PART XI: THE STORY

Alone in the shadows, Commandant Xera fidgeted, worry gnawing at them. When word of the ridiculous bet reached their ears, they'd briefly considered appealing to Lady Ingris—perhaps a humble plea or a small concession might defuse things. But that hope seemed to immediately wither. Ingris had been one of the camp's most outspoken critics since before the first tree had been felled to clear the grounds. Appealing to her reason would accomplish nothing.

About two weeks before Midsummer, the command staff learned that Lady Ingris and her husband would be among the guests attending the celebration. A formal invitation had been sent to all members of Parliament, as was customary for every training facility. It was a courtesy, nothing more—most never responded, busy with holidays or election campaigns. No one had been more surprised than Xera when Lady Ingris actually accepted. There had been no explanation for their visit, but since the trip would take nearly a week, there was little doubt they had a purpose—and Xera was certain it wasn't a friendly one.

A serious debate broke out immediately among the officers: should they scale back the planned festivities? Perhaps trim the more raucous events and present a more professional, disciplined image. Legate Galin even suggested a several-day crash course in parade-ground etiquette for the recruits, though Thorn strongly objected, pointing out how it would disrupt their already tight training schedule. It wouldn't have been fair to the staff either, who had been looking forward to the festivities for months. And besides—if word reached Lady Ingris that the camp had changed its plans just to impress her (and of course it would), she'd twist that into yet another talking point for her crusade.

In the end, it was the Legate who offered a possible solution—or at least a way to soften the damage. His half-sister, as it turned out, served in the Parliament and, by fortunate coincidence, sat on the War Committee. The very committee which was responsible for approving the funds that kept the camp alive. Galin warned he and his sister weren't particularly close. While they shared a mother, they were born in different cycles of her life and hadn't grown up together. Still, Galin promised to reach out through the Scryer Network, and to his surprise, Winafria excitedly agreed to come. When she learned the camp was to be renamed, she even suggested inviting a member of Utora's family to be part of the moment.

At first, Utora's family hadn't been receptive—it was too soon after her death, and they were Gnolls, besides. Yet a personal appeal from a sitting member of Parliament carried weight. Initially, Utora's father was meant to attend, but in the end it was Jasryn who made the journey to represent the family when he realised he was too angry to give his daughter the honor she deserved

Now, somehow, Galin's plan to bring his half-sister as a counterweight to Ingris had completely unraveled. If not for his idea, the camp's future, Xera's career, and the lives of so many soldiers would not rest on the shoulders of their resident bundle of chaos—the same little bundle who had just finished singing a nursery rhyme about a boy and a dragon.

Xera didn't want to tempt fate by asking how things could get any worse. But there were signs.

"Ready for the last song?" Deduxia asked, pulling Callie out of her introspection. "I have about five more minutes on the spell."

Callie blinked and nodded as she muted the Sigil. "Yeah. One more." She glanced toward her Gnome friends and the rest of the group. "All of you for this one."

She released the channel to the Sigil on her chest before slicing and renewing the one on the guitar, since it would soon end, even managing to land it on the first attempt. Then, turning toward Lusha, Callie said, "The simple spotlight like we planned is perfect, unless you feel like doing more. But please, don't push yourself, okay? Maybe just some flashes in rhythm if that's easy."

The pregnant Elf looked ready to argue but caught herself. Her eyes darted toward the bassist. They shared a glance—something private and wordless—followed by a shy, almost embarrassed smile. "I won't overdo it," she said gently.

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Quickly, Callie ran her final selection through her head, the song's structure revealing itself to the band like puzzle pieces clicking into place. The players nodded as they picked up their instruments, understanding their cues without a word. The Pantherkin drummer grinned, already spinning a stick between her fingers before whispering, "Finally, something fast," to herself. That made Callie grin too, remembering how hesitant she'd been just the night before. Had she created a drumming monster? Probably—but she couldn't have been prouder if that was the case.

As the magical spotlight bloomed to life once more, everyone took their places. The air felt thick with anticipation; Callie could almost taste the energy, a hum of eager expectation calling to her from the audience.

"I've got time for one more," Callie called out after unmuting, projecting brightness and engagement to the crowd. She looked down, shielding her eyes and seeing a dreamy-eyed and bouncing Pixyl looking back, hands clasped near her heart, her other friends standing close. "How about a love song?" Callie said—not really asking the crowd, but letting Pixyl know—and received an excited nod in return. She quickly strummed a single chord to set the moment.

"Life is a story," Callie intoned as she looked out at the crowd. "And every day is a new page. Savor it. Embrace it. Live it. Make the story your own, and make yourself the hero."

With a few opening notes, bathed in the white light from above, Callie began to play. She focused down, looking toward where she knew Pixyl was standing, even though she couldn't see her. While this song carried a message for everyone, it was really Callie's love letter to the one who mattered most in her life right now—the one she wanted to make happy for as long as the moments might last.

Brandi Carlile had a huge influence on Callie growing up, her songs forming part of the soundtrack to her adolescence, and one of many catalysts that helped her come out to herself—and later, to her family. She'd carried that love of Carlile's music with her through college, twice road-tripping fifteen hours to Colorado to see her in concert, one of those times with Morgan. Those concerts had been more than shows—they had been pilgrimages. Standing among strangers who were almost kin had been life-affirming, almost sacred, and something that would touch her forever.

Now, with slow notes and flowing words, Callie began to sing her favorite of Carlile's songs, simply called The Story.

Like the last song the night before, it started deceptively simple and subdued—a quiet voice, pure and clear. Then it exploded, erupting into a power-ballad. The gleeful Pantherkin, barely able to contain herself, was finally set free to do her part. The others, faces alight with equal excitement, followed along with the magic.

Callie poured out the lyrics in her best imitation of the original, the rest of the band filling in to support her. Then, Inspiring Melody erupted again, and the magic flooded outward. This time, not with simple joy or sadness like the first songs, but with the purity of love. For those who knew Callie's journey, the lyrics may even have carried deeper meaning. For Callie herself, they were a reminder: life is a miracle. And love—love is the most powerful story of all.

A story she shared with her number one fangirl, and an invitation to write the next chapter together.

Finally, the song wound down, coming full circle. Her voice softened until it was just her and the guitar. The last note lingered—a clean, perfect tone that faded into stillness.

The magical spotlight dimmed in unity with her final held word, the Illusionist plunging the stage into total darkness to signify Callie was done playing.

For a heartbeat there was silence, then it swelled into a wave of applause, whistles, and cheers. People hugged, some cried, and somewhere in the middle of it, even a few strangers kissed as if the music had given them permission.

But even as the joy spread through the crowd, something seemed to tamp it down, as everyone's attention eventually turned toward Lady Ingris. They had all been touched by Callie's music tonight, but had she?

The Dwarf hadn't moved. She stood there, eyes distant, as if still lost in thought. Yet two glistening streaks of wet had carved paths down her cheeks, somehow catching the fake starlight above.

No one spoke. They all knew what those tears meant: she'd lost. And everyone waited to see what she would do.

Lady Ingris blinked, regaining focus as she looked at the crowd of faces watching her. She opened her mouth, as if to speak, then closed it. Running a hand under each eye, she sighed in defeat. Turning quickly, she walked away, her gait stiff as her footsteps faded into the night.

Behind her, the crowd erupted into cheers as Ingris felt her life crumble away into dust, the celebration of her demise just salting the wound further.

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