Charlie in the command room…

  The world came back in pieces.

  First was the throbbing in my skull. Insistent, like someone was tap-dancing on my head. I groaned. Second came the light. As if filtered through a war-dusted curtain and fractured glass. Too soft to be comforting, too bright to ignore.

  Third was the pain. Not the bad kind. But still pain.

  I blinked at the ceiling; it wasn’t familiar. Neither was the stiff cot digging into my spine, or the scratchy blanket that smelled suspiciously like emergency rations. Not my bed. Not a luxurious resort, either.

  Upgrade denied.

  I tried to sit up. Bad idea. The room tilted, then wobbled like an undecided jello. “Ugh… hungover?” I croaked, voice dry. Then blinked again. “Wait. No. I didn’t drink.”

  ...Did I?

  The last thing I remembered was standing on that ice tower. A scroll unfurled like a manifesto, a storm of mana howling around me. Casting. Doing weird magic. And then... nothing.

  Panic hit like a slap. I fainted? In Rimelion? This was a game! You don’t just… black out.

  “Lady?”

  I turned, or lurched, more accurately, toward the voice. Lola, tired but still composed, stood near a desk drowning in parchments. Where else? She didn’t look surprised to see me moving. Just… relieved. And tired enough to murder the next person who asked for a status report.

  “You’re awake,” she mumbled, the edges of her words smoothed by exhaustion.

  “No, I’m sleep-parading through my trauma,” I rasped, dragging myself into a slouch that passed for sitting. “How bad is it?”

  She hesitated, then offered a brittle smile. “Well... the wall’s still standing.”

  “Oh, good,” I groaned and slumped back. “Next time I’m casting legendary siege spells, remind me to hydrate first.” I’d been hungover in worse places. This tower at least had airflow, and the dust didn’t taste like bankruptcy, which was a plus.

  Prefer Roberto’s though. Wonder if he’s watching us.

  Lola pressed a tin cup into my hand. The water inside was lukewarm and had a vague aftertaste of metal, but I chugged it anyway. Hydration. Step one for my character to survive.

  “Let’s get this over with,” I muttered, dragging myself upright. My limbs still ached, but the world had mostly stopped spinning. Mostly.

  Lola didn’t wait. Of course she didn’t. “We held the damn line.” She smiled at the twist on my earlier words and I groaned. That moment was somewhat cringe.

  “Total confirmed player casualties are under six hundred, relatively low, given the scope.” Her voice was steady, efficient. “Notables include… Frozna, Scamantha. TechiLlama sustained injuries. Fuzuki—” she paused, face tightening. “—died. Heroically. On the toilet. Don’t ask.”

  I snorted water. “Of course Fuzuki did.”

  Lola didn’t flinch. “Your [Spectral Host] held the damn wall while you were unconscious. Mila directed their deployment. When they vanished… it shifted.” Her tone darkened like a bar before last call. When the music cuts, the lights go up, and everyone realizes the wives at home are angry.

  “And the Left Sock Division,” she hissed their name like a curse. “They charged. Early. Against orders. Complete annihilation.”

  I blinked. “Wait, all of them?”

  “Every single one. Even the goat.”

  “Not the goat,” I whispered, imagining Gatei getting furious. “Goat had a jacket.”

  “They all had jackets,” she snapped, slamming a scroll on the table. “Do you know how many resources I wasted trying to resupply a bunch of players who deep-fried mana crystals and brought fireworks?!”

  “I thought they were morale?”

  “They were an accounting error wearing embroidered socks.”

  Mila’s voice cut in before I had to defend the chaos. “They were also a strategic diversion.” He stepped into the room like a walking campaign poster. “They forced the enemy to deploy elites. Our wall wasn’t ready, but their timing forced the clash early.”

  He paused, as if deciding if to continue or jump out of the window. “Twir pushed their hand, and it worked. This time.” He nodded to me. “And your spell, Lady… that stabilized the line. Without it, we would’ve collapsed.”

  My spine straightened. A little.

