"Take cover!" Nelnifa screamed through the expanse as soldiers rushed from their quarters, saw the intruders, and started their assault. Someone had hauled the generals' forms from the battlefield, freeing it from hindrances. She turned to her father. "Keep low."

A spell collided with the crenelation behind her, disrupting rock and debris and lighting Nelnifa's sky bright pink and amber. "Go!" she yelled through the haze of hissing smoke. She shouldered her rifle once more, calculating the spare poisoned bullets still inside. She'd have at least five more shots. Or was it four? Which rifle did she slot the extra xyth bullet in?

She cursed, causing her father to whirl to her direction and pause his crawl. His purple hair turned pink in a span of seconds. Her eyes widened. She dove, her weight crashing against him. They fell to the ground, her elbow hitting the hard floor of the battlements. Pain shot to her shoulders, complimenting the loud boom knocking a large chunk of the parapet.

"Don't stop!" She screamed at her father, hauling him to his feet. "Run!"

In an ideal universe, ordering one's father around would result in eternal punishment in the Land of Wonders, but that's the least of Nelnifa's worries now. The spells never halted, all hungry for the intruders' blood, which happened to be them. They just needed to meet up with the rest of the Marshals and get everyone out.

And then what? They'd retreat to Zoriago where they'd spend the rest of the war trying to outrun the Heiress and her soldiers until they couldn't. Nelnifa hated just the mere notion of it. Water sprites should have been a proud race; they shouldn't be smoked out of their own homes like a damned colony of srilla.

No. If they were bent on surviving, they have to fight. She has to fight, even if the best thing she wanted for herself was to relax on the shore without having to deal with anyone for a week. Well...perhaps her family could be an exception. And the Marshals. Particularly...him.

A damning screech ripped through whatever fantasy she conjured for herself. She ducked, arms flying to her head, as the wall rushed towards her. What in Shirope's name was—

Her braids snapped, freeing her locks from their rigid arrangement. Her back hit the battlements' floor, knocking the air out of her. The flames ravaged westward, tearing a gap in the walls. She rolled to her side and looked down. It's a straight drop, but they'd be out of the fortress. Then, they could run across the sand. It'd be faster.

"Nifa!" her father called, his voice sounding so distant. She raised her head from the gap to find him stuck on the opposite side. "I'll meet with the Marshals. Get out of here."

Nelnifa gritted her teeth. Not a chance. She'd get everyone out first.

Her legs shook as she staggered up, bracing the crenelation with her good arm. She stepped back, gauging the gap still blazing with the excess embers from whatever spell hit it. Then, she burst forward, her muscles raging with the heartbeats slamming inside her chest. The gap neared with every step. The wind roared in her ears, joining the echoes of cast spells arcing across the star-laden night.

The edge came sooner than expected. Nelnifa planted one foot on the ground, launching herself across the gnawing space. Something burst behind her, dousing the spot she had been in green and blue sparks. She tucked herself into a roll as she hurtled to the other side. Her father scrambled out of the way as she crashed, hands and knees scraping the rough floor to stop her skid.

Before she could recover, the shadows swirled next to her. Arms shot out of the inky veils, blades aimed for her. She fell back, strands of hair slapping the ground, narrowly escaping a whizzing sword. From her periphery, she saw her father get tackled and slammed down on a crenelation.

A growl flitted off her lips. Her hands drew both a dagger and a flintlock from her belt. She slashed a violent curve across her attacker's legs, pushing the soldier out of the way at the onset of their pained gasp. The flintlock snapped to the air. She fired. Her father's captor crumpled to the ground.

"I'll be behind you," she jerked her chin at him, hoping he now understood what predicament they're in. "Meet the Marshals. We'll run to the mountains."

Her father dashed forward and rounded the upcoming corner. More swirls of shadows popped in the air, and Nelnifa dealt with them before anything stepped through. Empty bullet casings trailed in her wake as she clicked the trigger and reloaded again and again. She smoothed through a magazine before they even made it to the nearest tower. Would they take the stairs? Maybe.

A hiss of metal rang behind her. She whirled, dagger coming up to block the blow. She came face-to-face with Ilphas. "Marshal," she breathed, easing her grip and stance. "Where are the others?"

"Laie's bringing them to camp," he answered. His hair was plastered against his forehead, complimenting the rugged look the streaks of blood and dust brought to his face. "Sorry for trying to attack you. I mistook you for a Cardovian abducting the Potentate."

Her father perked up at the mention of his title and at a sudden reference. "You're talking about me?" he asked. "What did I do this time?"

Nelnifa rolled her eyes. Despite him being hundreds of years older than her—well, probably—he looked well enough to be her older brother or a long-lost twin. The thought of her being close to the age that would bring her the features she'd carry for the next hundred years couldn't be more obvious now.

"Let's get out of here," she said, sidestepping both men and peeking past the edge of the wall. A plan nipped at the back of her mind. She didn't fight the wicked grin tearing her lips apart when she turned to her father and Ilphas. "Say, how are you at abseiling?"

