Farrynelle Skyrover. Supreme Commander. Vortex Thunderbird. The titles meant little to her in the moment.
The battle had ended—or, at least, this chapter of it—and the survivors of her army were beginning the slow process of tending to the fallen, repairing the battered defenses and catching their breaths beneath the nightfall that seemed eternal in Navaraza. Outside the walls of the town, she walked through the military camp. Her entire armor was still caked in the blood of Krepsunas and the residue of the grueling engagement.
Sparks of lightning occasionally spread across her shoulders and gauntlets. The women of the camp, who comprised nearly ninety percent of her forces, erupted in cheers at the sight of her. Their voices carried across the plains, echoing against the hills and the surviving ruins of the horde's advance. To them, she was the Vortex Thunderbird, who had led them through days of unrelenting battle and emerged victorious. As she passed, she allowed herself a moment to accept the praise, acknowledging nods, claps on the shoulders and quiet salutes from soldiers who could not articulate just how much their survival depended on her instincts and leadership.
"Today, we have survived because of discipline. Tomorrow, we march back to the Borough. Celebrate your survival but never forget. Our enemies do not rest and neither can we. Guard yourselves at all times. The Vortex Thunderbird will always demand readiness, not complacency."
The women around her roared their agreement with their fists raised.
The cheers followed her as she returned to her tent. The rhythmic sound of boots, armor clinking and excited chatter faded behind her as she finally reached the sanctuary she had prepared for herself. She entered, letting the flap fall closed behind her and removed her helmet. Her short lightning-blue hair, now covered with blood, clung to her forehead and temples. The brilliant storm-like hue of her eyes seemed momentarily dulled by exhaustion from the weight of countless battles for the last few days. Her lips were pressed together in a thin line as she exhaled slowly, feeling the tension of her muscles and the fatigue in her legs.
She moved to the rack in the corner and began peeling away her armor piece by piece. Her gauntlets came off, revealing calloused hands that bore scars from countless skirmishes. Her breastplate, adorned with the insignia of the Skyrover Dynasty, lifted away, exposing the toned muscles beneath that had been honed by years of ceaseless training. As she discarded the last of the heavier armor, she allowed herself to sigh.
A subtle hum of energy surrounded her as she summoned lightning across her body, evaporating every drop of blood and cleaning the grime from battle. The energy pulsed lightly, restoring tight muscles, easing tension in her shoulders and bringing the faint warmth of comfort back to her body. It was a ritual, one she had perfected over the years.
It was in that moment that a woman entered the tent. She was a medic, or perhaps a subordinate attendant tasked with preparing baths for the commanders and officers. Farrynelle looked up, assessing her quickly.
By any natural standard, Farrynelle was a striking woman. She was tall, lithe, perfectly built for both strength and agility with curves accentuated by muscle. In Navaraza, few had ever seen her face unmasked, let alone her body. Skyrovers, as a rule, concealed themselves in enchanted armor and garments to suppress the effects of their pheromones. They affected Therianthropes on a primal level, heightening sexual desire to dangerous extremes. The gift—or curse—of their bloodline was not one that could be ignored.
The woman had not expected to see her like this. Upon catching the sight of Farrynelle's unarmored form, a subtle shiver ran through her body and her rationality began to erode almost instantly. The effect of the Skyrover pheromone was immediate and overwhelming. Her knees weakened and her hands trembled as she approached, her mind flooded with urges she had never felt in such intensity. Farrynelle noted the change immediately. She sighed and raised her hand.
A spark of lightning flickered between her fingers. It spread across the space, not as an attack but as a clear warning. When the woman did not immediately regain her composure and instead continued to edge closer, Farrynelle's lightning intensified. A sharp, electrifying shock shot through the air, striking the woman squarely and sending her to the ground with a sharp cry. She collapsed, shaking. She was fully conscious but momentarily incapacitated by the intensity of the strike. Farrynelle exhaled slowly, muttering under her breath,
"I'm starting to miss my days with Sentina Erideae..."
Turning her attention back to herself, Farrynelle stepped toward the prepared bath. With the same control she had used in battle, she summoned her lightning to heat the water to bring it to the perfect temperature without steam scalding her skin. The moment she slipped in, she allowed herself a small sigh of relief. The water was mixed with residual lightning, which continued to pulse lightly over her body in gentle, soothing currents. She closed her eyes for a moment, savoring the rare peace, knowing that outside, her army would continue to celebrate. Their shouts were muted only by the lightning barrier she had erected around her tent. No one would enter and no one would disturb this rare moment of solitude.
Even as the faint scent of her presence carried through the camp, she allowed herself a private moment of reflection.
With the Divinity loss that had rendered most of Spheraphase's warriors mere mortals in divine forms, she counted herself lucky. Her integration into Phaenora's system had preserved her Divinity, shielding a large portion of her innate powers from fading into oblivion.
Her next thoughts went to Xander. Her husband, the indomitable Commander of the Fedres Dynasty, was battling a horde on the other side of Navaraza. Each of them were occupied their own hellish battles. The Krepsuna hordes had multiplied to unprecedented numbers, twentyfold more than any previous incursion. Their union, a convergence of the two strongest Therianthrope bloodlines, was fractured by duty.
Farrynelle knew she wasn't the only one strained by the weight of survival. Sentina Erideae were scattered across the world, each contending with their own impossible challenges. Yet despite this, she allowed herself a brief thought of relief. Tomorrow, she would have a moment to breathe.
That thought was shattered by the braying of horns echoing across the plains.
Farrynelle's senses instantly turned to seriousness. With a low sigh, she swung her legs from the bath. The water instantly vaporized as her lightning-infused Divinity coursed through her body. She didn't even pause to relish the effect. She pulled her armor from the racks.
Orders came through outside her tent before she could even stand fully armored. Another Krepsuna horde had been detected, marching toward the town she had sworn to protect. She began calculating how to deploy her forces, when another report arrived in tandem.
"Supreme Commander, a small army has already intercepted the advancing horde!"
Farrynelle's eyes narrowed as she got out. She raised a pair of binoculars from her inventory (Vastarael gave it to her saying it can see great distances) and focused on the figures approaching the chaotic front. The commander leading them was wasn't just any army. She recognized the banner instantly. It was the insignia of the Richinaria Dynasty.
Ferris Harrowshard, Grand Cross of Insignia, came to help Skyrover.