If a man were equipped with wings, he could soar high above the valley and admire the spectacle of countless tents at either end.

The peculiar spectacle that could be observed was but a prelude to a clash that had reached its final stage. On one side were well-armed soldiers, though fatigued by the long and hurried march, while on the other side was a jumble of motley people from all walks of life. Peasants, small artisans, laborers and slaves, a small army of those at the base of the social pyramid, had armed themselves to confront their oppressors in search of a modicum of freedom.

The soldiers, 3,000 strong, had set up camp in the morning on a small rise at the edge of the valley. They rushed there to curb and suppress the revolt that had been sweeping the region for months. Seeking a final confrontation, the count had summoned soldiers from every town and outpost, deploying defenses along the borders. By now the situation was untenable and further delays would end his life.

The spark that sparked the spirits actually had multiple causes. Talking to 10 people, among the insurgents you would have had just as many reasons for arming and fighting. Despite the motives, what were initially voices of lament and suffering became, to the utter bewilderment of the count, a full-fledged uprising that swept through dozens of villages.

Today everything would be, for the good for some and the bad for the other, concluded.

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To the east of the valley is a well-organized encampment. Hundreds of gray tents lined it with small braziers in front of the entrances. Soldiers could be seen patrolling the encampment and others circling along the palisade erected around the camp. In the center of it, a large green and black tent towered over the rest. On top was a flag depicting a snarling bear. In front of the tent two soldiers stood guard. They wore full armor with a stole in the count's colors of green and black.

An unspecified number of men in black uniforms and feathered hats were going in and out of the tent like little rats. It was dusk when the bustle of people ceased, and shortly afterward three figures emerged from the tent.

The soldiers stood at attention as the first figure in the group exited.

A tall, burly man wearing chain mail armor with a brown fur cloak, on his head pressed into his black, tousled hair a silver circle that represented his rank. A square, sun-worn face. Like any fighter who had spent years on the battlefields his skin was burnished. He wore no weapons, but the strength that emanated from his person struck fear into anyone who looked at him.

Behind him two figures followed him.

A blond boy in a white robe. Clear eyes with small wrinkles surrounding them. The classic good-guy face always ready to show and give a smile, but if one had gotten to know the person better one might have guessed that beyond that relaxed, carefree look was a veil of deep concern. At the brown belt cinching his waist was a small silver chain with an opaque sphere at the end. A faint light pulsed in the sphere as if it were breathing. The particular object was the symbol that distinguishes soul collectors. The boy was the priest in charge of the next day's harvest.

Next to the priest another boy walked with a determined face. He had the same features as the older man and in fact was his son. Like his father he had a prominent physique and a menacing appearance but his young age softened his angles making him less aggressive. He also wore a silver hoop, slightly smaller than his father's, in his black hair.

The lord was Count Bure Cattern, ruling over the port city of Cortoga and the various fiefdoms in the Kalis region. He had gathered his soldiers and feudal lords to put down the revolt that had arisen in the lands he administered. He had initially left it to the local feudal lords to remedy these problems, but after several months of failure he had to take the field himself. At risk was his head.

A month earlier he had received a missive from Marquis Ergom, the governor of the border brands to which the region belonged, accusing him of being lax and inept. If the problem had escalated and touched other regions or worse, intensified in the Marches, the Marquis would have demanded his head before taking the field himself.

Compelled by the ineptitude of his feudal lords, the earl took his eldest son, Allen Cattern, and brought him with him to the battlefield. Even if they had slaughtered mere peasants it would still have been a battle; thanks to this the son, still a virgin of real fighting, would have his first bloodbath and thus, according to family tradition, finally become an adult and worthy to inherit the title.

-Allen, get ready for tomorrow. You will lead the cavalry on the right flank. -

Earl Cattern after a day of deliberation decided to send his son to the right flank; he would lead 200 cavalry to crush the ragtag pack of rioters. It was an easy task, but being thrown into the fray for the first time would give his son the push he needed to see whether or not he was capable of demonstrating a warrior's spirit. Had he not held to the shock of the confrontation, the Earl would have considered replacing Allen in the line of succession with his second son, Betron. Unlike Allen, his brother had already completed his bloodbath, proving his worth as a soldier, but being born of the Earl's second wife, it was not possible to consider him as a successor.

Allen knew of all this, knew of his father's intentions, and knew that his brother hoped for his failure. Tomorrow would be the day to put an end to the dispute with his half-brother, and once the succession was finally established, he would remove that madman Betron from the palace, relegating him to the role of patrolling the border of the region.

-As the Lord commands. -

As soon as he heard the orders, Allen brought his right arm to his chest and bowed his head slightly, then turned and went to the tents where the knights he would lead were camped. He would make arrangements with the captains for the next day's arrangements.

As Allen walked away two soldiers approached the count.

