes for her to collect herself and assume the rightful dignity of a Basilissa. Then, she activated a crystal sphere in her quarters. It didn’t project an image, but the voice of her patron still came through.

“Is it done?” the voice asked, gruff and impatient.

“… No,” she replied, almost choking on her tongue.

The pause was long, and she could already feel sweat pooling in uncomfortable places. She could almost see her patron stopping the important work he was doing to focus entirely on her—and the face she imagined on him was not smiling.

“Why not?” the voice asked, pleasant on the surface but laced with unpleasant implications.

Antipatra thought about telling Lord Kamran the whole story of the battle, and about how she’d plunged her spear into the heart of one of Leon Raime’s Strategoi—a feat that only slightly softened the blow of losing Antigonus and possibly Damon—but she knew he wouldn’t appreciate the waffling.

“I lost,” she said simply, neither mincing words nor making excuses.

Another pause followed, this one longer. She kept her expression neutral, knowing that even if she couldn’t see Kamran, he could see her.

“How badly?” he asked, focusing on the most pertinent question.

“Significantly, but not decisively,” Antipatra reported. “Once I am reinforced by my Despots, I will have the numerical and magical superiority.”

“You didn’t have it before?” Kamran’s tone cooled slightly, and she almost flinched.

“I baited an attack,” Antipatra said. “I had thought he would plunge his forces into a reckless assault. I prepared the field as you instructed. But… it triggered early and was affected by both of our auras—the monster’s, and mine. His arks were able to reposition, refusing to plunge into the resulting storm. Their weapons penetrated the cloud, but mine did not.”

“My rune did not work?” Kamran asked lightly, his voice sending a shiver down Antipatra’s spine. “I must work on it, then. What about the other gift I gave you? Did it not prove its worth?”

“The scale…” Antipatra murmured, a quaver in her voice coming that was impossible to hide. “It worked, but… I lost it.”

That brought another pause. The performance of his rune—or lack thereof—wasn’t her fault, and it was easy enough to verify that she was telling the truth. The loss of the scale, however, was an unconscionable failure on her part.

“Those do not grow on trees,” Kamran said grimly. “I required the might of the Star of Amalasven to take it from Anax Milos’ vaults, and even then, it came at great cost.”

The Star of Amalasven. Antipatra knew the name, but had never seen the object used. It was a Universe Fragment, one of three that Kamran was rumored to possess, and the only one she knew for a fact that he did. The Sphere of Unbridled Contention hadn’t been seen in three million years, and the Storm Diamond was, of course, still locked away in the Thunderbird Clan’s impenetrable vault despite Aeschylus’ dedication to unraveling its wards.

“The Great Dragons do not let their fallen scales leave their possession easily,” Kamran said. “The Great White Dragons, especially. I cannot steal another one for you. This loss… displeases me.”

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He didn’t raise his voice, but Antipatra still barely kept her composure. She held her breath, knowing that his decision about how to handle her would decide not just her fate, but the fate of her family, friends, and Empire.

When he spoke again, she practically jumped out of her skin.

“I am not unreasonable. You have shown the cause nothing but loyalty. Until this point, you have been undefeated. And you said that this loss was not decisive?”

Sensing a lifeline, she leaped to answer. “I have reinforcements on their way! And the support of the locals! Within days, I will have the forces to crush Leon Raime and end his line forever!”

“Calm yourself.” The command was harsher than the tone it was spoken in, but she fell immediately silent anyway. “My rune failed. Do not use it again until I have had a chance to go over its failure and correct it. In light of its failure and how committed to using it in your strategy you were, I will afford you another chance to handle this boy. Kill him, and if possible, retrieve my scale.”

“Yes,” Antipatra hurriedly responded. “For the cause! For the Great Lord!”

“That’s enough. Do be as quick as good sense allows. Your fellow among our ranks, Basileus Triton, is making swift progress in the Nexus. Trap the boy soon, or he may slip through your fingers. I will leave this to you. Do not fail me again.” With that, the crystal sphere flickered, the arcane light that shone when it was used vanishing. Kamran was done speaking with her, it seemed, to her relief.

She immediately began to pore over his parting words. Antipatra would’ve hardly counted Triton as a ‘fellow’ under normal circumstances, but they were both human, comrades, and if she were honest, something akin to friends. Still, she couldn’t help but resent the ease of his position—the Nexus was the easy job since the monster’s realm had no great defender who could match Triton aside from the monster himself. She had the difficult job, as far as she was concerned. He only had to kill a hive of ants—tedious, but easy.

But she steeled herself. This was what she was called upon to do. This was her duty as a true follower of Khosrow’s Law, a servant of the Great Lord. And she was not one to shirk her duty. The thought of the Great Lord Khosrow, the shining figure that towered over all of human history, stilled the shaking in her fingers. In Leon Raime, she faced death, but with the words of Khosrow’s Law behind her, she knew that she had all the strength she needed to face him again.

With renewed vigor in her heart, her mind began to race. She had three Despots racing to support her, with their combined fleets. With them came twelve Strategoi, the eleventh-tier mages also bringing their fleets. She would have the decisive advantage over Leon when next they clashed—though the ghost of fear raced through her at the thought of crossing blades with him again. She’d lost her spear; not as great a loss as losing the scale, as she had spares, but it still impacted her ability to fight.

