Copyright © 2026 Greg Barker

All rights reserved.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold, shared, or redistributed in any form without the express written permission of the author, except for brief quotations used in reviews or critical works.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or real events is purely coincidental.

Cover art © Leraynne S.

Chapter headers © Marisa Kyle

Used with permission.

Map copyright © Greg Barker and Eve Beck.

All rights reserved.

First Kindle Edition, 2026

Published by Greg Barker

For those who know that the greener grass is sometimes a deeper crevice, and they push forward regardless.

It means the world to me that you’re here. That a stranger can connect with me without a handshake. Without eye contact. With nothing we’ve established as a society in way of greetings. Because reading both shows and gives us depth. We connect through a web of ideas. So thank you for choosing to get stuck in this wild web with me.

This book has evolved beyond me, like many do in the face of their creators. It started as a simple journey, but my daydreams quickly became a story, and that story needed more.
So I gave it more.

As my debut novel, I was hesitant to make this story too long, but I have so much more to share. 117,000 words could not even begin to convey the journey of the four individuals that have enthralled me over the years, but I plan for there to be much more.

I am just a gamer and full-time blue-collar worker supporting my tiny family of three; myself, my other half, and our cat. I wrote almost this entire book at work using my phone, during the gaps between our tasks, where I feel most motivated to dive into a world other than the one we know. Short drives and long nights inspired every idea I didn’t have to dig for.

The themes in this book and the trauma my characters endure match the reality I envisioned. It’s a struggle that reaches beyond them, and an evil that infects like a plague. Bacteria and viruses don’t care who you are, or what you’re trying to accomplish. They will spread, at any cost. My characters aren’t trying to be a cure. They are just trying to live, in the only way they know how.

This novel contains scenes that some readers may find disturbing, including: 

• Graphic violence and gore 

• Explicit torture 

• Rape / sexual assault 

• Sexual content

• References to historical child sexual abuse 

• References to underage harm and grooming 

• Occasional harsh language 

Please proceed only if you are comfortable with mature, dark themes.

Creeping mists and badly tuned instruments filled the quickly approaching night, visible breath and chilled skin his only companions as Killian approached the tavern. Shouting patrons slammed their mugs and sang their songs, a symphony of chaos to bid in any passerby from the lonely road it neighbored.

The journey from Farul to The Enclave was longer than he’d initially imagined, this tavern being the closest known establishment that laid between him and his goal. His plan here was simple. Grab a meal, have some drinks, and sleep till just before the light of day would grace his window. Tomorrow, he’d tread the final stretch.

He pushed through the heavy door, shutting it with a welcomed ease. It was more packed than he initially thought, and he had to wonder if the weather really brought this many people to travel south. The ones that turned their heads to him saw a battle-hardened adventurer, boasting a muscular build and short black hair dusted with grit, matched upon his medium length beard. His deep hazel eyes reflected the torch-lit flames, resting above a worn black tunic and wounded obsidian breastplate. Frayed trousers tucked into his heavily damaged boots, with similarly black gloves fitting snugly upon his hands. A notched longsword hung at his hip. Upon the other, a pouch was neatly tied while a crudely carved ‘K’ adorned the fabric.

Killian began to efficiently make his way through the crowd, his gloved hands gently grazing shoulders to warn of his presence.

He reached the bar, motioning for the keep’s attention and pointing at the keg with his desired label. A nice mug of Bottombarrel would do him fine, as always. Hits hard, but not on the coin purse. Taste was just an afterthought.

“Hey there, traveler. I told the keep that your first three are on me, especially if you’re gettin’ the cheap stuff.”

A burly man with a shiny head was speaking through a tiny mouth above a large beard. His graying hair was like worm-wire, wrapped in one another and moving without sway in timing with his jaw. Killian glanced at him, wary of strangers but not one himself when it came to being friendly.

“That would be welcome, my new friend! Thank you very much, but aren’t we all travelers? I’ve never seen so many in a solitary establishment such as this.”

“A common mishap, sir. This here is a tavern for the town just north. The town is half a mile into the woods, and not many people note our existence since we don’t do any trading. The closest we get to being accommodating is having our tavern near the road for more income. Everyone pitches in to keep it running. They pay the keep extra, and the ladies managing the rooms and tables swap out with the other wives.”

Killian glared at the liquid in his mug as if it might bubble over the sides and melt through the bar at any moment. Something about the color brought him to peek upon the darkest corners of his mind.

“That’s really something. Quite the system. I am well-traveled, but still haven’t heard of your town. Seems these lands hold such delightful secrets.” He took a deep sip of the ale, letting the bitter taste wash away his growing anxiety, wishing for the blissful buzz to mark the precursor of a drunken stupor.

“Assuming you came from the west? The Farul caravan?”

Killian could only assume the lingering dust and sand speckling his clothing were the clues for his deduction. He nodded. “Sure did.”

A beautiful young woman with short curls of an amber hue approached him suddenly. “Hey there! Would you like something to eat? Kitchen is open for a few more hours.” She finished her sentence with a smile. It was warm and genuine, enough to bring him back from that dark corner, however briefly.

“Hmm, maybe once my third or fourth drinks have settled. Thank you.” The woman gave a quick bow and set a tray of empty mugs on the bar. His eyes were drawn to her arm, wrapped in bandages and wielded gingerly, as if made of glass. 

Words from the man beside him accompanied a hot exhale of quickly souring breath. The man leaned close with whispers of the woman who had already traveled halfway across the tavern to serve another table. 

“Aye, she is our best weaver. Or was. A nice lass, her name is Emily. Looker, eh? A shame she’s married to a brute.” Disgust laced his words more tightly than Emily’s vanilla corset. Killian had downed his first mug, quickly replaced by a second that he readily started upon. He wasn’t in the mood for another sad story, but he let curiosity tilt his interest.

“You said was your best weaver, and you don’t seem too fond of her husband. Explain, if you would.” Killian finally turned his head to look directly at the man, inadvertently demanding an answer with a glare. The alcohol might have been affecting him a tad harshly, but he couldn’t care less.

“Well, it’s not my place to say.” The man’s eyes dragged across Killian’s attire, landing for a moment upon his sword.

“You’ve said more than necessary to begin with. You’ll never see me again, so just humor me.” Killian held the glare, gripping the handle of his mug as if it had a life-force he could choke out of it. He knew where this was going, and he was growing tired of the same vile story everywhere he went. A story he was forced to listen to, front to back, before shelving it with dozens of the same.

“Well, Seamus, Emily’s husband, works at the lumberyard. Comes home and expects a fuckin’, so he says. She agreed to work her normal weavin’, as well as here at the tavern, so her time’s been short for herself. She made the mistake of sayin’ no this afternoon when he came askin’, so he harmed her something fierce. Will be a while yet before she can weave proper.”

Killian turned away from him again, discomfort rolling into anger as the edges of his vision blurred from more than hastily consumed drink. His hand gripped handle once more as he drank down half his ale, setting it down in time to see Emily placing another tray on the bar.

“Mister?”

He ignored the man, too annoyed to be of proper conversation. He motioned for Emily, who approached with that warming smile. As if she wasn’t broken by another person just hours ago. A person she once loved, or maybe still does. Someone she should trust with her life. Who should lay hands to love and assist, not harm and tarnish.

“Hello, Ms. Emily. Entertain a drunk traveler for a moment. My friend here has told me a bit about you. Seems he’s quite fond. But I digress. What are your thoughts on the desert? Farul, for instance?”

“Umm, I really need to be working right now. But if you must know, I wouldn’t mind a visit. Dry air and heat don’t bother me much. Better than the forest, thick with thorny vines and infested with insects.”

He laid a silver coin in front of her, a gesture for her to hear him out. Emily glanced at it, unsure whether to be offended or intrigued.

She didn’t leave, so he took his chance. “I’m going to ask another question, and you can lie, but I’d prefer you didn’t. I want to help. If not for you, then for me. My mother taught me lessons with more than just her words. Lessons that were told through wounds, much like the one you carry with you now.”

Confusion clouded her expression as her head tilted slightly. “I’d say you’ve had too much, but didn’t you just arrive?” Confusion turned to concern, and he could only imagine how frustrated he must look.

“Are you okay with it?” His voice grated like ale-slicked stone.

Her stance stiffened, going rigid at her sides with the growing intensity. She was locking up, ready to deflect or defend. He wasn’t sure which. “With…what?”

“With pretending. Pretending you love a man who treats you like a damned tool. Who comes home to a wife that works twice as hard as he and still finds the light within to make her smile glow.”

Seconds passed. He waited as she inhaled deeply, finding the words that had hidden behind her surprise like a scared child.

“I…don’t know.” Her eyes were glistening, her outfit marked with already shed tears Killian was too enraged to notice. He knew that tears so quick to fall only do so from a soul filled with dark clouds.

