Disclaimer: I do not own Magi.

"Glory to Reim!"

A cacophony of cheers and cries of joy and triumph bellows coming from the men of Reim from both the naval fleet and the sun-baked shores.

In the eve of the first day of autumn is a victory that will be carved all throughout history, written in Tron blood and mounted in a massacre of corpses. The indomitable walls of Tronje has fallen from the hands of the formidable army of Reim after Tronje has abnegated Reim's negotiations and treaty of peace.

Furthermore this is also the beginning of a raw and newfound strength added in Reim's forces, aside from the current use of advanced technology. This advantageous victory is also indebt both to the elite troop of savages from the famed hunting tribe from Cathargo— the Fanalis Corps, spearheaded by Muu Alexius from the aristocratic and illustrious Alexius family—

And a wunderkind born with hair as crimson as blood and a body of a slave girl but with genius belonging amongst great strategists and tacticians.

PRELUDE || AD ASTRA

Her revering gaze lingers at them flit by like a flock of golden birds of the light as her ears listen tentatively at the faint flutters of those magnificent beings. She can never fully grasp the faint yet somewhat melodious sounds they make, but it is almost like a whisper, soft and hush and tender. Those tiny, incoherent voices.

These creatures called rukh are just as brilliant and resplendent as the sun.

"Seneca."

She does not move nor tense an inch from his voice for her ears have already heard the sound of his treading and the clanking metal of his armor a few meters away. Albeit she is aware of his arrival, never does she grace him a response or at least a look of acknowledgment. Her eyes are too fixated at the fluttering beings before her soar to the horizon. But maybe to his eyes, he believes that she fancies the portrait of the morn sky and the vast sea below it. After all, no one sees the peculiar things that she has seen.

A large shadow looms at her hunched form and the sound of his strides halt. Strangely, she can almost feel his amiable gaze land on top of her head, just trying to drill through her mind and gouge out her unfathomable musings. That is if he can. "Shouldn't you be celebrating than spending your time here?"

Seneca sighs softly, almost pestered at the thought.

"Too rowdy."

Her voice sounds like a grumble rather than a fit reply. Just the very thought makes him chuckle behind her.

"May I?"

He tilts his head to latch her attention, his wild mane falling past his shoulders like a red curtain. Though she stubbornly remains to ignore his glances she can feel him smiling affably and gesturing his hand to sit at the empty space right next to her. He has always been that genteel sort of man rather than another boorish brute from the militia.

Her shoulders motion a languid shrug. "Go ahead."

As expected, he sits with her on the soft mantle of grass. There is an ample enough of space between them yet she feels his warmth as if he is embracing her and his rukh envelope her wholly, all radiant and welcoming as his nature. This time, she allows herself to peer at him at the corner of her eyes, spotting him gaze in admiration to the brilliant lights of the dawn.

"Muu," she calls him coolly, her back arched and her palm pressed tediously on her cheek. "As much as I appreciate the attention you're giving me, shouldn't you be the one celebrating? Many generals would search for you and praise you at the camp after all."

His eyes, as red as bloodred pomegranates, flick at her direction, and he beams. "I suppose that is true," he says in a light tone, accepting and somewhat smug. "But I owe that success and praise to your brilliant mind. Many people would like to meet the person behind the stratagem, too."

Seneca cocks her brow questioningly at him. "I highly doubt that," is her blunt reply with a glout on her lips. "Although I've managed to voice out my ploy through you, many people would still look down at me despite the merits I've earned. I'll probably dislike the attention I'll receive from them."

No matter how cunning or strong she is, she is still a woman by the end of the day. Women are not supposed to be handling warfare and politics for those are duties meant for men of higher birth. Of course, there are a few exceptions such as the revered priestess and magi of Reim, Lady Scheherezade. But there is also the fact that the blood of the Fanalis flows through her veins, since the Fanalis are seen naught more but slaves lower than plebeians, if not then beasts of the Dark Continent. Her mere existence is simply frowned upon by many.

