The Grey bear skin, his maroon eyes, the green sachet that was around his waist and a thick cloak that draped over one half of his body. A Zemlyian Mage. Already knowing she was outmatched, she charged at the Mage, who was taken aback as he shouted in surprise. She pulled her hand up, with a ball of fire consuming her hand as she aimed for his face. The Mage instinctively attempted to block such an attempt as he crossed both of his arms, with Napoleon smiling as she barged him to the left, toppoling him over as she began the mad sprint down the pass, where her comrades and friends marched down the day before…

  More Zemlyians. Men in dark green and grey disposing of naked bodies as they threw them down the cliff face, pushing off carts and horses as shouts were heard from behind. The sheer adrenalin that pulsed through her veins denied her any sense of slowing down and surrender, the sheer panic she felt on the thought of getting captured. She feared being found out. She feared for her honour. She would rather be dead than defiled. She kept on sprinting, with a pair of men seeing her rapid escape as she moved both hands, a plume of fire forcing them to disperse as she sprinted, her footfalls escalating as... Why was she running…? It did not matter. She would stop running. There was no point in running.

  More shouts were yelled as men on either side approached with their muskets aimed at her. Napoleon complied, placing both of her hands onto the cold, uncertain floor as she sat down. Even though she trembled, all she saw on those foreign faces was uncertainty and fear. They feared her. Then she heard a commanding shout from the right, the Mage of which she barged pass. How she was able to push through such a dense mass of muscle was beyond her… and now he was staring her down, with both fury and pity. He waved his hand. The men behind him lowered their muskets.

  The Zemlyian mage crouched down, hand on one knee as his throat cleared, his face becoming more sincere as it softened. He looked around her age.

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  “I’m sorry about your friends in that cave, Mage. Vasili went against orders and he will be punished severely…- I apologise. ”

  He pulled out his hands towards her, as if it was to be shaken. “I promise no harm is to come to you, give me your saber.” That was how officers surrendered, and unusually he asked for hers, did he think that she was an officer?

  She took one hand off of the ground as she un-holstered the weapon belt. Hesitating. Taking one last look of her only weapon, where for a brief moment, her drooped eyes read over the ruins she etched into the sword. [Ignis] . The Mage, in taking the weapon, handed it over to a soldier, before looking back at her.

  “Alright then, you may stand.” With his tongue changing into Zemlyian as his attention shifted- “Nichavo, Halenkov… [. . . . . . . .]” As he beckoned at the two that were named.

  It was clear that she was to stand, the thought of it reassured her, but she could not..

  From underneath steam began to escape from the stone as it slowly cracked, with its intensity heightening as Napoleon's senses dulled, her eyes beginning to close. The Mage’s face twisted in horror as he felt his knees and shin becoming unusually warm through the thick uniform, as he shouted in Zemlyian, with the men with their muskets, now uncocked and dispersing, no longer being able to react in time to her plot. The Mage pulled onto the near fainted Napoleon's arm, as he tried to pull her away from her mess.

  The Mountain path exploded, sending Napoleon as well as those who were unlucky enough to be within the blast, into the air. Her eyes slowly opened. She was no longer in control. She couldn’t move her limbs as air scraped and screamed against her bruised body. A terror she saw the realities of as the ground felt closer and closer. She accepted that she was to meet the other Ignians at the bottom of the mountain face.