REALMS: season 2

R‌E‌A‌L‌M‌S‌ SEASON TWO‌

BY NATHANIEL MIRANDA

SEASON TWO CHARACTER LIST WARRIOR CLAN (REDSTONE) JIG – PRINCE OF THE WARRIOR CLAN; BRAVE, STRATEGIC, AND LEARNING TO BALANCE COCKY CONFIDENCE WITH RESPONSIBILITY. RAXOR – LEADER OF THE WARRIORS; MENTOR, MANIPULATIVE STRATEGIST, AND THE FATHER-FIGURE JIG RESPECTS AND FEARS. QUARTZ ARCHITECT CLAN CELEN – JIG’S MALE BEST FRIEND; LOYAL, INTELLIGENT, ALWAYS THINKING TWO STEPS AHEAD, AND A STABILIZING PRESENCE FOR JIG. GOLD KING’S CLAN KING MIDAS – RULER OF THE GOLD CLAN; CALCULATING, PATIENT, AND ALWAYS PLOTTING. GOLD GENERALS / ENVOYS – SOLDIERS AND SPIES SERVING THE KING, ENFORCING HIS WILL SUBTLY AT FIRST, THEN OVERTLY. EMERALD TRADER CLAN ZYREL – MASTER OF NEGOTIATIONS AND SHADOW DEALS; MANIPULATIVE BUT NOT OPENLY VIOLENT, GUIDING EVENTS FROM BEHIND THE SCENES. IRON GUARDIANS BRONT – IRON CLAN LEADER; STOIC, HONORABLE, AND PROTECTIVE, REPRESENTING RAW STRENGTH AND UNYIELDING DISCIPLINE. IRON SOLDIERS – HEAVY-ARMORED, DISCIPLINED WARRIORS WITH A STRONG CODE OF LOYALTY. DIAMOND CHAMPIONS AXION – LEADER OF THE DIAMOND CLAN; SKILLED, FLASHY, AND PROUD OF HIS FIGHTING PROWESS. DIAMOND CHAMPIONS – ELITE FIGHTERS, OFTEN ARROGANT BUT EXTREMELY DANGEROUS IN BATTLE. LAPIS WITCHCRAFTERS OBLIVAR – POWERFUL AND MYSTERIOUS MAGE; USES SPELLS AND TRAPS TO MANIPULATE BATTLES BEFORE PHYSICAL COMBAT BEGINS. LAPIS APPRENTICES – MAGICAL SUPPORT AND MINOR SPELLCASTERS, OFTEN UNDERESTIMATED BY OTHER CLANS. COPPER ENGINEER CLAN (SURVIVORS / MINOR FACTIONS) SOME SURVIVING ENGINEERS LOYAL TO THEIR FALLEN LEADER; SCATTERED BUT CAPABLE OF CAUSING TROUBLE.

SUMMARY

AFTER THE FALL OF COPPER, THE WORLD TREMBLES UNDER NEW TENSIONS. JIG IS NOW THE PRINCE OF THE WARRIOR CLAN, LEARNING WHAT IT TRULY MEANS TO HOLD POWER WHILE WALKING A LINE BETWEEN LOYALTY, AMBITION, AND SURVIVAL. NEW CLANS RISE FROM THE SHADOWS—IRON GUARDIANS, DIAMOND CHAMPIONS, AND LAPIS WITCHCRAFTERS —EACH BRINGING SKILLS AND MYSTERIES THAT CHALLENGE EVERYTHING JIG THOUGHT HE KNEW. ALLIANCES WILL FORM AND FRACTURE, SECRETS WILL SURFACE, AND THE COST OF WAR WILL TOUCH EVERYONE, TESTING FRIENDSHIPS, TRUST, AND THE BONDS THAT HOLD CLANS TOGETHER. SEASON 2 IS ABOUT POWER, RESPONSIBILITY, AND THE UNFORESEEN CONSEQUENCES OF CHOICES, ALL SET AGAINST A BACKDROP OF POLITICAL INTRIGUE, LARGE-SCALE BATTLES, AND PERSONAL STRUGGLES. EMOTIONS RUN DEEPER, SURPRISES HIT HARDER, AND EVERY VICTORY CARRIES A WEIGHT THAT CAN’T BE IGNORED.

EPISODE ONE “PRINCE OF WARRIORS” THE MORNING SUN WAS HARSH AGAINST THE REDSTONE TOWERS OF THE WARRIOR STRONGHOLD, BUT JIG BARELY NOTICED. HE STOOD ATOP THE CENTRAL BATTLEMENT, ARMOR STILL DENTED AND SCARRED FROM THE COPPER CAMPAIGN, STARING ACROSS THE HORIZON. SMOKE FROM THE RUINS OF COPPER’S CITIES SPIRALED INTO THE DISTANCE, A DARK REMINDER OF WHAT VICTORY HAD COST—AND A SILENT WARNING OF WHAT WAS COMING. HE HAD BEEN CROWNED PRINCE. THE TITLE SAT HEAVY ON HIS SHOULDERS, HEAVIER THAN THE ARMOR HE WORE, HEAVIER THAN ANY BLADE HE HAD EVER WIELDED. BEING A WARRIOR HAD BEEN SIMPLE: FIGHT, SURVIVE, AND STRIKE WHEN NECESSARY. BEING A PRINCE… WAS SOMETHING ELSE ENTIRELY. “THINKING TOO MUCH AGAIN,” CELEN SAID, HIS VOICE CALM, ALMOST TEASING AS HE APPEARED FROM THE STAIRWAY BEHIND HIM. RAIN FROM THE PREVIOUS NIGHT STILL CLUNG TO HIS CLOAK, CATCHING THE SUNLIGHT AND REFRACTING IT IN MUTED QUARTZ HUES. JIG DIDN’T TURN. “THINKING KEEPS ME ALIVE.” CELEN’S SMIRK FADED AS HE JOINED HIM AT THE BATTLEMENT. “ALIVE ISN’T ENOUGH ANYMORE. LEADERS DIE SLOWLY… IN WAYS THAT HURT THE PEOPLE AROUND THEM, NOT JUST THEMSELVES.” JIG’S JAW TIGHTENED. “THEN I’LL LEARN FASTER.” CELEN NODDED SLOWLY, EYES SCANNING THE HORIZON. “YOU’D BETTER.”

THE WARRIOR COURTYARD BELOW WAS BUSTLING, BUT IT WASN’T CELEBRATION THAT DROVE THE SOLDIERS—IT WAS TENSION. REDSTONE LINES PULSED FAINTLY BENEATH THE STONE FLOORS, HUMMING LIKE THE HEARTBEAT OF A LIVING ENTITY. SOLDIERS DRILLED, PRACTICED FORMATIONS, AND MAINTAINED WEAPONS, THEIR MOVEMENTS PRECISE AND SYNCHRONIZED. EVERY EYE OCCASIONALLY FLICKED TOWARD JIG, THE YOUNG PRINCE WHO HAD KILLED A GOLD NOBLE AND TAKEN COPPER, AND YET SOMEHOW REMAINED ALIVE. RAXOR APPEARED, HIS CLOAK SNAPPING IN THE MORNING WIND. THE LEADER OF THE WARRIORS RADIATED CALM AUTHORITY, A PREDATOR DISGUISED AS A MENTOR. “YOU CARRY THEIR HOPES,” RAXOR SAID, VOICE LOW AND STEADY. “AND THEIR DOUBTS.” JIG DIDN’T RESPOND. HE HAD LEARNED LONG AGO THAT RAXOR’S WORDS WERE BOTH ADVICE AND WARNING. “BEING A GREAT FIGHTER IS NOTHING,” RAXOR CONTINUED. “LEADERSHIP IS… EVERYTHING ELSE. EVERY CHOICE, EVERY MISTAKE, EVERY VICTORY CARRIES CONSEQUENCES YOU CAN’T UNDO.” JIG’S HANDS TIGHTENED ON THE RAILING. “THEN I’D BETTER START CARRYING IT RIGHT.”

BY MIDDAY, RUMORS HAD ALREADY BEGUN TO SEEP INTO THE STRONGHOLD. SCOUTS REPORTED GLIMPSES OF GOLD BANNERS AT THE HORIZON, ALWAYS JUST BEYOND VISIBILITY, AS IF TESTING THE EDGES OF WARRIOR TERRITORY. THE WHISPERS WERE DANGEROUS: KING MIDAS, THEY SAID, HAD NOT FORGOTTEN COPPER, NOR THE DEATH OF HIS NOBLE. “YOU FEEL IT?” CELEN ASKED, WALKING BESIDE JIG THROUGH THE ARMORY. THE SCENT OF OIL, SHARPENED STEEL, AND HEATED METAL CLUNG TO THEM. JIG’S EYES SCANNED THE RACKS OF WEAPONS. “LIKE A STORM COMING.” CELEN NODDED, TIGHTENING HIS OWN GLOVES. “AND STORMS DON’T WAIT FOR ANYONE. NOT EVEN PRINCES.” A SHADOW MOVED AT THE EDGE OF THE COURTYARD—A LONE SCOUT FROM GOLD, ARMOR DULLED, CREST HIDDEN. THE FIGURE VANISHED BEFORE JIG COULD GET A FULL VIEW, LEAVING ONLY A SENSE OF BEING WATCHED. ALWAYS WATCHING, JIG THOUGHT. GOLD NEVER FORGETS.

EVEN IN PEACE, WARRIORS DEMANDED EXCELLENCE. JIG SPENT HOURS SPARRING, DRILLING, AND OVERSEEING FORMATIONS, HIS MOVEMENTS PRECISE BUT DELIBERATE. HE WAS NO LONGER A LONE FIGHTER; HE HAD TO LEAD, ANTICIPATE, AND INSPIRE. DURING A SPARRING SESSION, A YOUNG WARRIOR LUNGED RECKLESSLY. JIG COUNTERED WITH CALCULATED EFFICIENCY, KNOCKING THE BLADE ASIDE AND GRIPPING THE WRIST. “CONTROL,” HE SAID SOFTLY. “STRENGTH ALONE ISN’T ENOUGH.” THE WARRIOR BLINKED, NODDING. “YES, PRINCE.” JIG RELEASED HIM, CHEST HEAVING, AND GLANCED AT CELEN, WHO LEANED AGAINST THE TRAINING WALL WITH A FAINT SMILE. “YOU’RE LEARNING,” CELEN SAID. “I HAVE TO,” JIG REPLIED. “THE MOMENT I SLIP, SOMEONE DIES.” CELEN’S EXPRESSION HARDENED. “OR EVERYONE YOU CARE ABOUT.”

NIGHT FELL OVER THE STRONGHOLD, AND JIG SAT ALONE IN THE PRIVATE GARDEN, REDSTONE LIGHTS ILLUMINATING THE PATHS AND WALLS. CELEN JOINED HIM, OFFERING A QUIET PRESENCE IN THE OTHERWISE EMPTY COURTYARD. “YOU’RE SCARED,” CELEN SAID. JIG SNORTED SOFTLY. “I’M NOT SCARED. I’M AWARE.” “SAME DIFFERENCE,” CELEN REPLIED. “SCARED PEOPLE MAKE MISTAKES. AWARE PEOPLE… MAKE THEM ANYWAY, BUT SURVIVE THEM.” JIG LOOKED DOWN AT THE REDSTONE LINES PULSING BENEATH THE GARDEN PATHS. SURVIVE. ALWAYS SURVIVE. “I DON’T WANT TO FAIL,” HE ADMITTED FINALLY. “YOU WON’T,” CELEN SAID, PLACING A HAND ON HIS SHOULDER. “NOT IF YOU LISTEN, NOT IF YOU PLAN, NOT IF YOU TRUST THE RIGHT PEOPLE. AND RIGHT NOW… I’M RIGHT HERE. THAT COUNTS FOR SOMETHING.” JIG’S LIPS CURVED FAINTLY, ALMOST A SMILE. “YEAH… IT DOES.”

FROM AFAR, BEYOND MOUNTAINS AND RIVERS, GOLD SPIES WHISPERED BACK TO THE KING. THEIR EYES REFLECTED AMBITION, ANGER, AND PATIENCE. EVERY MOVE THE WARRIOR CLAN MADE WAS BEING RECORDED, MEASURED, AND ANALYZED. JIG DIDN’T SEE THEM, BUT HE COULD FEEL THE TENSION COILING IN THE AIR—AN INVISIBLE WEIGHT PRESSING DOWN LIKE THE FIRST CRACK OF A THUNDERSTORM BEFORE THE CLOUDS EVEN FORM. AND DEEP IN THE SHADOWS, ANOTHER PRESENCE STIRRED: THE EMERALD TRADER CLAN, WATCHING, PLOTTING, WAITING FOR THE MOMENT TO TILT THE SCALES. JIG CLENCHED HIS FISTS. HE WAS PRINCE NOW. BUT BEING A PRINCE WAS ONLY THE BEGINNING. THE BATTLEFIELD HAD CHANGED, AND JIG HAD ONLY JUST STEPPED ONTO IT.

END

EPISODE TWO “EMERALD SHADOWS” THE MORNING AIR WAS CRISP, CARRYING THE SCENT OF DEW AND METAL. JIG STOOD IN THE CENTRAL COURTYARD, STRETCHING ALONG THE WORN STONE THAT HAD SEEN COUNTLESS DRILLS, VICTORIES, AND LOSSES. HIS MIND WAS HEAVY WITH RUMORS OF GOLD’S SPIES AND WHISPERED THREATS, YET THE SUN SEEMED ALMOST INNOCENT ABOVE HIM. ALMOST. A SHADOW APPROACHED WITH UNMISTAKABLE PURPOSE. “I WANT TO SPAR,” CELEN ANNOUNCED, HANDS RESTING CASUALLY ON HIS SWORD HILT. HIS CLOAK FLUTTERED WITH THE MORNING BREEZE. JIG RAISED AN EYEBROW. “YOU? YOU WANT TO SPAR?” CELEN SMIRKED, STEPPING INTO THE COURTYARD. “DON’T ACT SURPRISED. YOU THINK THE QUARTZ ARCHITECT IS JUST BRAINS AND BLUEPRINTS? I STILL HAVE THE FIGHTER IN ME.” JIG LAUGHED SOFTLY. “ALRIGHT THEN. SHOW ME WHAT YOU’VE GOT.”

THEY FACED EACH OTHER IN THE OPEN SPACE. THE SUN CAST LONG SHADOWS ACROSS THE REDSTONE LINES THAT HUMMED FAINTLY BENEATH THE STONE FLOOR. CELEN MOVED FIRST—SWIFT, PRECISE, HIS STRIKES CLEAN AND CALCULATED. JIG BLOCKED AND COUNTERED, INSTINCT GUIDING HIS BLADE. THE CLASH OF STEEL RANG SHARPLY, ECHOING OFF THE WALLS OF THE COURTYARD. “YOU’VE IMPROVED,” JIG SAID MID-LUNGE, STEPPING ASIDE TO DODGE A SPINNING KICK. “AND YOU’RE GETTING SLOPPY,” CELEN SHOT BACK, GRINNING AS HE SPUN AROUND AND FEINTED ANOTHER STRIKE. THE FIGHT CONTINUED, NEITHER GAINING A CLEAR ADVANTAGE, BOTH PUSHING EACH OTHER AS THEY ALWAYS HAD. BUT BENEATH THE SURFACE, THERE WAS MORE THAN SKILL AT PLAY. RESPECT. TRUST. A BOND FORGED IN BATTLES PAST, NOW STRENGTHENED AS THEY STOOD ON THE EDGE OF WAR. FINALLY, CELEN LOWERED HIS SWORD, BREATHING STEADILY. “STILL ALIVE,” HE SAID. “STILL THE SAME STUBBORN FOOL.” JIG SMIRKED. “AND YOU’RE STILL A PAIN IN THE ASS.” THEY LAUGHED SOFTLY, THOUGH THE ECHO DIDN’T REACH THE HORIZON. BOTH KNEW THE REAL FIGHT WAS WAITING, FAR BEYOND THE WALLS OF THE WARRIOR STRONGHOLD.