Muu quips amusedly, "And yet you have a terrible habit of making horrid rumors about yourself. Isn't that stirring attention, Seneca?"

"Bad reputations do make people avoid me."

He graces her an inquisitive brow, but the smile on his mouth remains. A mild sigh rolls out of his lips. "Nonetheless, you have made an extraordinary feat this day," he remarks with a voice riddling with revere and augustness. "Because of your stratagem, you have not only gained the victory and respect from the country but you have also shown the true strength and worth of our brethren."

Although there are no traces of smug delight on her features from his words, upon closer inspection there is some bit of interest that swirls within her twin pools of vermillion. A slight glisten in them. "I suppose so," she admits with another half-hearted shrug. "But, my friend, with every leap of success equals a cumbersome price. While half of the people respect me, most of them coming from our brethren, half of them despise me. I simply find it rather troublesome that I will encounter petty prejudices."

The simper on his lips drops, disappointment apparent in his visage. Even though she is willing to partake battles, ghastly and dreaded for any sane man to stomach, he cannot comprehend the decline that settles in her gaze.

True, most experienced generals still disapprove her worthiness in the battlefield for they have little trust for a greenhorn— a woman, no less. Though knowing Seneca for the past years, he is certain that she is an unyielding woman by nature. "You've reached this far. I don't reckon you as the type to be deterred over such things."

Her brows furrow. "I'm not deterred. I simply find such things annoying to my taste. A bunch of old men bickering over me because they judge my origin and gender sounds pathetic," she replies as if his notion is the most ridiculous thing she has heard this morning. Then she gazes back at the untouched sky. "Although violence is a grisly thing, I can't help but admit that I love the bloodcurdling feeling when I am about to die, just as much as our kin. Fighting has always run deep through our veins."

As her eyes steel collectedly, unmistakable resolution blaze within them like scarlet flames. "To see our brethren rise from the soot and ash, brandishing the strength and will that can par no other, is my true victory. I will make sure to continue making them rise until they have reached the stars and no one will be there to chain them once they are above them and free."

Seneca drags air through her mouth and breathes out sharply.

"I'll prove them all wrong."

The dawn of the morning burst with brilliant colors of crimson, the glow as lovely as the tincture of a dewed rose and as vibrant and fervent as the shade of blood and war.

A/N: This idea came from the "what ifs" in my mind. Really, Fanalis have been mistreated as slaves their whole lives and is still seen as slaves (to others, animals) even though they are a very important asset to the military. Sure they follow Muu, but there should be at least one Fanalis out there who bore some anger for the people of Reim who discriminates them and once enslaved them. It's a shame not many people write about the Fanalis, but this fic will be centered around them, delving deeper in their capabilities and tendencies with dark implications.

Another thing is that I've been obsessing about subjects/stories revolving around military, tactics, and political affairs for sometime now, and Rome, being Reim's original concept and a once great empire, really piques my interest. And yet again, unfortunately, Magi doesn't fully elaborate Reim's world (but it is understandable). Though when I make this fic, most of it will be of course based from both Reim and Rome and is simply made-up so meaning— don't take it so damn seriously. I can't guarantee this would be accurate enough or faithful enough to follow the original series since this will be (or possibly not be) AU. Another thing, this will have a slow start so you've been warned.

I must warn everyone once again that this will eventually be Rated M in later chapters soon (very soon) because of the gore, violence, and dark and mature themes/concepts in this story. It's about war and Fanalis. I'm sure there would be plenty of it.

As for the tacky title (which I still personally liked), it is based on the main heroine of the story and her relation to war. Mars is the Roman god of war and is affiliated with the color red, which is also the color that ties closely to the Fanalis and their hair.

Lastly, yes. She can see the rukh, even though I'm aware Fanalis cannot see the rukh. It's a part of the plot which you'll know more about in later chapters.

And that ends my very long note (more like, a crazy fan theory and a rant).