The small army made it to Meashire five days after setting off from Ceywell. Progress had been slow, as Klein had wanted to make sure everything was in order in regards to his vanguard, rearguard and baggage train. It took effort and threats and convincing men more stubborn than a rock, but eventually a modicum of discipline was displayed as the army marched in long rows, not quiet in tandem but close enough.
They rested sporadically, and made camp for the night at dusk. Klein would rotate the newly established regiments within the army for training whilst the rest either set up camp, performed watch duty, hunted the nearby area for food or rested. This played another factor in why what was normally a three day journey had turned into a five day one.
Klein had been worried at first, worried that his slow progress had cost the Atlesian war effort, that the Mistrali had destroyed Meashire and the small army assembling there before it could be reinforced. He'd luckily been proven wrong and had been pleased to hear rumours of a large Atlesian army near Mantle. It meant something was going to plan, though he hoped the messenger he had sent shortly after departing Ceywell managed to make it to Weiss in time for her to give that army another commander before the Mistrali inevitably responded to the threat it posed.
But those were problems far away. He had plenty of problems closer to where he was now.
Meashire had managed to muster four thousand men. Its Alderman, a man named Stone, was wonderfully efficient and had kept a good record of everything from supplies, money set aside for the war effort, weapons production in forges and the exact number of people signing up or being conscripted.
The same, unfortunately, could not be said of the Alderman of Cavine, who had fled the moment rumours of a Mistrali invasion emerged and had apparently frozen to death fleeing north. He hadn't been replaced and the small force that came from Cavine numbered only four hundred, made up entirely of volunteers and mostly of veterans of the Faunus Rights Rebellion. Some were even veterans who had fought on the other side of that particular conflict, though Klein held no grudge toward them.
After sending a small detachment of men to Cavine to restore order under the command of Captain William Nyx, who had been in command of Ceywell's levy until Klein showed up and had been a decent enough commander, Klein had set about establishing a larger army camp outside Meashire. He didn't trust his soldiers to become too rowdy or demanding towards civilians should they be given unlimited access to the town. He'd seen how some soldiers could behave towards civilians before. The newfound power rushed to their heads and they, having never experienced something like it due to their primarily poor upbringing, had been overeager in attempting to use it.
But he wasn't a complete puritan and understood relaxation would help morale, so limited access to only the nighttime, when most decent folk would be at home with their families.
He didn't care about what his soldiers did during their hours away from work though. That was their business. What he did care about was doing what he could to prepare them for a battle they were sorely unprepared for.
Klein hadn't led before, apart from small scale skirmishes, so he planned to stick to his strengths. He'd divide his army into smaller regiments that would spread out through the countryside but stay in contact with one another through runners and riders. They would attack whatever outposts the Mistrali had set up to guard Vulcan and slowly establish a siege camp around the city. He had no illusions he'd be able to take it though. The Mistrali would have left a decent contingent of their soldiers to guard it, enough to defend it from a force far larger than what he could muster. Even if the city's defences had been weakened by the Mistrali, the palisade would be enough to make the fight to retake the city a hard one, a fierce struggle he wasn't willing to undertake.
No. His mission was simple. Threaten the Mistrali's main supply hub and foothold to divert some of their forces away from their main offensive. The only way Atlas would win the war was if the Mistrali failed to take the coast before winter, otherwise they would be cut off from Vale and they would starve over the harsh winter.
But for his plan to work he would need to have trusted, or at least mostly trusted, commanders for each section of the army he was splitting up. Otherwise they would either desert, plunder the countryside, become lost in the wild or utterly destroyed whenever Mistral attacked.
And that was his main issue. Where was he to find the experience, the skill and most importantly the personality that was needed for leadership? If you weren't charismatic, if you weren't someone the troops would look up to or be inspired by then at some point you would fail.
Klein sighed. The stress alone almost made him regret the day he swore service to Jaqcues Schnee and his daughter after him.
"What would Ironwood do? What would Arc do?" He murmured aloud, staring at the tattered maps inside his command tent, hoping they'd give him the answers to his long and growing list of questions.
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Duke Acteon was a simple man with simple tastes. So he was a very happy man right now.
His favourite smell, that of fire and smoke, was wafting up his nostrils from the burning houses of Atlesian peasants. The wonderfully acrid smell of destruction made his stomach spin and his head swirl with giddiness. It wasn't his fault the Atlesians made their homes out of such flammable material. They were practically asking for it.
