VEIL OF DESIRE

The Mirror and the War

Chapter 9:

The battle had begun.

Steel clashed against steel, spells flew like lightning across the skies, and cries of fury and agony shook the fields like thunder. The once-green plains of the outer realm were now scorched, a canvas painted with fire and resolve. Elion’s army moved with the precision of a storm—disciplined, relentless, trained not just by war but by love, purpose, and sacrifice.

But while his warriors fought head-on, Elion’s focus was locked on something far more vital than any single soldier or skirmish—the magician.

Not the foot soldiers. Not the generals.

The one weaving chaos behind the curtain.

He slipped away from the main clash unnoticed, his cloak blending into smoke and shadow. Moving through the tall grass and charred trees, he breathed in the scent of burned earth, his senses sharp. He knew where the magician would be—hidden, protected by layers of deception, directing spells through a relic no man should have ever touched.

And he was right.

Nestled in a clearing far behind the main line, the magician knelt before a glowing, ancient mirror, his long robes pooled around him like mist. The mirror pulsed with deep purple light, arcs of magic whispering from its surface. It wasn’t just a tool—it was the heart of their strength. With it, he channeled energy to the front lines, cloaking warriors in illusions, healing wounds instantly, and sowing confusion among Elion’s men.

Elion stepped out from the shadows, his voice cutting through the hum of magic.

“You rely on that mirror too much,” he said coldly.

The magician turned slowly, his face gaunt, skin pale like pressed parchment. His eyes were black with age and power—centuries older than Elion’s five millennia.

“You dare come here alone, child?” he sneered. “You’re only five thousand years old, Elion. Barely past your weaning.”

Elion’s jaw tensed, but his gaze didn’t waver.

“And yet I’m the one standing over you right now.”

The magician’s fingers curled tighter around the spell he’d been casting, but his eyes flicked nervously to the mirror behind him.

“You know the law,” he said, voice suddenly harder. “Our realm forbids the breaking of magical mirrors. You cannot destroy it. Not without paying a price.”

“I don’t plan to break it,” Elion replied evenly, stepping closer. “I just need to separate you from it.”

With a swift motion, Elion reached out and lifted the mirror from its pedestal. It was warm—no, burning in his hands—but he held it steady, the runes on his armor glowing in response to its power. The air shimmered around them, reacting to the severance of magician from mirror.

“Once the fight is over, it’ll be returned. I don’t need to shatter your magic… just disarm it.”

The magician’s face twisted, hands clenched at his sides. He knew Elion was threading a dangerous but legal path. To destroy the mirror would be sacrilege. But to take it and return it later?

A technicality. One the law could not condemn.

“Do you even understand what power you’re holding?” the magician hissed, voice crackling with restrained fury.

Elion’s ocean-blue eyes burned with resolve. “Enough to end this war.”

Without another word, he turned and vanished into the mist, the mirror clutched under his arm like a lifeline.

⏳ Two Hours Later…

The battlefield was still now.

The last echo of swords had faded. The spells that once danced like fireflies now hung like morning mist in the air. Bodies—some groaning, others still—lay across the plain as healers rushed in from the rear ranks.

At the front stood Elion.

Tall, unmoved, blood streaked across his blade and dust caked on his armor. His warriors—his Guam men—stood behind him, exhausted but victorious. They had held. They had risen. They had won.

But Elion didn’t celebrate.

He turned alone and walked back into the forest. There, in the same clearing, the magician waited, no longer kneeling but standing with a strange calm in his posture. His lips were thin, pressed in resentment, but his hands were empty.

Elion knelt and laid the mirror gently before him, just as he had promised.

“As agreed,” he said.

The magician studied him for a long moment. Finally, he gave a quiet nod.

“You fight like a commander,” he said. “But you think like a king.”

Elion didn’t reply. His eyes drifted up to the sky where the clouds were beginning to break. Golden sunlight poured through the smoke like a blessing.

Without a word, he turned and led his men home.

He had claimed more than a victory that day.

He had taken one step closer to her.

To Aria.

And soon, the war behind him, he would finally reach for the one thing he had never been able to touch—her voice.