It had been a year since she had last been to Metrol. One long, grueling year that had stained her hands with the blood of enemies and friends alike. One long nightmare that never seemed to end. Now, however, there was respite.
Jasmine Glayder had climbed through the ranks of Cyre’s military at astonishing speeds. It may have helped that she was raised and sponsored by the powerful Lord ir’Darcassan, but her actions spoke well enough for themselves.
She had first been deployed to the north, where Cyran forces were being pushed out of Karrnath at an alarming rate. When Sergeant Glayder first arrived, the battle did not seem to go any better, but after her commanding officer was cut down, she took control, and led the Cyran forces to seize Loom Keep. From there, as a Lieutenant, she brought countless small victories to Cyre, and was a key player in the occupation of Karrlakton.
Following this victory, she was promoted to Captain, and whisked back down south, to take control of the Eastern front.
And now, after several months of driving the Karrnathi forces out of Cyre, out of the Talenta Plains, back over their own border, she was being called back to the capital.
To Eliza.
The sound of her Lieutenant and best friend, August Leywin, clearing his throat pulled her from her thoughts. He was dressed in uniform, rather than his armor, and it was in astonishingly good shape.
“We’re almost there, Captain. That Orien girl- Aliza- just gave us clean uniforms. You should probably change before meeting with the Commander.” He started to say something else, with a sly grin, then wisely thought better of it when she stood to take the garment bag.
“I will be back in a moment. I am glad that you are learning to hold your tongue, Lieutenant.” As she turned, she ruffled Leywin’s carefully brushed hair, and disappeared into the washroom as he started to protest.
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Captain Jasmine Glayder, renowned Cyran war hero, was pissed.
Her orders were fine- an honour, even. The brass wanted her on the western front; they chose her, specifically, to take and hold the disputed city of Vathirond, a city that had changed hands every few months at most over the past few decades. It was an impossible task, and they had chosen her, after only a year of service, because they believed that she could do this. If successful, her name would go down in military history, and she would be a celebrated figure in Cyre, perhaps even an infamous name across the continent.
They wanted her to leave immediately.
In the politest, most eloquent and poetic manner she could muster, she had essentially told the most powerful men and women in Cyre to go fuck themselves, and pleaded for a brief leave.
After some debate, they had granted her one day of leave. One short day of respite. And by the Host, did she plan to make the most of it.
Within an hour, she was standing before the doors of Darcassan Villa, her home, for the first time in a year. When the door opened, she smiled at the surprised old maid that had been like a mother to her, and lowered her voice.
“Good afternoon, Gianna. I would like to surprise Elizabeth. Where is she?”
“Painting, I believe, dear. Why did you not send a letter-?”
“It would not have been much of a surprise that way.” She smiled, and squeezed the maid’s arm lightly. “I will see you at dinner.”
With that, she took off, leaving the old maid more than slightly confused.
When she arrived at the door to her childhood friend’s room, she hesitated, adjusting her hair, the front of her green uniform, the silver pauldrons, and took a deep breath. Only then did she push open the door.
Sitting before an easel in the lavish, well lit bedchamber, was a slight young woman, in a fine but plain green dress, her long white hair cascading behind her. As she deftly and expertly moved the paintbrush across the canvas with one hand, the other lazily drew circles and symbols in the air, causing a pleasant, soothing music to fill the room, and several illusory images to swirl about- birds, butterflies, flowers, twinkling stars on the ceiling… and one lone figure standing at the window. An illusory copy of Jasmine Glayder as she was a year ago.
She hesitated again at the sight, staring at the beautiful noblewoman as she went through these practiced motions. After a few… seconds, minutes, perhaps, Glayder finally stepped forward, quietly approaching the girl until her hand lay on her shoulder.
“Good afternoon, Eliza.”
