The Bunker.

The Isle of Dogs.

Gwen listened with utmost attentiveness to the torrent of jargon vomiting from the mind of Magus John C. Williams, catching the butt-ends of formulas she had picked up between her Enchantment, Conjuration and Transmutation classes.

As far as she could make out, the young man had already convinced Petra that he was the genuine article. Comparatively, Pat's Dwarven teachers, such as Danmurim the Glum, believed the sandy-haired American to be a _Vadam_ New World Magitech heretic.

"No-no-no, good Master—At the Massachusetts Institute of Thaumaturgy, my colleagues have already proven the existence of Eisenberg's Cosmological Constant," the man was red-faced as he brayed on, unwilling to concede, yet wary of the Dwarf's mace-like tankard. "With it, our arcanists have made enormous strides in unravelling the Linguistic Equilibrium, the Liminal Astral Dilemma and the Elemental 'Ouroboros' Paradox. For this reason, I am confident Magus Song's request has a real possibility of success."

"I understand what yer saying." The Dwarven Runesmith turned the stein in his hands. "What I am saying is yer dreaming if yer thinks of our Runic Syntagms can be in anyway interchanged with 'em Paradigm Scripture of the knife-ears. Us paired with Human sorcery—maybe—after all yer stole enough to establish yer School of Enchantment, but the knife-ears' Treant wash? Yer dreaming, lad."

The ongoing debate had started a week ago after Gwen relented to allow Williams access to the Dwarves. Unfortunately, the result was a theoretical tug-of-war that had continued every evening at the Dwarven Bar just below the Bunker.

For a bloke that had wanted to learn from the Dwarves, William was not at all shy about giving advice based on the latest and greatest from the "New World". Strangely enough, though the Dwarves grumbled and scoffed, they nonetheless accepted the youth human "Engineseer" into their midst.

When she asked Petra, her cousin said Hanmoul's kin saw the Golem-crafter as a "Craftsmen", which meant his racial credentials were no longer relevant. Comparatively, Pats herself was merely regarded as a "Journeyman", a fair dinkum assessment for a lass still perfecting her "Path".

As a result, Gwen herself had decided to put Williams to the test.

A day earlier in her office, the NoM from the Massachusetts Institute of Thaumaturgy had laid out his entire resume, citing that his extensive work on Golem interfaces could help her simplify the operation of Dwarven machinery for use by her non-magically aligned employees. To show his gratitude, the Artificer offered, he would aid Petra in creating a conduit device so that NoMs working in Golem Suits could also interface with her Alternative Spell-Storage Solution Cubes.

Both of the man's proposals were sound enough for Gwen to grant William's dearly wished access to her Eth Rjoth Kjangtoth allies. That and her interest in John's accreditation in creating "interfaces" for Magitech.

As someone with comprehensive knowledge of how something seemingly innocuous like "User Interface" keyboard and mouse was singularly responsible for transforming the computing industry in her old world, she had to give the man the benefit of the doubt.

Thinking of her next project, Gwen opted to entertain the possibility of showing Williams something for which she had yet to find a willing researcher—the Llias Leaf.

To date, she still had no idea if the Llias Leaf could be dissected and studied, as even the Magisters in her immediate circle were of two minds. Most believed in leaving the damned thing alone—while a vocal minority urged her to study the Elven device as much as possible before it was "confiscated".

In Gwen's view, if the Hvítálfar genuinely needed Humanity as valuable allies in "pruning" the Prime Material of every aphid and grub sucking out its nutrients, then they shouldn't mind her grifting so long as the Promethean outcome was beneficial to all.

When she passed the leaf to Williams and explained her theory behind the Llias Leaf's functions, the Artificer had kicked into gear as though a crank-shaft had been forcibly joined to his spine. With trembling hands, the researcher had scratched out a dozen connotations and denotations she could barely comprehend, then assured her of his confidence that Elven Scripture, which was merely an alternative form of sorcery, could be deciphered.

The catch, Williams appended after his heady enthusiasm passed—was that she would have to bring the Llias Leaf to Boston.

According to the NoM, his colleagues in Cambridge, Massachusetts, had proposed a "Glyph" language akin to arithmetics which superseded cultural, racial and species-based boundaries. The study of this theory and its subsidiary outcomes was what bore fruit for William and his colleagues' derivative "Semiotic User Interfaces", a design that allowed NoMs to understand better the functions of magic underpinning Magitech Items.

Petra had then shown the man her Spellcubes, inferring that she too was in the process of simplifying spells for better utility—to "share" spells across Schools of Magic. After that, Dwarven artisans were brought in, and the debate on the semantics of cross-species arcanistry ignited like the Engine Core of a Balefire.

"Nonetheless, I believe we can help Magus Song." The NoM remained unswayed by her Dwarven engineers. "Break new ground—that's what we do in the New World. If Jonathan Gilt had stopped his work on the Ether Engine because we tamed enough Magical Beasts, then there wouldn't be Americas as we know it. The Institute's pride rests in us sitting on the cutting edge of Magitech. Did I mention our motto?"

"Aye, _Mens et Manus,_ it's a good one." The Runesmith grudgingly nodded. A Dwarf speaking Latin, Gwen inclined her chin. Now she's seen it all. "It's right proper Dwarven, lad. I give yer that. Yer sure there are no Dwarves in yer part of the world?"

_Mind and Hands_ , Gwen translated internally. Had Williams not boasted about his college every other conversation, she too would have thought the motto as thrifted from Dwarves. For a nation who chest thumped with pride whenever someone name-dropped Gilt or Ford, she was more so surprised the motto wasn't _Nummum et Manus_ —coins and men.

"Maybe a few communities here and there," Williams said. "But no, nothing like undercities back home. The Murk in our part of the world is... hostile to habitation."

Before Gwen could ask, her train of thought was disturbed by the flickering of a lumen-caster playing the news not far from the corner of the bar.

"One second, fellers," she interrupted the conversationalists, then gestured for the barkeep to turn up the volume on the BBC report.

A few days ago, she had been shaken by the report that a tsunami warning was issued for Wellington and Auckland.

And now, just as her mind wondered if Yue might help their mates in New Zealand, a familiar figure appeared, then disappeared from the Lumen-caster's projection. "Australia prepares to send aid to Wellington in preparation for the Mermen Tide," reported the scroll at the bottom of the screen, depicting a well-used vessel docked not far from the recently restored Opera House.

"HMS Parramatta" was the name of the supply freighter, and it was through a long zoom of the military Mages boarding the ship that Gwen caught sight of Yue's unmissable silhouette besides that of Paul, Taj, Jonas and Billy.

According to the BBC presenter, the supply ships would rendezvous with the now airborne Auckland Tower. From the Tower, the reinforcements from Sydney will be assigned to the direst regions around Wellington. In addition, there was another ship from Melbourne, a joint-operations vessel with volunteers from Adelaide, though their mission emphasised reconstruction over recovery.

Seeing her friend on the Lumen-caster was an almost surreal experience. Less than half a decade ago, they were just kids in Blackwattle. After their first camp, Yue had very proudly struck out her best features and announced that she would be a Battle Mage and an officer in Sydney's Militia. Now, not only was Yue a central card in Gunther's deck, she was quickly taking over the role Alesia used to occupy. Furthermore, according to Richard, the reason why Alesia never took over the part of "Paladin" after her husband was that Yue would occupy that role. For the "tier 1 Sydney" Gunther wished to rebuild, an ethnic-Australian Battle Mage with an NoM mother and no Clan or bloodline heritage was a perfect candidate.

Gwen felt an instant and ardent desire to venture out and join Yue. With Yue's barrages and her unrivalled ability to clean up an organic "Beast Tide", the "dynamic duo" could have the Mermen beat, and Wellington cleared within a month.

But she had her projects here, from the Isle of Dogs to the acquisition of Barlow. And According to Brown, there would soon be a line of Gracies awaiting her Essence Tap—once the other universities finalised a roster and greased Cambridge's leadership.

"Thanks." She nodded to the Dwarven Barkeep. The Lumen-caster dimmed once more, its volume decreasing inversely to the rousing post-work relaxation of the Dwarves working in the Bunker.