“Tell me you’re happy with him and I’ll walk away right now. Tell me honestly enough to make me believe it. Otherwise, let me help you. Please.”

Maybe he was projecting. Maybe he was trying to save someone in place of the ones he never did. Until now, he’d let his quest coat over the world like a thick and deadly miasma, infecting everyone but himself. His family, his friends, anyone and everyone. All were poisoned and doomed to die until he found the cure. But there was no sickness, no cure. There was just him, and the world he chose to ignore, despite trying to save it.

Emily raised her hand, shaking in place as she made a motion to stop, but she wasn’t directing it towards Killian. The screech of scraped wood told him his drinking buddy was misunderstanding the situation as he stood behind him, ready to act on her behalf.

“He ain’t sayin’ nothin’ bad?”

Emily shook her head, motioned for him to sit, and turned her attention back to Killian. She leaned closer, the blue of her eyes becoming brighter in the closed distance. 

“Sir…you can’t help me. It’s the law. I’m his, and if I leave him, he will do much more than…this.” She raised her arm, glancing only briefly at it as if the pain was relived every time she laid eyes upon it. “Knights don’t thrive in a land of brigands and thieves.”

“I’m no knight, I assure you. I have a friend in Farul, one that would greatly benefit from employing a weaver. The caravan I rode in on leaves at first light for its return trip. I’ll provide you with money to get you by until you’re able to work again. It’s the desert, far from these dense forests and dew-touched flora. They require special fabrics and attire on a constant basis. You’d flourish like you were meant to, rather than wilting from ale-covered roots.”

Emily looked into his eyes with scolding scrutiny. The same look his sister gave him ten years ago when he told her he was leaving. A look meant to sift truth from deception.

“Okay. I’ll be foolish enough to believe you, if even for a moment. What’s the name of the drunken man who wants to be my hero?”

“My name is Killian Stone. I’m no hero, just a person trying to do the right thing, for once.”

“If this is real…”

He stopped her with the same gesture she had used moments ago. He hovered his hand above his pouch; the strings untying themselves as it opened slightly in response to an unspoken command. A small flicker of energy sparked within his palm before he lifted a small bag twice the size of the pouch on his hip. Emily was bewildered as he reached inside of it and revealed a handful of gold coins.

He looked around the tavern, confirming that no prying eyes were digging too deeply. Gold coins were worth a hundred silver, while a silver was a hundred copper. His drinks, if not paid for, would have been five coppers each.

Emily gasped, huddling closer to him. “Are you trying to get yourself killed?!”

“No, I’m saving a life, not ending one. Here.” He withdrew some silver coins before handing her the bag–inside it, two dozen golden coins shifted atop one another with the motion. It was all he possessed, save for the silver coins, but he wouldn’t need much currency once he reached the more hospitable east coast of Matrudia.

Emily remained flabbergasted, holding the pouch as if it was…well, a pouch full of gold coins. Killian found her expression adorable, but he needed to hurry this along before anyone took too much interest.

“Use those laces to tie it to your hip, tightly. Then show me to your home so we can gather your things.”

“We can’t! If I return early, much less with another man…”

He shook his head and gave her his first smile in days. “He won’t harm you. I promise.”

Emily tied the bag as quickly as she could, apologizing to the confused barkeep before following Killian out of the tavern. She was elated, excitement and adrenaline drowning the paranoia and panic. The man from earlier was close behind them, shouting for them to stop. They kept going, through the crowd and out the door. Their tagalong caught the door before it shut and slipped out behind them.

“Hey, Mister! You can’t buy her like some kind of harlot! Emily, what is goin’ on?!” His face was reddened, Killian just now realizing the man was much more intoxicated than he originally noticed.

Emily grabbed both the man’s hands in haste, clasping them in hers as if she was saying a prayer. “Albus, this man is going to take me somewhere better before I get hurt again. Please, let us go in haste, we haven’t much time.” She was convincing Albus as much as she was herself, but even if this man was some manic killer, would it really be so bad to die right now? To suffer moments or even an hour as opposed to a lifetime?

Albus looked at Killian, who nodded firmly, then back at Emily. He sighed deeply. “I don’t understand a lick of what’s happenin’, but I trust your judgment, Emily. We’ll all miss you.”

Emily hugged Albus before giving him a quick message to relay in the morning. Satisfied, Albus retreated a couple steps back as Emily moved quickly through the forest with Killian close behind.

Stiff branches, brittle in the chilled air of night, snapped under their footfalls, ripped from the treetops above to be trampled into the dirt below. As if vengeful for their lost appendages, the trees blocked them at every turn as they took a more conspicuous approach to the town, wary that Seamus enjoyed the occasional walk around town. The last thing they needed was an unnecessary commotion that would get the law, or anyone else, involved.

The town came into view as they approached from the west, moving low and swift as Killian instructed. Nobody was about, the tavern drawing the night lovers enough for the streets to be empty. It took only a couple moments to reach their destination, the lit lights within Emily’s home confirming that Seamus was somewhere inside. Breathing oxygen he didn’t deserve. Acting every bit the man he surely wasn’t.

Emily opened the door slowly, poking her head through to drag her eyes across nothing but empty rooms. She knew Seamus had to be upstairs, hopefully taking his after-work bath. The sound of sloshing water and a heavy, resigned sigh confirmed it just seconds after. Killian had crept in behind her, nodding that he understood the situation as she turned to look at him. Emily crept up the stairs and into the bedroom, Killian following close behind. She moved quickly, gathering her essential belongings with haste and strained silence. 

The bathroom was adjacent to the connecting hallway, just twenty feet away. Once Emily had what she needed, she motioned to catch Killian’s attention as he stood watch at the door. He nodded in affirmation, pointing at the stairs. She motioned for him to lead the way, but he shook his head. 

Something sat heavy within his eyes. A deep, hollowing thing, pulsing and thriving, reaching down from his gaze and spreading throughout his body and into tensed limbs. Emily recognized the look. The same look her husband adopted whenever he felt punishment was in order. But as a first, this look wasn’t meant for her, and she knew what was to follow. She wanted to stop Killian, to tell him to be better. That they shouldn’t stoop to his level. But she didn’t. She let Killian turn and stalk to the bathroom door. She let the handle turn in his vengeance-fueled hands as her heavy steps brought her downward to the exit. To the door she could use to escape her choice, as if it would diminish the seeping gash, fresh on her consciousness and growing like a gorging snake. 

The contrasting air of night did nothing to dampen the rising fire within her. She wanted him to hurt her husband in ways she’d only imagined for five long years. She wanted to watch, to listen, to experience. Instead, she sat - the cold, unforgiving ground, much the same as her, accepting her presence as she began to weep.

Killian swung the door open, steam from the enchantment-fueled bath dispersing as if he could manipulate water, but he was no mage. He wielded weapons, much like he was now, the grip of his sword accepting the pressure he couldn’t help but exert. 

Seamus turned, anger coating his expression, words for his early-returning wife forming just as quickly as they fell to nothing. He locked eyes with Killian. Burglary was his first thought, but he knew hatred – he stared upon it every day, just as he would have once he was finished with his bath and standing before the mirror. This was personal, he had no doubt about it.

“And what the fuck is-”
Killian took two firm steps forward, raising his sword and slamming the hilt down upon the man’s hand - once rested upon the side of the tub, but now held by his other as he screamed in pain.

“For Emily, and for those that came before.” Killian spat the words as he took in the sight of this scum. Middle-aged, twice the age of Emily, sure to have made victims of many women before her.

Killian grabbed his arm as the weakling struggled to create distance where there was none. Seamus flailed in the water like a fish, spitting curses and adding more sweat to the bath that was now his prison. Killian didn’t hesitate, stabbing his sword through his forearm, a wound to share a limb with the now broken hand. Killian moved swiftly to the door, eager to leave before he could decide enough hadn’t been done.

“Are you fucking insane?!” The words weren’t registered by Killian as they turned to incoherent screams and grunts of excruciation. They paused for only a second, a deep inhale cutting the space between them. “I’ll find her, no matter where she goes!”

Killian almost laughed, the foolishness of a scorned man providing humor when he thought it impossible. He was making threats, even now, as his blood swirled around his naked body. Killian stopped and turned, hoping his ale-addled mind was tricking him.

“The boys I work with travel everywhere. I’ll find her and make her pay for what you’ve done. You think you’re tough because you assaulted an unarmed man in his tub? In his fucking home? Stupid jackass, you don’t have the balls to fight me for real!”

Killian dropped his sword, the clang of steel so unreal in a setting such as this. He stepped toward the tub with purpose, ignoring the continued garbage spilling from the fool before him. Strong, trained arms submerged in the bath as Killian restrained Seamus’s good limb and wrapped his free hand around a bulging neck. Words turned to wasted air as Seamus’s head went under and bubbles rapidly found their way to the surface. Deep hues of red swirled and swayed, partially obscuring the disgusting face now gasping for air just inches below the surface. Killian looked into Seamus’s eyes as anger turned to fear, thoughts of retribution drowning in panic as their creator joined them.

