Rin’s boots struck the sodden boards with a blazing rhythm. She blitzed through the obstacle course, a weighted vest tight against her ribs and a greatsword comfortably in her hands.

  [By strong will, vigor unending.]

  The mantra echoed through her mind constantly, as she aided her heart and lungs with mana.

  She soared over the last ridge, slashing downward. The blade buried into the cold ground up to the hilt.

  The gauntlet was complete yet again. Her breath remained perfectly even.

  Rin smiled as she relished in the silence.

  The annoying pests who used to bother her, removed themselves from the world.

  No one else dared to mock her, not anymore.

  -=-=-

  Godric Lovandel waited behind a low desk, flanked by guards whose faces had gone pale.

  “Are your people ready?” He repeated the question.

  “I have lifted their spirits.” She smiled amiably at the old man. “We can move out anytime.”

  “Good. You’re leaving in three days.” Godric exhaled. “You will be given five hundred armed men and a thousand workers.”

  “I don't need them.” She pushed back. “My own kind is enough.”

  “Perhaps, but it’s not your call to make.” Godric waved his hand toward the guards, who promptly brandished their weapons. “Don’t forget yourself.”

  She inclined her head softly and left, a cruel smile blooming on her face.

  Empty threats–clear signs of weakness.

  -=-=-

  Rin drove the flag into the frozen rock. The relentless gusts snapped the red cloth taut, pointing the way forward.

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  A whisper brushed the edges of her thoughts.

  [This way, Lady Successor.]

  One of the teams had found a clean path through the next ridge.

  Rin adjusted her stance and jumped, boots crushing the ice as she climbed.

  Her lungs burned pleasantly; Nightblade’s techniques kept her feeling fresh, with warmth pulsing in her chest.

  Halfway up the slope, a roar shook the mountains. A wyrm burst from its nest, furious that someone dared encroach its territory. Frost gathered at its throat.

  Rin tilted her head slightly.

  The breath struck where she had just been, covering a patch of stone with white glass-like ice.

  She pushed at the mana, the Nightblade guiding the motion. Illusions rippled out across the cliffside, faint silhouettes flitting between boulders. The wyrm dipped, confused, swinging at phantoms that melted into the rocks.

  It flew lower. Lower still.

  When its wings were close enough to swirl the snow on the ground, Rin moved.

  She leapt, pushing against a jagged rock to bring herself higher still. In a single motion, she unsheathed the silver blade and severed one of the creature’s wings.

  The wyrm crashed down the slope, tumbling until it dug in its claws.

  It dragged itself toward her with hoarse, ragged hisses.

  Just as the wyrm lunged, Rin jumped. She deflected a blow, then landed right on the beast’s head.

  Her heel drove the jaws shut with a crack.

  The creature thrashed in agony, but she had already anchored herself to the ground. Rin placed a hand on the top of its skull, brushing the scales as if calming a frightened animal.

  Then she pushed her sword through its eye.

  The body slackened. Snow settled.

  Rin tore out one of its fangs and attached it to her belt, next to six identical trophies.

  Useless creatures, revered for their age. Just like our elders.

  After flicking the filth off her blade, she resumed her climb, her footing light, her breath steady.

  -=-=-

  Rin stood at the peak, her skin and light armor covered in frost. Below her, red flags cut a clean line across the mountainside, a neat scar where Godric wanted his grand road to pass.

  Far across the slope, thousands of human workers hacked at the rock, pickaxes striking in a steady rhythm. They quickly tore the mountain open.

  On the warmer side of the ridge, where the ice gave way to the first hints of soil, the teams gathered. Her hundred elves split into their assigned groups. Two or three human “handlers” assigned to each of them.

  Rin couldn’t help but smile as she watched the formations. Godric had underestimated them for far too long.

  Her people would travel ahead into the kingdom, observing and listening. All they needed was distance from the main army.

  Her very own network, linked by the soulwell.

  [Grand General Yorren is asking where you are, Lady Successor.]

  Respect for a human?

  Rin breathed out, neither sighing nor laughing, but something in between.

  She glanced back once, toward the distant forests of her homeland, where the plains met the jagged peaks.

  Then she turned toward the plains, where her objective lay.

  The barrier city of Vennevar and the rebellion within.

  Rin stepped off the peak, let the drop take her, and called the wind to soften her fall.

  If humans wanted war, she would bring it to them.

  With the kind of ruin their chroniclers would whisper about for generations.