Chapter 26: War

Sienna
The Great Hall welcomes me with its usual grandeur, but today the air is thick with tension. The roots forming the walls seem to whisper ancient secrets, and the leaves hanging from the ceiling vibrate with restrained energy.

Aldrion, Captain of the Earth Court Guard, stands beside a stern-faced colonel and a courtier dressed in garments that scream wealth. Astrid sits on one of the living wooden benches, nibbling on an apple with apparent disinterest.

Bastian, ever imposing, gestures for me to come closer.
—Sienna, take a seat —he says, his deep voice echoing through the hall—. This meeting is of utmost importance.

I sit beside Astrid, who gives me a fleeting glance before turning her attention back to the fruit in her hands.
—I've summoned you —Bastian begins— because the news from the other courts is troubling. Unrest, clashes, broken alliances... The stability we once knew is crumbling.

The colonel nods gravely.
—The clans of the Fire Court have intensified their movements. Rumor has it they're seeking to control the Great Willow, the most powerful and energetic portal of all the courts.

The courtier chimes in, his voice laced with worry.
—If they manage to seize the Great Willow, they could dominate the rest of the courts. It's a key point of Mother Nature; its power is incalculable.

Bastian nods.
—The Air Court has shown some sympathy toward our causes, but their support is lukewarm. The Water Court and we are fighting to maintain balance, though each court is pulling in its own direction. Corruption has infiltrated every level.

Astrid stops biting her apple and speaks for the first time.
—And nature? How is it responding to all this?

Bastian sighs.
—Mother Nature is bleeding. The forests are withering, rivers overflow with fury, winds howl in despair. It’s as if the earth itself were at war with us.

I gather the courage to ask:
—Is there a chance of a greater war?

Bastian looks straight into my eyes.
—The war has already begun, Sienna. Not everyone has accepted it yet.

The silence that follows is deafening. The roots of the hall seem to twist in unease, and a cold breeze sweeps through, like an omen of what’s to come.
—And the clans? —I ask, my chest tightening—. Who are the ones fighting?

Aldrion crosses his arms and exhales heavily.
—The Lignum clans, of the Earth Court, are divided. Some like the Roceluz, guardians of the ancient roots, remain loyal to balance. But the Cenibruma, a younger and more ambitious lineage, have secretly allied with emissaries of the Fire Court. They’re betraying their land for power.

—It’s the same in the Water Court —adds the colonel—. The Azulhirviente, a clan that once guarded the springs of pure water, now deal in poisons. It's said they’re selling secrets in exchange for protection. They've abandoned the sacred pacts.

—And in the Air Court —interjects the courtier—, the Vietorvo are no longer sky sages. They've become spies, mercenaries, renting themselves to the highest bidder. They don’t care if their winds raze entire villages as long as they rise from the ruins.

Bastian drums his fingers on the living table pulsing beneath his palm.
—The Fire clans are the most corrupted. The Ignivoros, the Escarlagrís, even the old Reds of the Valley... all seem to answer to a figure in the shadows. No one has seen their face, but they call them the Spark. A voice that whispers from braziers, from ovens, from open wounds.

—And what do they want? —asks Astrid, biting into the apple’s core with fury.

—Everything —Bastian replies—. They want the Great Willow. If they get it, they could control the natural portals, manipulate cycles, dry up seas or burn entire seasons. We don’t know if it's a lord with powers or a being born from something else.

—And the courts… will they let her—or him? It’s unclear —I murmur, a shiver running down my spine.

—They won’t —says Aldrion—, but they won’t act together either. The existing alliances are fragile. Each court wants to save its own power, its own land. Not its people.

—Some leaders believe this war can redraw borders. That it’s an opportunity —adds the courtier—. Do you know what they’re doing with the youth now?

We all look at him.
—They’re sending them to the front. Trained or not. Ready or not. Barely old enough to plant crops… and they’re already being sent to die for clans they never knew. That’s what happened to my cousin. They took him at night. No letter, no warning. One day he was tending the fields, and the next… gone. I found out from a messenger that he was used as shield meat on the coast of the Red Ferns.

I freeze. This isn’t just a war of strategies. It’s a war of consumption. Of appropriation. Of imposed sacrifices.

—They’re repeating the mistakes of the Old Wars —says the healer, who enters unannounced, his raven mask gleaming under the hall’s light.

—What wars? —I ask.

—The ones that fractured humans and courtfolk. When druids became lords, acquiring powers that Mother Nature granted to bring balance and prosperity. When the children of water were sold as slaves to the Air Court in exchange for moonstones. When the Fire Court burned the healers’ sanctuaries just to prove their strength.

—That… is messed up and sounds like legend —murmurs Astrid.

—They’re not legends —the healer corrects—. They’re warnings. And we are ignoring them.

Bastian runs a hand down his face, exhausted.
—Balance breaks when each court thinks it can survive alone. But this war... is not like the others. This time… the Mother is against all of us.

The breeze sweeps through the Great Hall again, but now it smells like ash.
And fear.

—You’ll need much more training —Bastian says, his tone leaving no room for argument.

I look at him, alert.
—Training for what?