LATER THAT DAY, IN THE COUNCIL HALL, JIG CONVENED A MEETING WITH RAXOR AND A SELECT FEW TRUSTED WARRIORS. “I NEED INFORMATION ON THE TRADERS,” JIG SAID, TRACING FAINT PATTERNS IN THE TABLE. “THE EMERALDS ARE MOVING BEHIND OUR BORDERS. I NEED TO KNOW WHY.” RAXOR’S EYES NARROWED. “ZYREL IS CLEVER. HE DOESN’T REVEAL HIS HAND UNTIL IT’S TOO LATE.” JIG LEANED BACK, RUNNING A HAND THROUGH HIS HAIR. “THEN I NEED TO BE SMARTER THAN CLEVER.” A MESSENGER ARRIVED, BREATHLESS, BEARING NEWS OF UNUSUAL MOVEMENTS NEAR THE MOUNTAINS: CARAVANS, UNUSUAL LIGHTS AT NIGHT, AND WHISPERS OF A HIDDEN ALLIANCE. CELEN’S GAZE DARKENED. “GOLD IS INVOLVED,” HE SAID QUIETLY. “I’VE SEEN THE PATTERNS BEFORE. ZYREL ALWAYS WORKS FOR SOMEONE.” JIG FELT THE WEIGHT SETTLE IN HIS CHEST. THE EMERALD TRADERS WEREN’T NEUTRAL—THEY WERE A SHADOW WAITING TO STRIKE, AND GOLD’S HAND WAS ALREADY IN MOTION.

THAT EVENING, JIG AND CELEN MOVED THROUGH THE OUTSKIRTS OF WARRIOR TERRITORY, SCOUTING IN SILENCE. THE AIR SMELLED OF PINE AND WET STONE. “YOU FEEL IT TOO, RIGHT?” JIG ASKED, VOICE LOW. CELEN NODDED. “SOMETHING’S SHIFTING. PEOPLE AREN’T WHAT THEY APPEAR TO BE. EVERY ALLY HAS A PRICE. EVERY SHADOW HAS A SECRET.” AHEAD, FAINT LIGHTS FLICKERED. FIGURES MOVED SILENTLY AMONG THE TREES, ALMOST LIKE SMOKE GIVEN FORM. CELEN’S HAND RESTED ON HIS SWORD. “THE TRADERS ARE CLOSER THAN WE THOUGHT.” SUDDENLY, A FIGURE EMERGED—AN EMERALD SCOUT, ARMORED IN GREEN AND CARRYING A SMALL CROSSBOW. HE FROZE AT THE SIGHT OF JIG AND CELEN. “PRINCE OF THE WARRIORS,” THE SCOUT WHISPERED. “ZYREL SENDS… A MESSAGE.” THE FIGURE VANISHED BEFORE THEY COULD REACT, LEAVING BEHIND A SMALL FOLDED PARCHMENT. JIG PICKED IT UP. WORDS WRITTEN IN ELEGANT SCRIPT: "TRUST NO ONE." CELEN’S JAW TIGHTENED. “I DON’T LIKE THIS.” JIG’S EYES NARROWED. “NEITHER DO I. BUT WE HAVE TO ACT… BEFORE THEY ACT AGAINST US.”

THAT NIGHT, IN THE QUIET OF THE WAR ROOM, JIG STUDIED MAPS AND PLANS. REDSTONE LINES ILLUMINATED FAINT PATHS ACROSS ENEMY AND NEUTRAL TERRITORIES. CELEN JOINED HIM, SITTING ACROSS THE TABLE, VOICE CALM BUT FIRM. “YOU CAN’T FIGHT THIS WITH STRENGTH ALONE,” CELEN SAID. “YOU NEED FORESIGHT, PATIENCE, AND THE ABILITY TO READ PEOPLE… EVEN WHEN THEY LIE RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOU.” JIG NODDED. “I KNOW. BUT KNOWING ISN’T ENOUGH.” “YOU’LL GET BETTER,” CELEN SAID. “WE’LL GET BETTER. TOGETHER.” JIG FELT THE REASSURANCE SETTLE IN HIS CHEST. NOT AS A CRUTCH, BUT AS A WEAPON. LOYALTY, FRIENDSHIP, TRUST—THESE WERE THE REAL TOOLS OF LEADERSHIP. AND CELEN HAD ALWAYS BEEN THERE TO SHARPEN THEM.

FROM DISTANT FORESTS AND HIDDEN VALLEYS, GOLD LIGHT FLICKERED. ZYREL’S EMERALD GLINT MERGED WITH SHADOWS, AND WHISPERS CARRIED IN THE WIND. THE WORLD JIG HAD BEEN STEPPING INTO—THE ONE FULL OF POWER, LOYALTY, AND STRATEGY—WAS STARTING TO REVEAL ITS TRUE SHAPE. ALLIANCES WERE FRAGILE. TRUST WAS A WEAPON. AND WAR… WAR WAS JUST BEGINNING TO CAST ITS LONG SHADOW.

END

EPISODE THREE “IRON & HONOR” THE PATH TO THE IRON CLAN’S TERRITORY WAS UNFORGIVING. JAGGED MOUNTAINS ROSE ON EITHER SIDE OF THE NARROW ROAD, THEIR PEAKS WREATHED IN CLOUDS AND MIST. THE AIR WAS THICK WITH COLD, CARRYING THE FAINT TANG OF IRON FROM DISTANT MINES. JIG TRUDGED ALONGSIDE RAXOR, THE WARRIOR LEADER’S CLOAK SNAPPING IN THE WIND, HIS ARMOR IMMACULATE DESPITE THE JOURNEY. BEHIND THEM, THE WARRIOR ESCORT KEPT A CAREFUL PACE—CAUTIOUS, ALERT, BUT TRUSTING THE TWO WHO HAD SHAPED THE CLAN’S RISE. JIG GLANCED AT RAXOR, TRYING TO READ HIM. “WHY DO I FEEL LIKE THIS IS GOING TO BE HARDER THAN ANY BATTLE I’VE FOUGHT?” HE ASKED, VOICE LOW. RAXOR’S EYES, DARK AND CALCULATING, FLICKED TOWARD HIM. “BECAUSE IT IS. BATTLES TEST STRENGTH. THE IRON CLAN TESTS EVERYTHING ELSE: PATIENCE, RESPECT, JUDGMENT. AND LOYALTY—TRUE LOYALTY IS ALWAYS EXAMINED BEFORE TRUST IS GIVEN.” JIG FROWNED. “AND IF I FAIL?” RAXOR’S EXPRESSION HARDENED. “THEN YOU’LL LEARN THE COST OF UNDERESTIMATING THEM. AND PERHAPS THE COST OF UNDERESTIMATING YOURSELF.” THERE WAS NO MALICE IN RAXOR’S VOICE, ONLY TRUTH—A SHARP, DANGEROUS CLARITY THAT CUT DEEPER THAN ANY SWORD.

THE IRON FORTRESS LOOMED OVER THE VALLEY LIKE A MOUNTAIN RISEN FROM METAL AND STONE. MASSIVE GATES, REINFORCED WITH LAYERED IRON PLATES, REFLECTED THE MORNING LIGHT. WARRIORS STOOD IN DISCIPLINED FORMATIONS ATOP THE RAMPARTS, THEIR MOVEMENTS PRECISE, UNWAVERING, LIKE CLOCKWORK. AS JIG AND RAXOR ENTERED THE COURTYARD, THE IRON LEADER, BRONT, APPROACHED. A TOWERING FIGURE IN POLISHED IRON ARMOR, HIS PRESENCE RADIATED AUTHORITY, DISCIPLINE, AND SOMETHING UNSPOKEN: JUDGMENT. “YOU ARE THE PRINCE OF THE WARRIORS,” BRONT SAID, VOICE DEEP AND RESONANT. “AND YET, YOU STEP INTO OUR LANDS AS A BOY WITH A TITLE. WHAT MAKES YOU WORTHY?” JIG STRAIGHTENED, CHEST FORWARD. “I DON’T CLAIM TO BE WORTHY. I CLAIM TO SERVE—WITH EVERYTHING I HAVE.” BRONT STUDIED HIM FOR A LONG MOMENT, THEN NODDED. “WORDS ARE EASY. ACTIONS… HARDER. YOU WILL PROVE YOURSELF THROUGH TRIALS OF LEADERSHIP AND COMBAT. FAIL, AND YOU LEAVE EMPTY-HANDED. SUCCEED, AND YOU EARN OUR RESPECT—AND OUR ALLIANCE.” RAXOR’S HAND RESTED BRIEFLY ON JIG’S SHOULDER. “REMEMBER, STRENGTH IS NOT ENOUGH. STRATEGY, JUDGMENT, AND HONOR WILL CARRY YOU FURTHER THAN BRUTE FORCE.” JIG SWALLOWED, FEELING THE WEIGHT OF RESPONSIBILITY SETTLE DEEPER THAN ANY ARMOR PLATE EVER COULD.

THE TRIALS BEGIN THE FIRST TEST WAS OF LEADERSHIP. BRONT ASSIGNED JIG A SMALL UNIT OF IRON SOLDIERS AND TASKED HIM WITH DEFENDING A SECTION OF THE FORTRESS FROM SIMULATED ATTACKS. “THEY’RE NOT YOUR WARRIORS,” BRONT SAID. “THEY WILL TEST YOU. PUSH YOU. OBEY ONLY WHEN YOUR JUDGMENT CALLS FOR IT. DO NOT FAIL.” JIG MOVED AMONG THE SOLDIERS, ISSUING COMMANDS, ANALYZING STRENGTHS, POSITIONING DEFENSES. HE FELT THE UNFAMILIAR PULL OF RESPONSIBILITY—NOT FOR HIMSELF, BUT FOR THOSE UNDER HIM. A MISSTEP COULD MEAN FAILURE, EMBARRASSMENT, OR WORSE. CELEN, OBSERVING QUIETLY FROM A SIDE PLATFORM, WHISPERED, “YOU’VE FOUGHT BATTLES BEFORE, BUT NEVER FOR LIVES LIKE THIS. THEY’RE COUNTING ON YOUR DECISIONS.” JIG NODDED, TIGHTENING HIS JAW. “THEN I WON’T LET THEM DOWN.” THE MOCK ATTACK BEGAN—ENGINEERED ASSAULTS FROM IRON INSTRUCTORS DISGUISED AS ENEMIES, TESTING HIS TACTICAL THINKING. JIG ADAPTED, SHIFTED, AND COUNTERED. EVERY CHOICE FELT LIKE A GAMBLE, EVERY MOVEMENT A STATEMENT OF TRUST OR DOUBT.

NEXT CAME PERSONAL COMBAT TRIALS. BRONT, TOWERING AND UNYIELDING, STEPPED ONTO THE TRAINING FIELD. “SHOW ME YOUR WORTH IN THE ONLY WAY THE IRON RESPECT: IN BATTLE.” JIG DREW HIS BLADE, FEELING THE REDSTONE PULSE BENEATH HIS ARMOR LIKE A HEARTBEAT. HE KNEW THIS DUEL WAS AS MUCH ABOUT MIND AS BODY. EVERY STRIKE BRONT DELIVERED CARRIED A LESSON: PRECISION, PATIENCE, AND RESPECT. JIG DODGED, COUNTERED, AND ADAPTED, LEARNING NOT JUST TO FIGHT, BUT TO OBSERVE THE OPPONENT, PREDICT INTENT, AND ACT DECISIVELY. HOURS PASSED. EACH BLOW LEFT A MARK, EACH FEINT TESTED RESOLVE. AND THOUGH JIG WAS SKILLED, BRONT’S EXPERIENCE AND RAW POWER PUSHED HIM TO THE EDGE. AT ONE POINT, BRONT’S STRIKE SENT JIG SPRAWLING ACROSS THE STONE FLOOR, WIND KNOCKED OUT OF HIM. “YOU ARE STRONG,” BRONT SAID, OFFERING A HAND TO HELP HIM UP. “BUT STRENGTH IS WORTHLESS WITHOUT JUDGMENT. LEADERSHIP IS CHOOSING WHEN TO STRIKE, WHEN TO HOLD, AND WHEN TO SACRIFICE.” JIG TOOK THE HAND, NODDING. PAIN WAS ALREADY FADING INTO FOCUS. “I UNDERSTAND.”

THAT NIGHT, AFTER TRIALS AND COMBAT ENDED, JIG SAT WITH RAXOR IN THE FORTRESS OBSERVATORY. THE MOONLIGHT REFLECTED OFF THE IRON PARAPETS, CREATING LONG SHADOWS THAT SEEMED TO STRETCH FOREVER. “YOU DO THIS BECAUSE YOU’VE BEEN TESTED YOURSELF,” JIG SAID, VOICE QUIET. “YOU WEREN’T ALWAYS THE LEADER, WERE YOU?” RAXOR’S GAZE SOFTENED FOR THE FIRST TIME. “I’VE WALKED EVERY BATTLEFIELD, MADE EVERY MISTAKE, AND CARRIED EVERY DEATH. I LEARNED THAT POWER WITHOUT WISDOM IS A BLADE THAT CUTS ITS WIELDER FIRST.” JIG STUDIED HIM. “AND NOW YOU TEACH IT.” RAXOR’S HAND RESTED LIGHTLY ON JIG’S SHOULDER. “BECAUSE SOMEONE HAS TO. YOU WILL BE TESTED, PUSHED, AND BETRAYED. BUT YOUR CHOICES… WILL SHAPE THE FUTURE OF THE WARRIOR CLAN. DON’T FORGET THAT, EVEN IN THE HEAT OF BATTLE.” FOR A MOMENT, THE WEIGHT OF EXPECTATION, FRIENDSHIP, AND MENTORSHIP SETTLED OVER JIG. LEADERSHIP WASN’T JUST ABOUT FIGHTING—IT WAS ABOUT CARRYING THE CONSEQUENCES, EVEN WHEN THE WORLD TRIED TO CRUSH YOU.