  “But the [Spectral Host] vanished the moment you awoke. The main wall is under pressure again.” He rested a hand on the map, eyes unreadable. “Your spell bought us time. Not safety.”

  “Story of my life,” I muttered, tightening my grip on the empty cup. “Buy time. Pay later.”

  Joke didn’t land.

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  “Actually, Lunaris is de facto also part of the division, and she survived,” Mila finished his report.

  “Lunaris? Good. So,” I said, my voice raspier than expected, “Dmitry.”

  The map table was cold under my fingers.

  Mila looked up from the map. “He led the flank,” he confirmed, tapping little red markers on the river’s edge. “Executed a textbook feint at the main ford. Drew Lisa’s attention. Meanwhile, his actual crossing happened here.” He slid a gloved finger to a spot we considered, but only sent Frozna. “Less defended. Covered by fog and illusion.”

  I cocked my head and glanced at him. “Yes, I was here when that happened. A good strategy, I guess.”

  “Brilliant,” Mila muttered, clearly annoyed to be impressed. “By the time our scouts realized, his vanguard, Vainqueurs Imbattables, were across. Lisa had no choice but to meet them.”

  I leaned over the table, eyeing the scattered blue tiles where Lisa’s forces had tried to hold. “She okay?”

  “She held,” he said, with the reverence usually reserved for battle-saints and people who can assemble IKEA furniture without cursing. “Dmitry activated his [Hero Call]. Unstoppable for a time. He broke her front, shattered cohesion.” A pause. “But she didn’t break.”

  I let out a breath. “Of course she didn’t.”

  He nodded. “Eventually, she stood tall. Big fire. Details uncertain.”

  I turned to the next mess. “And the ridge?”

  “Ian,” Mila said, and I didn’t flinch. Not noticeably. “Secondary push. Scamantha’s traps delayed them. A lot of noise. A lot of fire.”

  “Probably one goat.” That almost got a smile from him. Almost.

  Okay, the next joke will land hard!

  “Then Lunaris arrived with the rogue backup. Engaged directly. She neutralized their command.” He tapped the spot. “Flank’s secure.”

  Neutralized.

  “Good,” I said, my voice a little steadier than my spine. “The river flank held.”

  Mila nodded. “We’ll rebuild the formation,” Mila said. “But the next enemy push won’t wait long.”

  “Like hangovers,” I muttered, and I pushed away from the table. “Always another round.”

  The room was quiet. Dead quiet. I glanced around. Had I really just bombed a war joke in front of a room full of paper-slinging tacticians? But then, softly, Lola snorted. And then, like a dam broke, she giggled. Loud. Everyone stared. And then, just like that, they joined her. Even Mila let out something dangerously close to a chuckle.

  I left them laugh at my brilliant joke and leaned on the window ledge, cheek pressed to the cool stone, staring through the window like it owed me money.

  Down below, movement caught my eye. Lunaris.

  The girl herself, striding like a cinematic hero in her “official” battle jacket, complete with the Left Sock Division’s stitched emblem bouncing like a flag of glorious idiocy, flared behind her as she rallied her players near the wall. All lean steps and impossible energy. I didn’t need to hear her to know what she was saying. Probably something motivational and searching for the next best sword fighter.

  Good. She was alive. And dangerous.

  The door creaked behind us before I could peel my forehead off the stone. Smoke drifted in first. Then came the woman who had clearly just walked through fire and made it apologize. “Lisa!” I whipped around, nearly tripping on my own heels in excitement. I caught myself, tried to look composed, failed, and settled for flailing toward her like I’d just spotted a celebrity in a grocery store.

  She was covered in soot, hair singed at the edges, armor blackened, but her smirk? That was untouched, pristine, and radiating victory.

  “Dmitry?” I asked, already holding my breath. “Dead? Prisoner?”

  She leaned against the wall like a woman who knew she’d earned her break, flipped her scorched cloak over her shoulder with a dramatic flourish, and said, “Sent him packing. Burned his smugness right off.”

  I blinked. “Seriously?”

