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“He’s got allies, wealth, power.” Morgana ticks off on her fingers.

“Do we have friends we can call on? What about all of the citizens he’s wronged—don’t they want to fight back, too?

Fuck the Watch. We’ll go straight to the people.

We’ll spread the word, see who shows up, then knock his fucking front door down. ”

Her words are met with a heavy, thoughtful quiet—and then the energy in the room shifts. Loren’s lips slowly stretch into a grin. “I do know a thing or two about circulating a good story.”

“And as soon as I tell my father what Donati has done to me, we can certainly expect my family’s allies to show en force,” Alora adds.

Suddenly everyone’s full of ideas.

“We could tell Dorna, too,” Jaylie muses. “She’ll be eager to shake off the reputation of ever having worked with him. And she’ll have plenty of fresh young faces looking to make a name for themselves.” She knows because she was one.

“I have friends, too,” Kain says. He offers nothing more.

Shira sighs. “I suppose it’s a start. Let’s give it a week, then. We’ll do all we can, and then we’ll return to Belandar with whatever we’ve got.”

For the first two days, no one answers the call.

But on the morning of the third day, a stern-looking elf clad in shining plate armor raps a demanding beat into Shira’s front door. As soon as Alora sees him, she jumps into his arms, elated.

Three dozen soldiers from the Clares’ personal guard are the first to arrive. Alora was right; once she told her family of Donati’s crimes, their offended pride and need to protect their own was nearly enough for Alora’s father to declare war.

Next are the students from the Academy, led by a tall elven woman with a sparkling enchanted sword at her hip.

She’s flanked on either side by a raven-haired enchantress with fire in her eyes and a smirking sorceress with bright red hair bound into twin buns at the back of her head.

The trio makes quick work of setting up camp for the crowd of students that follows in their wake.

Some had heard whispers of Donati’s crimes, while others had always remained secret allies of Shira.

They hail from magical circles within the realm’s major cities, and they appear on her lawn through portals, by flying carpet, after transforming into winged animals, and more.

But it’s Dorna’s connections who really answer the call.

When Jaylie had first approached her, agreeing to meet at a small tavern not far from the tower, Dorna had nearly killed her with the daggers in her eyes alone.

“You’ve got a lot of fuckin’ nerve showing up here when you are at the very top of my shit list.” But after the priestess had quickly explained the whole story, Dorna’s features had calmed, her brows drawing low over her eyes.

“Fuckin’ Hell,” she said with a sigh. “It’s short notice. But I’ll see what I can do.”

After that, they come from all over the realm.

Adventurers, always hungry for a chance at fame, glory, and gold, show up in droves.

As Jaylie walks through the makeshift camps set up outside of Shira’s tower, she watches them spar.

A half-orc with her hair pulled back into dozens of braids dances circles with her rapier around a laughing blond boy wielding a sword.

Across from them, Kain trains with a woman with a gem embedded in her greatsword.

When he scores his first hit—a shallow cut to her upper arm—a boy in a green hood rushes out with a small crystal gripped in his fist to heal her wound.

Morgana hovers off to the side, trading daggers and tips with a blue-haired halfling, an emerald-eyed elf, and a human woman with a scar across her freckled nose.

Morgana waves at Jaylie as she passes, and the freckled woman meets her eyes and offers a friendly smile.

Where a makeshift firing range has been set up, adventurers test a variety of weapons against the targets.

One curly-haired halfling ducks behind a box of supplies, firing her crossbow from cover.

A redheaded half-elf with a green bandanna knotted around his forehead competes with a noble human man to his left, both of them taking turns aiming at the bullseye; the half-elf slings axes while the human fires glowing magic-tipped arrows.

In between turns, an excited wolf pup and a dog with shadow-dark fur bound out to fetch all of the expended arrows, bolts, and axes.

At the sound of music, Jaylie turns—and immediately laughs.

Loren looks to be conducting what can only be described as a rehearsal, and by the sounds of it, it’s not going well.

He’s surrounded by a semicircle of bards: a purple-haired tiefling with a harp, a human woman with pigtails and a trumpet, and two cheerful halflings.

As soon as the music starts, the bards compete to play louder than their companions, none of them used to sharing the spotlight.

It doesn’t matter, of course. As long as they continue to share the scathing song Loren wrote about Donati and the quest they’re on to defeat him, well—they’ll have done their part.

Hilariously, many of the other spellcasters play together just about as well as the bards do.

They don’t group as one in the makeshift camp like the others, preferring instead to ready for battle alone.

Jaylie spots two sorcerers sulking in the shadow of the tower, one with a scowl carved deep into his haggard features and the other with a pleasant, forgettable face, both of them weaving dark magic away from the sun.

An elf with olive-brown skin adjusts his glasses as he flips idly through his spellbook, while a tiefling with arcane symbols tattooed in spirals up her arms feeds roaring flames into her personal campfire.

Near the edges of camp, a woman with blue skin and seashells woven into her dress trades sparring spells with an elven sorceress whose dark curls are threaded with brilliant gold chains.

Jaylie returns to the tower to find Shira leaning heavily into the doorframe, her expression thoughtful.

She casts her gaze across the dozens of adventuring parties surrounding her home and sighs wistfully.

As she turns to Jaylie, her eyes sharpen, and her lips curl up into a small, determined smile.

“I think we may stand a fighting chance.”