Darkness was slowly receding as pale beams of sunlight fought against the night's dominance. For the first time in two months, the trees looked like trees again - green instead of endless shadows of black. Yet even if winter's grip was breaking and summer loomed ahead, the sun's warmth had not yet reached the ground. The forest floor remained buried in white, every breath of air still sharp and cold.

Two large groups had gathered in the clearing, the space wide enough to contain them all.

"Vael Akrion," a Velmoryn spoke, her voice weak and muffled. She wore a dark robe traced with silvery markings, its folds fluttering faintly with each breath of wind. "I still think we should wait a few more days before striking the nest. The cold will not fade so quickly that the monsters can leave, but it will ease our movement and give us the advantage."

Beside her stood a robust man mounted on a skalvyr, the beast shifting uneasily beneath the weight of his heavy armor.

"This is the right time, Vael Shelya, even if you don't see it," he answered flatly, offering no explanation beyond his own conviction. "Our mighty Blue Tribe will not allow those pests to tarnish our lands a moment longer than necessary!"

The words seemed to fuel his pride. His back straightened, and a smug smile spread across his face as if victory were already his. Shelya, by contrast, looked uneasy. A frown crept across her lips before she smoothed it away, disguising it as nothing more than a shiver brought on by the cold.

It was clear she feared confronting him. I had expected the Silver Tribe to resist the Blue Tribe's aggression - they were considered the second strongest tribe after all. Well, Dariel certainly thought so. Yet seeing her hesitation, I was no longer sure that reputation matched reality.

"The others are late, what a surprise…" Akrion muttered, irritation slipping into his tone as he jumped down from his mount, burying himself knee deep into snow. He then motioned sharply to his warriors.

"Dismount! Don't exhaust the beasts without reason. They must play their part later."

The ugly grin that followed his words made his intent clear.

"Thank Goddess," Shelya said suddenly, a trace of relief in her voice, as she saw another group exiting the treeline. She must have believed that once the others arrived, the tension in the air would ease up, or at least the weight pressing against her would lessen and spread evenly.

She then lifted a hand to signal her own warriors forward. Unlike the Blues, the Silver Tribe had brought no mounts. Their ranks were filled with mages and archers. But what struck me most was their composition. Every one of them was female.

The Silver Tribe is matriarchal?

I had studied them briefly before the long winter, but I had never noticed such a structure. Perhaps I had overlooked it. Back then, my only concern had been whether they maintained trade connections beyond the forest.

"Vael Akrion, Vael Shelya…" a familiar voice greeted them, the words carrying the weight of age. It was the same Velmoryn who had hosted Karla in his tribe and promised Avenor and Aria that he would swear himself to me if I proved my power during the extermination. Now he appeared at the head of his small army, walking with a slight limp and leaning on his staff, the glow of residual magic clinging to the wood as he used it for support and to create a path for his people in the snow.

After seeing the Vael of the Green Tribe, Shelya lowered her hood in greeting, and I finally understood why she had been so on edge. She was old. Far older than any Velmoryn I had seen. The Yellow Tribe's old mage would look like a teen in comparison.

I still wasn't sure how age worked for Velmoryns. Unlike Elves, they weren't completely untouched by time, though they held up far better than mortals. Still, there had to be a point where old age started to wear them down. The Silver Tribe's Vael must've worried that if a fight broke out, she wouldn't be able to perform the way her warriors needed her to. And if that was the case, then putting her in charge of leading the army was a whole different problem.

"Vael Othrien," Shelya slurred, tracing a half-moon symbol across her chest, her fingers shaking a little. The gesture unsettled me. I already knew a god whose title included a moon symbol, and that bastard had shown his hand with the Blue Tribe. For a moment, suspicion crawled over me.

But I eased up quickly, remembering the memory I had seen where Freya had traced the same symbol when showing respect to the God of Elves and just moments ago Shelya had also mentioned the Goddess.

"You are late, Vael Othrien," Akrion said coldly, grimacing. He offered neither bow nor any other sign of respect, nothing that could be mistaken for courtesy. He even took a step forward as if trying to increase the pressure or perhaps test the waters and see how the old Velmoryn in front of him would react.

The warriors standing behind the Green Tribe's Vael stiffened, several hands sliding toward hilts. The Blue Tribe answered in kind. Warriors tightened their grips on weapons, even the mounts pawed at the ground.

What the hell…

It wasn't the hostility that surprised me - I had long since realized the tribes weren't on friendly terms. What puzzled me was the way the Blue Tribe carried themselves. Akrion had already pushed Shelya aside, and now he was trying to do the same with Othrien. And all this before the extermination campaign had even begun. How could they trust one another's backs in battle if they couldn't tolerate merely standing together.

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"Young ones are so full of vigor," Othrien said flatly, completely unfazed by Akrion's tone, and straightened with a grunt. "Remember, Vael Shelya, when we were that young and reckless? Hah… age changes a man. In the past, I'd have lost patience, cast a spell and obliterated anyone daring to show disrespect."

Shelya paused, clearly hesitating as she chewed on her lower lip with her gums.

Othrien's words might have sounded like nothing more than a mix of threat and insult, but they carried more weight than that. He had not only made it clear that the Green Tribe would not shy away from a direct clash with the Blue, he was also pressing Shelya to show her own hand and declare where she stood.

