Syffox sat alone on a stump at the edge of the forest. He looked across the dry plain to a ridge on the distant horizon. There, wavering in the heat, a dark mass slowly slid over the rise and down the road towards him. With his magic, Syffox could discern it as a column of soldiers marching forward.
The column was being led by a standard bearer and a small group of officers on horseback. Syffox looked to the sky and the amused glare of Coronus looking over them all. He felt bad for the soldiers. They must be very tired and uncomfortable to come all this way in such heat—all this way to lay claim to his forest.
Syffox lowered his gaze to a plot of burial mounds not far away. They numbered far more than the initial workers he’d struck down. On his vigil by the forest, Syffox had added the bodies of a local posse sent to investigate the lost labourers to his informal graveyard. He attempted a count of the distant marching soldiers. How many more graves would be needed before someone other than Coronus would concern themselves enough to see what was happening here?
When the dark line of soldiers was fully over the ridge, Syffox stood and judged their distance. The ridge was probably half a league away. Without using magic, it was too far, even with his bow. He didn’t want to use his magic yet; he still considered it cheating even if there was little he could do with his bow without magic anymore. He sat back down and unwrapped it, stroking the smooth, polished limbs. At a quarter league, that would be an honourable distance for his bow.
It was several minutes before Syffox stood again. He stretched and commanded his bow to string itself. The day was too hot, and his task too annoying to string the bow himself. He summoned up a long, thin flight arrow with its etchings of leaves. He nocked it and lifted his bow high into the sky. He braced his arm and back with magic to pull the string so as to not hurt his accursed wound. The bow creaked as he overextended the pull and stretched the arrow to his shoulder.
A cracking bang split the quiet field as the arrow disappeared into the distance. Syffox cast aside the irony of having to use magic to pull the string so he didn’t have to use magic to launch the arrow. He begrudged having to do it, but his bow appreciated it when he employed it to the fullest.
The arrow landed short of the column of soldiers. Syffox sighed and sat down again. The wait in the sun bored him. He amused himself with imagining the commotion his arrow must be causing the officers that saw it land. He absentmindedly picked his teeth while the army continued its advance.
After another few minutes he stood up again. The army was now at a range to start marking some targets. First, he needed to find the furthest point to block their retreat. He summoned another flight arrow and fired it as before. He watched its progress and waited till it struck a soldier at the distant end of the column. Satisfied, he summoned and fired a third arrow to judge the middle of the army’s ranks to sow confusion among the soldiers.
He again waited for the arrow to find its mark. At the back of the column, the even lines mixed and spread apart as men attended to their fallen comrade. When his third arrow fell into the middle of the army, he summoned up a new arrow. This arrow had a heavy shaft and a fine metal point. The etchings along its length were of swooping raptors and pouncing wolves: an armour-piercing arrow to send a message to the lead officers.
This time he not only braced his back with magic but also connected his magic to the arrow. He apologised to his bow—its playtime was over. His magic eye spotted in the quivering distance the mounted officers. There was the senior officer in the centre, looking confused and debating with a second-in-command. Next to them, two junior officers rode on either side. Behind them was the standard bearer. He needed the commanders alive from his assault, but the flagman was blocked. It would have to be a junior officer.
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Syffox reached out with his mind and attached the magic in the arrow to the presence of the officer in the distance. He aimed the arrow directly at the man and fired straight over the ground. The heavy arrow left the bow with a thumping pulse of magic and a deep bang instead of the piercing crack.
Without waiting this time, Syffox summoned up a normal practice arrow, adorned with etchings of vines. He held it between his fingers while he poured his magic into it. Once it snapped with white sparks of brimming magic, he loaded it into his bow and fired it high into the air with another dull thud of magic. While the sparkling white arrow rose, he retrieved a second arrow and began filling it with energy.
The distant magic arrow crested its flight and began descending into the column of forward soldiers. Syffox lifted his bow and fired the second charged arrow, aiming midway into the ranks. Once it was loose, he closed his eyes as a brilliant flash of light in the distance signaled the impact of the first arrow. He retrieved a third arrow and loaded it with magic as he grimly watched a dark cloud of smoke and flame rise over the dry plain.
A rumbling, distant thunderclap echoed around Syffox, and he tried not to think of the sounds of dying men that the explosion drowned out. He fired his third arrow into the back of the army before the second landed. He didn’t watch this final arrow disappear into the distance. Depleted of magic, he turned and walked back to the forest. The ground trembled from the shock of the first arrow as the second arrow erupted, lighting up the trees in front of him.