THE NEXT MORNING, BRONT CONVENED A COUNCIL. THE TRIAL RESULTS WERE DISPLAYED THROUGH MOVEMENTS AND MAPS, SHOWING JIG’S DECISIONS, BOTH RIGHT AND WRONG. “YOU HAVE SHOWN ADAPTABILITY, COURAGE, AND HONOR,” BRONT DECLARED, VOICE ECHOING ACROSS THE COURTYARD. “YOU HAVE EARNED THE RESPECT OF THE IRON CLAN. YOUR LEADERSHIP IS PROMISING… BUT NEVER FORGET: HONOR IS FRAGILE. MISUSE IT, AND YOU WILL LOSE EVERYTHING.” JIG BOWED RESPECTFULLY. “I WILL NOT FORGET.” CELEN APPROACHED, CLAPPING HIM LIGHTLY ON THE BACK. “LOOKS LIKE THE FIGHTER IN YOU EARNED MORE THAN SKILL TODAY. YOU EARNED TRUST.” JIG ALLOWED HIMSELF A SMALL, QUIET SMILE. “YEAH… TRUST. NOT A BAD REWARD FOR A DAY’S WORK.”

THE DAY PASSED IN QUIET PREPARATION. BRONT ASSIGNED JIG TO A SERIES OF EXERCISES—NOT TESTS OF STRENGTH, BUT OF JUDGMENT. WAGONS LOADED WITH REDSTONE SUPPLIES WERE TO BE TRANSPORTED ACROSS NARROW CLIFFS. ENEMY DUMMIES, RIGGED WITH TRAPS, SIMULATED AMBUSHES. JIG MOVED DELIBERATELY, COORDINATING THE WARRIORS AND IRON APPRENTICES ALIKE, WHILE CELEN TOOK NOTES, TRACING EVERY TACTIC AND DECISION.

BY MIDDAY, A SCOUTING REPORT ARRIVED: A SMALL GROUP OF DIAMOND SOLDIERS HAD BEEN SPOTTED AT THE EDGE OF IRON TERRITORY, OBSERVING SILENTLY. THEIR POLISHED ARMOR REFLECTED THE SUN, AND ONE FIGURE, TALLER AND MORE IMPOSING THAN THE REST, STOOD BACK FROM THE GROUP—VEYRAN, LEADER OF THE DIAMOND CLAN.

BRONT’S HAND FELL ON JIG’S SHOULDER. “SEE THEM? THAT IS WHY WE TEST OUR ALLIANCES. NEVER UNDERESTIMATE PRIDE. NEVER UNDERESTIMATE OBSERVATION.” JIG’S STOMACH TIGHTENED. “THEY’RE SCOUTING… BUT WHY NOW?” BRONT’S GAZE HARDENED. “THEY SEEK TO MEASURE STRENGTH, TO ASSESS OPPORTUNITY. THE DIAMONDS WILL ACT WHEN THE BALANCE SHIFTS IN THEIR FAVOR. THEY ARE CUNNING. DO NOT FORGET THAT.” AS THE IRON WARRIORS RETURNED TO THE COURTYARD, JIG AND CELEN LINGERED AT THE EDGE OF THE FIELD. “YOU’RE GOING TO HAVE TO FACE THEM EVENTUALLY,” CELEN SAID QUIETLY. “I CAN ALREADY SEE HOW PROUD THEY ARE. THEY’LL PUSH EVERY LIMIT YOU HAVE, JUST TO SEE IF YOU BREAK.” JIG EXHALED SLOWLY, GRIPPING THE REINS OF HIS HORSE. “I’VE FACED TRIALS BEFORE… TRAPS, AMBUSHES, EVEN WAR ITSELF. BUT THE DIAMONDS… THEY’RE DIFFERENT. I CAN FEEL IT.”

THE SUN DIPPED LOW OVER IRON TERRITORY. SHADOWS STRETCHED ACROSS THE SPIRES OF STONE, LONG AND FOREBODING. BRONT CALLED FOR THE EVENING ASSEMBLY. WARRIORS GATHERED, AND JIG WAS TASKED WITH PRESENTING THE DAY’S LOGISTICS AND DECISIONS. EVERY MOVEMENT, EVERY ALLOCATION OF RESOURCES, EVERY MINOR CHOICE HAD BEEN RECORDED, ANALYZED, AND SCRUTINIZED BY THE IRON ELDERS. WHEN THE ASSEMBLY ENDED, BRONT APPROACHED HIM ALONE. “YOU HAVE PROVEN CAPABLE,” HE SAID QUIETLY. “BUT CAPABILITY IS NOT ENOUGH. LEADERSHIP REQUIRES FORESIGHT, PATIENCE, AND CLARITY UNDER PRESSURE. REMEMBER THIS, PRINCE JIG: THE CHOICES YOU MAKE TODAY WILL ECHO IN BATTLES YOU HAVE NOT YET SEEN.” JIG NODDED, SWALLOWING HARD. “I UNDERSTAND.”

AS NIGHT FELL, HE AND CELEN CAMPED ATOP THE WESTERN CLIFFS, OVERLOOKING THE IRON LANDS. FIRES BURNED LOW, CASTING FLICKERING SHADOWS ACROSS THEIR FACES. “YOU KNOW,” CELEN SAID, BREAKING THE SILENCE, “IF YOU EVER LET YOUR PRIDE OVERRIDE YOUR JUDGMENT, EVEN BRONT WOULDN’T SAVE YOU.” JIG CHUCKLED SOFTLY, A RARE SOUND THESE DAYS. “YEAH… WELL, I DON’T PLAN TO LET THAT HAPPEN. NOT YET, ANYWAY.” THEY SHARED A QUIET MOMENT, THE DISTANT SOUNDS OF THE IRON CLAN’S NIGHT WATCH ECHOING ACROSS THE CLIFFS. FOR JIG, IT WAS A RARE CALM BEFORE THE STORM—AN OPPORTUNITY TO REFLECT, TO PLAN, AND TO PREPARE FOR THE CHALLENGES STILL TO COME. BECAUSE EVEN AS HE EARNED THE IRON CLAN’S RESPECT, HE KNEW THAT THE DIAMOND CLAN WOULD NOT WAIT. PRIDE, SKILL, AND CUNNING AWAITED HIM THERE. AND THE TRIALS TO COME WOULD TEST NOT JUST HIS STRENGTH, BUT THE VERY CORE OF HIS LEADERSHIP. AS HE DRIFTED TO SLEEP UNDER THE STARS, JIG MADE A SILENT PROMISE: I WILL NOT FAIL. NOT NOW. NOT EVER.

END

EPISODE FOUR “DIAMOND EDGE” THE ROAD TO DIAMOND TERRITORY WAS SILENT. JIG RODE AT THE HEAD OF HIS SMALL GROUP, CELEN BESIDE HIM, THE WARRIOR BANNERS FLAPPING GENTLY IN THE COLD WIND. BEHIND THEM, THE IRON ESCORT BRONT HAD RELUCTANTLY LENT MOVED IN PERFECT FORMATION. EVEN THE BIRDS SEEMED TO AVOID THE PATH, LEAVING ONLY THE SOUND OF HOOVES AGAINST THE CRACKED STONE ROAD. JIG’S MIND CHURNED. THE DIAMOND CLAN WASN’T JUST PRIDEFUL—THEY WERE CALCULATING, PRECISE, AND RELENTLESS. HE REMEMBERED THE SCOUTING PARTY AT THE EDGE OF IRON LANDS, AND A COLD WEIGHT SETTLED IN HIS STOMACH. THIS JOURNEY WOULDN’T BE A VISIT. IT WOULD BE A TEST, AND POSSIBLY A TRAP. CELEN BROKE THE SILENCE FIRST. “KEEP YOUR GUARD UP. DIAMONDS DON’T FIGHT LIKE OTHER CLANS. THEY STUDY, THEY BAIT, AND THEY PUNISH MISTAKES MERCILESSLY.” “I KNOW,” JIG SAID, EYES SCANNING THE HORIZON. “BUT WE NEED THEM. IF WE’RE GOING TO SURVIVE GOLD… WE CAN’T AFFORD ENEMIES ON ALL SIDES.”

HOURS PASSED. THE TERRAIN CHANGED FROM RUGGED CLIFFS TO POLISHED OBSIDIAN-LIKE PLAINS, DOTTED WITH MASSIVE DIAMOND SPIRES THAT REFLECTED THE SUN IN BLINDING GLINTS. IN THE DISTANCE, THEY SAW THE DIAMOND FORTRESS—A COLOSSAL CITADEL OF WHITE STONE AND GLITTERING BLUE DIAMONDS, BUILT LIKE A CROWN AROUND THE TALLEST HILL IN THE REGION. AS THEY APPROACHED, THE GATES OPENED SILENTLY. DIAMOND WARRIORS LINED THE ENTRANCE, SPEARS HELD AT PERFECT ANGLES, ARMOR POLISHED TO MIRROR THE SUNLIGHT. AND AT THE CENTER, TALLER THAN ALL OTHERS, STOOD VEYRAN, THE DIAMOND LEADER. HE STEPPED FORWARD SLOWLY, OBSERVING JIG AND HIS ENTOURAGE. HIS EYES GLEAMED, SHARP AND ASSESSING. “PRINCE OF THE WARRIORS,” VEYRAN SAID, VOICE CALM AND COMMANDING, “YOU ENTER OUR LANDS SEEKING RESPECT, YET YOU COME ARMED. THAT IS WISE… OR FOOLISH. WE SHALL SEE.” JIG DISMOUNTED, BOWING SLIGHTLY, KEEPING HIS HAND ON HIS SWORD. “I SEEK AN ALLIANCE, NOT WAR.” VEYRAN SMILED, A THIN, CALCULATING CURVE. “WORDS ARE PLENTIFUL. STRENGTH AND DISCIPLINE… THAT IS ANOTHER MATTER ENTIRELY.”

WITHOUT WARNING, THE COURTYARD SHIFTED INTO AN ARENA-LIKE FORMATION. DIAMOND CHAMPIONS STEPPED FORWARD, FORMING A RING AROUND JIG AND HIS MEN. VEYRAN RAISED HIS HAND. “TO EARN RESPECT IN DIAMOND LANDS, YOU MUST PASS THREE TRIALS: COMBAT, ENDURANCE, AND CONTROL. FAIL ANY, AND YOU LEAVE—IF YOU LIVE TO LEAVE AT ALL.” THE FIRST TRIAL WAS COMBAT. A SINGLE DIAMOND WARRIOR, POLISHED AND PRECISE, STEPPED FORWARD. HE MOVED LIKE LIQUID STEEL, STRIKES CALCULATED, EVERY ATTACK DESIGNED TO TEST JIG’S REACTION AND PRECISION. JIG DODGED, BLOCKED, AND COUNTERED, REALIZING QUICKLY THAT BRUTE STRENGTH WOULD NOT SUFFICE. HE FEINTED, BAITED, AND FINALLY DISARMED THE CHAMPION IN A SINGLE CLEAN MOVE. VEYRAN NODDED, NOT IN APPROVAL, BUT IN ACKNOWLEDGMENT THAT JIG COULD MATCH SKILL WITH SKILL.

THE SECOND TRIAL TESTED ENDURANCE. DIAMOND WARRIORS ATTACKED IN WAVES, PRESSING JIG AND HIS MEN IN TIGHT FORMATION. EVERY ATTACK WAS DESIGNED TO STRETCH THEM TO EXHAUSTION. REDSTONE TRAPS, POISONED DARTS, AND COMPLEX BATTLEFIELD ILLUSIONS FORCED JIG TO CONSTANTLY ADAPT. CELEN OBSERVED FROM THE SIDELINES, SHOUTING ADVICE WHEN NECESSARY, HIS EYES DARTING BETWEEN OPENINGS AND WEAKNESSES. “WATCH THE FLANKS! THEY’RE USING HEIGHT AGAINST YOU! PIVOT!” JIG FOLLOWED CELEN’S DIRECTIONS, COORDINATING ATTACKS WHILE MOVING DEFENSIVELY. HOURS SEEMED TO PASS IN MERE MINUTES. SWEAT AND DUST COATED THEIR FACES, MUSCLES BURNED, BUT JIG REFUSED TO YIELD. BY THE END, THE LAST WAVE FELL NOT TO STRENGTH ALONE, BUT TO COORDINATION AND STRATEGY— HIS MEN WORKING AS ONE, GUIDED BY HIM.

FINALLY, VEYRAN STEPPED FORWARD. “CONTROL,” HE SAID. “THE TRUE TEST IS NOT FIGHTING WHAT YOU CAN DESTROY, BUT KNOWING WHEN NOT TO.” A DIAMOND APPRENTICE WAS SET BEFORE JIG— DEFEATED, DISARMED, KNEELING. VEYRAN’S GAZE BORED INTO HIM. “STRIKE HIM. PROVE YOUR DOMINANCE. END HIM.” JIG FROZE. HIS HAND HOVERED OVER THE SWORD. HE GLANCED AT CELEN, WHOSE JAW WAS TIGHT BUT EXPRESSION UNREADABLE. CONTROL, HE THOUGHT. THIS ISN’T STRENGTH. THIS IS LEADERSHIP. SLOWLY, JIG STEPPED BACK. “NO,” HE SAID FIRMLY. “I AM A WARRIOR, YES. BUT I DO NOT STRIKE THOSE WHO YIELD. DOMINANCE IS NOT EARNED THROUGH CRUELTY.” VEYRAN’S EYES NARROWED. FOR A HEARTBEAT, SILENCE STRETCHED. THEN HE SMILED—A SMALL, TIGHT SMILE. “INTERESTING. PERHAPS THERE IS MORE TO YOU THAN MUSCLE.”

WHILE JIG UNDERWENT THE TRIALS, CELEN HAD BEEN EXPLORING THE EDGES OF DIAMOND TERRITORY. HE OVERHEARD OFFICERS SPEAKING QUIETLY, USING CODE AND GESTURES. “THEY PLAN TO WAIT,” ONE WHISPERED. “WE USE THE WARRIORS AS THE FRONTLINE, LET THEM BLEED, THEN STRIKE WHEN THE GOLD WAR ESCALATES.” CELEN’S HEART SANK. “THEY DON’T WANT ALLIES,” HE MUTTERED UNDER HIS BREATH. “THEY WANT PAWNS.” HE RETURNED TO JIG QUICKLY. “THEY’RE NOT NEUTRAL. THEY WANT CONTROL OVER HOW AND WHEN YOU FIGHT.” JIG’S EYES DARKENED. “THEN WE PLAY BY OUR RULES.”

THE TRIALS ENDED. VEYRAN APPROACHED JIG, EXTENDING HIS HAND. “YOU HAVE EARNED SOMETHING RARE—A PLACE IN MY EYES. BUT REMEMBER, PRINCE, RESPECT HERE IS FRAGILE. BETRAY IT, AND IT WILL SHATTER.” JIG SHOOK HIS HAND. “I WILL NOT FORGET.” AS THEY LEFT DIAMOND TERRITORY, CELEN RODE BESIDE HIM, VOICE QUIET BUT FIRM. “WE NEED TO BE CAREFUL. DIAMONDS MAY RESPECT YOU, BUT THEY WILL NEVER FIGHT WITHOUT ADVANTAGE.” JIG GAZED AT THE SPIRES FADING BEHIND THEM. “THEN WE MAKE THE ADVANTAGE OURS. WHATEVER IT TAKES.” THE JOURNEY BACK TO WARRIOR LANDS WAS HEAVY WITH THOUGHT. ALLIES, ENEMIES, AND CHALLENGES WAITED. BUT JIG HAD LEARNED SOMETHING CRUCIAL IN DIAMOND LANDS: STRENGTH ALONE DOES NOT EARN RESPECT. STRATEGY, CONTROL, AND TRUST MATTER MORE THAN POWER. AND VEYRAN WAS WATCHING. ALWAYS WATCHING.

