The next morning greeted the camp with a gray, heavy sky. Somewhere beyond the mountains a storm was gathering — or perhaps it was simply the tension building before what was about to happen. Soldiers trained. They built fortifications. They checked their weapons. Some prayed. Some joked, trying to hide their fear. Others simply stared north, toward where death was supposed to come from.
Amanda stood on a small rise at the edge of the camp, watching the bustle.
She was wearing her full golden armor. The entire set. Shining as if brand new — a mixture of mithril and orichalcum that covered her from head to toe. She looked like a living statue. Like a goddess of war descended from the heavens to pass judgment.
Inside, however, she felt like a complete idiot.
Why did I put this on? Why? I’m standing here like a monument, staring at the soldiers. They think I’m inspiring them. And I just… don’t know what to do with myself.
She watched as Randel commanded a squad of swordsmen. His voice was firm, his movements confident. He was in his element. And she…
I’m just playing dress-up. In a fancy toy. Who doesn’t even know how to hold a sword properly.
“Lady Keeper!”
Amanda flinched. The voice was sweet as molasses — and just as sticky.
She slowly turned her head. Violet was walking toward her across the training ground. In a simple traveling dress, without magic, without an entourage. Alone. Her violet eyes looked friendly, almost warm. A light, curious smile played on her lips.
Oh no. Oh no-no-no. Not this.
Amanda took a step back. Then another. She didn’t know why. Her body had simply decided that the best thing to do right now was disappear.
“Lady Keeper!” Violet quickened her pace. “I wanted to talk!”
Run, you idiot,
the inner voice that sounded suspiciously like Yamada Light screamed.
That woman is the Archmage of the Empire. She isn’t just walking in your direction. She’s dangerous. RUN.
Amanda turned and strode quickly toward the camp exit. Not running. Keepers didn’t run. But very, very fast.
“Lady Keeper!” Violet’s voice grew closer. “I just wanted to ask…”
Amanda picked up her pace.
Any second now she’ll call out and tell me to stop. And I’ll stop. Because Keepers don’t run from Archmages. Because I’m an idiot.
“Stop!” Violet shouted.
Amanda stopped. As if under a spell.
Fifty meters away, a group of soldiers who had just been practicing shield strikes froze mid-motion.
“That’s…” began one, a young man with wide round eyes.
“That’s the Keeper,” finished another, older one. “And the one from the Empire.”
“Are they… together?”
A third soldier, already sporting gray at the temples, slowly shook his head.
“I don’t know what’s going on over there, lads. But I know one thing for sure.”
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“What?”
“We don’t want to be anywhere near it.”
He turned on his heel and strode briskly toward the far end of the training ground. The others immediately followed. Then another group. And another.
Within a minute, there wasn’t a single soldier left within a hundred-meter radius of the two women. Even the sergeants — who usually yelled at anyone trying to slack off — stayed pointedly silent and suddenly found the opposite direction extremely interesting.
“You were trying to run away,” Violet said, stopping right in front of Amanda. A mocking little smile touched her lips.
“I… was inspecting the camp,” Amanda replied. Her mechanical voice sounded perfectly even, but inside everything was boiling. “I wanted to check the perimeter.”
“The perimeter,” Violet repeated. “In that direction? Where there’s nothing but forest and swamp?”
“There might be a convenient approach for saboteurs,” Amanda answered, staring somewhere above Violet’s head and desperately hoping it looked haughty rather than like she wanted the ground to swallow her whole.
“Lady Keeper,” Violet took a step closer, her voice dropping to a soft, almost confiding tone. “I am not your enemy.”
But I still don’t like you,
Amanda thought.
There’s something about you… and you’re hiding it.
“I know,” she said out loud. “We’re allies.”
“I want to learn from you,” Violet said it so simply, so naturally, that Amanda faltered for a second.
“Learn?”
“Your power. Your connection to the forest. Your… calm. I am the Archmage of the Empire. I can summon small storms and burn entire companies to ash. But I don’t know how to be calm. I don’t know how to look at the world the way you do.”
She fell silent, and in her violet eyes flashed something Amanda hadn’t expected to see — sincerity.
“I want to understand,” Violet continued. “How you do it.”
Amanda stared at her, her mind racing.
She wants to learn. From me. From a fraud who can’t tell a catapult from a trebuchet. She’s the Archmage of the Empire, and I’m a former law student. What the hell can I possibly teach her?
“You weren’t always like this either, were you?” Violet looked at her, and there was no mockery in her gaze — only genuine interest. “Calm. Confident. Wise. Did someone teach you?”
Amanda remained silent. She looked at this woman — dangerous, brilliant, jealous — and felt panic rising inside her like a tide.
Say something. Anything. Anything at all.
“War taught me,” she said at last, and it was the truth. Not her war. The war from her previous life. A war without magic, but full of fear. “And loneliness.”
Violet nodded, as if she had expected exactly that answer.
“Can I learn it?” she asked. “In one day? Before the horde arrives?”
Amanda looked at her, and a wild, insane thought flashed through her mind.
What if… what if I tell her to do something that, in theory, shouldn’t work? She’ll try, it won’t work, she’ll realize I’m not a goddess, and she’ll leave me alone. Or… what if it does work? No. It can’t work. I don’t know the first thing about magic.
“Try it,” Amanda said, and her voice came out mysteriously, like a real teacher’s. “Close your eyes.”
Violet closed them.
“Imagine fire,” Amanda continued, feeling herself getting carried away. “Not the kind that burns. Not the kind that destroys. But the kind that… warms. The kind that gives life. The very first fire that humanity ever saw.”
What the hell am I saying? What “first fire”? I’m just blurting out whatever comes into my head.
“Fire,” Violet repeated, her voice growing quieter, more focused. “The kind that warms.”
“Now,” Amanda took a deep breath, knowing she was about to say something completely idiotic, “stretch out your hand. And ask it. Don’t command it. Don’t force it. Just… ask.”
Violet stretched out her hand. Her fingers trembled.
“Ask,” Amanda repeated.
“Come,” Violet whispered, and her voice was so quiet, so sincere, that Amanda’s breath caught in her throat.
Nothing happened.
“Again,” Amanda said, feeling hope die inside her. “Don’t rush.”
“Come,” Violet whispered once more.
And the world exploded.
Flames erupted from her palm. Not a small spark, not a flicker — a sphere. A huge, blinding, pulsing orb of pure white fire. It shot into the sky, illuminating the entire camp, and hung there, burning like a tiny sun.
Amanda staggered back. Violet opened her eyes and froze, staring at what she had created.
“This…” she whispered, and there was no pride in her voice — only pure astonishment. “I’ve never… I’ve never been able to do anything like this. Without spells. Without artifacts. I just… asked.”
She turned to Amanda, and in her violet eyes was something that made Amanda’s breath catch. Awe.
“How?” Violet asked. “How did you do that?”
Amanda was silent. She stared at the fiery orb still hanging in the sky, bathing the camp in light, and felt her own world crumbling.
It wasn’t me. I just spouted some nonsense. It was her. It has always been her. I only… I only gave her a reason to believe in herself.
“It wasn’t me,” she said, her voice quiet, almost human. “It was you. It has always been you.”
Violet looked at her, tears shining in her eyes.
“You taught me,” she said. “In one day. In one minute. You gave me what I couldn’t find in seven years.”