'Speaking of.' Acteon grinned, taking in the unfolding chaos around him. His soldiers were spilling into the dirt streets of the small village, laughing and whooping alongside him. Far away from the gaze of an overbearing, overly moral Queen they had finally been unleashed, untethered from their collars and let loose on their enemies.
And by the Goddess Herself, the screams of Atlesian women as his soldiers broke into their homes was the sweetest sound he'd heard since he'd raided the bandit camp that had set up in his lands. He'd seized the leader and forced his wife and daughter to watch whilst his army took turns with him. Then he'd made the father watch the same thing that had happened to him occur to his wife and daughter before putting his head on a spike.
He sighed. Unfortunately for him he couldn't enjoy the festivities. He had someone important to meet, though he was happy enough to let himself live vicariously through his men whilst he did so. After all, it wasn't every day you met a prince.
Making his way through the sounds of burning, looting and raping, he made his way up the small hill that overlooked the village. There, a lone man stood, watching the chaos unfold with what most would consider a worrying lack of care. It was a man Acteon hated but needed, which made him hate him even more. But the prince's time would come.
"Alexander!" Acteon grinned, arms outstretched as he neared his ally of convenience. "I'm glad you could make it! The party's just begun."
"I have no interest in your 'party' Acteon." Alexander Nikos replied. "And be glad I don't order you to stop. Your actions here could jeopardise my plan."
"Of course, My Prince." Acteon bowed in reply, hiding the way his hands curled into fists and his face contorted into an angry snarl as he did so. "I meant no disrespect."
'One day.' He reminded himself. 'One day this will all be over.'
"I find that odd considering you aren't using my proper title." Nikos replied, and Acteon stared in confusion before his words caught up to him and he smiled savagely. The only person he hated more than Alexander Nikos was Pyrrha Nikos.
"You're finally being open about your ambitions? About seizing the throne?" Acteon asked eagerly. Just the thought of the shock and hurt on Her Imperial Bitchiness' face from finding out made him giddy with glee.
"That is correct." Nikos replied stiffly. "And I've had to traipse through all the snow in Atlas to get here so you better listen closely. From now you will address me with the proper respect a monarch of Mistral deserves. Am I clear?"
'Don't kill him yet. Don't kill him yet.'
"Of course."
"Of course what?"
'Don't kill him yet. Don't kill him yet.'
"Of course, Your Imperial Majesty." Acteon replied, bowing stiffly.
"Better." Nikos said. "I want you ready to march tomorrow. An Atlesian army is assembling nearby. I want to get there and negotiate an alliance with its commander."
"You want to do what?" Acteon blurted out, and Nikos' eyes narrowed before he sighed like a father would when trying to explain something to a particularly idiotic child.
"The Atlesians will be desperate. They'll have been as caught off guard as I was and considering my sister is obviously trying to starve the Atlesians to weaken them they'll lack the backbone to reject a possible replacement for her, especially when he brings an army with concrete information about her plans and movements and a willingness to make peace." Nikos replied. "Have you done what I asked?"
"To the best of my ability." Acteon answered honestly, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. "Which is a miracle considering all you told me to do was 'Destabilise her position'. I ensured there was a battle at Vulcan. Some fishermen tried playing at diplomat and his friends decided to fight after seeing what I did to him. She lost a lot of men trying to take it. I've had my boys kill some of her soldiers whenever they were vulnerable. I'm not particularly bothered about being found out considering I've defected now, but there hasn't been many opportunities for anything else."
"That's good enough." Nikos replied, turning to face the chaos and violence clearly raging below them. "Have your fun if you want. But when you're finished make sure your army knows that this is the last time they'll be doing anything of the sort whilst we're in Atlas."
'As if I wouldn't have my fun anyway.' Acteon almost scoffed, though he managed to hide it by bowing and walking away.
"Acteon."
What now? He turned. His 'liege' had a stern look on his face. If he wasn't little more than a pampered brat, Acteon may have been scared.
"I don't want any witnesses telling the Atlesians what happened here."
This time Acteon couldn't stop himself from rolling his eyes and scoffing.
"We are monsters not idiots." He replied, giving a mocking bow. "Your Imperial Majesty."
Then he turned to enjoy the fun whilst it lasted.