When Gwen returned to the conversation at hand, Petra and the NoM were again going hammer and tongs against an unconvinced Danmrium the Glum.

Monday.

Gwen returned to Cambridge to attend lectures and check notes with her tutors.

She still had more to learn in Astral Theory and Spellcraft, meaning her brain was a hot mess of invocations and incantations by the afternoon.

At the courtyard to Emmanuel, she sat with her duck and Familiars, meditating away the accumulated stress.

It still puzzled her why Dede was ever-present in the duck pond whenever she returned, considering that the duck never missed a free meal in London. Then again, according to an eye-witness, Dede could fly fast enough to form an "umbrella" of air with its beak as the pin-point.

Mid meditation, she was hailed down by Charlene, who invited her to tea at a local cafe with a private balcony overlooking the spring gardens.

Charlene ordered a bottle of white from the cellar to pair with the afternoon tea; the girls made small talk, then poured out the amber liquid into generous bell glasses to air.

After Gwen demolished both serves of sandwiches, her business partner moved from the topic of Mermen Downunder to the real reason behind her visit.

"You've been tapped to reinforce Wellington." Charlene's grey eyes glinted. "So have I for an associated mission. You'll be going first, and I'll need you to join me as soon as you're able."

Gwen's surprise was genuine, but with her knowledge of "Dickie” and the Militant Faction, she quickly garnered the rationales behind Charlene's helpful forewarning.

"Is this my second trial?"

"Yes, this will be for your Magisterial Application," Charlene affirmed her suspicions. "For the first portion, you'll be responsible for how you wish to reinforce Wellington. I expect you'll be given free rein. After Shalkar, you've more than proven yourself."

"That was because I was going at it alone in Shalkar," Gwen pointed out.

Charlene chuckled. "That was an unexpected development. This time, it's all on you."

"How so?"

Charlene pursed her lips for a moment. "It's a part of how the Magisterial evaluations function. In the first 'trial', you're tested for your ability to adapt and your ability to lead. Your resources are given to you, as are the men and women necessary to achieve your goal. Of course, you passed that trial with flying colours because you managed to achieve the impossible—and without borrowing a single Mage from Meister Bekker's retinue. Of course, there were the Rat-kin you tamed, and most importantly, both Tryfan and the Ordo Inquisitors had vouched for your actions. Whether that upped your evaluation or lowered the score, I wouldn't know. Personally, I'd wager your baseline was so high that any penalties would be made redundant."

The high praise from Charlene, someone Gwen genuinely respected as a business partner, was enough to make her blush.

"As it stands, you've got another year and a bit until you have enough academic credits for graduation. Like myself, however, you're expecting more than just a desk or battlefield job at the Shard, so our achievements need to possess more nuance."

"Nuance?"

"Yes. Even though I finished with the highest honours at Cavendish, I have no use for an unadorned Tyrian-ribbon Magistership. As a Ravenport following in my brother's and Father's footsteps, I need more than just recognition from the Shard. Does that make sense?"

Gwen understood. She was already aware that Charlene had been building her "brand" with the Exeter incident. The Ravenport was using her, but both the process and the outcome had been one of mutual gain, particularly the NoM Golem-maker who was promising her the world.

"So this time, I need your help, and I'll give you as much help as I can manage—if you are willing to help Wellington, then aid my mission."

"Absolutely," Gwen concurred. "I do want to help Wellington. And I'll lend you a hand."

She did not mention that she couldn't wait to see her old mates from Australia and New Zealand, either of which would be motivation enough to venture to Wellington.

"Thank you," Charlene answered with relief. "You're a charmed existence, Gwen, both to the Mageocracy and myself. At Shalkar, you've demonstrated something only a Tower Master could do—the transformation of a potential Black Zone into a food-producing region with the output of a Green Zone. When you do put on the mantle of Henry Kilroy, your exploits will have their place in the refreshed textbooks."

"No need to keep buttering me up." She squirmed under Charlene's unyielding gaze. These nobles may spend all day waffling, but they were damn good at making a girl feel a million HDMs. Still, the greater the flattery, the harder the request.

Charlene laughed, masking her mouth with her dainty lady's fingers. "Alright, I'll get to the point. Do you know why your second trial affords the candidate free rein?"

"I could guess, but please enlighten me," Gwen said seriously.

"Very well. Let me give you an example of what I did for my second Questing Credit session. You've heard of the Strait of Gibraltar, yes?"

"I have."

"Good. So, about a year ago, our military base there had to intervene when the Gigantes Demi-humans of the mainland decided they no longer wished for French colonists from Tangier to fish along their coasts. God knows why, as the Elemental Giants don't eat fish—anyway, we have a base there—the infamous 'Tower of the Rock' beside Gibraltar. When the Gigantes started an impromptu military action against the Tangier fishermen, we couldn't just let it happen, not when Paris sent in three Mage Flights to 'negotiate'."

"Wow." Gwen could only imagine the scene of giants lobbing Stone Missiles the size of semi-trailers at passing trawlers trying to take advantage of sardine shoals the size of islands.

"When Father asked, I 'volunteered' for a mission in the Strait. Though I was a part of the diplomatic corps, I was allowed to act alone, as you had in Shalkar. I had a few of my friends from Cavendish with me, but I also borrowed a contingent of the Raven Guard from Father, and I brought a Tower Raven as my advisor. When I got there, I managed to stave off the French Mage Flight by having the Raven Guard keep the peace as Mori helped me gather information on the locals. While the main Diplomatic Corps kept the negotiations going, I uncovered that the Gigantes' displeasure was stirred by Rogue Mages who had made it to the mainland from Tangier and were raiding their settlements then escaping out to sea."

Gwen listened.

Charlene continued after a sip.

"I asked Mori to send a Message back to London, requesting a means to track down these Rogue Mages. I figured they were trading the gems and metals they stole from the Gigantes in Tangier, and the Grey Faction has an unregistered market there. Folks owing favours to father got in contact with their Grey Faction counterparts working for Tour Montparnasse, and a few days later, Mori gave me the names, faces, and likely locations of these Rogue Mages."

"Nice." Gwen's awe was genuine.

"I then arranged a trap for our Rogue Mages, inviting both the Gigantes representative and Tangier's senior administrator to observe. As expected, the Rogue Mages fell into our laps—rigorous questioning ensued, and both sides were satisfied that neither had intended the hostilities. What's more, we even found links to Spectre, whose agents were purchasing these rare materials from the pirates in the region."

"That's amazing," Gwen replied. "But—"

"What does it have to do with you being assigned to Wellington?" Charlene grinned. "Well, here's the thing. How much help do you suppose I managed to call in during that fiasco?"

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

Gwen combed through her memory. "Mori—your Raven Guards—and folks from the Grey Faction—"

"Yes," Charlene affirmed Gwen's forebodings. "We're not in Cambridge to be scholars, Gwen. For future Lords of Parliament and aspiring Tower Masters, we need to demonstrate our political, economic, and social connections as a part of the trials. These are not things the Shard can provide for you. Each Tower Master—or Lord of an assigned demesne, MUST possess individual means to provide for their region."

"I think I understand," Gwen said.

"Do you?" Charlene tilted her head. "Alright, If you're going to Wellington next week, what can you bring with you?"

Gwen carefully considered her choices. Charlene sipped her tea, enjoying the private balcony's floral ambience while nibbling on a sweet tart.

"Right—" Gwen replied somewhat sheepishly. "I can bring Richard and Petra. Golos, Ariel, Caliban..."

"What? No Gracie? or Jean-Paul?" To her shame, Charlene snorted. "You need to start using your connections, Gwennie."

"I couldn't possibly ask Lady Maxine or Lady Astor or Meister Bekker." Gwen shook her head. When she saw Charlene roll her eyes, her irises lit up. "Maybe 'Daddy' can help? He owes me one still."

Charlene took ten good seconds to swallow her tart without choking in an unladylike manner.

The future Duchess sighed.

"Gwen. You've got folk that OWE you explicit favours they're all too eager to pay back: folks who love to drink and sing and folks who live in immortal trees. Do you get me? I am already promising you help, so forget about my father for now. Besides, he _has_ helped you by giving you this opportunity to carry out your trial in a familiar part of the world. Imagine if someone assigned you to the Niger Delta."