The world seemed to come to a stand still, as the music and illusions abruptly stopped and vanished, and the brush seemed to fall from Eliza’s hand at half speed…
When the world resumed, the paintbrush clattered against the floor, and the small girl threw herself at Glayder, her slight arms wrapping around her waist with crushing force, her beautiful face burying itself in her shoulder. Glayder did not hesitate this time, as she wrapped her arms around Eliza in turn, gently, at first, until she felt Eliza begin to sob, at which point her grip tightened until she was worried she might hurt the girl. She had no idea how long they stood like that, only that when Eliza pulled away with tears still running down her face, it was too soon.
“I missed-”
Glayder blinked in surprise as Eliza slapped her with a surprising amount of force for such a small person, even managing to turn the soldier’s head slightly.
“Why did you not return earlier? Why did you leave without me? Why did you not write that you were coming back?”
“Eliza, I-”
Her excuses were cut off as the noble pulled Glayder in for a kiss, and immediately embraced her again.
“...I missed you, Jasmine.”
“I know, Eliza. I missed you more than you could possibly imagine.”
“I thought… every night, I went to sleep thinking that you may have died… do you know how that feels, Jasmine? To have my heart and soul torn from my body every night?”
“Eliza-”
“No, Jasmine. I am speaking. Please… do not leave me again…”
“Eliza-”
“No, Jasmine, please…” She let out a soft sob as her grip somehow tightened further. “Please… just pretend. For me.”
“...of course.” She gently petted the back of Eliza’s head, and patiently waited for her friend to relax again. “Of course. I am here to stay.”
They spent that night and the next day catching up, exploring what they could of the city, and generally just doing their best to enjoy themselves while they could. That night, Glayder laid with Eliza until the girl had fallen asleep. Planting one last kiss on her cheek, she turned, and braced herself for what was to come.
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Three days. Three days in the rain and mud, and no progress had been made. Glayder had more soldiers under her command than ever before, and yet, somehow, they were still vastly outnumbered, and, for the first prolonged time in her military career, at a stalemate.
The Brelish army had fortified Vathirond to such a point that any assault on the city would more likely than not see the attacking force eradicated.
Fortunately, Captain Jasmine Glayder was never ‘likely’ to win a battle.
“We need to get them out of the walls before we launch our assault. We cannot cut through stone walls faster than they can cut through us.” She looked over the map before her, far more detailed than she was used to, courtesy of the brass back in Metrol.
Leywin was the only one who dared to speak up, despite sensing as plainly as the others in the command tent that Glayder was upset. “We could use Karnstein’s illusions to make it seem as though we were attacking from-”
“No. They would hole up in the city and lock it down.” She sighed deeply, and ran her hands over her scalp. As she stared at the map, she saw the seeds of a plan. A plan that would give Cyre a chance at a foothold in Breland. A chance to push the war away from their homes.
A plan that, if miscalculated, would stain her soul beyond redemption.
“...Cicero, I want half of our force marching here by Highsun.”
The broad-shouldered Lieutenant looked at the map, then up at her, confusion settling over his rough features.
“...sir, this is only a farming village-”
Glayder only nodded, and a heavy silence fell over the tent like a pall.
“Karnstein,” she eventually continued, “I need some of your warmages with them. Put on a show.”
No one responded. No one would dare question her orders- the Grandmaster of Cyre was a well known and tested commander- but what she was asking…
“You two are dismissed. You know what to do. The rest of you, prepare your squads for my signal.”
At Highsun, fifty Cyran soldiers marched on a civilian target, at the behest of Captain Jasmine Glayder, the Grandmaster of Cyre. War mages joined them, firing spells that torched fields and destroyed outlying buildings on their way. From the camp on a hill only a few kilometers away, Glayder watched, disgusted, with the war for coming to this, for the Brelish who did not try to stop this… but most of all, with herself. What would Eliza think? By Dolurrh, what would anyone else think? Innocent people were burning because she had been wrong-
No. Not entirely. She pulled her eyes away from what she hoped would be her greatest disgrace, and saw, mercifully, mounted soldiers in red garb thundering out of the south city gate, toward this poor, damned village.