‘I’ll have to outmaneuver him, then, and crush him with numbers. Killing me would certainly give him the win, as would killing him. But how can I match a monster with such power? The Thunderbird and the Great Black Dragon in one form… Impossible, and against nature…’

Her fleet was about to swell to the point that options would be open to her as to how to proceed. And she’d be able to begin in only a matter of days…

---

Makarios’ heart raced in his chest. This loss was hard on Antipatra’s fleet, but not so much for his. He’d feared that the woman would rage against him for his relative lack of action during the battle, having kept his fleet at the rear to avoid more losses he couldn’t afford, but so far, his arks received little in the way of communication of any kind from Antipatra’s arks. They even flew through the Void noticeably separately from his much smaller fleet.

All around him, his crew worked quietly. Signs of stress were evident, from the way one of his navigators chewed his lip as he waited for responses from the navigation wisps to the way that his ark’s second-in-command paced between stations, keeping watch despite the lack of enemies that could be seen. Despite their lack of losses in that battle, everyone knew that this was far from over, and what the next clashes would likely bring. Everyone had been present at their triumph against King Leon’s first push and had borne witness to the high cost that his Empire had incurred.

Their saviors had been mauled, and their enemy had retaken Urnos. Some of his arks undoubtedly had men and women with families on the plane…

His eyes traced the black Void, projected onto nearby screens for him to watch from the command throne. Antipatra had lost, despite her power. He’d accepted her support because he wanted to retain control over the Halorian Cluster. Now, it seemed that she might not be able to protect him for much longer. Given the demands she’d made in the time since her fleet arrived, he wasn’t sure that she would leave if he demanded it, even if they were to defeat Leon Raime…

Leon Raime had asked him to submit. Makarios couldn’t help but repeat that final conversation he’d had with the other King over and over again, wondering what might happen to him if he were to accept the offer. He would have to betray Antipatra, but that was hardly an obstacle. It would also have to be at the right time to maximize benefit…

The decision was agonizing, and one that he’d have to figure out before the campaign continued. In the end, he knew that he was most likely going to have to settle with the strongest with the vain hope that they would leave him to his cluster when they were done massacring each other.

‘Perhaps they’ll even kill themselves, and render this whole thing moot,’ he thought with dark amusement. He doubted that would happen, and even if it did, his forces were already so depleted that they were barely an auxiliary force to Antipatra. If their fleets went berserk without either Basileus to guide them, there would be little he could do to stop them.

A message came, which he noticed as a comms officer signaled for his second-in-command’s attention.

‘Great. What does she want now?’ he wondered bitterly. He waited for his second-in-command to approach him, his stern face somehow becoming even sterner.

“Speak,” he demanded, not waiting for customary honors.

“We’ve received a report from Iochos,” his officer said. “Fleets different from Basilissa Antipatra’s are arriving, claiming that they’re here to support her. They claim that Despots are leading them. At current pace, they’ll reach us within three days.”

Makarios closed his eyes for a long moment. He wasn’t surprised that she had reinforcements coming. He also wasn’t surprised that she hadn’t told him. It was just another reason to hate these foreign Lords who sought to impose themselves upon him, reminding him just why he wanted nothing to do with the Nexus. That place was the domain of the proud and the greedy, and while he believed that he had both traits in spades, he also knew those very traits ensured he would never integrate well with the others.

“How many?” he asked.

“Three fleets, as far as we can count, with almost two thousand arks spread amongst them.”

Makarios’ eyes widened. “A powerful force. Leon Raime, it seems, is in danger.”

He didn’t need to look around the room to know that many of his bridge officers were exchanging uneasy looks. For that, he couldn’t blame them. It already felt like they were losing control over their homes, and the arrival of such forces, while good for Antipatra, didn’t give them any confidence that they would be any better off once all the fighting was done. Someone, after all, would have to pay for their losses.

If she had such power, however, Makarios supposed he wasn’t unwilling to kneel before Antipatra. But as much as he didn’t desire conflict, Makarios knew that after the losses they’d taken so far, his people would be riotous if forced to pay blood money on top of their own recovery.

Such was his position, and it felt like a needle working its way deeper into his brain. He’d have to hope either Leon or Antipatra would kill the other, and for the survivor to not force him and his cluster into harsh vassalage, if not outright annex them. If the survivor squeezed too hard, he’d lose his position anyway when his people inevitably rebelled.

With a sigh, he stared back out into the Void. “Keep the lines open to Antipatra,” he said. “We accepted her support, and we will honor our end.” His eyes flickered to his second-in-command, and his voice dropped until only he could hear his words. “If that should change, I’m sure the Nine-and-Nineteen would understand us instead following Leon Raime’s banner. Either way, we will see the other side of this. We will survive, however we must…”

The officer nodded, keeping Makarios’ confidence. Makarios then began to study the damage to Antipatra’s arks and its effect on their continued performance. Even if he was going to continue to side with her, he thought it would be useful to know what might destroy or cripple them, just in case.