"I should be thanking him?" Gwen raised a sceptical brow.

The young Ravenport gave her a weighted stare. "Moving on. If you can only bring Richard and Petra, you may as well go at it alone. You alone have that privilege as a Void Mage. But then what? Will you be the 'lonesome' Tower Master? The infamous one-woman-army as Sobel had demonstrated? The Shard isn't going to like that."

"Alright, what if I _bought_ a Tower." Gwen made a sudden pivot. "Like they do in America. According to Williams, their Frontier has corporate-owned Towers clearing Orange Zones at all times. America is a big place, and so much of it awaits Humanities' enrichment."

Charlene made a sour face. "Firstly, you're not THAT rich—yet. Secondly, is your idea of a _Tower of peers_ a profit-driven corporation with a revolving door membership? That's how they do it in the New World. Thirdly, would you prefer to be beholden to the immeasurable greed of shareholders instead of a government with clear-cut boundaries? We're old fashioned, but at least we're guilty when putting profits over people."

"It's a joke." Gwen put up both hands to ward away Charlene's criticism. "I think we both know I've laid down enough roots here. Just imagine how Gunther and Alesia would react if I told him I abandoned the Middle Faction and started a Corporate Tower in the New World."

"Speaking of _roots_ ," the way Charlene repeated her metaphor made Gwen suspect the Ravenport was taking advantage of her innocence. "The Ordo Bath would probably lend you a hand if you asked."

"We only have a passing acquaintance," Gwen confessed. "I mean, I could ask Elvia. Do you think the Ordo would send representatives to Wellington?"

"Not unless you asked. The situation there isn't catastrophic, at least not immediately," Charlene said. "I doubt your Brother-in-craft would send Yue Bai and The Scarlet Sorceress' old squad if Wellington is collapsing under the weight of a Mermen tide. Geographically, Auckland and Wellington make for a great buffer against threats from the South Sea. Losing the cities would doubly burden Sydney's battle lines."

"That's a bit cold-hearted." Gwen furrowed her brows.

"Lord Shultz is the best of us." Charlene shrugged attractively. Gwen noted that the youthful Ravenport was her best when putting on a Godfather persona. "Now, back to you. Shall I be plain?"

"Alright." Gwen supposed there was no harm in listening. "Be plain."

"Before I begin, allow me to say that I always perform my due diligence," Charlene said. "So please take what I am about to tell you as a compliment instead."

Gwen motioned for her fellow mistress of the isle to continue.

"Firstly, you have reliable allies in Myăma in the form of the royal family there. Reports from the newly built Yangon Tower state that you're also working with the local patron, Lord Ruxin, scion of the Winged Mythical Dragon. Your Planar Ally, Lord Golos, is the youngest pureblood child of the Mythic, correct?"

Gwen nodded.

"That's one connection you can call upon—for instance, the assassin sect from Manipur, which serves the royal family and the Dragon. They're no Raven Guard, but their utility should exceed the questionable loyalty of middle-tier mercenaries you may hire from the Shard. Is that good advice?"

Gwen had to admit that Charlene had a point.

"Good. Next, from China— your grandfather is now the—"

"Forget China," Gwen interjected. "I don't wish to bother Uncle Jun or Ayxin, or Grandfather…"

Charlene studied her for a brief second, then moved on. "May I include Lulan Li? She's graduated, and the Pudong Tower was clear in expressing her loyalty toward you."

"Lulan is okay," Gwen conceded. "But she's got circumstances within her Sect and the CCP."

Charlene made a snort. "Ask Lord Ruxin to send her over. You think anyone in the CCP is going to contest a local land God who controls a major trading partner over a measly Sword Mage?"

"Fair point," Gwen conceded Charlene's acute observation once more. "Lulu could be extremely useful."

"Right. Forgoing your other resources in China then, let's talk about the Debt of Haj-Zül," Charlene smirked. "Eth Rjoth Kjangtoth may have paid back the Mageocracy's debt in reopening the low-ways, but the debt remains. As someone who has studied Dwarven lore, I can tell you that their Deepdowner, Hilda Kül-Hildenbrandt, scion of Varekan-Kül, is thinking of you every time she raises a stein of beer. Until your debt is repaid in full, every member you've saved is going to be losing sleep."

"It can't be that bad?" Gwen raised both brows. "I've told them it's repaid."

"The Debt of Haj-Zül repaid when they FEEL it's repaid," Charlene said. "You saved a Deepdowner's life."

"…Are you telling me she has to save mine?" Gwen said. "That's a fair stretch."

Charlene rested her chin on a knuckle. "Good God, Gwen. If I had saved Hilda's life—Eth Rjoth Kjangtoth would probably be a new electorate added to Greater Wales."

Gwen chose not to doubt the young Duchess.

"Finally, ignoring the favour of Lady Astor and Lady Loftus, there's Tryfan. I don't know anything about Tryfan or your connection to them, as that's beyond what Mori was willing to divulge. However, it doesn't take a Magister to know that you're connected with them in the same way your Master had been. They sent out a Hierophant of the Seventh Circle to help you in Shalkar. Do you know what that means?"

"You mean Sanari?" Gwen asked. "Is this Seventh Circle a senior rank?"

Charlene shook her head. "I don't think we Humans have the necessary context to conceptualise the Druidic tiers accurately. However, I should remind you that Lady Sanari is older than the earliest existence of the Mageocracy. Her prowess as a Druid might not have the destructive potential of an Elementalist Warden—but she IS capable of feeding London—or starving it—with the Great Tree's aid."

And she's a goddess when it comes to foot massages; Gwen was almost tempted to add that tidbit but allowed Charlene to continue her grandstanding out of charity.

"—And she's one of the select Hierophants in Tryfan's Cabal who can travel far from the Great Tree," Charlene finished. "So yes, if you ask Tryfan for a favour, they'll send someone. And if it just so happens the favour you're asking is going to help the cause that must not be named—then all is in balance."

Charlene reached for the petite fours in the top tray, then lined them up one by one on Gwen's plate.

"So let us recap—The royal family of Myăma, the Yinglong's scions and this Lulan Li they're teaching on your behalf, the Dwarves next door, and the Hvítálfar from Tryfan. Oh—the Ordo Bath, though you're right in that it's better if they came to you. Look, your collection of allies is making me jealous, Gwen Song."

Gwen took a deep breath. "That's quite the list, but you still haven't told me why I need them. Wellington is just the beginning, correct?"

"Yes." Charlene lowered her voice. "Between now and October, the Shard will mount a second polar expedition akin to the one currently leaving for Greenland. Due to staff and material constraints, ours will be a recon-in-force with the potential of escalating into a full-blown campaign. House Ravenport and the Grey Faction will be providing the manpower, and I will be tapped to be the head of the expedition to build my credentials."

"The poles?" Gwen cocked her head. Why did Charlene's mention of the "poles" sound so familiar?

Charlene read her mind. "Yes, you're partially to blame. You've been teaching Mori, or so I've been told, that Beast Tides can be caused by changing the weather. You said that the poles are the easiest way to amplify disaster events."

"Er…" Gwen allowed a dollop of fresh cream to fall from her stunning lips. The sheer reality that someone in this world had believed in her borrowed climate change assumptions was gobsmacking. Also, there were folk in London who would consider the words of a talking crow?

_Holy fuck_ —was Mori secretly the Prime Minister of the United Kingdoms?

"No, it's not what you think. A while ago, we received a warning from Tryfan not to take any events happening in the poles lightly. Greenland, Father suspects, could very well be the opening volley of an attack similar to Sydney or London."

"What's in Greenland?" Gwen did not recall any such news.

"You're related to that as well," Charlene explained with patience. "Do you remember that massacre you found in the Murk under Shalkar? The missing Brass Legion? It seems they somehow made it to Greenland..."

"Christ."

"And your Master's old mates were likely involved."

"… Spectre?" Gwen suddenly lost all appetite. Two earth-shattering realities had revealed themselves in between Charlene's innocent suspicions, and now they were crushing her between both tectonic plates.