Seconds passed, maybe moments. It could have been hours, if that’s what was needed to see this through. Seamus’s body went still, bubbles ceasing and the water calming. Killian pulled his soaked gloves from the tub more slowly than he intended. He’d killed before, but never someone so helpless. Before regret could take root, he imagined how helpless Emily must have felt all these years.

No remorse. No guilt. An unpaid contract written in blood, posted by nobody, and accepted with sin and sorrow. Just another monster, slain before it could harm any more innocents.

Roman fiddled with the small stones in his pocket, a desperate attempt to dampen the boredom of his ongoing watch. Sadly, he had already finished his bread, or he’d be munching on that to satiate this lingering hunger.

“Hey Roman, how long have we been here? I’m about to stab my own foot so I don’t have to do this anymore.”

Roman snorted in response, blatantly aware that his colleague wouldn’t do such a thing. He was also pretty sure that he lacked the courage to even attempt it, but he’d been surprised before.

Roman continued to watch the open expanse of forest surrounding their lonely station. No hint of civilization existed between the outpost and the miles between them and Kroniker. But then he spotted the flicker of a torch through a small opening in the treetop thickets.

“Larken, there are people approaching. Is there anything on the manifest about this?” Roman knew there was nothing on the manifest, but was trying to run through his memories as he double-checked. No trade routes passed by this outpost, nor was there any reason to be out this far, especially in the dead of night. They were most likely a combat-ready group to be traveling so boldly through monster-infested woods. Maybe a P.R.E.Y group? Doubtful, since they’d have been notified of any missions in the area.

The only thing that loomed between them and Kroniker to the east was an expanse of forest. Expanding out from the west would yield more forest, which slowly became more and more sparse as it settled into a murky marshland. North would lead across the river leading inland from the northwest. Further beyond that river was The Sliver; a small strip of connected lands that would lead to The Barrens, where the dragons lived. South would lead into sporadic grasslands and speckles of forest throughout until you hit the travel roads that trailed along the southern coast. Head west across the ocean, and you hit Greenweave, where the Elves still secluded themselves. Northeast and across some tiny lands would bring you to The Caverns, where the strange Dwarves still lived below the surface.

If anything, their posting here was an extended recon mission of the surrounding area. There were ten of them at any given time; two to patrol the walls, two managing the interior facilities, four scouting the five-mile patrol route, and the final two would be enjoying their downtime. It was a rotating shift, and this was standard for any outpost in Matrudia. Most of the outposts were established after the first demon incursions, long before he was born.

Monster scouting, storm reports, resource scavenging, the list went on for the utilities and expected activities of these outposts. Three mages were stationed at each outpost, each on a different set of shifts. This was so the wall, interior, and patrol teams could send a warning to the nearby town from any area of jurisdiction. This meant that the mages employed all had to at least be able to manipulate fire. He himself was terrible with fire, but could manipulate it enough to send a torch’s worth into a dark night. Enough for a proper warning signal.

Their patrol team wouldn’t be returning till daybreak, and they tended to keep the torches to a minimum when so close to the outpost. This wasn’t them.

“No, nothing on the manifest. You know who it could be, Roman?”

“I wouldn’t have asked you about the manifest if I had an idea of who it was, dumbass.”

Larken knew his friend was just stressed, so he didn’t pay mind to the insult. He always got worked up when things suddenly changed, and on a job like this, he couldn’t really blame him.

“Sound the horn?” Larken placed his hand suggestively upon the item in question, ready to use it if necessary.

“No, no. Not yet. If anything, just pull the bell as a preliminary.” Larken nodded, moving over to a nearby pole with a taut string wrapped around it. The string led directly to a tiny bell that hung above the center of the barracks. He tugged on it twice, in quick succession. He waited a moment more before doing it again, glancing nervously at the barracks entrance. He really didn’t want to blow the horn, it just felt so obnoxious.

One tug meant ‘Come outside’. Two tugs, ‘Come outside prepared’. Three, ‘Come outside for a silent ambush, there are hostiles’. The alert would then repeat a moment later, if possible. Anything beyond that, such as an attack or immediate evacuation, would warrant a blowing of the horn. The horn was enchanted during its crafting to be more vulnerable to physical stimuli. This increased the vibrations within the horn, thus amplifying the sound. It also, as Larken found out weeks before, makes it very susceptible to breaking. He very promptly discovered this fact after accidentally dropping it from the wall while placing it into its stand after they moved it for their patrol. Roman made sure to remind him of it. Every. Single. Day.

A few seconds later, the two working interior, and the two that were on break, came walking out of the barracks wearing justified looks of curiosity.

The one in front yelled up to them, sword held at the ready as he looked about. “Oye, Larken. What’s happenin’?”

“A group approaching the gate by torchlight. Not on manifest and not one of ours, far as we can tell.”

“Aye, understood. Preparing to receive. Let us know just what we’re receiving once you have eyes.”

“Will do. Thanks, Hodges.” Larken quickly turned to Roman to say something, but was cut short by a sudden burst of cloud rolling into the sky as if conjured. Lightning wreathed within the sudden storm before violently lashing at the sky beneath them.

“By the Gods, what is happening?”

Roman spun around, his long, braided hair looking more black than chestnut in the hue of the sudden lightning storm. The wind acted as a ravenous hound, nipping and biting at every part of the outpost and the men within it.

“Larken! We need-” Roman stopped short as he was thrown onto his back. His head slammed into the wood, lights exploding behind his eyelids.

The large wooden gate below them had shattered inward without warning, the drawbar offering little resistance against the tremendous power of its assailant.

Both of the men recently on break duty were next to the gate when it burst inward, having been prepared to open it if the visitors proved friendly. Those men were nothing but mangled corpses now, each sent across the open interior to decorate the wall opposite the gate. 

The two others in the open interior readied their weapons and stared warily at the gate, the storm around them making it difficult to make out anything but vague shapes in the darkness.

Roman grasped at the back of his throbbing skull, blood matting his palm before the rain washed it from his skin. He quickly tried to rise, the glow from the sporadic lightning mixing with his surroundings as everything spun much too quickly. He fell sideways, unable to find his balance, before landing on something halfway down. Larken.

“Get your shit together! Can you manipulate this wind to carry me down, at the very least?”

Roman did his best to nod, though for all he knew, he wasn’t moving his head at all. He focused best he could, his vision becoming slightly less blurred as the sound of Larken unsheathing his sword fully reminded him they were in danger.

He raised his hand and focused best he could, using the copious amounts of wind available around him to form a hammock of sorts and carry his friend below. Once he felt the resistance of Larken’s feet touching the ground, Roman dispersed his creation and stood, his vision a bit more clear after focusing on his energy. 

He teetered toward the end of the battlement, leaning over the half-wall and peering down below. His quick cursory glance made him aware of his two dead colleagues before turning his attention to the two men approaching Larken and the others.

The attackers walked with confidence, one wielding a giant hammer and resting it upon his shoulder. He walked like a mountain made into a man while the other casually strolled beside him, his footfalls barely making impact upon the mud. The hammer-wielder’s leather tunic struggled against the muscles in his torso, flexing with every step. His head was large and unburdened of any hair, looking forward with a smile.

The smaller one, wrapped in a dark grey cloak that looked a sibling to a moonlit night, rested his right hand upon the hilt of a sheathed sword as he glanced over his shoulder at Roman. He began whispering to his partner, never releasing his gaze from Roman. The hammer-wielding giant of a man responded without lowering his voice.

“He couldn’t have sent it a different way? This damned storm is ruining my boots.” With a sigh at his lack of discretion, the smaller one replied at a normal volume, figuring the storm would cover his voice, regardless.

“You fool, the high sentry outposts along the coast wield stronger forces. Heading inland before going east was the best possible choice. This way, it will also catch them unawares.”

“His idea of a plan was to send a bloody dragon, of all things? Seems a tad ludicrous to me. We really lucked out though. The target is actually here, and we needed to stop this outpost from warning the city anyway.”

“Yes, this is why it’s called a plan, you moron. Because it’s been planned out.”

“Not super comfortable putting my faith in him, but orders are orders. Time to do our part.” He ended his sentence with a glare towards the three guardsmen approaching them. The guards hesitated, all except for Larken, who stepped ahead of the other two with a scowl upon his face.

“I know not what force this storm is born from, but you two killed our fellow guardsmen and broke into a lonely outpost for what?! For sport? For laughs? We have no gold! We are here for the protection of Matrudia!” Larken’s voice exemplified sorrow and passion with a hard overcoat of confusion, but his face showed rage and hatred. He lifted his heavy steel with one arm level to the ground towards the two assailants. A declaration that they would fight to the death.