Soon, she coursed down the side of the wall in a cascade of saltwater, her boots surfing over the waves. The last knots of Laie's braid slipped from her hair as the wind drove her purple locks away from her face. Behind her, Ilphas and her father skimmed through the impromptu waterfall with the same expertise as her.

She withdrew her magic the moment they touched down on the ground. The sea-ward gate, which remained largely untouched, loomed over them. Just a few fortweres north, and she would see the waves attempt to wash the monstrosity they left behind. They exchanged looks, and within seconds, tore across the stretch of sand, gearing to meet up with the other Marshals. She hoped Ketha and Alsen were alright, despite not being used to the chaos of battle and plans going haywire.

The stars surged towards them, sparking and blazing. Her throat closed up, spells dropping from enormous pools of swirling shadows overhead. Nelnifa's magic streaked to the surface, snuffing most of the flame-based spells. Those that got through, she left to her nimble feet to avoid.

Sand sputtered, stinging her eyes and scratching her skin. Her cloak caught fire more than once, forcing her to shed it off. Ilphas had thrown an arm over the Potentate's head as they stumbled forward. To where? The Marshal's wild gaze snapped to hers. He's looking for direction, but for once, Nelnifa's mind was empty. Everywhere she looked, the spots in the sky opened up and brought instant death upon the shore. One hit, and she's bound to say farewell to her dream of seeing the water sprites free and thriving. Just one luck caster, and she stood to lose the people who mattered most to her. Who said the others were safe even though they got out first?

Another streak of magic rushed towards Ilphas and her father. Her arms shot forward. She was too far. No. She wouldn't make it in time.

The spell hit. Sand exploded in a cloud of crystalline particles. No!

"Nifa! Over here!" Ilphas' voice rang through the haze. She squinted to make out two figures multiply into four, then ten, until the silhouettes whizzing through the beige expanse colluded into a huge mass. The Marshal and the Potentate reached the rim of the new crowd just as Nelnifa punched through the sandy veil.

A soldier astride a galor smiled down at her. "We've come, Princess," Vessa Yenas, the Marshal leading the offense faction said, stilling her steed with a gentle pat on the neck. "We'll cover your retreat. Then, we'll storm the fortress."

Nelnifa bobbed her head. "Thank you, Marshal," she said. "Make sure the Potentate arrives in camp safely. The covert Marshals too."

"Understood," Vessa said with a salute. Her orders rode over the noise of magic shooting from the shadows and galoris screeching as they charged into battle.

Nelnifa turned back to the chaos. "I'll stay here," she said. "And fight alongside you."

"Nifa, no," her father pushed through the foot soldiers as if by cue. "I can't allow that."

She leveled her gaze at the Potentate. He couldn't have picked the right time to exercise his authority. "This is war, Father," she said. "I must."

He grasped her arm. "I've taken everything you do in stride until this point," he said. "This is where I draw the line."

The offense faction reached the edge of the fortress, weaving across the trap-laden shore courtesy of the spell-shooting shadows blocking her view of the starry sky. Some got shot down, while others continued riding in valor. She wrapped a hand over her father's and edged his grip off her arm. "I'll make it up to you," she said. "I swear on Daexis' name. This battle will not be my last."

Who could be sure of what's going to be their last battle?

It's what her father needed to hear from her lips, though. She'd gladly utter the same words over and over, for as long as she could just to ease his soul. If they kept on running because they're afraid, where would the water sprites be after this war? The hunted should learn to bite back to stop the hunt. That's what Nelnifa was doing, because if she didn't start, then she'd still be in that pathetic corner she grew up in. She'd still be the same weak girl she had always abhorred.

The Potentate opened his mouth to say something else but it was cut short when a member of the offense faction ripped him from Nelnifa. He squirmed and flailed, and she didn't stay behind to watch his useless struggle. The water sprites needed their Princess, but they needed their Potentate more.

So, she charged towards the fortress where the enemy waited for her.

The battle blurred in her periphery. Her movements weren't her own, her senses forever detached from her conscience. She stabbed and slashed, ducking and rolling under similar attacks only to emerge the victor. Forms void of souls and life multiplied by the second, either by her dagger or the bullets from her flintlock. Most wore Cardovian garb, but Nelnifa kept track of the number of soldiers whose skin had hardened into malleable clay, the sea inside them going back to the source.

This wouldn't do. It's taking too long. They wouldn't win by losing more limbs than they could afford. She opened her mouth to call Marshal Vessa's attention. Her words transformed into a scream when she watched a lance streak in the air and slam into a galor's legs. The poor animal whined in pain, throwing the soldier on its flank straight into another waiting blade.

Red washed over the sand, and the waves couldn't clean the shore in time.

Her knees hit the ground. Seeing the dead multiply by the second made the dull ache at her side more noticeable. What could she do to stop this fighting? To end this war? She had nothing. Bullets and daggers could only do so much. They would die. Today would be their last day, and if not, then it'd come soon.

The waves gurgled against the shore, its sound muted.

A gasp filtered out of her lips. The waves.

The sea.