END

EPISODE FIVE “WITCH CRAFT”

THE AIR CHANGED THE MOMENT JIG CROSSED INTO LAPIS LAND. IT WASN’T COLDER. IT WASN’T DARKER. IT WAS HEAVIER, AS IF THE WORLD ITSELF WERE HOLDING ITS BREATH. TALL SPIRES OF LAPIS ROSE FROM THE GROUND LIKE JAGGED TEETH, VEINS OF DEEP BLUE GLOWING FAINTLY IN THE FADING SUNLIGHT. THE WIND CARRIED A METALLIC TANG, AND FAINT WHISPERS OF ENERGY BUZZED ALONG THE STONE PATHS. POTIONS BUBBLED IN CAULDRONS, SHIFTING COLORS LIKE CAPTURED STORMS. JIG’S HAND INSTINCTIVELY WENT TO HIS SWORD.

CELEN, RIDING SLIGHTLY BEHIND, GLANCED AROUND WITH KEEN EYES. “MAGIC DOESN’T FIGHT FAIR,” HE MUTTERED. JIG NODDED. “NEITHER DO WARS.” FROM THE SHADOWS STEPPED A FIGURE THAT MADE THE HAIR ON HIS NECK RISE—MYSTARA, LEADER OF THE LAPIS CLAN. HER ROBES SEEMED TO FLOAT, UNTOUCHED BY GRAVITY, AND HER EYES GLIMMERED WITH LAYERS OF ENCHANTMENT. EVERY MOTION FELT PRECISE, ALMOST PREDATORY. BEHIND HER, OBLIVAR AND ZYPHINE LINGERED, SILENT AND ALERT. “YOU WALK BOLDLY FOR SOMEONE SURROUNDED

BY ENEMIES,” MYSTARA SAID, HER VOICE CALM, ALMOST AMUSED. “I DIDN’T COME AS AN ENEMY,” JIG REPLIED. “I CAME AS A PRINCE.” MYSTARA’S SMILE WAS FAINT, ENIGMATIC. “TITLES DISSOLVE IN MAGIC.” THEY WERE LED INTO THE HEART OF THE LAPIS STRONGHOLD, A VAST CHAMBER WHERE FLOATING LANTERNS HOVERED WITHOUT CHAINS, GLYPHS DRIFTED SLOWLY LIKE FIREFLIES, AND WALLS SHIFTED IMPERCEPTIBLY. CELEN’S EYES SCANNED EVERY CORNER, NOTING SYMBOLS AND TRAPS, MENTALLY CATALOGING PATTERNS THAT COULD BE DEADLY IN BATTLE. “KNOWLEDGE AND CONSEQUENCES,” MYSTARA SAID, AS IF READING THEIR THOUGHTS. “THESE ARE THE CURRENCIES OF OUR CLAN. LEARN THEM, OR PAY FOR IGNORING THEM.”

THE CHAMBER SHIFTED. THE FLOOR BENEATH JIG’S FEET SEEMED TO VANISH, REPLACED BY AN ENDLESS VOID. HE JUMPED INSTINCTIVELY, LANDING ON A PLATFORM THAT MATERIALIZED JUST BENEATH HIM. AROUND HIM, ILLUSIONS FLICKERED INTO REALITY. DIAMOND-SHAPED CONSTRUCTS SPUN TOWARD HIM, STRIKING WITH DEADLY PRECISION. POTIONS SHATTERED AT HIS FEET, RELEASING CLOUDS OF SMOKE AND FIRE. FROM EVERY DIRECTION, FIGURES ATTACKED, THEN DISAPPEARED, ONLY TO RETURN IN PATTERNS THAT SEEMED IMPOSSIBLE TO PREDICT. CELEN’S VOICE RANG OUT FROM THE EDGE: “WATCH THE SHADOWS! EVERY STEP THEY BAITED IS A TRAP!” JIG MOVED METHODICALLY. HE DIDN’T STRIKE BLINDLY. HE ADAPTED, LETTING THE ILLUSIONS GUIDE HIM RATHER THAN TRYING TO OVERPOWER THEM. EVERY TRAP HE DISARMED, EVERY ILLUSION HE COUNTERED, WAS A LESSON IN PATIENCE AND OBSERVATION. HOURS PASSED LIKE MINUTES. SWEAT AND DUST COATED THEIR FACES. EVERY MOVEMENT, EVERY BREATH WAS A CALCULATED RISK. AT LAST, THE CHAMBER STILLED. JIG WAS ALONE, BREATHING HARD, SWORD LOWERED BUT UNBROKEN. OBLIVAR’S EYES NARROWED. “HE RESISTS TOO WELL,” HE SAID TO MYSTARA. “OR HE UNDERSTANDS,” MYSTARA REPLIED SOFTLY. “POWER IS MEANINGLESS WITHOUT CONTROL.”

WHILE JIG ENDURED THE TRIALS, CELEN HAD BEEN EXPLORING THE PERIMETER. HIDDEN BEHIND SHIFTING WALLS AND ENCHANTED BARRIERS, HE OVERHEARD A CONVERSATION THAT MADE HIS BLOOD RUN COLD. “THEY WILL LEAD THE WARRIORS INTO THE GOLD WAR,” ZYPHINE WHISPERED. “WE NEED ONLY GUIDE THEM. LET THEM BLEED FIRST, THEN STRIKE.” CELEN’S JAW TIGHTENED. “THEY’RE NOT ALLIES… THEY’RE WAITING FOR A MISTAKE.” HE RETURNED TO JIG QUICKLY, WHISPERING THE WARNING. JIG’S FISTS CLENCHED. “THEN WE MAKE THE RULES. THEY DON’T CONTROL ME—OR THE WARRIORS.”

THE TRIALS CONCLUDED WITH NO FURTHER CONFRONTATION. MYSTARA APPROACHED JIG, HER EYES SHARP AS OBSIDIAN. “YOU HAVE ENDURED,” SHE SAID. “BUT ENDURANCE IS NOT VICTORY. REMEMBER THIS— KNOWLEDGE AND CONSEQUENCES ARE INTERTWINED. EVERY DECISION CARRIES WEIGHT BEYOND THE BATTLEFIELD.” JIG BOWED. “I UNDERSTAND.” CELEN’S VOICE WAS QUIET BUT FIRM AS THEY LEFT THE LAPIS STRONGHOLD. “RESPECT FROM THEM DOESN’T MEAN LOYALTY. BE CAREFUL. WATCH YOUR BACK.” JIG GAZED AT THE GLIMMERING SPIRES FADING BEHIND THEM. “THEN WE FIGHT SMART. STRENGTH ISN’T ENOUGH ANYMORE. WE PLAY THE LONG GAME.”

AS NIGHT FELL OVER LAPIS TERRITORY, MYSTARA STOOD BEFORE A FLOATING TABLE OF RUNES, OBLIVAR TRACING PATTERNS INTO THE STONE. “THE PRINCE RESISTS,” OBLIVAR MURMURED. “MAKES HIM DANGEROUS… OR USEFUL,” MYSTARA REPLIED. OUTSIDE, JIG CAMPED WITH CELEN, STARING AT THE STARS. THE WORLD FELT SMALLER SOMEHOW, MORE FRAGILE. THE WAR WITH GOLD WAS NO LONGER JUST INEVITABLE—IT WAS COMING, AND THE LAPIS CLAN’S SILENT INFLUENCE WOULD BE A SHADOW OVER EVERY DECISION THEY MADE. SOMEWHERE FAR AWAY, GOLD KING MIDAS WAS ALREADY PREPARING HIS NEXT MOVE, UNAWARE THAT EVERY CHOICE JIG MADE WOULD SHAPE NOT JUST THE BATTLEFIELD, BUT THE FATE OF EVERY CLAN IN THE LAND.

END

EPISODE SIX “BETRAYAL IN GOLD”

THE DAWN OVER THE WARRIOR STRONGHOLD WAS DECEPTIVE—GOLDEN LIGHT SPILLING ACROSS REDSTONE TOWERS AND WATCHTOWERS LIKE A PROMISE OF PEACE. BUT JIG SENSED IT BEFORE ANYONE ELSE. THE AIR WAS HEAVY, TENSE, LIKE THE CALM BEFORE A STORM. THEN IT CAME. A THUNDEROUS ROAR OF HOOVES ECHOED FROM THE EAST HILLS. GOLD SOLDIERS CHARGED, GLINTING UNDER THE SUN, SHIELDS RAISED, WEAPONS POISED. BEHIND THEM, A SMALLER, STEALTHIER FORCE SLIPPED THROUGH THE SHADOWS—EMERALD SOLDIERS WHO HAD CHOSEN TO HONOR THEIR ALLIANCE WITH JIG. TARRON RODE AT THEIR FRONT, A GREEN BANNER OF LOYALTY SNAPPING BEHIND HIM, DETERMINED EYES FIXED ON THE BATTLEFIELD.

“BRACE YOURSELVES!” JIG SHOUTED, DRAWING HIS SWORD, REDSTONE ARMOR CLINKING AROUND HIM. CELEN HAD ALREADY READIED HIS BOW, ARROW NOCKED AND QUIVER CLOSE AT HAND. HIS FIRST SHOTS STREAKED THROUGH THE AIR, TAKING OUT GOLD SCOUTS BEFORE THEY EVEN REACHED THE OUTER GATES. HE MOVED LIKE WATER, FLUID AND LETHAL, FIRING FROM ELEVATED POSITIONS, ROLLING THROUGH THE CHAOS, ALWAYS PRECISE. “WATCH THE FLANKS!” HE CALLED. “COVER THE WALLS! DON’T LET THEM BREACH!” THE CLASH WAS INSTANT, BRUTAL, AND CHAOTIC. REDSTONE TRAPS EXPLODED, SENDING SHRAPNEL THROUGH THE BATTLEFIELD, FIREBALLS ERUPTED FROM THE HILLS, AND SCREAMS OF CLASHING STEEL FILLED THE VALLEY. WARRIORS FOUGHT DESPERATELY, THEIR SHIELDS BARELY HOLDING AGAINST THE RELENTLESS WAVE OF GOLD FORCES.

JIG NOTICED TARRON MOVING TOWARD A SQUAD OF GOLD SOLDIERS TRYING TO FLANK THE EASTERN WALL. WITHOUT HESITATION, TARRON DREW HIS SWORD AND CHARGED, DEFLECTING ARROWS, CUTTING DOWN TWO SOLDIERS, AND COVERING A GROUP OF FLEEING WARRIORS. “TARRON, GET OUT OF THERE!” JIG SHOUTED, MOVING TOWARD HIM. “I’VE GOT THIS!” TARRON YELLED OVER THE CHAOS, DEFLECTING A SPEAR THRUST. BUT THEN A GOLD CAPTAIN, MASSIVE AND ARMORED IN GLEAMING GOLDEN PLATE, CHARGED AT TARRON WITH CRUSHING FORCE. TARRON BLOCKED, PARRIED, AND COUNTERED WITH ALL HIS SKILL—BUT HE WAS OUTMATCHED. HE FELL TO A HEAVY STRIKE THAT SENT HIM SPRAWLING ONTO THE BATTLEFIELD, HIS SWORD SKITTERING ACROSS THE STONES. JIG’S STOMACH TWISTED AS HE RAN TO HIM. TARRON COUGHED, BLOOD STREAKING HIS ARMOR, BUT HE SMILED WEAKLY. “KEEP… LEADING THEM,” TARRON GASPED. “DON’T… LET IT END… HERE.” JIG KNELT BESIDE HIM. “NO, TARRON! YOU CAN’T—” TARRON REACHED OUT, GRIPPING JIG’S ARM. “I… BELIEVE IN YOU… PRINCE… TELL CELEN…” HIS EYES WENT DIM, AND THE LIFE DRAINED FROM HIM AS THE BATTLE RAGED AROUND THEM. CELEN’S ARROW STREAKED PAST JUST IN TIME, TAKING DOWN THE GOLD SOLDIER WHO HAD TARGETED JIG. HE KNELT BESIDE JIG, VOICE LOW AND TREMBLING. “HE SAVED US ALL… HE MADE THIS STAND COUNT.” JIG’S HANDS CLENCHED AROUND HIS SWORD. TARRON’S SACRIFICE BURNED IN HIS CHEST—A REMINDER OF THE COST OF WAR.

IN THE CENTER OF THE BATTLEFIELD, RAXOR FACED THE GOLD CAPTAIN, A TOWERING FIGURE WHOSE ARMOR GLEAMED LIKE MOLTEN GOLD. SPARKS FLEW AS STEEL CLASHED AGAINST STEEL, EACH STRIKE SHAKING THE GROUND. RAXOR’S STRIKES WERE PRECISE, FAST, AND BRUTAL—BUT THE GOLD CAPTAIN MET EACH ONE WITH RAW POWER, CRUSHING RAXOR’S DEFENSES AGAIN AND AGAIN. “YOU’RE STRONG,” THE CAPTAIN GROWLED, SWINGING A HAMMER THAT SENT SHOCKWAVES ACROSS THE FIELD. “I’M NOT JUST STRONG,” RAXOR REPLIED, PARRYING AND COUNTERING, “I FIGHT FOR MY CLAN.” THE DUEL RAGED, EACH MOVEMENT CINEMATIC: SPINNING STRIKES, RICOCHETING BLADES, DUST CLOUDS RISING AROUND THEIR BOOTS. RAXOR FINALLY FOUND AN OPENING, A SLIGHT OVEREXTENSION, AND STRUCK TRUE—CUTTING A DEEP GASH ACROSS THE CAPTAIN’S CHEST. THE CAPTAIN STUMBLED, GIVING RAXOR A MOMENT’S VICTORY, THOUGH THE BATTLE AROUND THEM CONTINUED LIKE A STORM OF FIRE AND STEEL.

MEANWHILE, JIG COORDINATED THE REMAINING FORCES. CELEN’S ARROWS KEPT ENEMIES AT BAY, COVERING FLANKS, TARGETING GOLD MAGES, AND RESCUING TRAPPED WARRIORS. JIG MOVED AMONG HIS MEN, GIVING COMMANDS, DEFLECTING BLOWS, AND INSPIRING COURAGE. DESPITE TARRON’S DEATH AND THE OVERWHELMING ODDS, THE WARRIORS HELD THE BATTLEFIELD. THE GOLD SOLDIERS BEGAN TO RETREAT, BUT NOT ENTIRELY—THEY TESTED JIG’S RESOLVE, PUSHING HIM AND CELEN TO THE ABSOLUTE LIMIT.