They had been sent out on patrol to observe the insurgent camp and were to report hourly on the movements and dispositions they made.

As they approached the Count they bowed their heads bringing their right arms to their chests.

-Sir. We observed the camp and noticed some movements on the left side. We advanced past their sentries and saw something of concern. -

After speaking the man lifted his head slightly as he observed the Count and waited for a nod to continue.

The Count and the priest had stopped to listen to the two and upon hearing the first words signaled the soldier to continue.

-A small convoy pushed into the camp a few hours ago. We did not report the news to you right away because we were waiting beforehand to find out who the people who arrived were. As soon as we understood their identities we ran to you, my lord. -

Bure raised an eyebrow in curiosity at those words and signaled the man to continue.

-Magicians sir. Two magicians have come to the insurgent camp. -

As soon as the news was given, the man fell silent, biting his lip and lowering his gaze; while his companion, also uncomfortable, surreptitiously watched the Count waiting for the explosive reaction that would happen.

They waited. A few moments passed and yet no groans or expletives came from the Count. The two looked up slightly and observed the Count suspecting that perhaps he had missed the point.

Bure was watching the hill as the two of them awkwardly questioned each other.

He had known for days that everything was going to go wrong, and the presence of two mages did not change the situation he was in by much.

Of course it was better to fight only ill-armed ragamuffins, but he was not so stupid as not to think that there might be pitfalls awaiting him.

The situation itself was too strange to be faced without expecting anything abnormal.

-Noble Cattern? -

The priest who had remained silent during the exchange of words called Brune's attention, thinking that he was shocked and stuck by the gravity of the information.

Brune recovered from his thoughts and turned his gaze to the two scouts, after a few moments he gestured with his hand and motioned them away.

He paused a few seconds in overthinking and then signaled to an attendant passing by to approach.

-Write a letter for me then take it to Captain Allen. -

The man took pen and paper, placed the paper on a small wooden board and prepared to write.

-Allen. I entrust you with 100 more knights, your mission remains the same but pay attention to the enemy troops, it is suspected there are wizards in their ranks. If the situation becomes uncontrollable you have my permission to retreat. -

The attendant winced at hearing the mention of wizards, but continued to write the letter. Then he handed the tablet and paper to Brune, who checked the text, then signed it and returned it.

The attendant took the letter and ran to the tent where Allen was busy organizing his men.

The blond boy who up to that point had remained silent with a frown coughed a couple of times.

-Noble Cattern. Will everything be all right with the wizards? You don't seem particularly shaken. -

Babylon was a soul collector, his role was to collect the souls of the fallen and guard them until the Day of Return when they would be released and absorbed by the pillar of origin in the city. As a member of the church he did not fall under the Count's jurisdiction, he was there as an aid and representative. He would have listened to the Count and carried out his duties, not participated in tactical meetings or interfered with military matters, but the event that took place in the morning continued to leave him doubtful, and now the news about the wizards increased his concerns.

Shortly after they had set up camp some lookouts entered the count's tent to report that they had seen two men in black robes observing the camps from the top of the ridge rising above the small valley. When the Count asked for more information and heard that one of the two had an intricate red and gold design on his right sleeve, he whitened his face and commanded that no one approach him. At the field commanders' inquiries as to who they were, the Count became furious, telling them that it was not their concern and they should only think of the upcoming battle.

-Noble Cattern, I can guess from your behavior that mages apparently do not frighten you, but why did those two people spotted on the ridge instead upset you to the point of intimating that they should not approach you? -

The Count paused in place and sighed. It was indeed strange behavior. Within hours of a battle, the news that should have shocked him most was the presence of mages in the enemy ranks. But he knew that he could not change the deployed organization, but he was sure that despite everything he would win. The mages however powerful they were on the battlefield were strong resources but limited in duration. If they could not eliminate them quickly, they would lose their strength and stop unleashing their powers.

His troops were well trained and after the initial bewilderment at the presence of magic on the field they would have easily regained the composure needed to fight.

But those two figures, on the other hand.

There is nothing more troubling to a soldier than the unknown concealed behind a dark cloud.

-If I told you that I only have a suspicion, but that I actually don't know who they are...would you think I was crazy? -

Babilon watched the Count, the troubled face showing uncertainty and concern; it was the first time he had seen such feelings in a Cattern.

-I am a member of the church, I can listen to your story and your concerns. I will not judge you a fool or anything. Mine is curiosity. You know very well that my role here will take place at the end of the battle, before and during I will not do anything, say anything or interfere. -

As he spoke to the nobleman in front of him, he saw his body relax slightly, although his expression continued to be worried, he slowly began to sigh with resignation.

-If you want, I will consider yours as words spoken in confession. So do not be afraid. -

Bure finally relented, sighed a long breath and began to tell a bizarre story. Perhaps by voicing his doubts, he could find a new solution. Or simply talking to the priest would help him clear his mind.