Glayder turned to Karnstein, and nodded. With a grateful breath, the war mage lieutenant dropped her spell that had allowed the Cyran army to encroach on Vathirond undetected.
“My soldiers! Today we accomplish something that has been done many times before! However, this time, we shall do it right! For Dannel! For Cyre! For one another! Attack!”
For once, Glayder did not lead the charge. She watched with mild disdain at the lack of discipline and order that she was used to with her comrades in the East, but they had given her an opportunity. So, as spells and iron crashed against the east gate of the city, she did not note the lack of rhythm. She did not note that it would have taken half as long with half as many soldiers if she had done it herself. Instead, she noted that by the time she had strode to the front line, she was within the city walls.
Despite herself, Glayder felt a deep sense of pride as red coat after red coat was stained with a deeper colour. She had done what few had done before; taken Vathirond with a vastly outnumbered force, and minimal casualties… at least, so it seemed. When the last of the Brelish soldiers stood before her in the center square, and the gates had once more been sealed, she pointedly wiped the blood on her sword on her cloak, sheathed it, and stepped forward.
“General Rafe. Vathirond has fallen. We are willing to accept your unconditional surrender, should you lay down your arms.”
The older blond man, easily into his forties, laughed, wiping blood from the corner of his mouth. “I don’t surrender to children, girl. The bulk of my army will return from your little distraction shortly, and you will die. Your soldiers will be granted quarter if they stand down now, but for your audacity- hrk-”
Brelish General Rafe’s threat was cut off alongside his head, as Glayder unsheathed her sword and struck in one motion.
In the moments that followed, Glayder felt a surge of panic. The Brelish general had not surrendered, and now two score of leaderless enemy soldiers stood before her, and their indecision would only be momentary. To make matters worse, she heard Leywin’s voice shout out from the wall, and looked up to see an airship rapidly approaching from the southwest. Her ears began to ring, as panic and indecision overwhelmed her senses. She vaguely heard the sounds of shouting, and metal hitting cobblestone, and whirled on the remaining Brelish soldiers.
“Grant them no quarter! Karnstein! With me!”
In hindsight, Glayder would realize that she had just ordered the execution of forty people, who had laid down their weapons in surrender, because she was overwhelmed. A Failure.
In the moment, she and the war mages mounted whatever horses they could find, and spurred them toward the airship, and the farming-village-turned-battlefield below it.
As they drew nearer and nearer, she signaled to Karnstein, and shouted out an order, the volume of her voice magically bolstered by the mages spell.
“All Cyran war mages! Bring down the airship!”
Almost immediately, arcs of lightning and bouts of flame tore into the hull of the ship. Glayder winced in anticipation of the return volley, but, to her surprise, the ship simply tried to pull up. Unfortunately for it, the barrage was relentless, and a final explosion tore the hull apart, sending the ship hurtling toward the village below…
Glayder watched in horror as, seemingly in slow motion, the ship slammed into the village, the explosion engulfing Cyran and Brey alike, until-
The shockwave sent Glayder hurtling off of her horse, and her last memory of that accursed day was how painful mud could be.
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Regret gnawed at Glayder’s heart as she was paraded out of the infirmary by her comrades. No more than half of the soldiers under her command had fallen, including those lost in the airship explosion; a flawless victory, in comparison to past attempts. Even so, she denied the promotion and the opportunity that came with it, General Jasmine Glayder of Vathirond, and dragged her Lieutenants back to the eastern front the moment that Cicero had recovered.
For days following her greatest accomplishment, and her greatest failure, she felt hollow. Empty. Despondent.
When Captain Jasmine Glayder, renowned Cyran war criminal hero, returned to Metrol to give her report, she looked up at Darcassan Villa, and took the first train to the eastern front.