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Seventy-Seven knew something was wrong about Duke Acteon when he had skirted around Vulcan, ignoring his Queen's orders to bolster their forces with that of Vulcan's garrison. They had headed northwards, and what was supposed to be his brothers in arms committed crime after crime against the few civilians who hadn't already fled. Many of them were old or sick, and hadn't had the capability to flee.
They should've been aided. It was an honourable thing to show mercy to the weaker enemies and civilians. His instructors had instilled that within him since he was a mere boy practising the art of combat with long, heavy sticks. You should help them. Provide them with firewood and food and medicine. Prove that you are not the monsters they think you are.
The army of Duke Acteon had not done that. They had tortured. Old men tied to trees and shot full of arrows for sport. Old women stripped naked and tied to hastily erected wooden crosses, beaten and humiliated before being flayed and left to rot. The sick and crippled dragged along by the horses of their baggage train until they died or the monsters masquerading as soldiers grew bored of their screams and killed them.
The rape. All they did was rape. Whoever was healthy enough, regardless of age or gender, were dragged into tents during the night and dragged along by ropes around their necks during the day. When they weren't raping civilians, they were raping each other. Seventy-Seven had already had to kill three who had attempted to do the same to him. His superiors had commended him for the way he had quickly killed them.
They knew. They knew who he was. He was too rigid, too disciplined and principled to be one of their own. They took particular joy in parading the horrors they inflicted in front of him, knowing he wouldn't jeopardise his poorly concealed disguise.
It had at least been a week or two since he had departed from his Queen's army. It had felt like years.
And now they were pillaging and raping once more. There was so much screaming. They would haunt him, follow him to his deathbed and likely into the beyond. This wasn't war. This was unrestricted cruelty.
Something caught his attention. Amidst the smoke and the carnage he saw something flicker on a nearby hill. It was a cloak. It was red. It was emblazoned by a golden spear and crown. The royal symbols of Mistral.
A shock of red hair. A duke bowing before him.
His Queen had to know.
Seventy-Seven turned. His mission was complete. He knew the truth. Duke Acteon had betrayed his queen for her brother. There was no need for him to stay any longer. Although he wished he could, there was nothing he could do to help these people. He was just one man against many.
"Help! Help!"
"Quiet girl!"
Seventy-Seven turned. Just before the edges of the woods, behind the inferno of a burning house, one of Duke Acteon's soldiers loomed over a girl. Tear tracks stained her face. Fear was etched on it like a tapestry. Yet another thing to haunt him until the day he died and beyond.
"Help! Please!"
She was looking at him. Pleading. The soldier backhanded her. Blood trickled down from her split lip. He tugged and tore at her ragged, dirty clothes.
She looked like a child. She probably was a child.
He shifted his hold on his spear. He lined up the shot. It was heavy, but he was strong. It soared through the air and burst through the soldiers chest with a satisfying, squelchy thunk. It had pierced his lungs, and the man slowly fell, groaning and choking on his own bubbling blood.
Seventy-Seven had aimed for the heart. It was close enough.
He made his way over, drawing his short sword. The man's throat was cut easily and Seventy-Seven yanked his bloodied spear out of the man's chest. The girl was staring, panting and sobbing. Blood coated her face and torn clothes.
Seventy-Seven didn't know any Atlesian, so he wordlessly pointed at the forest before turning away from her. He did not wish to remain here any longer.
Before entering the forest himself, he turned briefly. The girl was gone. Seventy-Seven smiled before turning and leaving, heading westward to find his Queen, westward away from the endless screams.
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"As much as I hated to say it boys, we've had our fun. No more killing or raping in Atlas. Nikos wants to ally with the Atlesians."
"What about the whores we already have?"
"Can't have them either. Too much of a risk they'll rat us out to the Atlesians. Kill everyone. Make it fun whilst you can."
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"Sir Klein! The enemy has been spotted heading towards Cavine!"
Klein stood up suddenly. He had been pouring over reports about the state of their logistics when the messenger burst into his tent suddenly, causing him to spill ink all over his desk and work. At that moment, Klein did not care very much.
"How big?"
"Roughly 8,000 to 9,000."
"Spread the word. We're marching immediately."
"Sir!"