AS NIGHT FELL, THE BATTLEFIELD LAY IN RUIN: BURNED TOWERS, SHATTERED REDSTONE, FALLEN WARRIORS AND GOLD SOLDIERS ALIKE. JIG KNELT BESIDE TARRON’S BODY, PLACING HIS HAND OVER HIS CHEST. “WE’LL HONOR YOU,” HE WHISPERED. “YOUR FIGHT WASN’T WASTED.” CELEN, BOW RESTING ACROSS HIS LAP, SHOOK HIS HEAD SLOWLY. “HE BELIEVED IN YOU… ALL THE WAY. THAT’S WHY HE FELL. MAKE SURE IT WASN’T IN VAIN.” FAR ABOVE, PERCHED ON A DISTANT CLIFF WITH A GOLDEN TELESCOPE, KING MIDAS OF THE GOLD CLAN WATCHED THE ENTIRE BATTLE UNFOLD. HIS FACE WAS UNREADABLE, HIS GAZE SHARP AND CALCULATING. “THEY FIGHT WELL,” HE MURMURED, VOICE LOW AND CHILLING. “BUT THEY BLEED… AND BLEED, THEY SHALL. SOON, THE TRUE WAR BEGINS.” ACKNOLAGING THAT THIS ATTACKWAS JUST A WARNING, TOO WHATS ABOUT TOO COME.

END

EPISODE SEVEN “ALLIANCE OF WAR” THE MORNING SUN ROSE BLOOD-RED OVER THE VALLEY, CUTTING THROUGH THE SMOKE OF THE FIRST BATTLE. THE WARRIOR STRONGHOLD HAD SURVIVED, BUT THE SCARS WERE VISIBLE— TOWERS PARTIALLY COLLAPSED, WALLS SCARRED WITH EXPLOSIONS, AND THE GROUND LITTERED WITH REMNANTS OF REDSTONE TRAPS AND BROKEN SIEGE ENGINES. JIG STOOD ATOP THE OUTER WALLS, SCANNING THE HORIZON. FAR BEYOND, THE SECOND WAVE OF THE GOLD ARMY ADVANCED, LARGER AND MORE ORGANIZED THAN BEFORE. THIS TIME, THEY WERE NOT MERELY TESTING THE WARRIORS—THEY WERE COMING FOR BLOOD. BESIDE HIM, THE IRON CLAN HAD ARRIVED, FORMING A RIGID LINE OF SHIELDS AND HAMMERS, READY TO ANCHOR THE DEFENSE. THEIR LEADER, BRONT, STOOD BESIDE JIG, EYES SCANNING THE ENEMY RANKS WITH CALM PRECISION. “THEY ARE STRONGER THAN BEFORE,” HE SAID QUIETLY. “BUT SO ARE WE. REMEMBER YOUR FORMATION—OUR STRATEGY IS OUR ADVANTAGE.” CELEN CLIMBED TO THE HIGHEST TURRET, BOW IN HAND. HIS ARROWS SHIMMERED IN THE SUNLIGHT, EACH ONE TIPPED WITH PRECISION AND LETHAL INTENT. “I SEE THE GAPS,” HE MUTTERED. “IF WE CAN HOLD THE FLANKS, THEY’LL CRUMBLE BEFORE REACHING THE WALLS.”

THE FIRST WAVE STRUCK WITH A VIOLENT ROAR. GOLD SOLDIERS SURGED FORWARD IN PERFECT SYNCHRONIZATION, SPEARS AND SHIELDS CLASHING AGAINST REDSTONE BARRICADES. EXPLOSIONS FROM HIDDEN TRAPS TORE THROUGH THEIR RANKS, THROWING MEN AND BEASTS INTO THE AIR. CELEN’S ARROWS SANG THROUGH THE CHAOS, DROPPING MAGES AND SCOUTS BEFORE THEY COULD COORDINATE THE ATTACK. BELOW, THE IRON CLAN HELD THE WALLS, THEIR HAMMERS SLAMMING AGAINST INTRUDERS, SHIELDS LOCKING IN UNBROKEN LINES. THEY MOVED AS ONE, A SINGLE LIVING BARRIER BETWEEN THE GOLD ARMY AND THE WARRIORS. JIG DOVE INTO THE FRAY, CUTTING THROUGH GOLD SOLDIERS WITH CALCULATED STRIKES. EVERY SWING WAS PURPOSEFUL—NEVER RECKLESS. THE CLASH OF STEEL, SPARKS FLYING AGAINST ARMOR, AND THE SHOUTS OF BATTLE CREATED A LIVING RHYTHM, CHAOTIC YET ORCHESTRATED. ABOVE THE BATTLEFIELD, THE DIAMOND CLAN OBSERVED FROM AFAR, PERCHED ON JAGGED CLIFFS. THEIR CRYSTALLINE ARMOR REFLECTED THE MORNING SUN, AND THEIR LEADER, VEYRAN, TILTED HIS HEAD SLIGHTLY, WATCHING. HE MADE NO MOVE TO INTERVENE; INSTEAD, HE MEASURED, TAKING NOTE OF TACTICS, FORMATIONS, AND WEAKNESSES. “INTERESTING,” HE MUTTERED. “THE WARRIORS AND IRON MOVE AS ONE. THEY HAVE LEARNED… BUT CAN THEY ADAPT FURTHER?”

THE SECOND WAVE HIT JUST AS THE FIRST BEGAN TO FALTER. SIEGE ENGINES ROLLED FORWARD, HURLING BOULDERS AND FLAMING PROJECTILES. THE GOLD MAGES UNLEASHED SWIRLS OF ENERGY THAT TURNED THE GROUND TO MOLTEN CRACKS, FORCING THE WARRIORS AND IRON DEFENDERS TO JUMP, DODGE, AND ADAPT INSTANTLY. CELEN MOVED LIKE A PHANTOM, FIRING OVER THE CHAOS, EACH ARROW FINDING ITS MARK IN A PERFECT LINE OF IMPACT. SOLDIERS FELL, SHIELDS SHATTERED, AND CHARIOTS EXPLODED INTO SPLINTERED WRECKAGE. HIS PRECISION ALLOWED THE WARRIORS TO REORGANIZE, PLUGGING GAPS BEFORE GOLD COULD EXPLOIT THEM. JIG SPOTTED A CLUSTER OF EMERALD SOLDIERS TRYING TO FLANK THEIR LINE. HE PIVOTED, RALLYING THE CLOSEST SQUADS, AND LED A COUNTERATTACK. THE CLASH WAS BRUTAL— EMERALD-TINTED BLADES AGAINST REDSTONE STEEL. SPARKS FLEW WITH EACH STRIKE, AND THE METALLIC CLANG OF SWORDS ECHOED ACROSS THE BATTLEFIELD LIKE THUNDER.

AS THE BATTLE RAGED, JIG FOUND HIMSELF AT THE CENTER OF A CHAOTIC CLASH—GOLD SOLDIERS PRESSING FROM ONE SIDE, EMERALD REINFORCEMENTS PRESSING FROM THE OTHER. HE DUCKED UNDER A SWINGING HALBERD, ROLLING TO HIS FEET AS CELEN SHOT AN ARROW THAT SENT AN ATTACKER TUMBLING INTO A PIT OF SHATTERED DEBRIS. THE WARRIORS RALLIED, REGROUPED, AND PUSHED BACK, THEIR COORDINATION WITH THE IRON CLAN FLAWLESS. WALLS WERE DEFENDED, FLANKS HELD, AND GOLD FORCES BEGAN TO RETREAT UNDER THE COMBINED MIGHT OF DISCIPLINED STRATEGY AND LETHAL PRECISION. AND THEN, SILENCE FELL. THE BATTLEFIELD, THOUGH STILL SMOLDERING, QUIETED AS THE LAST OF THE GOLD AND EMERALD SOLDIERS WITHDREW, LEAVING THE WARRIORS AND IRON CLAN BATTERED BUT VICTORIOUS. JIG SURVEYED THE AFTERMATH—THE BROKEN WALLS, SCORCHED GROUND, AND FALLEN SOLDIERS—BUT HE ALLOWED HIMSELF NO RELIEF.

FAR ABOVE, ON A GOLDEN CLIFF, KING MIDAS OF THE GOLD CLAN ROSE FROM HIS THRONE, HIS EYES NARROWING AS HE SURVEYED THE BATTLEFIELD. HE DID NOT MOVE TO ATTACK; HE DID NOT YET SEND REINFORCEMENTS. INSTEAD, HIS GOLDEN ARMOR GLEAMED IN THE MORNING LIGHT, AND HIS VOICE CARRIED ACROSS THE VALLEY, CHILLING IN ITS CALM AUTHORITY. “THIS… IS ONLY THE BEGINNING,” HE SAID, HIS TONE DELIBERATE, MEASURED. “THEY FIGHT WELL, BUT NOW… I ENTER THE WAR MYSELF. LET THE TRUE BATTLE BEGIN.” JIG’S JAW TIGHTENED, AND CELEN NOTCHED AN ARROW REFLEXIVELY, THEIR EYES MEETING IN SILENT UNDERSTANDING. THIS WAS NO LONGER A TEST OF SKILL, STRATEGY, OR LOYALTY—THE REAL WAR HAD BEGUN. AND THE GOLD KING’S PRESENCE PROMISED A FIGHT UNLIKE ANY THEY HAD FACED BEFORE.

THE SUN ROSE HIGHER, BURNING OVER THE VALLEY, REFLECTING OFF SHATTERED STEEL, SCORCHED EARTH, AND THE GLINTING BANNERS OF THE WARRIOR AND IRON ALLIANCE. SMOKE AND MAGIC MINGLED IN THE AIR, A WARNING OF THE STORM YET TO COME. JIG LIFTED HIS SWORD, VOICE CARRYING ACROSS THE BATTLEMENTS. “THEY WILL LEARN… THE WARRIORS DO NOT SURRENDER.” CELEN’S ARROW WAS ALREADY NOTCHED, READY. “THEN LET’S MAKE SURE THEY REMEMBER WHY.” FAR AWAY, VEYRAN WATCHED, SILENT AND CALCULATING. HE DID NOT INTERVENE, BUT HIS EYES GLITTERED WITH INTEREST. EVERY MOVE, EVERY STRATEGY, EVERY VICTORY AND DEFEAT WAS BEING RECORDED. THE DIAMONDS WOULD PLAY THEIR PART—BUT ONLY WHEN IT SUITED THEM. AND FOR NOW, THE BATTLEFIELD LAY QUIET, HOLDING ITS BREATH.

END

EPISODE EIGHT “SHATTERED LINES” FOR THE FIRST TIME SINCE THE WAR BEGAN, THE BATTLEFIELD WENT QUIET. SMOKE STILL CURLED FROM BROKEN WALLS AND SCORCHED EARTH, BUT NO HORNS SOUNDED. NO ARROWS FLEW. THE GOLD ARMY HAD WITHDRAWN BEYOND THE HILLS, AND THE WARRIORS AND IRON CLAN STOOD AMONG RUINS THAT FELT FAR TOO STILL. THE SILENCE WAS UNSETTLING—UNNATURAL—LIKE THE WORLD ITSELF WAS WAITING FOR SOMETHING TERRIBLE TO HAPPEN. JIG LEANED AGAINST A CRACKED BATTLEMENT, STARING OUT INTO THE EMPTY VALLEY. “THIS DOESN’T FEEL LIKE A VICTORY,” HE MUTTERED. CELEN STOOD BESIDE HIM, BOW SLUNG ACROSS HIS BACK, EYES NARROWED TOWARD THE DISTANT CLIFFS. “IT’S NOT. GOLD DOESN’T PAUSE UNLESS THEY’RE PLANNING SOMETHING WORSE.” BELOW THEM, IRON GUARDIANS MOVED METHODICALLY, REPAIRING DEFENSES, REINFORCING WALLS, AND RETRIEVING THE WOUNDED. BRONT OVERSAW IT ALL WITH QUIET AUTHORITY, HIS EXPRESSION UNREADABLE. THEN THE HORNS SOUNDED—BUT NOT FOR WAR. A SINGLE, DEEP NOTE ECHOED ACROSS THE VALLEY. THE AMETHYST PEACEMAKER HAD ARRIVED.

THE MEETING WAS ARRANGED AT THE EDGE OF NEUTRAL GROUND, A STONE PLATEAU UNTOUCHED

BY BATTLE. NO ARMIES WERE ALLOWED BEYOND THE PERIMETER—ONLY LEADERS, GUARDS, AND SILENCE. RAXOR ARRIVED FIRST, CLAD IN BATTLE-WORN ARMOR, HIS BLADE STILL MARKED WITH DRIED BLOOD. HE STOOD TALL, UNMOVING, EYES FIXED FORWARD. THEN CAME KING MIDAS. GOLD ARMOR FLAWLESS. CROWN GLEAMING. NOT A SCRATCH ON HIM. THE CONTRAST WAS IMPOSSIBLE TO IGNORE. BETWEEN THEM STOOD THE AMETHYST PEACEMAKER, ROBES GLOWING FAINTLY WITH CALMING RUNES. “THIS MEETING IS NOT ABOUT VICTORY,” THE PEACEMAKER SAID EVENLY. “IT IS ABOUT RESTRAINT.” MIDAS SMILED FAINTLY. “RESTRAINT IS FOR THOSE WHO FEAR THE OUTCOME.” RAXOR DIDN’T SMILE BACK. “AND ARROGANCE IS FOR THOSE WHO HAVEN’T BEEN TESTED YET.” THE AIR THICKENED INSTANTLY.

“YOU HIDE BEHIND WARRIORS AND WALLS,” MIDAS CONTINUED, CIRCLING SLOWLY. “YOU SEND BOYS TO DIE WHILE YOU PRETEND TO BE A LEADER.” RAXOR STEPPED FORWARD, VOICE LOW AND DEADLY CALM. “I STAND WHERE MY PEOPLE BLEED. YOU STAND WHERE YOUR CROWN SHINES.” FOR A MOMENT, IT SEEMED THE MEETING WOULD COLLAPSE INTO VIOLENCE. THE PEACEMAKER RAISED A HAND. “ENOUGH.” SILENCE RETURNED, HEAVY AND FRAGILE. MIDAS STOPPED PACING. “THIS WAR WILL END,” HE SAID CALMLY. “ONE WAY OR ANOTHER. YOU CANNOT STOP WHAT’S COMING.” RAXOR’S GAZE NEVER LEFT HIM. “THEN UNDERSTAND THIS: I AM NOT TRYING TO STOP YOU. I’M PLANNING TO BREAK YOU.” MIDAS LAUGHED SOFTLY. “GOOD.” THE PEACEMAKER’S VOICE CUT THROUGH THE TENSION. “THIS TRUCE WILL HOLD—FOR NOW. WHEN IT BREAKS, THERE WILL BE NO TURNING BACK.” MIDAS TURNED TO LEAVE, PAUSING ONLY ONCE. “WHEN I RETURN, I WILL NOT WATCH FROM THE CLIFFS.” RAXOR DIDN’T RESPOND. HE DIDN’T NEED TO.