The swordsman tapped his hammer-wielding friend on the shoulder. “Have your fun, Slog. Brutalize as you wish. I’ll retrieve the target.”

With that, he turned to walk towards the wall, directly towards Roman’s location. 

Roman couldn’t make out anything that had been said, but he knew the engagement was about to begin between both parties, and he didn’t plan on letting this swordsman get close.

He gathered his energy, the braids of his chestnut colored hair glowing as he moved his hands into a clapping motion to help himself through the conjuration. In sync with his hands, the ground around the swordsman gathered into large mounds at his sides before attempting to collapse and crush him.

The swordsman showed no emotion, jumping gracefully above the collision zone and launching himself off the mounds with a powerful leap towards Roman. The latter had reached into his pocket, fumbling quickly for two of his six stones. He could feel the enchantments on them react to his energy.

The swordsman had begun his downward arc, his sword held high as to cleave his target in two.

Roman pulled both the stones from his pocket, flicking them toward his airborne assailant in a panic. One turned into a large boulder, easily fifty times its original size, while the other shaped itself into a spinning spike of stone behind it. The boulder flew forward as the spike continued to spin in place, glowing with heat.

Roman was expecting the swordsman to somehow make it up and over the boulder, but it was cleaved right in two, straight down the middle. The emotionless assassin stared at Roman through the new opening as the two halves fell away. An enchanted blade, and a permanent one if he had to guess. I have to send it quickly, or I’m dead.

He willed the red-hot spike of stone forward as it whistled through the sky on its short journey. The swordsman expertly flattened his blade against his chest and blocked the projectile. Roman’s spike kept spinning against the enchanted blade, unrelenting in its assault. The projectile’s velocity shot the swordsman back, launching him over the outpost wall and into the forest.

As the swordsman was pushed away, moonlight glinted off something in the sky for a split second. Before Roman could react, a expertly thrown dagger had tunneled into his shoulder and pinned him to the wood.

His cries of pain faltered as his vision blurred and the black sky around him became even darker. 

Poison.

In the emptied storage of a once lively tavern, two argue in the forgotten spaces beneath the ruins of a destroyed town.

“You said what to the dragons? You can’t seriously be considering some sort of agreement with them.”

“Nothing is being considered, Zafre.”

“Oh, thank-”

“Because a deal was already made. One Zitrul for one mage of high potency.” The hooded man didn’t look up, but continued to read the grimoire opened before him on a candlelit table.

His companion’s wings stiffened, the webbing on them becoming tight with strained veins throughout.

“What mage?”

“The one at the outpost. He’s isolated and shouldn’t be too difficult to acquire.”

“Alright, who did you send?” Her impatience was palpable, but he didn’t let it bother him.

“Slog and Flyn. They should be more than enough. Flyn promised he would get it done and I’ve yet to see him fail. Of the dozens we have at our disposal, he is one of the best.” He continued to read the grimoire as she paced the room in contemplation.

“What makes you so sure that this boy will satisfy the dragons? You do realize they are our enemy, right?”

“He was the one that destroyed our entire raiding force during the last probing invasion. The one led by Rilkus. After which, he asked to be reassigned to an outpost for prevention tactics. Probably because his only family died during the invasion. His sister, if I’m remembering correctly. And yes, I’m aware of this fact. But I acquired what we need, despite any resentments.”

“So no remaining family? The sister was all?”

“No. Nobody will sniff around for him. They’ll just assume the worst and repair the outpost.”

“Do you really think a dragon will be the proper test of an entire city’s defenses?”

“They certainly didn’t know how to react to the demon outbreak twenty years ago. Surely, they’ve structured new defenses and trained the newer generations of soldiers with the knowledge of their enhanced tactics. This will show us that new structure, and weaknesses we will be able to exploit.”

“Why Matrudia? Feeling sentimental? Or is it really for that singular mage? Is his essence that important?”

“Silence. I’m trying to read. We will discuss it further once the operation is a success.”

Her wings retracted as she looked to be in deep thought. “Okay, fine. Keep me updated. And finish that damn grimoire. The ritual does nothing to a mind ill-prepared.”

“I’m aware.”

Her gaze held to him for a moment more than he’d like. She released a hopeless sigh and walked out the door, slamming it behind her.

Rising from his chair, he twisted his body a few times to loosen up and blinked through his surroundings. Just the one candle on the table remained lit to fight the overbearing darkness. After a moment of thought regarding his conversation with Zafre, he returned to the chair.

Once finished with his current page, he looked at the map above the table. His eyes slowly traced the prescribed path the Zitrul would take on its way to Kroniker.

“The Zitrul will pass straight over…” His remaining words fell short and drifted away, his thoughts overriding his actions momentarily. He returned to his pages, convinced it wasn’t a concern.

Larken gripped his sword and prepared a thrusting stance. “Let me test his mettle, so we know what we are up against. Join me when you’re used to the pacing.”

“If you’re sure. Good luck.”

“Not sure about this, but okay.”

The two behind him prepped their weapons as they watched Larken dash ahead.

Slog watched as his partner was sent careening over the wall. He glanced quickly towards Roman to see the young mage had at least been incapacitated. A wide smile splayed across his face as he held his hammer high and kept it there while waiting for Larken’s advance. 

Their eyes locked, and Larken’s face contorted in anger. He lowered himself at the last second to give himself an extra burst of speed. His blade was barreling toward his enemy’s chest as if it was returning to a home it had long forgotten. His eyes were focused on the looming hammer, ready to dodge the coming blow.

Then Slog simply dropped his hammer behind him and swiftly grabbed Larken’s advancing blade with his gloved hand, pulling the blade’s momentum to his side as his other hand reached for Larken’s throat.

Larken released his left grip from his sword to stop the grab, but his hand was promptly smacked away before Slog’s hand, over two times the size of his own, gripped his throat.

“Larken, no!”

Two sets of boots kicked into motion behind him. He knew they wouldn’t make it in time.

Damn. What an embarrassing way to die. Sorry, Marie.

Larken’s sword was pulled from his hand and thrown aside as the one around his throat slammed him onto his back. Slog’s boot slammed into his face.

And again. Harder.

Larken began to choke on blood and teeth as Slog laughed and picked up his hammer.

His two allies had reached the fight. Both were readied to save their comrade as they yelled in unison and began their attack. They slashed simultaneously as Slog raised the two-handed handle to block. Their blades came down upon the long shaft of the hammer with a resounding clang before his overwhelming strength shoved them back. The enchantments upon it were strong.

“Listen here. Let’s play a game.” The grinning monster slung his hammer over his shoulder as his booming voice halted their rage.

They hesitated, looking between each other.

“No response? Okay, if you’re going to waste my time...”

“No, stop!”

He shoved the tip of the hammer’s handle into Larken’s damaged mouth before pivoting the weapon to snap his jaw open. A gurgled scream of agony erupted from Larken as blood splashed from his throat.

One guardsman threw up as the other charged forward. He took two steps before the hammer turned his skull to mush, the speed of which Slog swung giving him no time to react.

The surviving guard threw his hands up in surrender before Slog assaulted him, throwing his hammer to the side with a thud as he leapt onto the defenseless guard, knocking him onto his back and pinning him beneath his massive form.

“You dropped your sword. Only fitting that I even the odds a bit!”

He relentlessly slammed his massive fists into the man’s face. The guard’s body recoiled in pain as his arms tried desperately to remove the threat from atop him. Seconds later, the only movements his body could make were from the reverberation of the blows as his arms and legs twitched with every impact. His face was a bloodied mess before Slog came back to his senses, wiping his coated hands on the guard’s clothing and standing to retrieve his hammer.

He left Larken on the ground to choke to death as he leapt off the same mound of dirt from earlier to reach Roman. He tore the blade from Roman’s shoulder and wiped it on the unconscious mage’s coat before chucking it behind him and off the wall.

The swordsman had returned unharmed, catching the blade with a thanks before stashing it.

“Let’s go,” is all he said for Slog to nod and leap to the ground, Roman slung loosely over his shoulder. 

As they left the same way they came in, Larken’s gargled throes of death finally ceased.

Killian cracked his heel against the stone, settling his newly adorned boot into place after finishing with the other. “Yes...this will do nicely, I imagine. Surely, not even a dwarf could craft such fine leather!” He beamed at the comfort and style of his new footwear.

His final stretch to The Enclave had stolen the remaining life from his old boots. While they withered, his spirits had risen. He had finally helped someone. No ideals, no theories, no paranoia, just pure interaction. No longer would he place his goals ahead of those around him, because the goal had changed to just that—help others. His thoughts were brushed aside by the broom of a mustache on the tailor’s moving mouth, rising and falling just ahead of him as words spilled against his senses.