Klein strode out of his tent buckling his sword around his hip. He had already been wearing his armour and his sword had been kept nearby. The camp was a hive of activity as soldiers ran towards their predetermined positions. Only half would be ready, as per his orders, but the other half would soon be ready to march. It had been arduous and painful, but Klein had managed to gather enough tough, no nonsense men to create enough officers and sergeants to pretty much fully staff the newly established regiments, bringing about better discipline. There were plenty of issues regarding his men, but they would have to be ironed out on the battlefield. The idiots would die but the ones he needed would live. He just hoped he had enough not idiots to have an army once the battle was over.
"Sir Klein!"
Klein didn't stop, but he turned and saw Lord Barney Ruffus, a minor lord who'd brought an extra one hundred men to Klein's army. He was young, inexperienced and overeager for war. But he was a good lad with a decent enough head on his shoulders.
"My lord." Klein replied politely. He would've bowed, but now wasn't the time for niceties.
"What's going on?" Lord Ruffus asked, following in step with Klein's brisk pace. He was fully armoured bar the helmet that rested against his hip. Good.
"The Mistrali have made their move. An army is marching towards Cavine. I don't know much, but by the time we get there we should hopefully have enough time to fortify it."
"I can slow them down if you want?" Lord Ruffus offered, and Klein almost stumbled.
"How so?"
"I've been training some of the men using horses I bought from Alderman Stone. They aren't much but they know how to ride at least. I can harry the Mistrali and slow them down."
"How many men?"
"Mine and around seventy others."
"Do it but be careful. Don't get bogged down. Hit then run. The Mistrali favour infantry, but if there is any sign of enemy cavalry then retreat immediately. Do you understand me?"
"Yes sir!" Lord Ruffus replied, snapping so his back was straight. It was odd to recieve something resembling a salute from a born and bred noble.
"Good luck." Klein told the younger man, who grinned before turning and storming away briskly. Klein shook his head. He hoped the boy would survive this war.
He made his way to the flat field where the bulk of the army was assembling. There he met with the commanders he'd put in charge. Some were chosen because of he genuinely believed they would be good leaders. Others were chosen out of necessity due to their rank or a lack of suitable replacements.
"We're going straight to Cavine. When we get their, I'll give clearer orders, but for the moment we know little about what we're facing. We go to Cavine, get more information and either fortify or retreat. Clear?" Klein ordered.
"Yes sir!"
Klein mounted his host and led the first column of his troops away from Meashire and eastward towards Cavine, towards the battle brewing there.
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There was nothing Alexander Nikos hated more than a foiled plan. That was incorrect actually. What he hated more than a foiled plan was an accidentally foiled plan.
He had been nearing the precipice of greatness. His betrothed, former betrothed in all likelihood, had been metaphorically bruised and battered, on the ropes and reeling from his sudden assault on her power. Money talked, and thanks to Cinder and the wise investments of a few key, allied banks, Alexander had plenty of it. His power had been soaring, his influence growing and spreading across Atlas. He'd been preparing for laying the groundwork of his expansion into Vale when his idiotic fool of a sister had decided to throw everything out of balance by waging war.
Now everything Mistrali was reviled by Atlas and his contacts and newest pawns had all but abandoned him or been executed in a swift, sudden strike by the Ice Queen herself.
Schnee's actions didn't bother him. He was always happy to find someone capable of matching him when it came to political manipulations and manoeuvring. It made it all the more sweeter when he finally overcame them.
But his sister. He'd sacrifice everything just to see her dead.
Maybe he was. Duke Acteon was a wildcard, someone who hated his sister just as much as he did. He also quite clearly hated Alexander just slightly less badly. He needed to keep an eye on him, but desperation meant he was his only option. He couldn't use Cinder openly as too many hated dragons and it was for the best that he wasn't linked to the dragon that had attacked Haven and Nördliche Burg.
He wasn't even sure if his plan would work. The Atlesians may very well just arrest him as a hostage against his sister if he was lucky. If he wasn't then they'd kill him as an example to his sister. Either option was one he disliked, and the outcome could only be decided by the commander of the Atlesians and whether he could convince them he was not a threat to Atlas but was a threat to his sister.
He clutched the amulet hidden beneath his tunic, the cold metal a comfort against his chest. He'd made deals with the devil before. He could only hope the devil decided he was still worth investing in.
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Klein and his army made it to Cavine in record time. Captain Nyx had made sure the town was evacuated of civilians and had kept order. Klein's reinforcements had only increased the speed with which the defences were either built or renovated. Two days after he'd heard of the Mistrali army, his scouts reported it as being just one week away. There had been no sign of Lord Ruffus either, though there were reports of some skirmishes and a tight Mistrali formation.