THAT NIGHT, RAXOR STOOD ALONE IN THE WAR ROOM, A MASSIVE STONE TABLE LAID OUT WITH MAPS, TROOP MOVEMENTS, AND MARKED TERRITORIES. CANDLES FLICKERED, CASTING LONG SHADOWS ACROSS HIS FACE. HE MOVED PIECES SLOWLY, DELIBERATELY. GOLD SUPPLY LINES. EMERALD TRADE ROUTES. DIAMOND OBSERVATION POINTS. “THEY THINK POWER IS ARMOR,” HE MURMURED TO HIMSELF. “THEY THINK STRENGTH IS NUMBERS.” HIS HAND PAUSED OVER THE MAP. “BUT WARS ARE WON BEFORE THE BLADE IS DRAWN.” HE BEGAN ADJUSTING MARKERS—ISOLATING GOLD REINFORCEMENTS, PREDICTING EMERALD BETRAYALS, PREPARING COUNTERMEASURES THAT ASSUMED THE DIAMONDS WOULD ACT ONLY WHEN VICTORY WAS GUARANTEED. RAXOR EXHALED SLOWLY. “I WILL NOT MEET MIDAS ON HIS TERMS,” HE SAID QUIETLY. “I WILL MEET HIM WHERE HE CANNOT ESCAPE.”

ELSEWHERE IN THE STRONGHOLD, JIG, CELEN, AND BRONT SAT AROUND A SMALLER TABLE, FAR FROM THE NOISE OF REPAIRS AND SOLDIERS. BRONT BROKE THE SILENCE FIRST. “GOLD PAUSED BECAUSE THEY’VE DECIDED TO ESCALATE.” JIG NODDED. “MIDAS IS STEPPING IN PERSONALLY.” CELEN LEANED FORWARD. “THAT’S WHAT WORRIES ME. HE DOESN’T MOVE UNLESS HE’S SURE.” “AND THE DIAMONDS?” JIG ASKED. “THEY’RE STILL WATCHING.” BRONT’S JAW TIGHTENED. “THEY WON’T CHOOSE SIDES UNTIL THE OUTCOME BENEFITS THEM. BUT WHEN THEY DO… IT WILL TIP THE BALANCE COMPLETELY.” CELEN GLANCED TOWARD THE DISTANT CLIFFS. “SO THE QUESTION ISN’T IF THEY’LL JOIN. IT’S WHO THEY’LL BETRAY.” JIG LEANED BACK, STARING AT THE CEILING. “THEN WE PREPARE FOR EVERY OUTCOME.” BRONT STUDIED HIM CAREFULLY. “YOU’RE THINKING LIKE A LEADER NOW. NOT JUST A WARRIOR.” JIG EXHALED. “I DON’T WANT TO BE READY. BUT I HAVE TO BE.” OUTSIDE, THE WIND CARRIED THE DISTANT SOUND OF REBUILDING—HAMMER ON STONE, IRON ON IRON. THE WORLD WASN’T HEALING. IT WAS HARDENING.

FAR AWAY, HIGH ATOP A CRYSTALLINE RIDGE, VEYRAN OF THE DIAMOND CLAN WATCHED THE VALLEY BELOW. THE FIRES HAD DIMMED. THE ARMIES RESTED. HE SMILED FAINTLY. “THEY SHARPEN THEMSELVES,” HE MURMURED. “GOOD.” BEHIND HIM, DIAMOND WARRIORS STOOD SILENT, WAITING. “WHEN THE FINAL BLOW FALLS,” VEYRAN CONTINUED, “WE WILL ENSURE IT LANDS WHERE WE CHOOSE.” THE NIGHT DEEPENED. NO BATTLES WERE FOUGHT. NO BLOOD WAS SPILLED. BUT EVERY DECISION MADE IN THE SHADOWS THAT NIGHT WOULD DECIDE HOW MANY WOULD DIE WHEN THE SILENCE FINALLY SHATTERED. AND IT WOULD SHATTER SOON.

THE SILENCE DID NOT LAST. NOT TRULY. WITHIN THE STONE HALLS OF THE WARRIOR STRONGHOLD, TORCHES FLICKERED AS RAXOR DESCENDED INTO THE WAR CHAMBER. THE DOOR GROANED SHUT BEHIND HIM, SEALING OUT THE SOUNDS OF REBUILDING AND WOUNDED SOLDIERS. INSIDE, THE CHAMBER SMELLED OF ASH, IRON, AND OLD STONE—FAMILIAR SCENTS NOW. BRONT WAS ALREADY THERE. THE IRON CLAN LEADER STOOD OVER THE MASSIVE TABLE OF MAPS AND MARKERS, ARMS CROSSED, HIS EXPRESSION CARVED FROM STONE. HE DID NOT LOOK UP WHEN RAXOR ENTERED. “YOU MET HIM,” BRONT SAID. RAXOR REMOVED HIS GAUNTLETS SLOWLY, PLACING THEM ON THE TABLE. “YES.” “AND?” RAXOR EXHALED THROUGH HIS NOSE. “HE BELIEVES THIS WAR IS ALREADY WON.” BRONT FINALLY LOOKED UP. “THAT MAKES HIM DANGEROUS.” “NO,” RAXOR REPLIED. “THAT MAKES HIM PREDICTABLE.”

THEY STOOD IN SILENCE FOR A MOMENT, STUDYING THE MAP BETWEEN THEM. GOLD SUPPLY ROUTES GLIMMERED IN POLISHED INLAYS. EMERALD PATHS TWISTED THROUGH TRADE LINES. DIAMOND TERRITORY LOOMED LIKE AN UNMARKED BLADE AT THE EDGE OF EVERYTHING. BRONT REACHED OUT AND SHIFTED A MARKER. “GOLD WILL STRIKE AGAIN WITHIN DAYS. THIS PAUSE IS NOT MERCY—IT’S POSITIONING.” RAXOR NODDED. “MIDAS IS PREPARING TO ENTER THE BATTLEFIELD HIMSELF. WHEN HE DOES, MORALE WILL SURGE. HIS PRESENCE WILL TURN SOLDIERS INTO ZEALOTS.” BRONT’S JAW TIGHTENED. “THEN WE DO NOT MEET HIM HEAD-ON.” RAXOR’S EYES SHARPENED. “EXACTLY.”

HE BEGAN MOVING PIECES WITH DELIBERATE PRECISION. “GOLD RELIES ON DOMINANCE,” RAXOR CONTINUED. “BIG MOVEMENTS. HEAVY PRESSURE. THEY BELIEVE FEAR WINS WARS.” BRONT WATCHED CLOSELY. “AND YOU INTEND TO TAKE THAT AWAY FROM THEM.” “I INTEND TO FRACTURE THEM,” RAXOR SAID CALMLY. “BEFORE MIDAS EVER DRAWS HIS BLADE.” HE TAPPED THE MAP—ONCE AT A NARROW PASS, ONCE AT A SUPPLY DEPOT, ONCE AT A RIVER CROSSING. “WE CUT THEIR MOVEMENT. STARVE THEIR ADVANCE. FORCE THEM TO FIGHT TIRED, HUNGRY, AND UNCERTAIN.” BRONT NODDED SLOWLY. “IRON CAN HOLD CHOKE POINTS. WE EXCEL IN DEFENSE.” RAXOR MET HIS GAZE. “THAT IS WHY I NEED YOU.” BRONT SAID NOTHING, BUT THE MEANING WAS CLEAR. IRON WOULD STAND WHERE GOLD EXPECTED WEAKNESS—AND FIND NONE. “AND JIG?” BRONT ASKED. RAXOR’S EXPRESSION SOFTENED SLIGHTLY. “JIG WILL NOT BE TOLD EVERYTHING. NOT YET.” BRONT RAISED AN EYEBROW. “YOU DOUBT HIM?” “NO,” RAXOR REPLIED. “I PROTECT HIM.”

HE LOOKED DOWN AT THE MAP AGAIN. “MIDAS WILL COME FOR ME. FOR LEADERSHIP. FOR CONTROL. JIG WILL BECOME A TARGET WHETHER HE WANTS IT OR NOT. WHEN THAT HAPPENS… I WANT HIM PREPARED, NOT BURDENED.” BRONT CONSIDERED THIS. “THEN THE YOUNG PRINCE REMAINS THE BLADE. YOU REMAIN THE SHIELD.” RAXOR GAVE A SINGLE NOD. “AND THE DIAMONDS?” BRONT ASKED QUIETLY. RAXOR’S FINGERS HOVERED OVER THE CRYSTALLINE TERRITORIES. “THEY ARE WAITING FOR CERTAINTY.” BRONT SNORTED. “COWARDS.” “NO,” RAXOR CORRECTED. “SURVIVORS. AND SURVIVORS CHOOSE SIDES LATE.” HE MOVED A MARKER—NOT INTO DIAMOND LAND, BUT NEAR IT. “WE MAKE THE OUTCOME UNCERTAIN. FORCE THEM TO DECIDE.” BRONT LEANED BACK. “YOU’RE BAITING THEM.” “I’M FORCING THEM,” RAXOR SAID. “WHEN MIDAS COMMITS FULLY, WHEN THE BATTLEFIELD TILTS— DIAMONDS WILL ACT. THEY ALWAYS DO.”

THE TORCHES FLICKERED HARDER AS A DISTANT RUMBLE ECHOED THROUGH THE VALLEY. THUNDER—OR SIEGE ENGINES BEING REPOSITIONED. BRONT BROKE THE SILENCE. “THIS PLAN WILL COST LIVES.” RAXOR DID NOT LOOK AWAY FROM THE MAP. “EVERY PLAN DOES.” AFTER A MOMENT, HE ADDED QUIETLY, “BUT THIS ONE ENDS THE WAR.” BRONT STUDIED HIM FOR A LONG TIME. THEN HE PLACED A HEAVY IRON MARKER ONTO THE MAP— IRON CLAN COMMITTED. “WE STAND WITH YOU,” BRONT SAID. “TO THE END.” RAXOR FINALLY LOOKED UP. “GOOD,” HE SAID. “BECAUSE WHEN MIDAS STEPS ONTO THAT FIELD… THE WORLD IS GOING TO BREAK.” “THEN THEY’LL FALL IN BLOOD” BRONT SAYS WHILE HIM AND RAXOR SHAKE HANDS.

OUTSIDE, THE WIND HOWLED THROUGH BROKEN TOWERS AND HALF-BUILT WALLS. JIG STOOD ON THE BATTLEMENTS, UNAWARE OF THE FULL WEIGHT OF WHAT WAS BEING PLANNED BENEATH HIS FEET. CELEN JOINED HIM, BOW RESTING AGAINST THE STONE. “YOU FEEL IT TOO, DON’T YOU?” CELEN ASKED. JIG NODDED SLOWLY. “YEAH.” “THE CALM,” CELEN CONTINUED. “IT’S FAKE.” JIG STARED OUT AT THE DARK HORIZON. “THEN LET’S MAKE SURE WE’RE READY WHEN IT ENDS.” FAR AWAY, UNSEEN BY ANY OF THEM, GOLD BANNERS WERE BEING RAISED ONCE MORE. AND IN THE SILENCE BETWEEN HEARTBEATS, THE WAR TOOK ITS FINAL SHAPE.

END

EPISODE NINE “WHEN KINGS BLEED”

THE SKY BURNED. NOT WITH FIRE—BUT WITH COLOR. GOLD BANNERS CUT THROUGH THE DAWN LIKE WOUNDS TORN OPEN ACROSS THE HILLS. DRUMS THUNDERED IN DEEP, MEASURED RHYTHMS, EACH STRIKE ECHOING THROUGH THE VALLEY LIKE A HEARTBEAT DRAGGED TOO FAR. KING MIDAS RODE AT THE FRONT. HIS ARMOR GLEAMED AS IF FORGED FROM SUNLIGHT ITSELF, LAYERED IN GOLD SO POLISHED IT REFLECTED THE FLAMES OF NEARBY TORCHES. AROUND HIM MARCHED THE ELITE—GOLD CAPTAINS, EMERALD BATTALIONS BOUND BY UNEASY ALLIANCE, SIEGE ENGINES GROANING FORWARD ON IRON WHEELS. FOR THE FIRST TIME SINCE THE WAR BEGAN, THE KING DID NOT WATCH FROM AFAR. HE HAD COME TO END IT.

THE HORNS OF THE WARRIOR CLAN SCREAMED THEIR WARNING. JIG WAS ALREADY MOVING. STEEL SLID INTO HIS HAND AS HE SPRINTED ALONG THE BATTLEMENTS, COMMANDS RIPPING FROM HIS THROAT. WARRIORS POURED INTO POSITION, REDSTONE TRAPS PRIMED AND GLOWING BENEATH THE EARTH. BEHIND THEM, THE IRON CLAN STOOD IMMOVABLE. BRONT’S WARRIORS LOCKED SHIELDS INTO THE STONE ITSELF, IRON FORMATIONS FORMING A WALL THAT LOOKED LESS LIKE AN ARMY AND MORE LIKE A FORTRESS GROWN FROM THE GROUND. “THEY’RE COMING STRAIGHT THROUGH THE VALLEY,” BRONT SAID, VOICE CALM, UNSHAKEN. JIG NODDED, EYES FIXED ON THE APPROACHING MASS. “THAT’S WHAT HE WANTS.” FROM A HIGH RIDGE TO THE EAST, DIAMOND SCOUTS WATCHED. SILENT. STILL. WAITING.

THE FIRST IMPACT WAS APOCALYPTIC. GOLD SIEGE ENGINES ROARED AS THEY FIRED, STONE AND FLAME CRASHING INTO WARRIOR DEFENSES. REDSTONE DETONATED BENEATH ADVANCING TROOPS, TEARING OPEN THE GROUND AND THROWING BODIES INTO THE AIR. CELEN APPEARED ON THE TOWER ABOVE JIG, ALREADY DRAWING HIS BOW. THE FIRST ARROW FLEW. THEN ANOTHER. THEN ANOTHER. EACH SHOT FOUND A CAPTAIN, A STANDARDBEARER, A MAGE. CELEN MOVED WITH TERRIFYING PRECISION, NEVER STOPPING, NEVER PANICKING— JUST BREATHING AND KILLING. “LEFT FLANK’S BREAKING!” SOMEONE SHOUTED. JIG WAS ALREADY THERE. HE SLAMMED INTO THE FRAY, BLADE CARVING ARCS OF RED THROUGH GOLD ARMOR. EVERY MOVEMENT WAS LEARNED, PRACTICED, BRUTAL. THIS WAS NO LONGER THE BOY WHO JOINED THE WARRIOR CLAN—THIS WAS A PRINCE FORGED IN BLOOD. BUT GOLD DID NOT SLOW. THEY SURGED FORWARD IN WAVES, EMERALD MAGES BEHIND THEM WEAVING SHIELDS AND POISON CLOUDS. IRON SHIELDS RANG LIKE BELLS AS BLOW AFTER BLOW STRUCK THEM. THEN THE GROUND SHOOK. MIDAS ENTERED THE BATTLEFIELD.