As a water sprite, she had grown up with it, along with the lessons and limitations that came with being acquainted with such a force of nature. The sea wasn't meant to be controlled just because their synnavaim aligned with it. But she didn't have a choice. Not in this situation.

If they were to win, they would need a goddess on their side. And that goddess lay only a fortwere away.

She dug her hands into the sand, anchoring herself and her magic into the ever-shifting surface. Her eyes slammed shut, her breaths easing into a battered rhythm. Warmth leeched off her veins and skin, zipping towards the waves. Purple wisps tumbled against the erratic trails of the water, clashing but never weaving with them. She scoured deeper, scratching the edges of her soul before letting it all out in a violent stream.

Her magic swept across the sand, lighting the red stains pink. For a while, nothing happened. Then, Nelnifa staggered up, her entire form shrouded with a faint layer of pink light. She raised a hand towards the sea, and feeling her magic respond to the violence and rage of the water, she swept her arm in a wide arc.

A colossal wall of salty water crashed all over the fortress, swallowing the porous rock it's built upon with its hunger. Screams of fear and aggression faded in her ears. She was vaguely aware of the offense faction running inland even though the water didn't touch them. All her energy honed in on the little dots of black stumbling out of the flooded fortress, shooting spells at the tall waves roaring for retribution. They were nothing but little specks compared to the might of an ancient force.

Nelnifa directed the sea to pluck the parasites from the sand, sticking them into tight whirlpools. Soon, the entire coastline had receded into a static wall of churning brine with little black dots of squirming pests decorating it. As if she had all the time in the world, she strode forward. Her boots touched the wet sand, but they didn't sink. It's as if she was merely floating across the ocher expanse, carried by the magic rolling off her skin.

She should drown these fools for trying to cross her. She was perfectly capable of doing that, wasn't she? They were under her mercy, and after seeing how they treated her people, she wasn't inclined to give them any, no matter how much they begged.

And beg, they did. Meaningless words vanished under the roar of the waves. She had no need for them. She curled her fingers inward. The whirlpools tightened, pulling their prisoners deeper into the depths. It's the end.

"Nifa! What are you doing?!" a familiar voice ripped through her reverie.

A sliver of recognition zipped from the back of her mind. She turned to find her father standing behind her, shin-deep into the water which remained on the shore. What was he here? Shouldn't he be somewhere safe already? "I'm exacting justice, Father," she answered. "This is only proper."

Her father shook his head. "Stop it this instant, Nifa," he ordered, as if he thought he's still in control and not her. "I didn't raise a murderer."

At that, a sardonic laugh tore past her chest, racking her shoulders with weak quivers. "It's too late for that now," she said between chuckles. "You saw it yourself. I have too much blood on my hands. Even the sea can't wash it off."

To put this talk to rest, she turned away from the wall of water and faced her father. "Do you know what I had to do to get to where I am?" she said. "I had to seek help from a wicked witch to learn everything I needed to free our people. The Sovereign—Synketros—used me to get rid of their defectors, and through that, I was able to get us here."

She gestured to the squirming mass of black buried underneath all the blue. "We are so close! We only need to end them, and we'll be free," she said. "Our people won't need to cower before anyone else ever again. Isn't that what you want as well?"

"We are not picking fights with those at the bottom," the Potentate answered. "It's the Heiress we want, so let them go. They're only following orders, no doubt while having a promise of punishment dangling over their heads. Nobody deserves to die out of a single soul's evil."

Nelnifa's jaw clenched.

"Please, Nifa," her father's tone edged towards begging. "You became whoever this was for our sake, but you don't have to. Not anymore. Don't forget who you are before all this. Hold onto your kindness. This is not you. Please."

Kindness. She had been kind once, and that proved to be a weakness. She wasn't weak. Not after all the work she put into being strong. Nelnifa Corledia wasn't a fool; she wouldn't fall into that trap. Justice must be given, and no amount of kindness would bring back everything the Heiress took away from their people and their territory.

She glanced at her father, sporting an expression bordering on horror and hurt. Maybe he blamed himself for his shortcomings as a parent. Nobody wanted to be related to a killer, and she understood that. What would her people think of her when they realize what she had done, even if it's to save them? Could they stomach that?

Lastly, what would Nelnifa think of herself once all this was over? Focus on the mission. Feel the emotions later. Why? Because while emotions hindered their executive functions, they also showed her the truth to her actions. Emotions betrayed the horror, the guilt, and the regret behind every drop of blood spilled and every life culled.

Be kind. It's not a weakness.

It's the mightiest power to have.

Her magic ebbed. The static wave crashed to the surface, washing ashore every soldier it held. Amidst the frantic splashing and the sea's turbulent sway returning, it registered in her mind how her clothes clung to her skin. Her hair was reduced to a clumpy mess, sticking to her arms, neck, and back. Salty water stung her eyes, dried off her lips, and rippled down her skin.

Whatever she's going to say died in her throat when strong arms yanked her away from the chaos. Her father's warmth seeped through their soaked forms, and Nelnifa found herself tucking her face to the crook of his neck, just like she used to do as a child. Then, she let go of the tears she had been holding back all these months.

Her father held her, and she let herself be held.