Numbers about its size varied. Some claimed it was twenty thousand strong. Others claimed it was half that number. Others claimed it was even less than that.
Regardless the Mistrali marched ever closer. Trenches, earthworks, barricades and siege weapons were built. Meashire sent a constant supply of goods like construction materials, food and weapons and his formerly ragtag army quickly became efficient as he flitted them out for drills, construction or patrols and his newly established officers quickly instilled discipline. It was a fantastic turnaround. Klein felt that Ironwood and Arc Senior would be proud, and that was more than enough for him.
One week and two days after he'd heard the news of the Mistrali march, Klein finally saw it with his own eyes. It was no horde like the Faunus had been so long ago. It was more akin to the shattered remnants of the once mighty horde that Klein had helped crush at the Battle of Fort Lagune. Likely less then ten thousand, more than five. At the very least they'd be of a similar size to his own army of seven thousand and then some.
Despite his newfound confidence, he did not want to commit to a pitch battle. The terrain was of dense woodlands or bumpy fields, neither of which were a good place to fight. He'd prefer to force the Mistrali to commit to a half-hearted siege. They wouldn't be able to completely surround the town or cut if off from supplies. There was a risk they'd send some forces to circumvent them and take Meashire or Ceywell but the bulk of the Mistrali would have to remain there to keep Klein's forces held down. They'd be weakening themselves however, and after a few days to guarantee their detachment had gone he'd strike at the weakened main force. Divide and conquer. Just like Weiss had said.
If they decided to go down that route that was. He had no idea who led the Mistrali army, whether they were competent or otherwise. All he could do was wait and see.
One day after he first saw the Mistrali army, they had finally arrived at Cavine. Their army arrayed itself just at the edge of the forest, just outside the range of the archers and the siege engines he'd constructed to counter theirs. Ironically, they didn't have any.
His own army was split into three segments. A small force outside the town protecting the westward supply lines to Meashire, half of his army in reserve on the walls and inside Cavine whilst the rest were stationed outside the walls behind the rows of trenches, barricades and earthworks they'd constructed in the week before. Klein wanted to make the Mistrali bleed for every step they took towards the walls, though he was loath to use the walls themselves due to their poor state. After the battle, he would have to make sure a more competent alderman was installed as Cavine's leader.
The two forces stood off from one another. Just as Klein was starting to feel bored, a messenger emerged from the Mistrali ranks, carrying a white flag. Klein mounted his horse and set off to meet the rider, who stopped halfway across the recently cut down forest separating the two armies. As Klein neared, he recognised him.
"Alexander Nikos."
"Klein." The weaselly brat replied, inclining his head respectfully.
"Sir Klein actually." He replied, unable to prevent himself from snapping at the boy. If he didn't respond with words then he would respond with fists, ruining any chance he had at stopping his soldiers being killed in battle. Klein was confident he could beat Nikos' army but he had no illusions in believing it would be a one sided slaughter.
"Weiss restored your honours?"
"After I saved her life and she revoked the Vytal Treaty due to your sister's invasion, yes."
"That's good. I never meant to bring you down Klein, but I did have a duty to detain Jaune Arc."
"None of that matters now. What do you want?"
"To negotiate an alliance between Mistral and Atlas."
"You do mean the same Mistral that just invaded Atlas?"
"In a sense. Mistral has been led astray by my sister. I happen to know of someone much more sane and with an equally good claim to her throne as well as a desire to end the bloodshed before it devolves into a second Great War."
"You want to usurp your sister."
"Yes. And I want Atlas to help."
"Why should we?"
"I will end the war between our kingdoms, I will help defeat my mad sister, I will also revoke the Vytal Treaty and restore Atlas' sovereignty so long Mistral isn't punished for the unjust war forced on both kingdoms by my sister. My soldiers will continue to behave honourably and justly, meaning no harm to Atlesians by the hands of my Mistrali. Is there anything else you want or will that do?"
"I can only relay this to Weiss, not make the decision on her behalf."
"Then what am I supposed to do in the meantime? Sit in the snow and let my army starve?"
"Prove it. Actions say more than words. Help me retake Vulcan from your sister and I will put in a good word with Weiss."
"You will share supplies?"
"Unless you betray me."
"I won't. My best chance of survival is by overthrowing my sister before she runs our kingdom and house into the ground."