THE KING DISMOUNTED SLOWLY, DELIBERATELY. THE FIGHTING AROUND HIM SEEMED TO HESITATE —JUST FOR A HEARTBEAT. HE DREW HIS BLADE. GOLD SANG. THE SWORD WAS IMPOSSIBLY BRIGHT, HUMMING WITH POWER THAT MADE THE AIR VIBRATE. WITH A SINGLE SWING, MIDAS CLEAVED THROUGH THREE WARRIORS AND SHATTERED AN IRON SHIELD LIKE GLASS. FEAR RIPPLED OUTWARD. “HE’S MINE.” RAXOR STEPPED FORWARD. THE WARRIOR LEADER MOVED LIKE A STORM GIVEN FORM, HIS BLADE DARK AGAINST MIDAS’S BRILLIANCE. WHEN THEIR SWORDS MET, THE CLASH ECHOED ACROSS THE VALLEY. STEEL SCREAMED. THEIR DUEL TORE A CIRCLE OF DEATH INTO THE BATTLEFIELD. SHOCKWAVES RIPPLED WITH EVERY STRIKE. MIDAS FOUGHT WITH PRECISION AND CONFIDENCE, EACH MOVEMENT CALCULATED. RAXOR ANSWERED WITH RAW FORCE AND RELENTLESS PRESSURE. BLOOD SPILLED. GOLD ARMOR CRACKED. WARRIOR STEEL BENT. NEITHER FELL.

JIG SAW THE DUEL AND FELT HIS CHEST TIGHTEN. “HOLD THE LINE!” HE ROARED, FORCING HIMSELF AWAY. THIS WASN’T HIS FIGHT. YET. TO THE NORTH, IRON FORMATIONS BEGAN TO BUCKLE UNDER RELENTLESS ASSAULT. BRONT HIMSELF WADED INTO THE ENEMY, HAMMER CRUSHING SKULLS, IRON ARMOR DENTED AND BURNING. “WHERE ARE THE DIAMONDS?” SOMEONE SCREAMED. NO ANSWER CAME. ONLY MORE GOLD.

THEN THE WORLD CHANGED. A HORN—SHARP, CLEAR, AND COLD—CUT THROUGH THE CHAOS. FROM THE EASTERN RIDGE, DIAMOND BANNERS UNFURLED. THE BATTLEFIELD FROZE IN DISBELIEF. DIAMOND WARRIORS DESCENDED LIKE EXECUTIONERS, ARMOR SHIMMERING, WEAPONS FLAWLESS. THEY DID NOT CHARGE BLINDLY. THEY MOVED WITH SURGICAL INTENT—CUTTING SUPPLY LINES, COLLAPSING FORMATIONS, STRIKING COMMAND POSTS. NOT ALLIES. NOT ENEMIES. JUDGES. MIDAS SAW THEM AND LAUGHED—A SHARP, DANGEROUS SOUND. “FINALLY,” HE MUTTERED. “CHOOSE.” RAXOR DID NOT LAUGH. HE DROVE HIS BLADE FORWARD, CUTTING MIDAS ACROSS THE CHEST. GOLD SPILLED ONTO THE DIRT. FOR THE FIRST TIME, KING MIDAS BLED.

THE BATTLEFIELD ERUPTED. DIAMOND CHAMPIONS CLASHED WITH EMERALD MAGES. IRON SHIELDS SURGED FORWARD, RECLAIMING GROUND. WARRIORS PRESSED THE ADVANTAGE, REDSTONE TRAPS IGNITING BEHIND RETREATING GOLD FORCES. CELEN LOOSED ARROW AFTER ARROW UNTIL HIS FINGERS BLED. JIG FOUGHT AT THE CENTER OF IT ALL— COMMANDING, KILLING, SURVIVING. AND THROUGH IT ALL, MIDAS FOUGHT LIKE A MAN WHO REFUSED TO LOSE. HE SLAMMED RAXOR TO THE GROUND, BLADE AT HIS THROAT. JIG SAW IT. TIME SLOWED. BEFORE HE COULD MOVE, IRON WARRIORS SURGED, DRAGGING RAXOR CLEAR AS GOLD FORCES PULLED THEIR KING BACK. THE HORNS SOUNDED AGAIN. RETREAT. GOLD FORCES WITHDREW IN DISCIPLINED WAVES, EMERALD TROOPS FOLLOWING, DIAMOND WARRIORS VANISHING AS SUDDENLY AS THEY APPEARED. THE BATTLEFIELD FELL SILENT. AGAIN.

SMOKE ROSE. BODIES LAY BROKEN. VICTORY HAD NOT BEEN CLAIMED—BUT SOMETHING HAD CHANGED. RAXOR SAT AGAINST A BROKEN WALL, BLOOD STREAKING HIS ARMOR, STILL BREATHING. JIG APPROACHED SLOWLY. “YOU STOOD AGAINST A KING,” JIG SAID. RAXOR LOOKED UP AT HIM. “AND LIVED.” JIG SWALLOWED. “WHAT HAPPENS NOW?” RAXOR’S GAZE DRIFTED TOWARD THE HORIZON— TOWARD GOLD LANDS. “NOW,” HE SAID QUIETLY, “HE COMES FOR EVERYTHING.” FAR AWAY, WITHIN HIS GILDED WAR TENT, KING MIDAS STARED AT THE BLOOD ON HIS GAUNTLET. HE SMILED. “SO,” HE WHISPERED. “THE PRINCE IS READY.”

END

EPISODE TEN “THE LAST STAND”

THE NIGHT BEFORE THE FINAL BATTLE WAS COLDER THAN ANY BEFORE IT. NOT BECAUSE OF THE WIND—BUT BECAUSE EVERYONE KNEW THERE WOULD BE NO TOMORROW THAT LOOKED THE SAME. JIG SAT ON THE EDGE OF THE WARRIOR STRONGHOLD’S HIGHEST PLATFORM, BOOTS DANGLING OVER THE STONE. BELOW HIM, FIRES BURNED LOW AS SOLDIERS SHARPENED BLADES, CHECKED ARMOR, WHISPERED PRAYERS TO WHATEVER GODS STILL LISTENED. NO SONGS WERE SUNG TONIGHT. FOOTSTEPS APPROACHED SLOWLY. JIG DIDN’T TURN. HE ALREADY KNEW.

RAXOR STOPPED BESIDE HIM, RESTING HIS WEIGHT AGAINST THE STONE RAILING. FOR A LONG MOMENT, NEITHER SPOKE. THE BATTLEFIELD BEYOND STRETCHED DARK AND ENDLESS, DOTTED WITH DISTANT TORCHLIGHT FROM GOLD ENCAMPMENTS. “YOU SHOULD BE RESTING,” RAXOR SAID AT LAST. JIG LET OUT A QUIET BREATH. “I COULD SAY THE SAME.” RAXOR GAVE A FAINT, TIRED SMILE. “I’VE RESTED ENOUGH IN MY LIFE.” SILENCE SETTLED AGAIN, THICK BUT NOT UNCOMFORTABLE. THIS WAS NOT A LEADER AND HIS PRINCE. NOT TONIGHT. “YOU’VE CHANGED,” RAXOR SAID QUIETLY. “SINCE THE FIRST TIME YOU PICKED UP A BLADE.” JIG NODDED. “DIDN’T REALLY HAVE A CHOICE.” “NO,” RAXOR AGREED. “NONE OF US EVER DO.”

RAXOR’S GAZE STAYED FORWARD, BUT HIS VOICE SOFTENED. “WHEN I FIRST MET YOU, YOU FOUGHT LIKE SOMEONE TRYING TO PROVE SOMETHING. EVERY SWING… ANGER. EVERY STRIKE… DESPERATION.” JIG SWALLOWED. “AND NOW?” “NOW,” RAXOR SAID, “YOU FIGHT LIKE SOMEONE TRYING TO PROTECT SOMETHING.” JIG TURNED HIS HEAD SLIGHTLY. “IS THAT GOOD?” RAXOR LOOKED AT HIM THEN. REALLY LOOKED AT HIM. “IT’S WHAT MAKES KINGS.” JIG’S CHEST TIGHTENED AT THE WORD. “I NEVER ASKED FOR THIS,” JIG SAID QUIETLY. “THE CROWN. THE TITLE. ANY OF IT.” “I KNOW,” RAXOR REPLIED. “THAT’S WHY I TRUST YOU WITH IT.” THE FIRES BELOW FLICKERED, SHADOWS STRETCHING LIKE REACHING HANDS. “IF TOMORROW GOES WRONG…” JIG BEGAN. RAXOR INTERRUPTED GENTLY. “LISTEN TO ME.” JIG DID. “WHATEVER HAPPENS,” RAXOR SAID, “YOU LEAD. NOT BECAUSE YOU ARE STRONGER. NOT BECAUSE YOU ARE FEARED. BUT BECAUSE YOU REMEMBER WHY WE FIGHT.” JIG’S VOICE WAS BARELY AUDIBLE. “AND IF I FAIL?” RAXOR PLACED A HAND ON HIS SHOULDER—FIRM, STEADY. “THEN YOU FAILED TRYING TO DO THE RIGHT THING.” FOR A MOMENT, JIG LEANED INTO IT. JUST A MOMENT.

ACROSS THE STRONGHOLD, BENEATH IRON-LIT ARCHES, BRONT STOOD SHARPENING HIS HAMMER. EACH SCRAPE ECHOED THROUGH THE STONE CORRIDOR LIKE A COUNTDOWN. CELEN APPROACHED, BOW SLUNG ACROSS HIS BACK. “YOU ALWAYS DO THAT BEFORE A FIGHT?” CELEN ASKED. BRONT DIDN’T LOOK UP. “ALWAYS.” CELEN LEANED AGAINST THE WALL. “DOES IT HELP?” “NO,” BRONT SAID. “BUT IT REMINDS ME I’M STILL ALIVE.” CELEN SMILED FAINTLY. “FAIR.” THEY STOOD IN SILENCE FOR A WHILE, LISTENING TO THE DISTANT SOUNDS OF PREPARATION. FINALLY, BRONT SPOKE. “YOU’RE NOT IRON,” HE SAID. “BUT YOU FIGHT LIKE SOMEONE WHO UNDERSTANDS WEIGHT.” CELEN RAISED AN EYEBROW. “WEIGHT?” “EVERY KILL,” BRONT CONTINUED. “EVERY CHOICE. THEY STACK UP. MOST WARRIORS DON’T FEEL IT UNTIL IT CRUSHES THEM.”

CELEN LOOKED DOWN AT HIS HANDS. “I FEEL IT ALREADY.” BRONT NODDED ONCE. “GOOD. MEANS YOU STILL CARE.” CELEN HESITATED, THEN ASKED, “WHY DID YOU STAY?” BRONT PAUSED HIS SHARPENING. “WHEN YOU COULD’VE PULLED IRON BACK,” CELEN CLARIFIED. “LET THE CLANS TEAR EACH OTHER APART.” BRONT FINALLY LOOKED AT HIM. “BECAUSE SOMEONE HAS TO STAND WHEN THE WORLD SHAKES.” CELEN EXHALED SLOWLY. “GUESS THAT MAKES TWO OF US.” BRONT STUDIED HIM FOR A LONG MOMENT. “IF TOMORROW ENDS BADLY… PROTECT JIG.” CELEN DIDN’T HESITATE. “WITH MY LIFE.” BRONT GAVE A RARE, SMALL SMILE. “THEN WE UNDERSTAND EACH OTHER.” THEY CLASPED FOREARMS—IRON AND FLESH, WARRIOR AND GUARDIAN.

THE HORNS HAD NOT YET SOUNDED. BUT THE EARTH ALREADY FELT RESTLESS. FROM THE HIGHEST TOWER, JIG WATCHED THE HORIZON WHERE GOLD BANNERS WAITED, UNMOVING, PATIENT. SOMEWHERE OUT THERE, KING MIDAS PREPARED HIMSELF, JUST AS THEY DID. RAXOR STEPPED BESIDE JIG ONCE MORE. “THIS IS IT,” RAXOR SAID. JIG NODDED. “YEAH.” BELOW THEM, ARMIES STOOD READY. IRON SHIELDS LOCKED. WARRIOR BLADES DRAWN. BOWS STRUNG. REDSTONE PRIMED. THE WORLD HELD ITS BREATH. AND THEN—

THE HORNS SOUNDED. NOT ONE. MANY. DEEP, THUNDEROUS BLASTS ROLLED ACROSS THE VALLEY AS GOLD BANNERS BEGAN TO MOVE. THE GROUND TREMBLED BENEATH THOUSANDS OF MARCHING BOOTS, THE RHYTHM SLOW AND DELIBERATE—UNSTOPPABLE. TORCHES FLARED AS THE GOLD ARMY ADVANCED, RANKS PERFECTLY ALIGNED, SHIELDS GLEAMING LIKE A RISING SUN. JIG’S BREATH SLOWED. RAXOR DREW HIS BLADE BESIDE HIM. “STAY CLOSE,” RAXOR SAID. JIG NODDED. “ALWAYS.” THE FIRST WAVE HIT LIKE A COLLAPSING WALL.

GOLD INFANTRY SURGED FORWARD, SHIELDS RAISED, SPEARS DRIVING THROUGH SMOKE AND FLAME. REDSTONE TRAPS DETONATED BENEATH THEM, RIPPING THE EARTH APART—BUT GOLD DID NOT STOP. THEY CLIMBED OVER THEIR DEAD, PRESSING FORWARD WITH DISCIPLINED FURY. JIG AND RAXOR CHARGED. THEY MOVED AS ONE. RAXOR CUT A PATH THROUGH THE FRONT LINE, HIS BLADE BREAKING SHIELDS, SPLITTING ARMOR. JIG FOLLOWED HALF A STEP BEHIND, STRIKING WHERE RAXOR OPENED GAPS, FINISHING WHAT GOLD SOLDIERS STARTED BUT COULD NOT COMPLETE. THEIR MOVEMENTS SYNCHRONIZED WITHOUT THOUGHT—FATHER AND SON, TEACHER AND STUDENT, BLADE AND EDGE. GOLD SOLDIERS SCREAMED AS THEY FELL.

THE CLASH WAS DEAFENING. STEEL RANG AGAINST STEEL. BLOOD SOAKED THE DIRT, TURNING DUST TO MUD BENEATH THEIR BOOTS. JIG FELT THE BURN IN HIS ARMS, THE WEIGHT OF EVERY SWING —BUT HE DID NOT SLOW. “LEFT!” RAXOR SHOUTED. JIG PIVOTED, PARRYING A SPEAR AND DRIVING HIS BLADE UPWARD BENEATH A HELMET. HE BARELY HAD TIME TO BREATHE BEFORE ANOTHER ENEMY WAS ON HIM. THEY FOUGHT BACK-TO-BACK NOW. RAXOR ROARED, DRIVING FORWARD LIKE A STORM. JIG FELT SOMETHING SHIFT INSIDE HIM— NOT FEAR, NOT RAGE—BUT CERTAINTY. THIS WAS WHERE HE BELONGED. THIS WAS WHAT HE HAD BEEN SHAPED FOR. THE GOLD ARMY PUSHED HARDER. AND THEN THE SECOND STRIKE CAME.