He grimly muttered to himself as he walked from the scene, “Welcome to the forest, outsiders.”
*** bonus scene ***
The prefect mounted one of the few uninjured horses in his battalion. The horse felt warm beneath him in the dry night air. The commander approached him with a hastily made white banner, “Are you certain I can’t convince you out of this? If they wanted to talk they could have just sent a messenger instead of bombs.”
The prefect took the banner from him and shoved it into a footing on the saddle, “I think the bombs were the messengers. I also think if they wanted to kill us, we wouldn’t be here.”
The commander scowled, “Half of our company wounded, half of those too injured to fight; many of them will not live to leave this god forsaken place. And we have yet to even see our enemy? The message is we are not equipped for this.”
The prefect was getting frustrated. He felt his commander’s anger, but also had his orders. “We have a job to do commander. Hopefully I can negotiate something where most of us can still walk home.”
“They didn’t negotiate with us. We should leave here and come back with enough mages to turn this forest to ash.”
The prefect gave an acknowledging smile, “yes, well not until I find out what we’re dealing with.”
The commander nodded, “Then good luck Prefect.”
The prefect's smile grew mischievous, “well that’s not up to you or I. That’s up to the gods; and they don’t seem to be interested in us right now.”
The prefect cantered away from the camp into the still black night. In the dim moonlight, the far distant trees were only a dark line on the horizon. The prefect focused on his anger to push aside his beckoning fear and keep moving forward. He knew his commander was right. A single warning volley fell a quarter of their number. They were not prepared for this. The prefect pushed the thought from his head and continued to focus on his anger; he had to continue forward to do right by those he already lost.
A hiss sailed out of the darkness and with a ‘Crack!’ the banner was yanked out of his hand and tossed to the ground, split in two. The prefect jumped off the horse and screamed into the darkness, “STOP DOING THAT!!” He cursed and stomped his feet in circles while he yelled at his unseen enemy. His fury helped keep his panic at bay; almost half a league away and he still couldn’t escape the arrows.
In defiance, he ripped the white banner from its staff and wrapped it around his chest. If his enemy wanted to strike him down they would have done so instead of his officer. He climbed back atop his horse and continued down the road; gritting his teeth for the moment he would be struck. But instead of a quick piercing death on his ride the prefect was only given the flickering image of a small distant fire being ignited. The prefect let out a deep breath of relief at the invitation.
The ride to the small fire seemed to take an eternity. With each stride of his horse the prefect became more amazed at how far the arrow had travelled; let alone strike a pole held in his hand, atop a running horse, in the dark. He expected to come upon war machines, or a brigade of demons, or even a cabal or dark wizards. Instead all he was greeted with was a lone man sitting casually by a fire, drinking what looked to be tea.
He stepped his horse up to the fire and could only stare in disbelief to be addressed by what could be seen as no more than a kindly old man. The only evidence being that this was their attacker was the polished, great, war bow resting beside him.
The Shadow and The Flame
Epic Fantasy of Intrigue and War
Epic Fantasy
Political Intrigue
Character-Driven
War Aftermath
Magic & Secrets
Morally Grey
The war is over, but the empire is not at peace.
Prince Raymond Auraleth has survived the imperial court by being overlooked—listening when others speak, watching when others posture, and learning the quiet mathematics of power. He was never meant to rule. That makes him dangerous.
Far to the north, Alain Galaide returns from the Demonfront as a legend the empire would rather forget. Raised in war, sharpened by loss, and known as the Black Knight of the North, he now faces a harder battle: peace, politics, and a realm eager to use him—or erase him.
As courtly intrigue tightens, old alliances crack, and sacred secrets draw the attention of the Church, shadow and flame begin to converge. Steel may have ended the war, but words, vows, and ambition will decide what rises from the ashes.
The Shadow and The Flame is a character-driven epic fantasy focused on political maneuvering, post-war tension, and slow-burning power struggles—where victories are quiet, mistakes are fatal, and heroes are liabilities.
If you like thoughtful princes, dangerous heroes, and intrigue that simmers before it explodes, welcome to the game.
- Political Intrigue: Courtly schemes and hidden alliances.
- Epic Battles: War heroes and demonic threats.
- Magic System: Rare affinities and enchanted artifacts.
- Complex Characters: Princes, warriors, saints, and schemers.
- No Harem: Focused relationships and deep dynamics.
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