"I will send word to Weiss and inform my army. You better make sure your soldiers are well behaved Nikos."
And with that Klein returned to Cavine.
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Ruffus grunted as his wounds were stitched together by a surgeon. He'd been caught by a Mistrali spear to his thigh during their last raid on the Mistrali column, the spear tip bouncing off the plate armour and piercing the mail he wore below it. Ruffus was only glad the spear hadn't taken his 'crown jewels' as the men joked.
They were tired, wounded and worried about Mistrali retribution, but there was satisfaction amongst his small group of warriors. They had given as good as they got to the Mistrali, always leaving behind fewer bodies than they did. He'd lost nearly thirty of his men, though he'd reckoned each man took down an enemy at the minimum and definitely wounded another due to the sheer impact and weight of their horses crashing down into them.
The few scouts he'd posted reported the Mistrali as long gone. Ruffus only hoped he had weakened them enough so that Sir Klein had an easy enough time finishing them off.
"All done milord." The surgeon said, his work complete as he finished stitching up his wound.
"Good work soldier." Ruffus replied, handing the surgeon a golden coin as he shook his hand. "Go help the others."
"Yes milord!" The surgeon replied, bowing lowly. "Don't put too much pressure on your leg milord."
Then he scuttled away, hiding the coin as he did so. Ruffus chuckled and used his sword to heave himself to his feet. One of his soldiers saw and came over carrying a large stick, which Ruffus took gratefully. After a few jabs and japes, Ruffus made his way through and out of the small encampment, heading towards a nearby brook. He made sure not to put too much pressure on his wounded leg as ordered, but he still wanted to exercise it. He'd been getting restless sitting around.
Something made him stop. He was close to the brook, he could hear its waters babbling. He had heard something. It sounded like…
Sobbing. A child crying.
Ruffus ignored the pain in his leg and the surgeon's orders as he hurried towards the noise as quickly as he could. It came from a felled, hollow tree, and as he neared the sobbing only grew more desperate and louder.
"Hello?" He said softly, not wanting to cause whoever it was any more distress. "Who's there?"
The sobbing quietened down.
"You speak Atlesian?" A hoarse, broken voice asked quietly.
"I am Atlesian." Ruffus replied. The sobbing stopped.
"R-Really?"
"I am. I lead a group of Atlesian soldiers. We've been attacking the Mistrali for a few days now."
There was a moment of silence. A bird tweeted in the distance.
"I saw you on the horses. I thought a Mistrali saw me and got scared."
"Well you don't need to fear them now. We've driven them off far away. Can I ask you your name?"
"I'm Jora."
"How old are you Jora?"
"I'm eleven."
"Where are your parents?"
There was silence. Then more broken sobbing.
Ruffus grunted as he lowered himself down so he could see into the hollow tree. A dirty, worryingly thin child sobbed, curled up in a ball and wearing ragged, torn clothes. His worry and concern skyrocketed. She looked up at him, her face caked with brown, dried blood, her eyes filled with tears and fear.
"Don't worry. I won't hurt you. I'll protect you." Ruffus swore solemnly, and the girl scrambled forward, throwing herself against him and sobbing into his chest. He gently wrapped his arms around her and comforted her as best he could, saying words of comfort and singing songs his mother sung to him. She laughed at him when he did so. Normally he would be affronted at his singing skills being questioned so, but he was just glad to see a genuine, childish smile on her face.
"What happened Jora?" He asked gently once she stopped giggling at him. "I need to know what happened to your parents."
She buried her face into his chest, and before he was going to ask again she spoke.
"The Mistrali burned our home. Mama was screaming and Papa was trying to put out the first. I ran. A Mistrali caught me. He tried taking my clothes off. Another Mistrali killed him. I ran. I followed them because they always left scraps behind…"
Her voice trailed off, wavering before she began crying again. Ruffus comforted her once more, though he didn't ask her any more questions. He knew what he needed to know. He would protect this child. He would kill every Mistrali in Atlas until they returned to their gods forsaken homeland and she could live in peace again.
He comforted her, singing to her softly. She didn't laugh this time.
His eyes narrowed. Klein would need to know what the Mistrali had done.
A/N: New upload schedule for next month:
05/07/2022
10/07/2022
15/07/2022
20/07/2022
I'll be going on holiday from the 23rd to the 30th so my new schedule of three per month wouldn't have worked, so instead you get four chapters at the beginning of the month :)