“Alright, lad. That will be twenty silver coins, if you will.” The tailor held his hand before him, an eerie glare expecting nothing less than compliance from his temporary trading partner.

Killian brought his hands up in surrender with an exasperated expression. “Looks like no meal for me tonight, so it would seem.” He chuckled a bit, hoping to see at least a smile from the tailor, to which there was none. Of course, he thought to himself, almost aloud.

“Sheesh, tough crowd.” He gingerly searched the inside of his coin purse, counting silently to himself as he gathered the required amount. He quickly realized there was somewhat of an issue. He should have kept just a tad more money before handing that bag to Emily. Oh well.

“Hmm...I have some poor news for you, quite literally.”

The tailor crossed his burly arms, the fabric of his dirtied white shirt crumpling in unison with his face as he showed obvious irritation. “Let me guess, kid...you don’t have enough? Somehow, this comes to me as little surprise. Take the boots off, and pray you haven’t tarnished the material already.” 

Killian showed mild panic, briskly raising his hands to calm the quickly tempering man.

“Whoa now, can’t we come to some agreement? I am on...an adventure of sorts. I don’t have to just be passing through. Is there simply not something I can do for you to satisfy the remaining amount? I have…” Killian quickly looked up, receding within himself as he quickly counted again. “Sixteen silver coins. Could we not come to some agreement for the remaining four? I am quite capable, I assure you. Give me a task! I will not fail you.” A confident grin spread across the young man’s face; one that, to his surprise, instilled the tailor with confidence as well.

“Interesting. Alright, I’ve decided I somewhat like you, boy. Regarding my plight, for several days we have been forced to reside within our friend’s tavern. This is because of a beast that roams about our now forlorn cabin, on the outskirts of the local territory. With a lack of training, neither I nor my wife and daughter have the means to slay or scare off the beast. I see you carry what looks to be a most capable sword. Would you be able to accomplish this task for me? The boots would be yours, as would my newfound appreciation for the younger folk of this age.”

Killian released a sigh, his relief worn upon his face like a gentle morning dew. “Sir, you have yourself a deal. I can’t part from these boots now that I’ve had a taste of your master craftsmanship!” His praise was genuine, though it did little to boost the tailor’s ego as his face became grim, his beard rising with the scrunch of frustration across his face.

“Listen to me, lad...only my daughter has seen the beast directly, but it is quick, and took my eldest son’s life. She sobbed it was soundless, made of some jelly-like substance or something, rather. That is all the information I could muster from her, I’m afraid.” The tailor looked down toward his crafting station, briefly fiddling with a tool as he mustered his final thought through the palpable grief.

“I’d hate to be the reason a young man like yourself finds an early grave as his only companion for the rest of eternity. Also, it wouldn’t do for you to lose a pair of my finest boots!” The tailor unveiled his first sly smile, his own attempt at humor doing little to soften the blow of the ill news and the hidden anguish behind the memory of his son.

Killian looked to be in deep thought, his chin resting the weight of his head upon his hand, his dark-hazel eyes staring off into the ground and beyond. 

His uplifting personality just moments ago seemed to have faded. A calm and serious aura now took place of his once-joyous demeanor, but only for a moment. The strange change in behavior quickly subsided as the tailor took notice, eyeing Killian with newfound curiosity. They locked eyes, Killian wearing a slight smirk as he revealed his findings from the search within his memories.

“Well, it would seem we have ourselves a Cryptilis. Disgusting creatures. Tentacles for arms, slug-like body, usually of the darker pigment when beheld. And as your daughter said, they are indeed made of a jelly-like substance. Unfortunate matchup for my poor sword here. Would you happen to have a torch laying about that I could utilize? Possibly two or three at that? Unless you happen to be a fire conjurer?” His smirk widened to a grin.

Killian already knew the man would have a stock of torches for several occasions, as did most shopkeepers in this day and age where darkness brings nothing but sorrow, monsters, and drunkards on the streets of larger towns and cities. The thieves and other such mischievous ‘occupations’ are not least of all included in this list.

“Sure, boy. Let me grab a few. For free, of course, seeing to the reason they’re being provided.” The man rummaged through the box below his display counter, grunting slightly in the tight space. His robust body wasn’t what it used to be.

“Say, tailor, are there any cave systems near your home?” There was a knowledgeable glow coming from Killian’s curious expression.

The tailor stood once more, face flushed from his recent efforts. His breath came in a short, hurried fashion as he attempted to recover it. “Funny you should ask. They just uncovered a coal mine about a week back. I’m guessing this is the home of a creature such as the one you described?” 

Killian opened his mouth to respond, but the tailor quickly spoke his second thought. “Also, my name is Henry. Henry Locke. Figured you ought to know the name of the man who’s potentially sendin’ ya to your death.”

Killian let a small chuckle escape him as he glanced around, realizing now, of all moments, that he actually enjoyed being in this little town. It was simply called ‘The Enclave’, originally named after the old and decrepit castle that loomed on the hill to the south, overlooking most of the town. Long since has the castle been prevalent, or even structurally sound, but the town remains ‘The Enclave’ all the same. Turning back, he focused once again on the conversation.

“Alright, Henry. Sorry to rob you of your much-beloved monikers of ‘lad’ and ‘boy’, but my name is Killian. Killian Stone. A pleasure to meet you, officially, of course. Besides, I’m thirty-two, though I know I look a bit younger in the right light.” He extended a gloved hand, the snug-fitting, charcoal-colored leather extending itself effortlessly to match the motion. They had clearly seen an astounding amount of use, but still retained their quality.

Before extending his own hand to match the gesture, Henry took keen notice that he had never seen such craftsmanship before, especially when it came to handwear. He silently admired the unknown material used to craft such an item as he gripped the hand of his new business partner.

Henry looked upon Killian in a new light, one of respect just as much as amusement at the man’s positive attitude. “Likewise, Killian. Let us hope I may speak your name within your presence in the future, rather than above your gravestone.” His mouth tightened, and the eyes of an old graying man narrowed slightly. “Do not die, Killian. Not for something as silly as boots, no matter how well-made.” 

He looked down again at the boots, suddenly realizing why Killian was so eager to purchase this specific pair, no matter the trouble. While the material was different, and the craftsmanship obviously unique, the charcoal shades matched well and they fit as snugly as his gloves did. Something told Henry that fashion was not the only positive trait Killian admired about them.

Killian met his stare with the utmost assurance he could provide. “From the start of your story, it was no longer about the boots. I do this for you. I do this for your family. And I do this for the town. I said already that I’m on an adventure, and on said adventure, I plan on righting what wrongs I can in this world. I have learned the rewards and various prices for taking on such a task.”

Henry huffed, unsure if Killian was confident, delusional, or both. “I’ll respect your resolve, Killian. Thank you, truly.”

Killian gave a short nod, a sort of sadness settling over him. Memories ran their fingers along his scars and released their breath upon the nape of his neck. His skin crawled, but he found his focus once more before speaking, seemingly to himself as much as to Henry.

“Empathy is a beautiful gift for the things it lets us see. But it is a curse...for the things that it makes us see. That has been one of the main lessons I’ve learned during my travels.” The leather on his gloves made an audible sound as he clenched his fist. “Henry, I will avenge your son.” 

With that, he was off, determination smoldering as if it were a living ember within the imprint of every step.

Henry stared solemnly at the back of Killian’s scarred and darkened breastplate, looking as if the Gods themselves tore the life from it. 

“Killian Stone, huh?” His raspy voice left the words to hang in the air, almost as if he expected them to trigger some kind of spell. A moment longer of contemplation and he had returned to work, his goal to make an identical pair to the boots he just ‘sold’ guiding his hands with newfound vigor.

Mollie watched as the strange man left her father’s station, quickly shifting her weight and dashing through the streets to avoid being seen by his astonishingly perceptive gaze. For only being thirteen years of age, Mollie was rather agile and boasted more athleticism than some seasoned warriors. She sprinted through alleyways, ducked between stalls, and weaved around the crowds till reaching the tavern she currently called home.

Quickly, she rushed to the top floor, the old but sturdy stairs creaking beneath her as the tavern keep yelled after her to slow down when taking the steps. She gripped the heavy iron ring that served as a handle and opened the door to their quarters with utmost care before creeping to her mother’s bedside. With urgent tone and faintly veiled caution, she expressed her findings to her now attentive mother. She set her book aside for the attention her daughter so readily demanded.

Mollie’s light but energetic voice quickly strangled the exhaustion from her mother’s expression as she began her excited rant. “Mother! Daddy has made a new friend! They shook hands, he had a sword, and he bought the pair of boots Father thought nobody ever would! Do you think he has any cool powers?!” Out of breath from the run, but certainly not energy, she leapt onto the bed, awaiting her mother’s response.