Her first shock came from the assertion that both of Terra's poles were undergoing some sort of traumatic Elemental event. The tsunami at Wellington had ruled the news of late, and though the Mageocracy did not publicise the source, there was no doubt that it had emitted from the South Sea.

Her next skull-numbing horror came from the S-word, which came burdened with the understanding that the "revenge" that had weighed on her mind since Sydney had unexpectedly come knocking—or rather, the expectation was that she would soon be actively pursuing it.

A secret part of her felt thrilled—

Another part of her—consisting of the minute sensibilities remaining from her past life, was screaming at the insanity of it all.

_Revenge!_

And not just a moral or a fiscal one, but an opportunity to tear her foes limb from limb with her sweet little hands.

And not just in defence—but to hound her foes down to the edge of the earth, then drive them face-first into the pale ice to see how well their life-blood froze.

"There's no guarantee of anything yet." Charlene had waited for her composure to return before speaking. "The anticipated scenario is that this is a natural event and that we'll be hauling a Breaker Carrier's worth of HDMs home from Erebus. The more ominous scenario is that the Elementals had anticipated the event and that we'll have a long fight on our hands."

Erebus—Gwen nodded. A volcano had gone off. That would explain the tsunami. If anything could move a good chunk of ice from Antarctica, it would be that.

"And the worst scenario?" She asked.

"That would be Spectre finding a way to unite our foes and that none of this is the natural ebb and flow of the Prime Material."

And the _unspeakable_ scenario, Gwen extrapolated internally, was that Spectre had figured out they could shift the Elemental composition near the poles to breed "general" chaos across the globe. If true, it was a plan worthy of Bond villains.

By their very nature, her "Commonwealth", this world's "United" Nations, and the "Coalitions" operated only on mutual gain. Compared to the grandness of a singular threat rising against Humanity, there was nothing Humanity could do if every nation must measure the threat to their interests against a global one.

From what she knew of politics, dozens of nations might even see the event as an opportunity to finally best their betters or usurp their lessers.

Her only solace was that for now, from the looks of how things are developing, the Lord Marshall of England was putting his HDMs where his suspicions are by funding a state-sanctioned expedition with crystals from the Norfolk coffer. Unfortunately, from the sheer fact that Charlene would be leading the tour, the Duke's commitments were far from firm.

If indeed the situation was as bad as she imagined, Gwen had no doubt the Mageocracy would bankrupt itself to send Sydney, Melbourne, Brisbane and Auckland's Towers southward.

However, the sheer political, financial and social capital required for such an endeavour was the kind that existed only in hindsight. Knowing the wilful ignorance of men, Gwen deeply suspected that even if she were her Royal Highness or the Bloom in White, she could not convince the Mageocracy to strike a phantom menace preemptively.

But what else could she do other than her best?

"I'll go," Gwen said with a tone of finality. "You're right. If there's ever a time to call in all my favours, now is the time."

If Charlene was wrong, then the worst that could happen was that she would have to rebuild the favours she had accrued for her future Tower.

But if Ravenport's hunch and her hypothesis were correct, no future profits would matter.

Across the table, Charlene sipped her tea, presumably unaware of the tempest tossing through her head.

Could Charlene understand just how crazy the consequence of inaction could be? Did Charlene, the "leader" of this expedition, even understand what she could be uncovering?

What would Dickie do if Charlene were to return, not as the Nike, the goddess of victory, but as the pestilence-bearing raven of ill omen?

Would Mycroft downplay the facts?

Silence the truth?

Or would he stew in Prufrockian agony while the Mageocracy debated about what to do, wasting away each crisis with endless cups of tea and ices?

By St Evee, Gwen silently mouthed a blasphemous prayer. Let her be wrong.

A crisis does not wait.

As Charlene had anticipated, Gwen received her directive within forty-eight hours. Together with herself, Cambridge would be sending a contingent of Mages as her liaison and support staff, but she was otherwise left to 'arm' herself.

Comparatively, Charlene's expedition could not leave until the Royal Dockyards could outfit another Carrier-class Ice Breaker and train its crew of Mages and NoMs.

Six months—or five at best, was the official timetable given to the participants of the South Sea Expedition in October. In that time, Charlene would use the influence of her House to gather capable, loyal Mage Flights, afford them all the necessary training and equipment, and readjust the fiscal outlook of the Norfolk Fund to suit the needs of a longitudinal mission.

The timetable suited Gwen. Despite her secret agony, she knew it would take time for her allies to commit their forces.

Within the last two days, she had visited her closest allies, Talwaenydd for Tryfan and the Guild Hall under Eth Rjoth Kjangtoth. At Talwaenydd, she was received by the familiar face of Sanari, who informed her that Tryfan does not war on behalf of mortals. Its Wardens, as the title implies, will only fight to defend "their" Great Tree.

When Gwen vocally illustrated the potential disruption to the natural order Tryfan held dearly, Sanari patiently informed her that though Tryfan cannot offer troops, they could help in other ways.

"More seeds?" Gwen felt the weight of the new pouch of seeds in her hand. There were only a few in the leaf-sewn purse, but they were heavy.

"We have not asked you to return the Llias Leaf," Sanari had stated with her usual serenity. "And we are continuing to support Shalkar on your behalf. As well, when you arrive, we shall commune with the Great Tree of Illhîweth on your behalf via the Llias Leaf."

The ambiguous reception wasn't what Gwen had anticipated—but that may only mean that her and Tryfan's mutual debts weren't deep enough.

Conversely, Eth Rjoth Kjangtoth was a fresh gulp of fire-ant mead.

Abjuring all euphemisms, she had told Whurforlüm Ironførge that she wished to collect on the Debt of Haj-Zül and that whatever forces the Dwarves could spare may face everything from upper-tier Elementals to agents of Spectre like Elizabeth Sobel.

Without a second thought, the Guild Master relayed her request to the Hammer Guards' barracks and the Ancestor's Hall.

That same night, Gwen received her Dwarven tally.

Every Hammer Guard she had rescued during her expedition had volunteered, and Hilda had ordered to release their equipment, as well as blessing them with the permission to leave the Murk. Including Hanmoul, she would have forty-two Golem Engines canvassed from three Iron Legions at her beck and call—as well as two Runesmiths and one Engineseer manning a Fabricator Crawler.

Gwen's feelings of gratitude made her throat sore. Thanks to her time among the Dwarves, she understood that it was more than lives she was asking from her allies—she was asking them to leave the Murk, to travel to a foreign place with alien strata of rocks—and potentially die there.

But great gratitude needed no words, so she merely promised to have Charlene arrange their transport when the time grew near.

On Wednesday, she received from Lady Loftus the okay to contract her allies from Kachin, Manipur and Nagaland. The permission wasn't so much for making the request but for the aftermath of transporting Frontier mercenaries on a Mageocracy military vessel.

She then contacted Marong and Mayuree.

Unlike with her Elven and Dwarven allies, Gwen took great patience in explaining her theory involving Beast Tides and the possibility that forces unseen were manipulating the weather. Marong listened with complete seriousness, then informed her that his Master, Lord Ruxin, would hear of her caution, assuming he wasn't listening already.

Mayuree, however, expressed her doubts.

"Have you heard of the Oracle of Delphi, Gwennie?" the girl wreathed in gold asked over the LRM projector.

Gwen indeed heard of the Oracle, whose title she now knew was Pythia.

"If the threat is against humanity itself," Mayuree said with a tone of doubt. "Shouldn't we be receiving an official notice from the Oracle?"

In all honesty, Gwen did not have an answer for her friend.

"Maybe the South Sea incident isn't as dire as I proposed," she said after a moment. The Oracle had given plenty of warnings about other natural disasters, but apparently, the South Pacific was beyond the Temple of Apollo's far-seeing Divination. "But it isn't as though the Oracle warned London about a Red Dragon or had given my Master a heads up about Sobel. She might be a coal canary to some, but I don't intend to put my stock in prophecy."

An uncomfortable silence descended. Gwen could tell both of her friends were "climate sceptics".

"Sorry." Mayuree lowered her eyes.

"Don't mind Mia," Marong interjected by placing a hand on his sister's gold-wreathed shoulders. "You asked, we'll deliver. That's all that matters. We'll have everything prepared within the month, and I'll let Lord Ruxin know you've requested the aid of Lady Lulan and that Lord Golos may be away for an extended campaign."

