The tension in the air was thick, an almost tangible thing as the first light of dawn glinted off the banners fluttering in the river's breeze.
The calm of the morning betrayed the chaos that was about to unfold. The Merlion Family, with their Hook banner, stood resolute on one side of the river dale, the water reflecting their command over the very element they wielded.
On the opposite side, the Costamado Family stood firm beneath the looming shadow of their Hammer banner, their presence a clear signal of the strength and aggression they were prepared to unleash.
Both sides were ready. The stage was set.
The river dale, with its calm, reflective waters, had seen countless peaceful days in the past.
Now, it was a battlefield, where the families would clash not only with steel and magic but with centuries of history, power, and pride.
Soldiers lined up, the tension between them palpable, while the leaders, Kesca Merlion and Lord Costamado, stood at the front of their forces, their eyes locked on each other.
This was a personal battle for supremacy, for control, for the future.
Across the dale, on the far edges of each army, some grand water mages like wizards, witches, and sorcerers of various families from around the city gathered. Their crystal balls, held aloft on enchanted staffs, glowed faintly with magic, each serving as a connection between the battlefield and the safety of distant nobles.
These crystal balls were no ordinary tools; they acted as windows through which the elites of the city could watch the bloodshed from the comfort of their homes, far removed from the impending violence. Each noble's eyes drawn to the unfolding conflict as if they, too, were part of the war, able to witness every strike, every spell, every victory or defeat in real-time.
The scene was almost theatrical in its grandeur—an audience of powerful families, witnessing the spectacle of two titans clashing.
And in the center of it all, the river dale, its waters untouched for now, waiting for the first surge of magic to stain its surface.
"That's the Merlion army?" the Witch asked, tilting her staff forward so the crystal could catch a better view.
A shimmering thread of light snaked up into the sky—a connection to House Reltheon's viewing chamber miles away. "Looks like a wedding procession, not a war front."
"Don't let their clean armor fool you," the Wizard muttered, flicking his wrist to adjust the focus of his own staff. "They train like fanatics. Those Water Mages in the back? They don't throw waves—they sculpt them."
The Sorcerer, reclining in the grass between them, yawned. "A bit dramatic for a family duel, don't you think?"
"No duel," the Witch corrected.
"This is about pride. And control. You don't line up four hundred men in armor to settle a grudge—you do it to make a statement."
The Wizard nodded toward the other side of the river. "There's the real danger. Costamado's army is tighter. More grounded."
"Because of the dwarves?" the Sorcerer asked.
"Some of them, sure. Earth affinity runs deep in that blood," the Wizard said. "But it's not just that. They've got something the Merlion side doesn't."
The Witch frowned. "What?"
"Dante."
The name lingered in the air.
Even the Sorcerer sat up straighter. "You serious? Dante's here?"
"Frontline," the Wizard said. "Claymore on his back, aura like a storm held in check. He's the Knight Commander of Aurelia for a reason. And Lord Frings owns him."
"Merlion brought Kesca," the Witch said, trying to keep her voice even. "She's not a joke. That blade she carries drinks mana like wine."
"And yet," the Wizard replied, "Frings brought that man."
"House Galdrien's going to want slow-motion on this," the Sorcerer muttered, peering into his staff. "If Dante swings, it might tear through more than just men."
"All this over territory in one city," the Witch whispered. "Imagine if this was a kingdom war."
A mage from the Merlion family stood at the edge of the battleground, her sharp eyes scanning the distant noble estates where mages from other families gathered to watch the conflict unfold. She clicked her tongue in frustration.
"Tsk, the other families really think it's a theater," she muttered under her breath.
Captain Thane, a man with striking blue hair, sat tall atop his horse, gazing at the scene with a contemplative look. His eyes narrowed as he surveyed the gathering mages. "No, they're not gonna be a problem. Besides, we're already making an enemy with the Frings family. We don't need to add more."
The mage looked at him, clearly impressed. "He's so smart... and handsome." Her voice was barely a whisper.
"He's the cousin of Aqua Marshal Kesca, right?" another mage chimed in, her voice tinged with curiosity.
"Mm," Captain Thane grunted, adjusting the grip on his reins. "He is a Pyro Blade user, Captain Thane Merlion."
Thane clenched his fists. "Tsk. Uncle really started a war just because some random soldiers died in a tavern. We can't lose. Especially with some families watching..." His words trailed off as he glanced nervously at the distant water screens of the watching nobles.
At the Velmire Estate:
Lord Halren Velmire stood by the water screen, fingers tapping impatiently on the table. "This delay is infuriating," he muttered. "Someone has to make the first move. I can't bear this tension."
At the Quentari Villa:
Lady Ysolde Quentari sat gracefully in her chair, her eyes fixed on the water screen. A soft chuckle escaped her lips. "How utterly predictable. A waiting game. But not for long, I imagine."
Her daughter, leaning against the window, added, "They'll strike soon. It's only a matter of who."
At Gravenhold Keep:
Baron Edric Graven's hands were clasped behind his back as he paced the room. His eyes narrowed as the battle lingered on the screen. "This is absurd," he growled. "The longer they wait, the worse this will get. Blood must flow."
At Kingsreach Manor:
Lord Darius leaned forward, hands resting on the armrests of his chair. His eyes glittered with anticipation. "It's too quiet. One of them will falter. The question is, who?"
At the Holst Estate:
Father Gustav Holst stood tall, his brow furrowed in deep thought. "This is more than pride at stake. The city's future… their fate is hanging by a thread."
Greshia, standing nearby, shook her head softly. "They will fight soon enough, Honey. The real question is, who will win?"
The two leaders stood face to face, the river flowing silently between them — a natural boundary, now soaked in tension.
"You look rather beautiful today, Kesca," Lord Frings said with a half-smile. "Strange. Your father isn't here, though this war is his doing."
Kesca's gaze sharpened. "My father is preoccupied with matters more important than entertaining a bitter old man. Surrender your cousin, and no blood needs to be spilled."
Frings smirked. "I don't have my cousin. But I suppose you're innocent in the death of mine? Especially when the evidence clings to his corpse."
'Tsk. This old man,' Kesca thought, jaw tightening.
She straightened. "Then let's settle this."
Frings nodded once. "Yes. We shall."
With that, they turned away, walking back to their ranks.
One side led by Dante.
The other by Kesca.
Silence fell over the field as the sun reached its highest peak.
In the city, the air was split — fear in the poor sectors, thrill in the noble estates. The crystal waters shimmered in the viewing spheres, reflecting war's breathless pause.
"Huh," muttered the bell ringer, blinking up at the sky. "Ah... it's time."
He reached for the rope.
Though a great distance stretched between them, Kesca and Dante locked eyes. Their soldiers did the same.
Then—
The bell rang.
And the war began.