“Twenty hours until Moloch’s arrival,” Marius said, still hunched over his reports. “We’ll know if the plan with Diablo works in ten.”

  Across the table, Ragnar flipped through the sigils he had drawn, scanning them for flaws. His gaze stopped on one page. Slowly, he tore it out, crumpled it into a ball, and lobbed it at Marius.

  “Ouch!” Marius rubbed his forehead. “What was that for?”

  Ragnar stood, pointing at him. “Pick up the paper ball and throw it at me. As hard as you can.”

  “Why?” Marius asked warily.

  “Just do it.”

  Marius sighed, picked up the ball, and hurled it toward Ragnar’s face.

  The ball flew, and then, as if pulled by an unseen hand, whipped back toward Marius. It smacked him in the forehead again.

  “Again,” Ragnar said, his eyes lit with anticipation.

  “I don’t want to. Why in abyss did it hit me again?”

  “Do it fast. And with as much strength as you can muster.”

  Grumbling, Marius threw it once more, this time ready to snatch it from the air as it returned. He missed. For a heartbeat, he stared in confusion, just before it struck him again.

  “Causality!” Ragnar shouted.

  Then his expression darkened, and his knees buckled. He collapsed to the ground.

  Marius rushed to Ragnar’s side, kneeling beside him.

  Ragnar opened his eyes. “I’m fine.”

  “No, you’re not,” Marius shot back, worry creasing his face. “You just collapsed.”

  “Nothing new,” Ragnar said with a grin. “I did it. I figured out Causality.”

  “And what’s that? Hitting me with paper balls?” Marius helped him back into his chair.

  “It’s setting up the effect before the cause,” Ragnar said.

  “That doesn’t make sense.”

  “Which is why the perception has to be altered,” Ragnar explained. “You perceive the effect first, and then create the cause afterward. Any cause will do.”

  “Like my own throw coming back at me,” Marius said, his expression brightening. “This is brilliant. Do you feel new yet? Godly?”

  “No. Just a bit exhausted,” Ragnar said.

  “Once you’ve recovered, we can run more experiments,” Marius said eagerly.

  “Let’s continue now.”

  “No. You’re still exhausted.”

  “In battle, I won’t have the luxury of exhaustion,” Ragnar replied. “I need to push myself.”

  Marius frowned. “Hey, you do remember that underneath all the blessings, magic still has consequences.”

  “I’m not a novice, Marius.”

  “Fine.” Marius unsheathed a dagger and set it on the table. “Throw this into the wooden pole, without throwing it.”

  “I’ll need to throw it once to establish the causal link,” Ragnar said. “Then it will happen again.”

  “You won’t have the luxury of using ordinary magic against a demigod either,” Marius countered.

  Hours passed. Nothing happened.

  Marius sat at his desk, absorbed in compiling reports. Soldiers came and went, bringing updates from the battlefield. Scouts occasionally arrived with news from the kingdom.

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  Ragnar, however, was fixed on the dagger. He could feel the faint threads of Causality, yet the blade remained still.

  Change your perception, he told himself. The dagger is already in the pole.

  Minutes crawled by. Then Marius felt it, a shift in the air. He looked up. Even without sharp senses, he could see a faint glow forming around Ragnar.

  The dagger shot forward, embedding itself in the wooden pole with a clean, solid thunk.

  “I did it!” Ragnar exclaimed, turning to Marius with exhilaration in his eyes.

  But Marius wasn’t smiling. He crossed the tent quickly, his brow furrowed, saying something, though the words didn’t reach Ragnar.

  Ragnar’s vision blurred. He felt something wet on his lips. Salt. Blood.

  Before he could speak, his knees buckled and the world went dark.

  Moments later.

  “What happened?” Ragnar asked, his voice groggy. “I was fine.”

  “You were bleeding from your nose,” Marius said. “Even now you look pale.”

  A call came from outside the tent. A soldier wearing the Fifth Wing insignia stepped in and saluted.

  “General Ragnar. Commander Marius.” He handed Marius a folded note, gave a short bow, and left.

  “What does it say?” Ragnar asked.

  “A note from the front lines,” Marius said.

  The message read:

  Moloch’s army has brought forth the Despairing Cavalry. Commander Farlow is holding them evenly, but scouts ahead have sighted another troop of cavalry advancing. Reinforcements required.

  “Nothing from your scouts watching the Silent Road?” Ragnar asked.

  “I was getting to that,” Marius replied.

  With a quick flick of his wrist, the paper flared with a faint yellow glow before dimming again.

  “This is a new technique to hide information,” Marius explained. “But only a few can do it.”

  Beneath the earlier lines, new words appeared:

  Moloch spotted on the Silent Road. Activating the charge.

  Marius whispered under his breath “Please, work”

  Turning towards Ragnar, “You take a rest. I’ll call for reinforcements at the front,” Marius said, rising from his chair. He stepped out of the tent, leaving Ragnar alone.

  A short while later, a voice came from outside. “General. May I come in?”

  Ragnar recognized it instantly. “Yes.”

  Shayara stepped inside, and froze. “General, your face… it’s pale. Are you unwell?”

  “I’m fine, Shayara,” Ragnar replied. “I’ve been doing some experiments with Causality.”

  “I see. Then this might help.” She placed a bundle of scribbled notes on the table. “This is everything I remember about Fundamentalism, especially methods for keeping the energy requirement low. I thought it might be useful.”

  “Thank you.” Ragnar picked up the notes, scanning them briefly. He gestured for her to sit.

  “This is great. How did you figure all this out?” Ragnar asked.

  He half-expected the usual reply, Sir… there was a book in the library but no answer came. Shayara sat in silence.

  Ragnar studied her closely. “Shayara?” he prompted again.

  “Sir… I’m not from around here.” She paused, her voice quieter now.

  “I know,” Ragnar said. “Marius told me you’re from the Mirin tribes of the Iscor Plains.”

  Still looking down, she shook her head.

  “I am from the south, Sir. My tribe is called Syr.”

  Ragnar searched his memory. Syr. The name stirred something old.

  Long ago, Selen, Goddess of Night, keeper of stars, silence, and dreams, was known as the consort of Amun. But on the Night of Great Betrayal, Selen vanished without a trace. In his fury, Amun commanded his chosen to erase all signs of her worship from the world.

  Arcadian Inquisitors marched beneath the Radiant Banner, purging her temples, scattering her followers.

  The Syr were one such unfortunate tribe, wiped out alongside several others.

  “There were survivors?” Ragnar blurted before he could stop himself.

  Shayara nodded.

  “No wonder,” he said slowly. “You read banned books.”

  He leaned back, thinking aloud. “Selen’s followers would have preserved all the knowledge Arcadia sought to erase. Now it makes sense.”

  Shayara sat perfectly still, her gaze fixed on the floor.

  “Shayara,” Ragnar said gently, “you are safe here.”

  Shayara looked up. “I want to help in any way I can.”

  Again, without thinking, Ragnar blurted out, “Why? Shouldn’t you hate Arcadians?”

  Shayara shook her head. “It happened long ago. These people have done nothing wrong.”

  Ragnar was taken aback by her answer.

  Compassion.

  So many wars had been fought in the name of faith, wars Ragnar himself had waged. Yet in that moment, hearing Shayara’s words, he felt something shift. She wasn’t fighting for vengeance, or glory.

  She fought for compassion.