Gwen thanked the pair then terminated the Message device.

Her recruitment drive had ended for now. Any more, and Charlene's Breaker Carrier would struggle to justify the sheer volume of foreign troops. She had felt tempted to ask Elvia— only Elvia was the last person she wanted on that ship if they managed to encounter Sobel.

By the evening, Walken would prepare the bare necessities for her Storage Rings, and Dick and Petra would meet her at Heathrow once their inventory was ready.

Finally, she entertained the idea of calling Gunther to tell him that she was coming—then decided she would prefer delighting her Siblings-in-craft, then sitting them down for a very long talk.

Would her Brother-in-Craft take her seriously?

Despite being flooded with overflowing evidence, her old world never took action against the looming spectre of Climate Change. If so, what could she, a mere War Mage, do to convince this world when Humanity was neither unified, nor the apex species on Terra?


By Thursday morning, the Mageocracy's token reinforcement of administrative and support Maguses took their positions in Heathrow to await the arrival of the Magister-in-waiting nominated by Cambridge.

By all accounts from the Shard, Auckland would be fighting to keep the circling Mermen Shoal from landing, while Wellington would be mired in a battle of attrition until Auckland or its allies could spare the men and resources.

Most of their team members were older students, elected by their professors from Oxbridge's cohort to serve the Mageocracy's interminable trials, some natural and most man-made. A few were graduates picking up their final Questing credits for the trimester. Others were Maguses looking to pad their resumes before officially leaving the university for a government position. Presently, their de facto foreman was an experienced Magus from House Ravenport, sent by her mistress to ensure the others remained helpful and subordinate to their leader.

By her orders, the team had arrived fifteen minutes earlier to await the pleasure of the young lady who would lead the small group of nine.

"Magus Campbell." One of the men standing to attention beside the pre-activated ISTC portal raised a hand. "May I ask a question."

"Be at ease, Hughes," Magus Aria Ravenport-Campbell replied by raising, then lowering her hand as though she controlled the lever to their anxieties. "What is it?"

Like others in her House, she possessed the classic bone structure of the Ravenport's bloodline—grey eyes, dark hair, and a gaunt frame that accented her cheekbones. Like the Duke of Norfolk himself, her appearance gave observers the impression of inorganic geometry, particularly when paired with her rigidly starched pantsuit.

She could sense that the men and women under her command were nervous—and this was good.

"When shall we expect 'Magister' Song?"

"There's ten minutes yet. Even if Magus Song's tardiness is as legendary as her prowess—we're still ahead by an hour. If you're bored, read the METRO—the Front Page will inform you that our leader is a busy woman."

The young Magus chose to remain mum.

Aria shared that silence, for she knew that the sword and shield to their fact-finding mission was none other than the Devourer of Shenyang. For years now, the Devourer's infamy had been making the rounds, first through the Isle of Dogs, then through her Magisterial achievements on the Isle of Man, Wales, then Shalkar.

Though the public initially knew Magus Gwen Song through a scandal involving her lord and House Master, they soon renewed their perception when the Devourer consumed the Barlow Group, created the IoDNC, then crushed the ambitions of House Exeter on national broadcast Vid-cast.

Regardless of her age, Gwen's achievements commanded respect, even by the standards of London's haughty egos. The team's apprehension and concern, Aria suspected, was also born from the habitual reading of the Telegraph and the Sun, insinuating that Magus Song was an inheritor of "Deathless Kilroy's" Sanctioned Necromancy—and that her Caliban creature consumed, then enslaved the souls of Mages crushed under her stiletto heels.

Finally and absurdly, each student of Cambridge had been told that Magus Song would be guarded on this particular mission by the Terror of Emmanuel, "Dede" of the Pond.

The odd Mage from London Imperial might find the scene comical, but of half of the Oxbridge alumni present, being waylaid by a duck and having to give up fistfuls of HDMs as the world watched in sympathetic mockery was a trauma tattooed onto their bones.

_Ding!_ A Message from House Ravenport bloomed beside Aria's ear.

"The Provisional Magister is here." The Magus nodded at her peers. "Mages! Look lively!"

A flash of silvery Conjuration from an adjacent platform announced the arrival of their leader and her troops.

The first to appear was a duck, the very same that made Cambridge's Maguses quake in their oxfords.

"Quack—!" The duck toddled from the ISTC array, then waddled among the men with the air of a drill sergeant.

Next came a svelte figure they would have mistaken for the Devourer but for the academic air and braided auburn hair. Aria recognised the woman as Magus Petra Kuznetsova, a scholar of Dwarven Glyphs with notable contributions hailing from Queens College.

The third arrival was known to Aria and the others, and his familiarity manifested in the dozen first names he called out, including Aria's own. The Spirit Mage was a frequenter of the College's endless bars, one famous for his Spirit and his "Shouts". In both knowledge and deed, Richard Huang was a senior Magus in all but name, well-known and well-liked on the campus for offering jobs from the Isle of Dogs. To Aria's knowledge, Richard "Dick" Huang could have graduated if he had taken up his professors' commendations—but chose to remain at Cambridge until such time that his cousin, the Devourer, also graduated.

The final figure to materialise was the Devourer herself.

In life, Provisional Magister Gwen Song appeared less imposing than on the Vid-casts, younger and more youthful and without the oppressive bearing of a seasoned murderess. To Aria, her features were regal, an exotic mix when paired with the vivacious unruliness of the Downunder Frontier. She walked with guileless ease among the men, which, combined with her uncommon comeliness, made her observers want to lower their guard.

Aria's informal impression was aided by Gwen's "costume", which consisted of a broad-brimmed summer hat, a maxi dress that bared her white shoulders, and what looked like sandals.

"Goodness." The Devourer's expression was mirthful as she slipped past Aria, then stepped onto the elevated platform. "Am I late? I did set the mustering at eleven-hundred, correct?"

"Yes, ma'am," Aria replied. "By your request, we're eager and ready to leave for Auckland."

"I did explicitly state to wear suitable attire for summer," the sorceress spoke as her gaze swept through her peers, each with collars mounted firmly to the chain, asserted by ties and elegant pins.

Aria quickly glanced at the Devourer's companions, noting that Richard wore a sporting jacket over golfing polos, while under Petra's laboratory coat, the scholar was wearing something suitable for springtime.

The duck, without a doubt, was buck naked.

"Where we're going, it is the late _Australian_ summer. If the heat doesn't get you, the humidity will." Gwen reiterated. "And unlike London, our 80's ISTCs have relay delays baked into the system. Past Shanghai, we'll be at least an hour in Singapore, a few more in Darwin, then Cairns, then Brisbane, then _finally,_ the _S_ ydney to Auckland leg. You'll be awake for the next twenty-four hours, so get comfortable. Consider these hours your final chance at leisure. Once we're on the ground, it's Mermen and field rations until the port is in the clear."

"We have the necessary Enchantments, Ma'am," Aria informed her highness, partner to the future Duchess of Norfolk and, according to her mistress, a woman whose fame would resonate throughout the Mageocracy's domains. She recalled that the Devourer did indeed recommend suitable weather wear. However, not one of them had wanted to meet their commanding officer while wearing shorts, sneakers and polos.

The Devourer cocked her head with a half-grin. "Where we're going, the HDMs you'll be burning could keep a family safe from Mermen and do many things more helpful than running cooling Glyphs..." She paused. "...but then again, maybe that's why you've all been tasked with this tour of snobbery to see how the other three-quarter lives. No matter. Carry on."

Aria's first instinct was to protest that she had served as a vanguard in Ireland and an assistant administrator in the Algiers for six months, unlike the novices behind her.

But her new mistress' sardonicism was valid.

The men and women in front of her were all born with crystal spoons and bloodline blessings and had attended Eton or Cheltenham, then Oxbridge. Some had seen blood, a few had "seen things", but none would have had a fraction of the experiences the Devourer had imbibed in her rise to the top.

"Anything to report before we sally forth? Aria?" The sorceress asked Aria by invoking her name. The intimacy told Aria that Gwen and Mistress Charlene had been in close contact.