A warm smile splayed itself under her finely cut cheekbones, pale skin looking flush from the heated aura of the lamplight on her nightstand. Though the sun shone brightly this day, she often enjoyed the solitude of dimly lit darkness to serve as a reading companion. Most, if not all, of her free time was spent learning about the world and various groups, beliefs, and events within it through the texts collected by her son. She’d risked grabbing them before they fled to the tavern. Before sorrow could paw its way into her, she forced her mind to recede itself so she could focus upon her youngest child.

Mollie’s eyes were wide, waiting patiently for her mother’s response. “My sweet daughter, you know your father dislikes you wandering about the town by yourself. However…” and she gave Mollie a slight wink. “You mention this man who now interests me as well. It is not often that your big, strong father, with an emotional shell of steel, warms up quickly enough to shake the hand of a stranger. For this, we may just have to go talk to him ourselves!”

Mollie squealed with glee as she hopped up from the bed and pranced around the room, her curly chestnut hair bouncing to and fro. She was a gleaming reflection of her mother all those years ago.

She smiled at Mollie’s jubilant show as she stood, assuring herself that such news was worth leaving the tavern just this once. Surely she was ready for this...surely she could face them. 

“Fear not, Lily. Weeks have passed and surely the fuss would have dispersed.” She whispered to herself these words of encouragement, but the only words she truly heard were the ones that spoke from the back of her skull. The voice that hid behind all of her insecurities and deepest fears, clutching to the hatred she had for the people of the world she so dearly loved. She could hear it now, whispering to her ever so slightly.

“You know this man’s purpose. To suffer the same fate as your son. The fate you let him behold. They’ll laugh at you, as they have been. You’re nothing, a speck among the rabble until you became the one whose son was taken. You watched. You covered your mouth and hid behind the silence, and you suffocated the love you thought you had for your oldest child. Leave this tavern and you’ll surely find nothing but more sorrow. Stay amongst your books, learn from afar. One can witness flames without getting burned.” 

The raspy, malformed voice carved into the back of her mind like an eagle scraping talons upon plate mail. Tears flowed from her now as Mollie yelled behind her she would see her at the entrance, her little feet rushing her towards the first floor.

“I don’t know what you are, but what you say matters not. This day, I go to see my husband. May it be as a weakling, a failure of a mother, or just a woman...in the end it will only be as a husband’s wife and a loving mother.” 

Her steeled will lashed at her tears and lit a fire that would keep the creature in her mind at bay, for now. Truly, though, was she so distraught to create such a thing, or was it something more? She shoved her thoughts aside and leashed herself upon her daughter’s trail. Nothing else mattered today. She would see her Henry, and nothing would stop her. Not even the voice in her head.

Cold steel rubbed harshly against her wrists as Vivien struggled. Her bare body dripped with sweat from hours of torture as the balls of her feet found minimal purchase in a desperate attempt to lift herself higher.

The masked man stepped in once again, brandishing an object she didn’t recognize. The heavy door of iron closed slowly behind him as if alive, obeying a silent command from its master. He was singing softly to himself, as if she couldn’t hear him amid the heavy silence.

“Make you mine, make you mine, rend your skin, but you’ll be fine. Cry and cry, ask me why, if you give in, then you won’t die. Hmm hmm hmmmm.”

The words devolved to content humming as Vivien shook violently, ignoring the pain in her wrists. Her mouth opened to scream, but could produce no sound. She felt her stomach tense and her throat tighten. She made the right motions, wanted the release, so why was she unable to scream?

The man turned, looking calm as ever. Other than his eyes, the only part of his face not covered was his mouth, slowly curving into a face-splitting grin. His calm turned to glee as she could feel him looking her up and down with the slow tilt of his head. She saw him pause whenever he reached her breasts and again when her torso curved into her hips and everything between. The same as every other time, he inhaled deeply, holding it for a moment before exhaling and licking his lips. And then he began his work. Cutting, peeling, exploring.

“Mine, mine, mine, all for Cline. You are mine, belong to Cline.” Again and again he sung the words, emphasizing syllables in time with the snips and stabs. She found herself focusing on the Arcane Torrent logo painted across the stone wall as she tried to disassociate. A hand grasping a flame, surrounded by some sort of ritualistic circle. She examined every centimeter of the symbol, anything to distract from what was happening to her body. He would only pause to revel in the periodic sniffing of a fresh wound, sometimes accompanied by the small touch of his tongue as he licked the blood.

He worked his way up to her neck, poking a thin rod into it, shaking it against her strained tendons with his laughter. And then she woke.

“Vivien. Wake up, sweetie. Something is happening.”

Her Mother’s concerned face was blurred as her eyes opened. Green eyes, slightly darker than her own, looked down at her, a mix of gray and black hair falling around a tired face as her hand continued to gently shake Vivien awake.

“I’m up…mostly. Had that horrible dream again and-”

“There’s no time for that, V. You need to get dressed. We may need to flee at any moment.”

Vivien pushed herself to sit up, her head swimming with the motion as her hands groaned from her efforts. She must have been clenching the sheets again, a frustrating side effect of her nightmares that brought about a day of mildly annoying ache with every task.

She stretched her hands slowly before gently rubbing her eyes. She looked up to ask Mother what was happening, but she had already left.

The bed creaked slightly as she lifted herself from its side, moving with purpose to her cabinets and getting dressed. Sleep still had its ethereal claws in her, so she splashed some of their bucketed well water across her weary face. It helped a surprising amount. She moved with new haste to the living room in search of Mother. She was nowhere to be found, so Vivien hurried to Mother’s bedroom instead. The door was cracked, her shape within moving frantically as she packed.

Vivien moved her hand to the door, hesitant to interrupt but needing answers, when a massive gust of wind shook the house and startled her. A flash of lightning followed shortly after, bright enough to be seen through the crack in her mother’s door from her two windows. Vivien ran back to the living room to gaze out the windows and assess the wild storm ravaging their home. Maybe she could use manipulation to hinder its force.

She approached the window, cautiously looking upwards. Water spewed forth from the sky in waves, colliding with the side of their small home as if it carried a grudge. The mixed sounds of rushing water from the nearby stream and freshly landing water whipping the rooftop with every droplet made Vivien uneasy. A storm such as this hadn’t come around since she was eight years old, two decades ago. She stared into the abyss of it all outside their window, knowing full well that something more than just rain carried through these winds as she sensed the potent energy stirring through the air. Then she saw the source emerge from the darkened clouds, a large scaled form carried by webbed wings. A dragon.

Spurred by lightning and fueled by thunder, the Zitrul crashed through the now blackened skies.. Briefly, it glared towards their tiny cabin, hardly regarding it as a structure as it continued toward Kroniker, the nearby city that governed this part of Matrudia.

The hair on the back of her neck prickled as she witnessed the Zitrul, unaware of the destruction it wrought upon their crops, their livelihood. She pulled her jet black hair into a ponytail as she always did before wielding energy. This would not be a simple task, but Vivien couldn’t afford to let this squall-inducing monster reach the city. The same city that outcast her family all those same twenty years ago. To be fair, that was her father’s doing. However, the punishment for just being related to him was almost justified, considering the damage he wrought upon stone and flesh alike over the course of just a few hours.

She closed her eyes for a moment, pooling her resolve. Bringing her head down with her eyes still gently shut, she whispered. 

“What would you do, Brother? Fight the dragon, or flee with Mother?”

She knew in her heart what the answer was. She knew Killian would never back down when it involved protecting families who didn’t deserve misfortune. Not on a scale like this, especially if he had the strength to do so.

Vivien assumed that the guards and mages of Kroniker had noticed the oncoming threat at this point. She could see Vladus now, scrambling about and panicking to gather his best on-duty mages. She’d use her power to ease his burden. That’s the least she could do to repay him.

Although Vivien was part of an outcast family, the council of Kroniker had allowed her to attend private classes with Vladus for the minimum years required for contract-work. They did this more for themselves, rather than for her. When she told them of her awakened energy, and what it could do, they quickly devised a more subtle way to train her, hence the private lessons. During this time, she made quite the impression with Vladus. She might even consider him a friend - another motivation to protect both him and the city.

It was up to her to be the frontline against this monstrosity. Many dragons were wise and respectable, but Zitrul types were cruel by nature when it came to humans, only interested in orders from a greater dragon within their roost. Why was one here? Why were they threatening the peace after all these years? Most likely a rogue Zitrul, she figured.

Mother wanted them to run, but she couldn’t understand why. This was about more than her safety. She was acting strange. In her poor health, most of her energies were spent on keeping protection enchantments active on their land. They were most likely the only reason the wind hadn’t shattered an old window or moved some of the loose wood. Living on the outskirts of the Darkest Thicket was both a curse and a blessing. Most adventurers and merchants steered clear of this area for lack of a reason to even bother, but the drawback was that the occasional Limling or Trakel would become a bit too curious about their little patch of land she and Mother called home.