But fortunately for her, before she could answer, two more forces emerged from the edge of the treeline.

Dariel led the Yellow Tribe. Exactly one hundred Velmoryns marched behind him - most were mages and archers, but he had brought twenty frontliners and five mounted scouts on skalvyr to round out the force.

Beside him walked the Vael of the Brown Tribe. She looked young, too young compared to the others present. But her age wasn't what stood out most. Two long, curved blades were strapped across her back, and she wore light leather armor fit for speed rather than defense. Her warriors mirrored her entirely: thirty-six frontliners, no mages or archers at all.

That's about three hundred fifty Velmoryns, not counting my own squad.

The Blue Tribe had brought more than a hundred, while the Yellow and Brown combined had barely matched them.

So are Akrion and Dariel showing off, or are the other tribes really this weak?

I didn't know what exact agreement bound them - whether each tribe was supposed to bring only elites or a certain percentage of their forces. I only knew the Yellow Tribe, or rather Joriel, had promised a hundred, and mine had been asked to send as many as they could afford.

Sometimes being counted as the weakest had its benefits.

Akrion's face twitched when he saw who was leading the Yellow Tribe. He recovered quickly, but the slip was enough for me to notice it. He already knew his grand plan had unraveled when Joriel died and when he failed to bring Cellia back to his tribe. The scout my basilisk hadn't managed to kill must have survived and reported everything. It was better than the portal taking him into the hands of that moon-god, who would have wrung the truth out without a single question.

"Dariel?" Shelya and Othrien spoke almost at the same time, both clearly shocked to see the man standing before them, brushing snow from his thick fur coat.

"It's Vael Dariel now," said the girl at his side. Her voice was soft, but her silvery eyes swept across the three Vaels with the kind of authority, one could only be born to have. "And I'm the new Vael of the Brown Tribe, Lyle."

She whistled sharply, and her thirty-six warriors snapped into a square formation, six across each side, every single one of them looking battle-ready.

Dariel, on the other hand, didn't even flinch at being addressed only by name. In truth, he no longer thought of himself as a Vael at all. But he wasn't about to reveal that here. If anything, he enjoyed the second wave of shock washing over Shelya's face.

"Your markings!" she almost shouted, her hand flying up to trace a half-moon across her chest. "You… you betrayed our Goddess?"

She turned, scanning the gathered Vaels, only to realize no one else looked surprised.

"First the weaklings I thought were the High Mother's most devoted, and now the Yellow Tribe too?" Her fury boiled over, her age doing nothing to soften it. "And you all knew? I can understand the Brown Tribe, they've always been close to Yellow, but how is it possible for the two of you to know this?"

"I was visited by a divine envoy and asked to embrace the God of Velmoryn," Othrien answered truthfully as he leaned more heavily on his staff, his legs clearly protesting the strain. "I must admit, unlike some of the small people who let sudden strength swell their pride, they were polite. Well-mannered, even. I swore I'd consider their request if that God proved to be worthy of the Velmoryns' loyalty."

"Consider?" Shelya and I shouted at the same time, though for different reasons. I was irritated that he had twisted the promise he'd made, while Shelya was furious that he was even entertaining the idea of pledging himself to a new god.

Even Akrion looked annoyed. He clearly understood that the "small people" jab had been meant for him. Yet he could do nothing but swallow his wounded pride as Dariel and the one hundred Velmoryns standing at his back had already shifted the balance of power.

But what he didn't know was that Dariel's force, while larger in numbers, wasn't even close to my squad in terms of strength.

All five Vaels turned when guttural roars rolled out from the treeline. Twenty tharuuns emerged, their massive frames covered in long, thick black fur. Crimson runes shimmered faintly beneath, pulsing like embers under the dark coat. Upon their backs rode twenty Velmoryns, each radiating strength greater than the last.

"Wha…" one of Akrion's warriors yelped, the shock in his voice cutting through the tense silence.

Four of the Vaels immediately braced themselves for battle. Shelya even began casting, her hands trembling as a red diagram swirled into being above her. Its scale was impressive; even I found myself admiring it. But not every Vael was preparing for war. Dariel had already recognized the leader of the incoming squad.

"It's Mirion. They're allies," he called and took a step forward to meet them, his legs burying deep into the snow, the frozen surface unable to withstand the weight of his gigantic frame.

The other Vaels hesitated, but eventually followed. To hang back now would look like fear, and none of them could afford that.

"Vael Dariel!" Mirion boomed as he reached him, already dismounted, slapping his shoulder with enough force to stagger most men. Though Dariel didn't move an inch. "Now this is how a true man should stand!"

Dariel smiled at Mirion and kissed him on his right shoulder, the highest mark of respect one warrior could give another. It wasn't just to show respect for Mirion though; it was a statement that the two tribes now stood united.

"Mirion? Why are you leading the army and not Vael Teryo?" Othrien asked when he reached them, leaning more heavily on his staff, his limp more pronounced.

"It's not Mirion," Ninali's voice cut through the air from behind. Her tone was sharp, carrying more anger than the moment required. "For the faithless, it is Vael Mirion of the Crimson Tribe."

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