"All are accounted, Ma'am." Aria made a half-salute. "We're ready to reinforce Wellington!"

"Alright then—" the Provisional Magister gave them all a beaming, confident grin. "Hold on to your guts. We've got a _long_ way to go!"

Wellington.

Somes Island.

Two kilometres from Fort Hinds, Yue Bai, "The Little Scarlet", coldly observed the spectacle of Wellington's eastern coastline turn from ultramarine to dull algae.

The last of the Shielding Stations, what's left of the array, had taken first blood—then spontaneously imploded as the pseudo-Krakens crashed into the concrete installations, toppling both resonator and crystal.

With the stations gone, the bizarre thrum that made her Astral Body tingle ceased, as did the shimmering ripples of mana warping the spotlights from Wellington's inland harbour.

Across the sound, flashes of spellfire from the Wondrous Energies Technical Academy erupted across the headland, landing just short of the shore. Where the long line of spinifexes ignited, her enhanced eyes could make out the long shadows cast by the first Mermen to land in Wellington in two decades. At the same time, parts of the landscape came alive, crushing, swallowing, and throwing the Mermen against the jagged shore.

She recognised the assailants as the short, stunted locals, bodily akin to bipedal, four-foot mudskippers with bulging eyes and fat, humorous silhouettes. Without proper armaments, they were usually friendly and docile—and had traded with the city. Now, whether by coercion or choice, they were the first wave leading the Mermen of the deep sea.

"Poor bastards," Jonas remarked as the explosions rang out, sending bundles of scorched bodies flying every which way. "What a life, to win the lottery of surviving the spawning pool only to become spell fodder for the real spell fodder."

Yue possessed no sympathy of any kind for an invader of mankind's sacred cities, but she did agree that these mudskipper Mermen weren't worth the mana in her veins. Even if they did reach Wellington, the damage these Mermen could do was near-negligible. Still, armed with what looked to be coral tridents and other implements from their deep-order cousins, they remained a threat to the NoMs hiding in the tunnel bunkers beneath Wrights Hill, as well as the Wand-wielding Wellington militia.

"There—" Billy bracketed a section of the incoming tide with a minor Illusion cantrip, drawing a square over Yue's field of vision. "That's the shock troops. They look organised, likely a splinter-Shoal from the main one near Auckland."

"Shit," Paul joined the Diviner. "So it's true then? A Prince is leading this particular Mermen Tide?"

"What's the bounty on one of those?" Yue smacked her lips. "I bet Master could find some uses for the Core."

"I think even Lord Gunther will break a sweat taking down an Elemental Prince," Taj warned her. "We don't even know what species it is. What if it's a Kraken?"

"Let's hope this doesn't turn out to be a 'Great Shoal' once the fireworks start," Raj said with a sigh. "Not even burning all the HDMs in Auckland's reserve will be enough to repel one of those."

The group turned their eyes back to the boiling sea.

By now, the half-hundred Sun Globes released from Wellington's WETA peninsular was messing with the Mermen's dark vision. For reasons of physiology, the Wave Witches that accompanied the Shoal almost always conjured forth fog and rain, which the globes then offset. In this way, non-offensive "Radiance" was itself a viable tactic against the Mermen, for many species of the more powerful bipedal aquatic folk were hypersensitive to both heat and light. That was why Mermen generally attacked at the dead of night, taking what positions they could to retreat with the tide, leaving behind hardened crustacean units as defenders.

Yue wrinkled her nose. Already, her company could smell the scent of scorched fish wafting across the sound, smelling like mouldy wood mixed with seared slime and rancid fish oil.

"I do love the smell of cooked seafood in the morning," Paul mimed an old saying of Alesia's.

"Stop wisecracking and focus on the Mandala," Yue gave the command, her dark eyes glimmering with the reflected light from Wellington bay. "As soon as the main bodies join the fight—we turn the damn bay into that place Gwennie visited on new year's."

"The Fire Sea?" Billy added helpfully.

"Damned right." Yue crushed the ball of purple fire dancing in the palm of her hand. "We'll make Allie proud."

Alesia de Botton was not a happy woman.

First thing in the morning, just after she had washed up after morning exercise with Gunther and was ready to attend to the task of setting fire to her husband's problems, a Message had arrived from her hubby, asking that she receive the cabal from London.

For several seconds, Gunther's suite in the uppermost section of the Tower fell under an immediate threat of renovation until Alesia recalled that they would have to live outside the Tower in the event of such an inconvenience.

To receive the snobs from the Shard? By herself?

Had these knobs asked for her specifically?

She had people to incinerate!

Monsters to explode!

Dens to ignite!

What was Gunther thinking?

And how could her hubby allow it?

The mana inside her wanted to teleport into Gunther's office and burn—but that wasn't what a good partner would do—and Alesia was meticulous in managing her temper around Gunther lest her whims cast a wedge between them. Her husband, she knew, was under enough pressure, and God forbid that she would add to his workload.

Therefore, with fiery eye-shadows wreathed in angry hues of scarlet and her hair wore loose, Alesia awaited the bastards from London in her official garb, a scarlet dress jacket with gold collars.

One by one, the Conjuration Glyphs lit up, spun into place, then connected with the Divination Glyphs in Brisbane. Sydney's new equipment had been well-used by now, but it was still mint enough to give off a stink unique to newly inscribed Glyph-runes. Just the same, the stonework under her booties thrummed as the incredible energies required to displace matter through the Astral coursed, distorting the Dwarven Lores of distance and space.

A flash later, the team from London arrived one by one in their arranged spearhead.

First came a duck.

A very pretty duck—but a duck nonetheless—

"Mother ducker…" Alesia did not immediately recognise the enormous duck as the one in her memory of LRM broadcasts with Gwen. All she could think of was that the Mageocracy had grown so arrogant that they couldn't even be bothered sending Magisters.

A cascade of sparks ignited from her flaming hair, setting the guards on edge.

If that duck isn't a Polymorphed Master Transmuter, then she would slow roast the damned thing over an open fire!

"You there!" She called out to the waddling monstrosity. "Are you—"

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Thankfully, Gwen grinning like a shot fox was the next thing she saw.

_This little hussy!_ Alesia's head made the connection at once. No wonder her husband was being so secretive! Oh, how she would make him pay!

"Alesia!" Gwen quickly broke ranks and ran down the dais toward her, as a Sister-in-craft ought.

Only now did Alesia recall that Gwen had recruited a duck—only in her memory, Dede was sleek, graceful and cute.

As Gwen came closer, Alesia's expression turned from unmitigated anger to pleasant surprise, then happiness. She couldn't help it—for such were the honesty of Alesia's innate emotions spilling from her heart.

"I've missed you!" Gwen drew around her, and Alesia reciprocated by hugging her sister tight.

"I as well." Alesia breathed out. "You should have told me."

"We were in a hurry—and I thought you'd enjoy the surprise." Gwen laughed, then gestured to the rest of her team. "And here's Richard. And you remember Petra, right?"

"Alesia." Richard nodded.

Petra bowed her head.

Parting from Gwen, Alesia nodded back at the cousins, her hair still trailing tiny motes of ember. "Just to confirm, you're the Magister from London, then?"

"Provisional-Magister." Gwen flashed her pearly whites. "How's that? I outrank you now, Magus De Botton. Where's my greeting?"

Alesia snorted. "You're looking for a spanking, Magister Song. Anymore of your arrogance and your men shall witness a sight for history books."

"Allie, you hurt me." Gwen touched a hand to her heart. "My one and only Sister-in-craft! How could you?"

"You rascal! Come here and receive your punishment!" the Scarlet Sorceress commanded, and the Devourer obeyed.

The two embraced once more, their arms entwining as their figures kissed. The pair remained entangled for a few seconds, just enough to allow reality to sink in, then parted with all misgivings forgiven.

"There's _so_ much I have to tell you and Gunther," Gwen said, her expression quickly growing anxious. "I think we'll need a night at least to go over the details, and then we have to digest and verify the facts—"

"That won't be a problem," Alesia interrupted her as more Mages from London materialised behind her Sister-in-craft. "Are those yours?"