Those smaller creatures aside, there was always the risk of bigger predators lumbering by, so Vivien would occasionally have opportunities to practice wielding energy. She had to fight where Mother couldn’t, and she had never held her back before. The limitations on permanent enchantments were rough, considering how much energy they required. Mother had spent her limit on those long ago, once Vivien and her siblings were given her strongest, permanent protections, meant to protect them. Mother had also never fully recovered from the injuries she sustained so long ago.

Sorry, Mother.

Settling her thoughts, she focused her energies, feeling a tingle reverberate along her skull as her hair began to rise slightly from the sudden energy output. Destruction-based manipulation and conjuration were her specialties, but she could manage minimal efforts to assist their crops when they were struggling. When someone is skilled enough to conjure an element, it’s only ever one besides a few extremely rare cases. Her one was lightning, but she rarely had opportunities to use it.

While attending at the academy, there was always one secret she kept to herself to avoid being looked at more differently than she already was. It was something she never told or showed anyone for any reason, not even the only friend she had made. No matter how close they were, it didn’t matter. 

Vivien held back the entire time. A simple, but effective secret. It would seem silly to those not able to wield energy of a high potency, but if they knew an outcast was talented, she would be taken by the Arcane Torrent and used, or possibly even brainwashed if she resisted. That was just one sad truth regarding wielding energy, and the origin of many nightmares. If not protected by duty, bloodline, or marriage, then anyone of talent risked being abducted and used to their ‘full potential’ for the sake of the ‘greater good’. This would be the first chance for her to let loose. To be the most she could without looking over her shoulder beforehand. At the time of her lessons, she knew the deal they made with her was limited. She wouldn’t be considered a full student of the academy, so it was only a matter of time before she was vulnerable again.

For a moment, she stood inches from the front door, nervous to the point of elation. It was a strange feeling. Never in her life did she think she’d see a dragon, let alone attack one. She wasn’t sure if a Zitrul would be too much for her, but there was no longer any choice, not with an entire city of people in danger. She stepped out swiftly, shutting the door behind her as quickly as possible before turning to glance at the sky.

Winds harsher than she expected greeted her pale skin with a smack, like being bitten by a plague of locusts. The rough rain pelted against her with unnatural malice, as if the storm sensed her intent and aimed to dissuade her. Her favorite coal-colored jacket flapped furiously as the wind tried to remove it. 

She dug the heel of her knee-high boots into the dirt to remain steady. Hair slightly glowing as she prepared her energy, she took a deep breath and released a calm sigh. She felt the wind around her, flowing endlessly from a source of unfathomable energy and power. It rattled her bones and chilled her skin. She let herself become one with it as it tried to tear her apart. Inhaling again, she held her breath, brow slightly furrowed in concentration. Seconds later, it bent to her will. Her enemy became ally as it formed into an egg-shaped barrier around her, carrying her upwards at a surprisingly fast pace.

Vivien’s emerald eyes reflected the sudden glare of passing lightning as she rose to match altitude with the Zitrul. She would need some serious speed to catch up at this point. She manipulated a thicker barrier to protect the air around her ears so they wouldn’t be damaged before bursting forward with astonishing speed.

It felt absolutely phenomenal to unleash her power like this. To finally soar like the birds she had spent countless hours fawning over. It was like a dream. She never wanted to cause any more trouble for Mother, so she made sure to restrain herself. Always. A dragon though, heading for the city, no less? Yeah, that seemed like a damn good reason to let loose.

The protective shell around her rippled like a droplet of water as the Zitrul came into view just seconds later. By her guess, it was maybe three minutes from the city at its current speed. 

Seconds before closing the gap between herself and the massive beast before her, Vivien turned her air bubble into a spinning vortex and rammed her now-deadly barrier into it. Any normal being of flesh and blood would have been torn to shreds on impact, but not a Dragon. Their scales were impervious to many things, and resistant to the rest. The impact shuddered the leviathan of the sky as it reared its head back and let out a skull-splitting screech of pain. 

Immediately recovering, it looked directly at her and let out a massive torrent of fire. While controlling energies, a dragon of any type always released fire when unleashing its breath. Although, since they were unique among their species, a Zitrul could master imbuing flames with their controlled element.. That, to Vivien’s dismay, is exactly what this Zitrul was about to do.

A cascade of snow-colored scales ran down its backside, now emitting a shockingly bright glow as the beam of lightning-infused fire slammed into Vivien’s protective shell at full force. Its massive amethyst eyes glared at its own power with satisfaction. The earlier blow had done nothing to weaken it, and it didn’t seem to plan on letting up anytime soon.

Vivien’s head exploded with overwhelming pain as the lightning wreathed across her body and the flames burned through to her skin. She bit into her lip in protest to keep herself from fainting, blood running down her chin as she gathered the energy within and in front of her to form a barrier from it. The same way she manipulated the surrounding air earlier, she formed the fire and lightning into a sturdy enough barrier to repel the oncoming attack, which was still pouring forth with no end in sight. Something told her a proficiency in lightning conjuration would not help her much in this situation, beyond forming a defense.

The Zitrul groaned with satisfaction. If there’s one thing most dragons hated, it’s humans that thought themselves powerful or evolved enough to conjure energy of any worth. To them, such a weak and pitiful being did not deserve to muster such energies for personal use. This one probably thought himself powerful enough to wreak havoc on Kroniker’s Mage Academy for that very reason.

Even with the barrier, the pain was immense. Knowing she didn’t have long before it would wither, the jolting sensation wreaking havoc on her body reminded her that these storms and the Zitrul’s lightning were all just a different form of conjured energies. This gave her an idea.

Struggling, but managing to move slowly, she placed her hand on the center of the barrier and summoned all the energy she could, focusing it on the palm now resting against the barrier.

The inside of her skull became a torture device and her hand felt as if it had been dipped into magma as she pushed her limits. Her brilliantly black hair cast an onyx glow as it rose, the hair she had tied back began to move on its own like writhing wisps.

She forced her eyes open, now shining like a cut emerald against the screeching glow of lightning. Screaming with all the rage she could muster, she opened a hole in the barrier just large enough for the center of her palm. As the flames licked at her skin, she unleashed the entirety of her power in a singular, controlled bolt of concentrated lightning.

The dragon’s breath carried immense force, but was widespread and chaotic. Her bolt easily cut through it, camouflaging itself within the same energy that was trying to murder its creator. The Zitrul was clueless to her plan even as the bolt shot through its mouth, heart, and out its tail, wreaking immense havoc the entire way through. Arrogance had sowed the seeds of its own demise as it blinked one last time before falling from the sky, smoke trailing from its open jaws and decimated body.

The storms ceased as the dragon’s wings went rigid and its body plummeted downwards, seconds from crashing into the ground. Vivien, barely conscious, thought to try and slow its descent to save damage to the road below, but her fleeting thoughts granted only darkness as she, too, began to fall.

Zafre walked down the pitch black hallway, making her way to the last door on the right. The darkness wasn’t an issue — she had the benefit of darksight. Her wings were packed tightly to her sides. They had been sensitive lately, for whatever reason.

She pushed the door open with little effort. The same familiar candlelight that always permeated the room trickled into the hallway before she shut the door behind her.

A hooded figure slumped over a grimoire laid out before him. The same grimoire she’d worshipped so many years ago. Seventy percent of it had been read through, but the text was thick, and the progress was slow. It wasn’t only words within, but mostly an intricate display of runes and symbols unlocked and deciphered through energy manipulation and silent consents. Once every rune was deciphered, only then would the page turn.

Zafre started, something between rage and pity caressing her words with a sharpened edge. “You know what must be done now. Why didn’t you tell us?”

“Tell you what? You know what I know. What I have always known. No more, no less. To assume any different just irritates me.”

“Irritates you? Listen to me closely, Gorifix. Zalef has half a mind to cancel your ascension and order your head to a fucking pike.”

“If that were truly the case, then I’d already be dead. That monster doesn’t deal in maybes or mysteries.”

“The other half of his mind believes you had no idea, for whatever reason.” Zafre had unfurled her sore wings. A common reaction for her in the face of confrontation.

“Didn’t you ever wonder why the rest of that retrieval party never returned that night? One could surmise she was the reason.” He turned in his chair to gaze at her from under his hood. Impatience seethed from him in waves.

Zafre shook her head vigorously. “We figured her mother was involved in that. She is a powerful mage, after all.”

“The mother works with enchantments and has long since been reduced to a nobody since her encounter with Zalef. She has no offensive capabilities to speak of beyond a volatile defense.” His voice was rising. He rarely became emotional these past few years, but it was never good when he did.

“It’s not very bold to conclude that any sort of prestigious mage has the potential to clean up some weak demons with no names. Don’t speak so lightly of the mage that halted Zalef’s plans for two decades.”

