Elred growled as she stabbed soldiers after the other. There's an unholy amount and this was just in Abshire. Sheets of reflecting glass hung in the air around Elred, giving her a full view of all the directions where attacks might come from.

She ducked then rolled as two swords swept past the place where her head had once been. She stabbed at the legs while she stood up. Faces and surroundings blurred in her mind as she parried, stabbed, and slashed. Her feet skidded against broken shards.

Elred was being herded. Somewhere.

Her arm felt heavy as she swept it in a wide arc, pointed shards of glass spearing out of her palms and embedding themselves into the immediate line of her attackers. Not enough. A hand slapped against the wrist holding her sword and she felt herself getting thrown to the ground.

Not enough.

Elred groaned as she pushed herself up and summoned a new sword again. Her vision blurred as more soldiers pressed in on her.

Not enough.

Elred stumbled back as they lunged. At one point, her back slammed against a mansion wall. They've driven her somewhere, indeed. She gritted her teeth as she swung herself inside the mansion and built the wall back up with her shards.

There was a way to get these soldiers off the plateau but it's too powerful that the people in Rabante might not survive. Hexen's sheets, Elred wasn't entirely certain she'd emerge alive from it, too.

Elred raked her gaze at the soldiers trying to hack at the thick wall of glass she placed between them. The Sovereign's insignia glinted in their chests. Familiar faces and not blurred in Elred's memory. Her mind ran through the number that made it here and the ones that were still cresting the plateau. She's going to die whatever choice she makes. Might as well drag these heathen with her.

The first sword tip broke through the glass. Elred gritted her teeth. It's now or never.

She dropped to her knees and spread her hands on the mansion's floor. With her eyes closed, she connected to the magic beneath the plateau itself. She prayed to every god and goddess to give her the strength to survive. Her heart pounded in her ears. She chuckled bitterly. For someone who thought she was ready to die, this wasn't a great start.

Magic warmer than her own sped through her veins like a whip, making her gasp. This presence...it's too much. Elred bit down against the pain as the scalding magic gripped her every nerve and flayed her muscles. The mountain shook in an almost audible roar. Her palms began to smoke from being pressed against the glass floor of the Arness mansion. Cold wind blew from the windows.

The weapons hacking at the glass wall paused, no doubt sensing the great power that bled off the mountain in thick, pulsing waves. Elred clenched her jaw as she knelt in the presence of a god trapped under layers of dirt as it awoke. A forgotten tale. It's the source of life in the Glass Mountain.

With a slight whimper, Elred connected her synnavaim to it. Something snapped inside of her. She gasped as she collapsed to the ground, the ancient magic coursing through her veins. Her pupils dilated; her chest tightened. No air bled into her lungs. The soldiers' gasps and their weapons' clatter faded as the mountain shook again.

A loyal soul calls to a power no one can understand, the mountain's words blared in her ears. It's impossible that she's the only one who could hear this. Child, do you wish to be my vessel?

Elred couldn't speak, couldn't even feel her tongue. She nodded as far as her weakening muscles let her.

Then rise, each of the words slammed and tore at Elred's mind. For you are reborn with the Glass Mountain's power alive within you. Speak and vanquish your enemies.

Air flooded Elred's nose as a gasp escaped her throat. Her mouth and tongue moved on their own, forming the Ancient call for power. Gnesori fe varjada.

Beckon the Shadows.

Magic poured off her like water from a fall. White glare ate at all the colors in her vision. Distant shrieks colored the ringing in her ears. The ground shook but she pushed herself upright. The mountain sang in glee as she spread her arms, letting the magic flow through her and out into the world. This was suppressed energy tasting freedom for the first time. The glare intensified and the screams rose along with it. Were they from the enemy or from her? It's hard to tell.

Then, as quickly as it appeared, it vanished. Like an iphik sucking blood out of her, the magic pulled back, taking its warmth along with it. Elred collapsed into the ground, her face hitting the cold, cold floor. The world was hazy, spinning. Was she standing or lying down?

Breathe.

Her head pounded; her ears rang. Even though the mountain quietened, she could hear faint murmurs and she swore she heard them talking in the Ancient language. Were the spirits of her ancestors coming to get her? Was Pidmena?

Focus. Breathe.

The world righted itself. Slowly. Her senses returned one by one. The smell of upturned mud was strong in her nose. Feeling and control gripped her limbs once more as she pushed herself with a groan.

Then, she saw what's around her.

Nothing remained. The mansions, the gardens, the bodies—all of it was gone as if a celestial broom descended from heaven and swept over the plateau. Her shoulders slumped as her gut swirled. Thousands of years' tradition lost, destroyed. What was she thinking?

"That was quite a show you've put together," a familiar voice spoke from somewhere west. Despite the fatigue squeezing her knees, Elred pushed herself up. She swayed a little, her blurry vision painting Viktir's face.

"How come you're still alive?" Elred huffed. Her magic didn't come when she first called it to her.

Viktir slapped his chest. "This monster's been through tougher stuff than exploding mountains," he gestured to his side "All of us have. You made sure of that."

From Elred's periphery, Diran, Pikard, and Nadia stepped forward with grim faces and armors dented.

A clipped laugh tore of Elred's lips. "So it all comes down to this?" Elred inclined her head at her former trainees. "You against me? I trained you in everything you know."

"We don't want to do this either but we also don't want to displease the Sovereign," Diran fiddled with the sword still sheathed at his side before meeting Elred's eyes from across the distance between them. "It's either your head or ours."

Elred shook her head to clear off the remaining haze in her vision. "Ah, you still follow the Sovereign after all the crap she put you through?" Her eyes tracked their feet as they moved to circle her like prey.

"Like you, we don't have a choice," Pikard said somewhere behind her. If he struck she would have to send him careening towards his twin who still haven't moved. "We all got ourselves in a mess we can't get out of."

"Do you enjoy it, though?" Elred sidestepped as Nadia whizzed past her periphery. "All the pointless carnage and the endless battles. Aren't you tired of it all?"

"Depends on which battles are you talking about," Nadia said from behind Elred. "If you're talking about the part where we fight to save the island, then I'll never tire of it."

Ah, Nadia, forever the believer. "She doesn't save," Elred scoffed. Her own foolishness glared at her more than ever. "Not anymore."

Elred lowered her stance and considered her position. Nadia would attack with magic, Diran with his fists or his sword, Viktir and Pikard would attempt to pin her to the ground. "If you have retracted your belief in me at this moment," Elred said. "Then go ahead and kill me."

As if moving with one mind, four of Synketros' generals, who had once been her students and friends, charged at her.