"Technically, yes," Gwen introduced her to her Lieutenant, Magus Aria Campbell, appending that she was a member of House Ravenport. "Aria here will be in charge of the crew from Cambridge while I perform my duties as a War Mage. Half of them will go to Auckland, while the other half will come with me to Wellington."

"You're going to the Front then?" Alesia asked. She hadn't expected much help from London, but if they sent Gwen—then Sydney's sister cities had better fortunes than Sydney a few years ago.

"Of course. Where's Yue now? And how's the situation?"

Alesia recalled the reports. "The Shoal reached critical mass forty-odd hours ago. By now, the fighting should have started. If I know Yue, she'll be in the thick of it."

"Then I will leave immediately," Gwen said. "Stem the tide first, then I'll portal back and discuss my findings with you and Gunther. Yue would probably want to know what she's fighting as well, eventually, at least. The intelligence is urgent— but it isn't something we can resolve until equipment and transport arrive from London in the next few months."

Alesia gave her sister a flattering look. "You've matured, Gwen. Those sound like some hefty weights on your shoulders, the kind our Master used to carry."

"I am doing what I can." Gwen smiled.

"Can you clue me in on what the problem is?" Alesia felt her curiosity burning a hole in her chest. "What are we fighting in reality?"

"Later, Allie—now's not a good time," Gwen insisted. "It's a very complicated issue, and much of it I can't verify."

Alesia shrugged. "Right. Wellington it is. So, from our latest reports, a split Shoal of Mermen currently sits east of Wellington, where the shallows meet the deep blue. Presumably, attacks by stragglers separate from the Mermen Prince's command structure are testing Auckland's defence. As for the south, if the Mermen assault begins this evening, then I'd say Wellington could _really_ use your brand of aid. As for Yue's location—look for the Fireballs when you get there."

"Right, I'll head off then," Gwen confirmed her choice. "Magus Campbell will lead the Cambridge Mages to Auckland. I'll open the path with Richard and Petra in Wellington."

"A three-man team?" Alesia looked Gwen's cousins up and down.

"We should be alright," Gwen assured her.

Alesia turned her eyes toward the smirking Richard. "Looking good there, Dick. You've done well in London. _Specs_?"

"Abjuration Five, Conjuration, just Seven, and a few other tricks," Richard shameless boasted of his achievements. "Of course, it's all thanks to Gwen."

Alesia raised a brow at Petra, who relented under the Scarlet Sorceress' gaze.

"Enchantment Seven," Gwen's cousin reported with a flush of embarrassment in her cheeks. "That said, I've brought along a full complement of Spellcubes."

"You could do with a CQB Specialist and an Illusionist." Alesia thanked the two but preferred to give the kids plenty of warning. When she was their age, she had also thought herself invincible—though she had her Master to save her in place of modern-day comforts like Contingency Rings. "Was the Gracie girl too green? I guess you can crutch with Cali—"

"QUACK—!" her praise of Caliban was interrupted by a forgotten member of the Cambridge posse who had wandered off in search of food.

"Dede will help as well." Gwen patted the returned duck. "He's one robust feller."

"Quack!" The duck lifted an enormous, multi-hued wingspan.

Alesia could tell the duck was strong—and if indeed this was a duck fed on the stuff produced from Almudj, then even a five-man Questing team from London would have its hands full trying to contain its malice, much less kill it.

"Fine, fine," the Scarlet Sorceress conceded that the duck was a troublesome customer. Her next remark was directed at her sister's specific preference for fashion regardless of the occasion—something for which Alesia herself was guilty. "Are you headed to war wearing that?"

Gwen chuckled. "I've got the Big Bird suit, remember? I'll change once we're on the ground. Before we engage the Shoal, I'll need to bring a siege engine, and he can't be summoned while we're in the vicinity of a Tower."

"Ah—" Alesia could picture the brute in Gwen's imagery. Of all the strange creatures in Gwen's circle, she liked the lizard the best. "Now that I'd like to see."

"Hopefully, we'll get a few vid-casts in." Gwen grinned with glee as she strolled toward the second ISTC array. "You know, Allie, I have quite the following in London. What do you think? A weekly battle report of Wellington with images and stories from the ground—wouldn't that get the blood boiling? Once things are less dire, I'll transfer a few reporters over. Maybe Lorenzo would like a summer holiday."

Alesia had almost forgotten that her sister now apparently owned a propaganda arm of the local media in London.

"Maybe?" she said. Publicity was Gunther's domain. Her job was to incinerate his problems.

"When you get there, Magister Hildenbrandt is likely occupied," Alesia warned as Gwen's team mounted the second dais. Unlike the rest of Australia, Sydney's ISTC arrays were the latest imports from London and could be fired up within minutes. As for Auckland, the receiving end was currently burning a decade's worth of HDMs. "You'll be under the jurisdiction of Te Wherowhero, the Paladin of Auckland. He's an old friend of Gunther, so be respectful of his wishes. If Te needs you somewhere, do that before linking up with Yue. My Apprentice can take care of herself."

"Of course," Gwen assured her Sibling-in-craft. "Tell Gunther I said hey—and when I return, to make time for us to have that long talk."

Alesia's gaze of motherly concern grew infinitely soft as the ISTC turned quicksilver, sending its collection of Mages once more across the Astral, leaping through space toward their final destination.

Watching Gwen's nonplus war-face disappear, She sighed inwardly. To think the terrified girl she picked up would now be the terror of the South Sea.

When the history books mentioned this part of Auckland's history, what would they say of Gwen?

And indeed, what would the entry say about herself, who found Gwen in a party, trying not to get groped in Kirribilli?

Wellington.

Fort Ballance.

Magister Maka Kawhena, Academic Director and principal Geomancer at the Wondrous Energies Technical Academy, was never a dedicated War Mage.

Like other Magisters of his profession, his contributions had been in recovery, rebuilding, and stabilising Green Zones between Wellington and Auckland. Occasionally, he had been called out to assist in a Purge but never before had Kawhena been personally thrust into a scenario where he and his group of academics became personally responsible for the life of the fifty-thousand or so citizens now sheltering in Wrights Hill. Thanks to his designs, the city's walls and defences have held, even if it wavered in tune with the undulating tide of bodies crawling up the coastline.

A reasonable man would have fled.

Kawhena instead swallowed the despair like the bile in his throat. Should Wellington fall entirely and its militia consumed by the Mermen Tide, there was little hope that the women and children would be able to hold off the crab-clawed shock troops or the Marid Wave Witches who would flash-flood and drown their loved ones, then feast on their brains and livers.

A part of him hoped that Auckland would send a portion of its militias south or that the Halflings of Hamilton could offer their aid. That was wishful thinking. Compared to Wellington, even a partial collapse of Auckland would signal the death of more citizens and the destruction of far more critical infrastructure than his satellite port city. The Halflings were likewise peaceful, pastoral folk, unsuited for open warfare against a race that saw Humanity and each other as sources of nourishment. They would bring food, HDMs and medical supplies—but only in the case that Wellington held its ground and that their convoy didn't become fish food.

"Sir!" a cry from a colleague alerted the contemplative Magister to the dangers of excessive rumination in the middle of a battle. "B-27 reports surge of Mermen on the left flank! Crabmen and what looks like a Shell Priest! Sector B reports their Wands are low. Requesting recharging and refitting."

"Received." The Magister placed both hands on to the console.

From the vantage of the shielded WETA "Cave" overlooking the harbour, Kawhena activated his latent sorcery, allowing the motes of Earthen mana entrenched within his conduits to kiss the Mandala resting under his fingers.

Though not a Tower, Wellington was nonetheless founded on a mana node—meaning until WETA was overrun, Kawhena had "earthly" control over what remained of the landscape surrounding the central port.

That was the source of their confidence and why Auckland still delivered what help they could spare.

"Earth Shape!" The syllables of invocation came hard and fast on his lips, concluding with a simple command.

The projected map blinked into non-existence as the mana surge from the command station sunk into WETA's sub-systems—giving life to the distant landscape.

Not far from the newly risen walls separating the academy from the Mermen tide washing over Wellington's shores, a spontaneous landslide erupted from atop Breaker Bay, bursting forth untold volumes of boulders between the size of busses and bungalows, casting down a violent cascade of concrete offices that once overlooked the sound.

