Chapter 8 – Prophecy And The Art of war
Narrated by Valen Veridian
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Academy Council Chamber – Behind the Curtain of Fate
The Observation Hall was dim, lit only by the floating, translucent battlefield map and the glowing runes etched into the ancient stone walls. Instructors sat around the obsidian council table, some tense, others intrigued. Whispers bounced across the room like ghostly echoes.
Instructor Aldric was the first to speak. "We aren't telling them, are we?"
"No," replied Headmaster Thorne. "Not yet. The prophecy must play out as it was spoken."
Kael, the arcane instructor, glanced sideways. "You're referring to Sir Thomas' prophecy, aren't you? He finally emerged from his meditation… after eight years?"
A hush fell over the room.
"Yes," Thorne said grimly. "Eight years of silence, and the moment he opened his eyes, he uttered one sentence: 'In the chaos of youth, one shall rise and break the shackles even gods dare not touch.'"
Aldric frowned. "Vague. As always."
"Still," said Instructor Liora, the priestess of records, "prophecies of that magnitude... they don't come without consequence. If we interfere, we may push the chosen path off its course."
"We must let the storm unfold naturally," Thorne said. "The Faction War Simulation will determine more than just aptitude. It will ignite the first flame."
All eyes turned to the battlefield display.
Ten factions. Ten leaders. One unspoken prophecy.
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Back on the Battlefield – Valen Veridian
The wind was quiet, unnaturally so.
We had claimed a minor southern fort. Crumbling walls, rusted weapon racks, and half-collapsed watchtowers—it wasn't much, but it was a start. I ordered the group to reinforce the interior, not the outer gate. Appear weak; strike hard.
I stood on the ramparts, eyes on the horizon. Somewhere, Marcus was watching too. Planning. Waiting.
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Lucian Caelum – The Sky Raider
While we had been taking our time, Lucian struck like a bolt of lightning.
From above, he descended on a wind-swept watchtower perched on a plateau, his griffon shrieking as its talons dug into stone. His teammates, barely able to follow his speed, rushed behind.
"Secure it fast," Lucian barked.
As they fortified the tower, thunder rumbled in the distance.
Lucian's blessing stirred within him. Storm clouds gathered—not just over the tower, but over the whole battlefield. He looked down with a grin.
4 Points secured.
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Marcus Alderwood – The Unbreakable Wall
Unlike Lucian's flare, Marcus' approach was cold precision.
His team built trenches, layered their base with stone barriers and spike traps. Every move was calculated.
A small hill fort near a water stream became his sanctuary. He raised his sword, not for attack—but as a rallying banner.
"Hold the line. Let the storm come to us."
5 Points secured.
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Siegfried Dragunov – The Reckless Flame
Siegfried didn't claim a fortress—he took one.
Charging into a contested ruin at the central cross-section of the map, he bellowed, spear blazing with flame. The rival team barely had time to react.
A brutal clash followed. Within minutes, they either surrendered or lay unconscious.
"Weaklings."
He stabbed his spear into the ground.
6 Points secured.
The battlefield shuddered. A storm gathered above Siegfried's head—but this one was of his own making.
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Selene Evernight – The Ghost in the Mist
Selene's claim went unnoticed by most. Her team disappeared into a fog-covered forest.
They never fought. They were never seen.
When the mist cleared, a shadowy outpost was claimed.
No blood. No noise. No witnesses.
4 Points secured.
A silent message to the others: not all wars are won with swords.
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Galahad Vortigern – The Shield of Order
In the western cliffs, Galahad stood like a mountain. His chosen fortress was nothing more than a craggy cave system—but he transformed it.
Stone walls reinforced with divine energy. Barricades formed with magic circles. He made a bastion from dirt and prayer.
His teammates followed him not out of fear—but faith.
5 Points secured.
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Michael Ollivier – The Eye of Strategy
Michael's approach was odd. He didn't choose the strongest fortress—he chose the most connected.
A circular relay tower in the center of three main routes. From here, he could dispatch troops anywhere.
"We don't need walls. We need access."
His speed and Hermes' blessing turned every corridor into a trap.
4 Points secured.
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Cyril Morvan – The Merchant of Influence
Cyril had claimed no fortress himself.
Instead, his subordinates occupied two small encampments, both weak—yet both offering trade routes.
Soon after, other teams began showing signs of trade:
Upgraded weapons.
Shared surveillance.
Reinforced barricades.
The instructors watched in disbelief as a few students even defected—quietly, under Cyril's manipulation.
3 Points secured—technically.
But influence? Immeasurable.
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Seraphina Lysander – The Saint's Sanctuary
Near a sacred grove where divine energy shimmered in the air, Seraphina established her haven.
It became a recovery point for wounded teams.
In the first hour, she had already healed three factions' members.
Some mocked her.
But by hour two, they were begging for aid.
3 Points secured. Infinite favors gained.
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Ellis Runestone – The Phantom Archer
Ellis didn't claim a base near the frontlines. She climbed a lone ridge at the far northeastern edge.
There, she placed her bow down and drew invisible lines across the landscape.
Every time someone moved too close to an ally's base, a warning arrow would pin the ground next to their feet.
Silent. Lethal. Always watching.
2 Points secured—but dozens protected.
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Back to Me – Valen Veridian
I remained still, observing. My fort had no magical properties, no defensive enchantments, no reinforcements.
But I had eyes. And patience.
"Begin Phase Two," I muttered.
The group looked at me.
"We're going to bait them."
"Who?" one asked.
"Everyone."
I stepped down from the ramparts, dragging a sword through the dirt.
"Let them come."
End of chapter Eight