  She gave me a grin that could power a small city. “He went full [Hero Call], the same skill as you have, tried to flatten us with some coordinated madness. Tried to control me. I refused. We battled, and I won.” Lisa grinned harder. “He’ll come back, of course. Probably with more plans. But he lost this round.”

  “And I didn’t even get to punch him,” I sighed, mock-pouting.

  “You can punch his pride,” she offered. “But I wouldn’t underestimate him. He thinks he won.”

  “All his tactical goals were achieved, even exceeded expectations. He forced us to weaken our primary defense. He won,” Mile chimed in.

  I shot him a glare. “Don’t listen to him, Lisa!” I crossed the room and hugged her in her favorite hug, and petted her head.

  She squeezed back, firm. “Told you. I’ve got your back.”

  “Okay,” I muttered, pulling away, rolling my neck. “Let’s see what disaster round two’s got waiting.”

  Lisa grinned. “Want me to start the fire early?”

  “Tempting,” I said, already moving toward the map table. “But—”

  The temperature dropped. And then a low, humming vibration trembled through the stone floor beneath my beautiful heels and up into my ribs like a tuning fork to the soul.

  The torches on the walls flickered violently, green-blue sparks flaring like panicked fireflies. Then someone, maybe a scout, maybe just an unlucky clerk near the window, shouted what we all felt.

  “Irwen!”

  I was already moving, elbowing past clerks and half-filled scroll racks as I rushed to the window, ignoring Mila’s barked orders behind me. Outside, the sky wasn’t dark. It was dimming. Like it had just realized how small it was compared to the thing rising within it.

  Irwen hovered above her army, elegant, radiant, terrifying. Her crown glinted like it had its own orbit. Runes spiraled outward from her hands, glyphs of impossible size forming mid-air with sickly light, tracing vast, curling patterns through the sky. Each one radiated power.

  Strong.

  The ground beneath the demon army cracked. The air shimmered. This wasn’t magic. This was a mythic-tier. No doubt. I muttered something that might’ve been “oh damey me” or a heartfelt prayer. Hard to tell.

  Then I turned. Straight for Lisa. I pulled the second legendary siege scroll from my inventory like Patrick sliding you that one last drink you know you’ll regret. I shoved it into her hands. “Lisa. Our best mage! Listen. This is it. I’ll activate Hero Call and hold the wall. If I fall—”

  “No,” she said instantly, eyes wide. “Absolutely not. You’re not a bait, cute princess.”

  I grabbed her shoulders. “Lisa. It’s the only way. This isn’t a normal fight with stupid mud wolves. This is Mythic. She’s casting something that could erase this whole damn mountain if she wanted. If I don’t hold, we all fall.”

  She shook her head, trembling. “Then we all fight. Together.”

  I exhaled. Tried not to let the shaking show. “Then do this with me. Cast this only if, only if, you’re sure when they think they’ve won. That’s when you strike. That’s when you cast this and remind them what kind of story they stepped into. Cast it on yourself. Show them your own mythic class.”

  Her jaw clenched. “I won’t wait that long. Katherine didn’t either.”

  Lola flinched and clicked her tongue.

  “Fine,” I said, softer now. “Then wait until you know it’s the right moment. When you feel it. But not before.”

  She nodded, slowly, reluctantly, like someone accepting a sword they didn’t want to carry.

  I pointed at the scroll, my voice lower. “You’ll need mana. Lots of it. Master Mage Maara leads the mages. I drained them earlier, but they’re recovering fast. Use them. Take all the mana potions if you have to.”

  Again, Lola clicked her tongue, said nothing, but grunted.

  Lisa’s fingers closed around the scroll like it might disappear if she blinked. Her usual grin was gone. Just fire and fear now. She looked me dead in the eye. “Don’t you die, Charlie.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it.” I winked. “There’s still whiskey left in this world. And if I do? I’ll respawn tomorrow.”

  “Still…” she protested, but I shook my head. And with that, I turned back to the window, to Irwen, to the doom in the sky.

  “Let’s end this farce.”