Within seconds, the collapsing cliff crashed into the clambering Shoal of Mermen, sending thousands, perhaps tens of thousands skittering into the dark, not only shedding the cliffside of its parasitic climbers but drastically narrowing the shipping canal.

When finally the map blinked back, a winded Kawhena saw that the moment was ripe, and there would not be another opportunity to crowd so much confused fodder in one place.

"Signal Magus Bai," he informed his aides. "Our militia needs time to adjust to the slaughter, and we need a moment of respite to replenish mana and catch our breath."

"Aye, Magister!" his aide Messaged the militia below at once to clear the waterline.

Across the bay, a signal flare blossomed over the cloudy water, casting a hundred thousand shadows over the half-submerged Mermen awaiting their turn to feast.

Kawhena's eyes turned northward toward Somes island.

The burden now rested on the shoulder of Magus Yue Bai—the rising star of Sydney.

Word had it from Auckland that Alesia de Botton's only advantage on the girl was being hand-reared by Henry Kilroy himself, while Bai was a student of his students. However, with access to near-unlimited resources and the gift of a Nightmare Spirit, her prowess arguably exceeded the humble Scarlet Sorceress when she was just twenty.

Now, Kawhena bore witness to the validity of those rumours.

Ignited by the flare, a riotous Mandela bloomed like a crimson lotus, illuminating the dark bay with the eerie glare of a blood-soaked moon.

The assault on Wellington's shores ceased at once, for no creature whose ancestors once hailed from a domain of water could withstand the terrifying allure of cataclysmic Elemental Fire coalescing overhead.

As the first Mandela wilted, a second came into being, more complex than the first, joined midway by a third, shedding squalls of fireflies, tearing the Prime Material to make way for the incoming catastrophe. To a learned scholar like Kawhena, each signalled the expenditure of a Creature Core Wellington could not afford and would never have the opportunity to stockpile, speaking of the generosity of the Master of Sydney.

Below the strategic sorcery, Marid Wave Witches launched themselves from the quicksilver water, willing into being spontaneous water sprouts with the width of semi-trailers. Others Magical Monsters likewise turned their watery talents toward the radiant sunset, hoping to extinguish its caster.

Most fell short.

And those that reached were dashed by shields of stone or transposed elsewhere.

Such was the advantage of Humanity as beings of elemental balance weaned on land, water and air. Comparatively, for most of the denizens of the deep, air was murder, and walking without buoyancy was pain itself—meaning they had no means to access the logistics of trajectory in a place without water.

A dozen breathes later, a fourth Mandala appeared, instantly evaporating every ounce of moisture within a half-kilometre of the caster.

"Remind the men to shield up," Kawhena reiterated the order. "Looks like Magus De Botton isn't one to mince words…"

The final Mandala faded.

Flashes of scarlet lightning abruptly dashed across the moonless sky, followed by a crashing deluge of rolling thunder so close that WETA shivered on its foundations.

A tail appeared from a crack in the heavens, showing the initial formation of a flaming tornado at least twice the size of the water sprouts willed into being by the Marids. As the column descended, Kawhena could sense the Elemental Water thinning rapidly, causing the Mermen to experience a sudden and inexplicable existential despair.

Without hesitation, the Wave Witches fled.

They could have countered the spell if they worked together—but nonetheless chose to abandon their allies.

Kawhena quickly adjusted his expectations. As unified as the Shoal might look, it was never anything more than a coalition. A Wave Witch occupied the stratum of priests, with limited numbers and immense powers constrained to their watery domains. A dead witch would be reduced to the Essence of elemental energy, wasting centuries of work. In juxtaposition, Mermen shock troops pushing forward the original indigenous inhabitants were no more significant to a Mer-Kingdom than the Mudskippers. If given enough feed, entire legions could be spawned and armed within a decade, making the loss of even ten thousand Crustacean soldiers merely a matter of inconvenience.

With the unimpeded progress of Magus Bai's spell, a temporary Fire Sea rapidly began to form as multiple tornadoes of swirling volatile Elemental Fire touched down in the bay, heating the waters below and setting fire to abandoned portions of the coast.

Within minutes, the rapidly retreating Mermen had trapped themselves against their fellow invaders, damming the receding tide of bodies panicking against the howling firestorm.

"Shape Earth—" Kawhena hardened his heart and collapsed the Fortifications at Hind's Point, allowing a second landslide to flow down and encircle the Mermen invaders, wholly trapping the bulk of the invaders within the bubbling bay.

From WETA's top floor, he coldly observed that Wellington's foes were being cooked, that their dark chitin was turning red as their bodies popped and cracked, growing inert even as frantic limbs clambered over friends and allies.

But they would find no solace in the bay, for the deepest water lay closest to the port, and there the barrier wards and the militia with their electrified Wands was the most numerous.

"Is… is it over?" One of Kawhena's Apprentices, his brow rich with excited sweat, asked with eyes begging for hope. "Have we won?"

Kawhena could only discard his heartbreak as he gazed upon his group of youthful Maguses too used to the decade of relative peace.

"The first wave is over," Kawhena confessed with a wry smile. "Here is where our battle starts."

Even for Tandy, a creature that had once ruled a domain within the Plane of Fire, the four-layer Rite of Elemental Invocation was too much.

While Jonas exorcised the Elemental Ash from her body, she panted and huffed, hoovering loose motes of Elemental Fire inundating the air, hoping to rapidly restore her Spirit before the Mermen returned with a vengeance.

"I should ask Master Gunther for more Creature Cores," she spat, her spittle pink and viscous. "That was fucking awesome."

"So awesome you almost went the way of Alesia," Jonas complained. "Why am I even healing you? I thought bullshit like this was behind me now."

"Nah, I reckon you love it." Yue protested protrusively, punishing her tank top's limits, causing Jonas to retract his protests with a series of rapid stutters. Unlike her peers, she was unarmored for the sake of the Ta moko adorning her exposed skin, which needed open air to absorb the ambient Elemental energies.

"Ma'am," Billy dimmed his Arcane Eye as he faced her. "They're regrouping past Red Rocks, about two kilometres out from the headland."

"How's the bay?"

"Magister Kawhena has enclosed the inlet. He's fusing Hind and Breaker Hill as we speak."

"Good man." Yue smacked her lips. "That'll give them time to clean up."

Billy's eyes swept the flaming bay. "This place is going to stink like bad soup very quickly. Wellington will have to pay for major purification rites."

"Better than losing the port." Yue shrugged, evaporating beads of sweat from the glowing Ta moko on her neck and shoulders. "Alright, let's land for the moment and rest up. Jonas, Taj, Paul—help the locals. Billy and I will take up spotting over at Ataturk."

"Yes, Ma'am!" The men obeyed as instructed.

Yue lowered her eyes toward the turbulent, glowing bay as she descended, her nostrils taking in the sharp stench of _misto de mare_ simmering below.

Her spell was fading, and the survivors who had hidden beneath the bodies of their mates were now emerging from the floating carcasses like ghoulish Undead, clambering over scarlet shells and snapped limbs to avoid the still hot but non-lethal water.

A few of them made clicking hurrahs.

A few others howled and hooted, waving their limbs like gleeful schoolboys from Sydney High on a hilarious holiday to the Green Zones.

As a Battle Mage, Yue felt strange respectful toward these viscous Mermen, who were, in her eyes, murderers, looters and invaders of the first degree. Yet, they were so adorably innocent and simple, these monsters who would eat their kind without judgement to survive, including the spawn of their rivals. For the Mermen, death was merely a lull in the monotony of enduring a merciless food chain, and therefore any chance at murdering land mammals was seen as generous, hearty, and whole-souled fun.

And they would not retreat—unlike Humanity, there was no return to prose-filled Halcyon days of peace and respite for the sea-folk, whose every day consisted of surviving the fish-eat-fish world of their Kingdoms, for whom the fight to consume another and grow strong was the only path forward.

"Billy," she commanded her second.

"Yes, Magus?"

"Mark those targets." Yue circulated Tandy's violent Essence, her Ta moko growing white-hot, then blue and ashen as her Nightmare awoke once more. "Get me close. I don't intend to waste mana on extended range Fireballs."