FROM THE EASTERN RIDGE, THE AIR SPLIT WITH A SHARP, CRYSTALLINE HORN. THE DIAMOND CLAN DESCENDED. NOT CHARGING. ADVANCING. DIAMOND CHAMPIONS MOVED WITH TERRIFYING CALM, ARMOR CATCHING THE LIGHT LIKE SHARDS OF FROZEN LIGHTNING. THEY IGNORED THE CHAOS OF GOLD’S ASSAULT, CARVING DIRECTLY TOWARD KEY POSITIONS—COMMANDERS, SUPPLY LINES, LEADERS. “THEY’RE NOT WITH GOLD,” SOMEONE SCREAMED. “NO,” BRONT GROWLED. “THEY’RE HERE TO TEST US.” BRONT STEPPED FORWARD, IRON HAMMER RESTING ON HIS SHOULDER. CELEN STOOD BESIDE HIM, ALREADY DRAWING HIS BOW. “YOU READY?” CELEN ASKED. BRONT CRACKED HIS NECK. “I WAS BORN READY.” DIAMOND CHAMPIONS STRUCK LIKE EXECUTIONERS. THE FIRST CLASH SHOOK THE STONE BENEATH THEIR FEET. A DIAMOND BLADE SLAMMED INTO BRONT’S SHIELD, SENDING SPARKS FLYING. BRONT ANSWERED WITH A HAMMER STRIKE THAT CAVED ARMOR INWARD, LAUNCHING THE CHAMPION BACKWARD.

CELEN LOOSED ARROWS IN RAPID SUCCESSION, EACH ONE PRECISE, DEADLY. DIAMOND WARRIORS FELL—BUT FOR EVERY ONE THAT DROPPED, ANOTHER STEPPED FORWARD, RELENTLESS AND COLD. “THEY’RE STUDYING US,” CELEN SAID, TEETH CLENCHED. “LET THEM,” BRONT REPLIED, SLAMMING HIS HAMMER INTO THE GROUND AND BREAKING A CHAMPION’S LEG. “THEY’LL LEARN.” A DIAMOND CHAMPION LEAPT FOR CELEN, BLADE RAISED. BRONT INTERCEPTED, IRON MEETING CRYSTAL IN A THUNDEROUS CLASH. CELEN ROLLED BACK, NOCKING ANOTHER ARROW. HE AIMED—NOT AT THE CHAMPION’S ARMOR—BUT THE GAPS. THE ARROW STRUCK TRUE. THE DIAMOND FELL. MORE CAME. SWEAT BURNED CELEN’S EYES AS HIS ARMS SCREAMED WITH EXHAUSTION. BRONT’S ARMOR WAS DENTED, CRACKED, GLOWING FAINTLY FROM REPEATED BLOWS—BUT HE DID NOT FALL. THEY FOUGHT BACK-TO-BACK NOW. TWO WARRIORS FROM DIFFERENT WORLDS, BOUND BY THE SAME PROMISE.

AT THE CENTER OF THE BATTLEFIELD, JIG AND RAXOR PUSHED DEEPER. GOLD CAPTAINS FELL BENEATH THEIR BLADES. EMERALD MAGES ATTEMPTED TO BREAK THEIR MOMENTUM—FIRE, POISON, LIGHTNING—BUT IRON SHIELDS SURGED IN TO PROTECT THEM, FORMING MOVING WALLS OF STEEL. JIG FELT A SUDDEN IMPACT—PAIN EXPLODED ACROSS HIS SHOULDER. RAXOR TURNED INSTANTLY, CUTTING DOWN THE ATTACKER BEFORE THE BLADE COULD BE WITHDRAWN. “YOU HURT?” RAXOR DEMANDED. JIG GRITTED HIS TEETH. “STILL STANDING.” RAXOR NODDED. “GOOD. BECAUSE HE’S COMING.” THE BATTLEFIELD SEEMED TO PART. KING MIDAS STEPPED FORWARD THROUGH THE SMOKE, GOLD BLADE DRAWN, EYES BURNING WITH PURPOSE. THIS TIME, HE DID NOT SMILE. ACROSS THE VALLEY, DIAMOND CHAMPIONS PRESSED HARDER. BRONT SLAMMED ONE TO THE GROUND, BREATHING HEAVY. “THEY’RE PUSHING US TOWARD THE CENTER.” CELEN’S EYES WIDENED. “THEY WANT TO SEE WHO WINS.” BRONT SNARLED. “THEN LET’S GIVE THEM A SHOW.” THE WAR SCREAMED AROUND THEM. BLOOD, FIRE, IRON, CRYSTAL. AND AT ITS HEART, KINGS MOVED TOWARD COLLISION.

AT THE CENTER OF THE BATTLEFIELD, JIG AND RAXOR PUSHED DEEPER. GOLD CAPTAINS FELL BENEATH THEIR BLADES. EMERALD MAGES ATTEMPTED TO BREAK THEIR MOMENTUM—FIRE, POISON, LIGHTNING—BUT IRON SHIELDS SURGED IN TO PROTECT THEM, FORMING MOVING WALLS OF STEEL. JIG FELT A SUDDEN IMPACT—PAIN EXPLODED ACROSS HIS SHOULDER. RAXOR TURNED INSTANTLY, CUTTING DOWN THE ATTACKER BEFORE THE BLADE COULD BE WITHDRAWN. “YOU HURT?” RAXOR DEMANDED. JIG GRITTED HIS TEETH. “STILL STANDING.” RAXOR NODDED. “GOOD. BECAUSE HE’S COMING.” THE BATTLEFIELD SEEMED TO PART. KING MIDAS STEPPED FORWARD THROUGH THE SMOKE, GOLD BLADE DRAWN, EYES BURNING WITH PURPOSE. THIS TIME, HE DID NOT SMILE. ACROSS THE VALLEY, DIAMOND CHAMPIONS PRESSED HARDER. BRONT SLAMMED ONE TO THE GROUND, BREATHING HEAVY. “THEY’RE PUSHING US TOWARD THE CENTER.” CELEN’S EYES WIDENED. “THEY WANT TO SEE WHO WINS.” BRONT SNARLED. “THEN LET’S GIVE THEM A SHOW.” THE WAR SCREAMED AROUND THEM. BLOOD, FIRE, IRON, CRYSTAL. AND AT ITS HEART, KINGS MOVED TOWARD COLLISION.

GOLD SPLIT THE SMOKE LIKE A LIVING THING. KING MIDAS STEPPED FORWARD, BLADE GLOWING WITH A LIGHT THAT FELT WRONG AGAINST THE BLOOD-DARKENED SKY. THE GROUND AROUND HIM WAS LITTERED WITH BODIES—WARRIOR, IRON, GOLD ALIKE—BUT HE DID NOT SLOW, DID NOT HESITATE. JIG TIGHTENED HIS GRIP. RAXOR MOVED FIRST. THEY CHARGED TOGETHER. MIDAS MET THEM HEAD-ON. THE IMPACT WAS CATASTROPHIC. GOLD STEEL SLAMMED INTO WARRIOR BLADES, THE FORCE OF IT DRIVING JIG BACKWARD, RATTLING HIS BONES. RAXOR STRUCK FROM THE SIDE, BLADE CARVING SPARKS FROM MIDAS’S ARMOR—BUT THE KING BARELY STAGGERED. MIDAS LAUGHED. HE TURNED WITH TERRIFYING SPEED, SMASHING JIG ASIDE WITH THE FLAT OF HIS BLADE, THEN PIVOTED AND MET RAXOR’S STRIKE DEAD-ON. THE SOUND ECHOED ACROSS THE BATTLEFIELD LIKE A BELL TOLLING. “YOU FIGHT LIKE KINGS,” MIDAS SAID CALMLY. “BUT YOU ARE NOT ONE.” JIG LUNGED AGAIN. MIDAS CAUGHT HIS SWORD MID-SWING. AND DROVE HIS BLADE FORWARD...

PAIN EXPLODED THROUGH JIG’S BODY AS GOLD PIERCED HIS GUT. HIS BREATH VANISHED IN A SOUNDLESS GASP. MIDAS TWISTED THE BLADE ONCE—DELIBERATE—AND RIPPED IT FREE. THEN HE BACKHANDED JIG ACROSS THE FACE. THE WORLD SPUN. JIG HIT THE GROUND HARD, ARMOR SCRAPING STONE, BLOOD SOAKING THROUGH HIS HANDS AS DARKNESS SWALLOWED HIM WHOLE. “JIG!” RAXOR ROARED. MIDAS TURNED FULLY TOWARD HIM. NOW THERE WERE ONLY TWO.

RAXOR ATTACKED WITH EVERYTHING HE HAD. NO RESTRAINT. NO CAUTION. THEIR BLADES COLLIDED AGAIN AND AGAIN, SPARKS RAINING LIKE DYING STARS. RAXOR DROVE MIDAS BACKWARD, LANDING BLOW AFTER BLOW, CRACKING GOLD ARMOR, FORCING THE KING TO DEFEND. MIDAS ANSWERED WITH BRUTAL EFFICIENCY. HE SLAMMED HIS SHOULDER INTO RAXOR’S CHEST, SENT HIM SKIDDING THROUGH THE DIRT, THEN FOLLOWED—BLADE DOWN, FAST AND MERCILESS. RAXOR BARELY ROLLED ASIDE IN TIME. THEY ROSE TOGETHER. BLOOD STREAMED DOWN BOTH OF THEM NOW. “YOU TRAINED HIM WELL,” MIDAS SAID BETWEEN STRIKES. “HE SCREAMED QUIETLY.” RAXOR SNAPPED. HE DROVE MIDAS BACK WITH A ROAR THAT TORE FROM HIS CHEST, BLADE CARVING DEEP INTO GOLD PLATING. MIDAS STAGGERED—JUST FOR A MOMENT. THEN HE BURIED HIS SWORD THROUGH RAXOR’S CHEST. TIME STOPPED. RAXOR GASPED, BLOOD SPRAYING ACROSS THE GOLD BLADE AS MIDAS LEANED CLOSE. “YOU WERE STRONG,” THE KING WHISPERED. THEN HE SHOVED RAXOR BACKWARD. OFF THE SHATTERED RISE. RAXOR DISAPPEARED BENEATH SMOKE AND FIRE.

JIG WOKE SCREAMING. PAIN CONSUMED HIM—WHITE-HOT, UNBEARABLE. HIS VISION SWAM AS HE DRAGGED HIMSELF ONTO HIS ELBOWS, GASPING FOR AIR THAT WOULDN’T COME. HE SAW IT. RAXOR FALLING. HIS SCREAM TORE FREE THIS TIME. SOMETHING BROKE INSIDE JIG. NOT SNAPPED. COLLAPSED. HE FORCED HIMSELF UPRIGHT, BLOOD POURING FROM HIS WOUND, EVERY STEP AGONY AS HE STAGGERED FORWARD. MIDAS TURNED. “OH,” HE SAID SOFTLY. “YOU’RE AWAKE.” JIG RAISED HIS BLADE.

ELSEWHERE, STEEL SCREAMED. BRONT MET THE DIAMOND LEADER HEAD-ON, IRON HAMMER CRASHING INTO CRYSTAL ARMOR. THE IMPACT SHOOK THE GROUND, SENDING FRACTURES SPIDERING ACROSS DIAMOND STEEL. CELEN MOVED CONSTANTLY, ARROWS FLYING, EACH ONE FORCING THE DIAMOND LEADER TO SHIFT, TO GUARD, TO REACT. THEY PRESSED HIM FROM BOTH SIDES—IRON FORCE AND RELENTLESS PRECISION. THE DIAMOND LEADER STRUCK BACK WITH BLINDING SPEED, BLADE SLICING THROUGH IRON SHIELDS, SLAMMING BRONT TO ONE KNEE. “YOU FIGHT WELL,” THE DIAMOND LEADER SAID. “BUT THIS WAR IS NOT YOURS TO WIN.” BRONT SURGED UPWARD, HAMMER SMASHING INTO THE LEADER’S CHEST. “THEN WHY ARE YOU LOSING?” AN ARROW STRUCK THE DIAMOND LEADER’S SHOULDER. THEN ANOTHER. HE STAGGERED BACK, BREATHING HARD, EYES SHARP EVEN IN RETREAT. “THIS IS NOT THE END,” HE SAID COLDLY—AND VANISHED INTO THE SMOKE. BRONT EXHALED HEAVILY. CELEN TURNED. AND SAW JIG.

JIG AND MIDAS COLLIDED AGAIN. EVERY STRIKE WAS AGONY. EVERY BLOCK SENT FIRE THROUGH JIG’S BODY. MIDAS WAS STRONGER —FASTER—BUT JIG REFUSED TO FALL. HE FOUGHT THROUGH PAIN, THROUGH GRIEF, THROUGH THE IMAGE OF RAXOR FALLING OVER AND OVER IN HIS MIND. “YOU CANNOT WIN,” MIDAS SAID, SLAMMING JIG TO THE GROUND. JIG ROSE AGAIN. BRONT CRASHED INTO MIDAS FROM THE SIDE, HAMMER RINGING AGAINST GOLD. CELEN’S ARROWS STRUCK JOINTS, GAPS, WEAKNESSES. TOGETHER, THEY PUSHED HIM BACK. MIDAS ROARED, CUTTING BRONT DOWN TO ONE KNEE, DEFLECTING ARROWS, BUT THE TIDE HAD TURNED. JIG DROVE HIS BLADE INTO THE DIRT AND FORCED MIDAS DOWN. KNEELING. THE BATTLEFIELD WENT SILENT. JIG STOOD SHAKING, TEARS CUTTING THROUGH BLOOD ON HIS FACE. HE RAISED HIS SWORD— AND STOPPED. BRONT STEPPED FORWARD, PLACING A HAND ON JIG’S ARM. “THIS ENDS WITHOUT MORE GHOSTS,” HE SAID QUIETLY. MIDAS WAS BOUND. TAKEN. IMPRISONED BENEATH THE PEACEMAKER’S WATCH.

THEY FOUND RAXOR AT DAWN. STILL BREATHING. BARELY. JIG KNELT BESIDE HIM, HANDS TREMBLING AS HE HELD HIS LEADER’S HAND. “I FAILED YOU,” JIG SOBBED. RAXOR SMILED WEAKLY. “NO… YOU BECAME… WHAT YOU WERE MEANT TO BE.” WITH SHAKING HANDS, RAXOR REMOVED THE CROWN. AND PLACED IT ON JIG’S HEAD. “LEAD THEM,” HE WHISPERED. “BETTER THAN I EVER COULD.” RAXOR EXHALED ONCE MORE. AND DID NOT BREATHE AGAIN.

THEY BURIED HIM BENEATH THE RISING SUN. WARRIOR BANNERS DIPPED LOW. IRON SHIELDS KNELT. CELEN STOOD BESIDE JIG, SILENT, GRIEVING. FAR AWAY, KING MIDAS SAT ALONE IN A CELL OF GLOWING AMETHYST, STARING INTO DARKNESS. AND JIG—NOW KING—STOOD BEFORE A GRAVE. THE WAR WAS OVER. THE COST WAS FOREVER. “I WON’T LET YOU DOWN. AS YOU SHOWN ME STRENGTH AND LEADERSHIP, I’LL PROVE THAT YOU WERE MORE THAN JUST A LEADER. BUT A FATHER..

REST EASY RAXOR...”

CELEN PUTS HIS HAND ON JIG’S SHOULDER. “YOU’RE GOING TO BE A GREAT LEADER, A GREAT KING.” AS JIG THROWS IN THE LAST PIECE OD FIRT ONTO THE GRAVE. HE EMBRACES TOO HOLD THE TITLRE OF KING, OF LEADERS AND PRIDE. THE KING HAS BEEN BORN FOR ALL TOO SEE.

END