“Fair. I won’t deny that, but she only achieved that victory through a fluke.” He’d reigned in his anger as quickly as it came.

She remained on topic, refraining from furthering the argument. “So you really didn’t know? Gorifix, I need honesty. As your mentor…and as your friend.”

Gorifix shut the grimoire and stood, facing her with the hood draped low and no expression on his lips. The earlier volatility had entirely dissipated.

“I’d ask you to exert your energy on me and absorb the truth, but we both know any demonic power beyond the grimoire’s would ruin the ascension. I have no other way to prove my honesty. No other way than for me to say the truth.”

Zafre waited, her eyes locked onto the hood where his hid behind. Her silence bid him to continue.

“The truth is that I had no idea about her potential. Why would she still be living at some shoddy farm if she was that powerful? Why has she not been recruited by the Academy, or taken by Arcane Torrent?”

Zafre judged his words, mulling them around in her mind like a thick syrup. “I believe you, but now we’ve done nothing but alert them to the possibility of more danger in the near future. As for Arcane Torrent, we both know they did not know she even posed a threat.”

Gorifix smiled, a rare sight. “No, no, my sweet Zafre. Now we’ve found an unforeseen threat. Please tell me Kroniker did not retrieve her.”

“From what we gathered by questioning the witness, she was taken by a singular individual. They immediately applied infused bandages to her and hauled her away.”

“Interesting. A failure waiting to happen has become an advantageous assault on a once unknown enemy.”

Zafre’s wings tensed. She’d have to remember to relay everything to Zalef with the same zeal that Gorifix was displaying. His last words spurred her into action almost as quickly as he spoke them.

“Send the Seer we spoke of earlier to scout out this mysterious individual and Vivien the Dragon Slayer, as they now call her. And then send Flyn to take care of the rest.”

Silence fell across the lands surrounding The Enclave. The area had fully recovered from the previous winter, flourishing with new life as the forest settled into its new cycle. Wind whipped the treetops as the loose leaves fell to the soft, sun-kissed ground. Paths wove throughout the forest, forged by decades of travel and respected by the wildlife as they continued their daily survival. There was an underlying tension that hung about, caused by the intrusion of whatever lurked within the newly discovered cave.

The dirt and gravel shifted under Killian’s weight, crunching beneath his new boots as he walked. The sound reminded him again of the newest addition to his arsenal. A smile danced upon his face. Happiness born from finally finding a pair of boots to act as siblings to his gloves.

As he trekked, he wondered how long it would take before Henry realized he had never actually given exact directions to his home, or the cave, for that matter. Luckily, though, he had done some scouting before venturing into town. Just enough to have a lay of the land. It genuinely surprised him that he hadn’t noticed just how spectacular The Enclave really was until he was literally in the center of it.

Deep in thought, Killian barely noticed the light footfalls attempting to stay in step behind him. Choosing to ignore them for now, he continued forward, finally arriving at the cave. An eerie silence, accompanied by a cryptic breeze of wind, whistled across the opening of the newly formed hole in the mountain. Knowing what may lurk inside churned his stomach, a moment of hesitation pausing his momentum. The footfalls stopped ten or so meters away, the owner to them hiding amongst one of the many trees looming behind him.

“Alright, I think it’s about time you showed yourself, don’t you?” Killian turned on his heel to grin towards the trunk he’d heard the footsteps halt behind. His hand rested easily upon the hilt of his sword, the other waiting upon his hip, just inches above his reclamation pouch.

Seconds of silence passed, Killian soon hearing a slight stir of something beastly, deep within the cave. “Alright, I’m out of time, and so are you.” He stared intently at the hiding spot of his would-be stalker, waiting with bated breath.

Hands up, with a smile spread across her face, a woman stepped out from behind the tree. She was around his age, maybe younger, from what he could tell. Her glossy black hair graced her back well beyond her shoulders as it swayed with her steps. Her purple eyes pierced through him like a serrated arrow. The grin she wore made him uneasy, as if telling him she knows the answers to questions he hadn’t even thought of yet. He didn’t like this at all. The unique color of her eyes told him some sort of energy experimentation had affected her at a young age. Infancy, maybe.

“Hello there, that’s a nice outfit you have. Definitely seems like you know what you’re doing. Pretty too.” Killian smirked, a facade to hide his growing concern. He indeed took note of her tight, black leather-strapped outfit, sporting a dagger on the chest and hip. The suit wrapped snugly around her curves all the way to her neck, as if she was wearing an extra skin she would never shed. He had seen her type before. Bladequeens. Also known as Sitters of the Horizon among some social groups, since they most often show up as the sun goes down.

Hands still raised, she stepped forward carefully, but only a few steps, her black boots snapping a twig with her final footfall.

“Whatever would a man of your stature be doing in The Enclave? This is no burial site, and no Relics hide within that cave. I can assure you that much, Mr. Stone.” Her smile remained as she looked him up and down like prey.

“Funny, few know me. Let alone my usual habits. Sorry to disappoint you, but my quest is no longer of the collecting nature. I’d say I’m flattered, but I must ask what a Bladequeen is doing following me around in this clandestine part of the woods.” His smile was gone, knowing what danger could reign by taking this woman lightly.

Killian eyed her curiously as she pondered a response. He knew Bladequeens were most usually hired as high-end mercenaries, normally playing the part of bounty-hunter, assassin, or back line subjugator during a war. He had never seen one in person, and hadn’t the chance to fight many people wielding daggers. Especially ones with a Bladequeen’s level of skill. 

“At least tell me your name. Please.” He dared a gleaming smile to back his silly request, but was taken aback when she answered without hesitation.

“Keira. No family name, because…no family,” she chuckled to herself. “Only fair you know my name when I’ve used yours already, Mr. Stone.” The way she addressed him was oddly inviting, but he’d never known any stories of Bladequeens acting in such a way. They usually tended to be emotionless beyond hints of anger, so even her smile seemed out of place. 

She continued. “As you’re probably aware, I was hired to track you down. My mission is to find what you seek next and kill you if you’re deemed weak enough to be a liability. However, you say you are no longer searching for the Relics of Alfira. What is your new quest? If you would be so kind.” Her smile lingered, as if it was her natural expression.

Her voice was smooth, and to his surprise, he sensed no ill-intent. “Alright, Keira. Nice to meet you. I do hope I’m saying it right. I wouldn’t want to offend you.” He had heard her say it earlier, but it left her lips swiftly, like an exposed secret. Something about the way she treated her own name made him uneasy.

She nodded, smiling more deeply now, her stance taking a more relaxed posture. “Keer-uh. Say it as much as you like.”

He ignored her seductive tone. “To answer your question, I am searching for my brother Malus. Before you query as to why, there really is no reason. I’m just wishing to reunite with my dear younger brother.” He paused a moment as she silently stared, hesitant to say the truth, but decided to on the off chance that she was testing him. “To be honest, a woman wishing to read my fortune told me I should find him. That he is more important than my task, now more than ever.”

Keira held her eyes locked to his, her eyebrow raised in interest. “Well, it would seem my services are no longer required. I will tell you, though, Killian...that your search is most likely not going to turn out how you want it to.”

Killian set a cold gaze upon her, irritated by her response. It was obvious she knew something he didn’t. “What do you know about my brother?” Last he had seen of little Malus was ten long years ago, still a small pup under the care of their weakened mother and ever-worried sister. He had heard nothing of his family, but hadn’t been asking either. Nothing but his task had been his focus until now, and digging around about his family would have only weakened his resolve until now.

“It’s not my place to say, as much as teasing you appeals to me in a…special kind of way. It doesn’t matter, anyway. It’s time for the test. Show me you can defend the relics.” The look on her face made her intentions clear. This was going to be a pain in his ass.

She sprang up into the trees, a streak of black as she disappeared above with unnatural speed, only to drop behind him a moment later. He brought his elbow back to meet her face, but she spun with his momentum as she dodged and vaulted over him, using his shoulders for support. She raised her gloved fists, the clench of them pulling the leather tight over her knuckles. Bladequeens weren’t only skilled with the blade, but in many forms of unarmed combat as well. Killian kept this in mind as he entered a combat stance, cursing himself for not keeping up with his practice as of late.

Blow for blow, he matched her speed, taking advantage of his higher than average reaction time to allow his body to block appropriately. Countering was going to be an issue, as he was stuck on the defensive. He could feel his arms bruising under her blows, her wicked smile never leaving her lips. 

Finally, he cross blocked her straight punch, pushing her arm upwards and throwing her off-balance. It felt given, but he took it anyway. He followed with a kick, landing a blow to her groin. She let out a cry of excited glee as she came back at him with a dagger drawn. He unsheathed his sword and matched her advances. High stab, left swipe, reversal swing to his jugular. The dance went on. He could tell she was holding back, not only in martial prowess, but something else entirely.

Her eyes now glowing with excitement, she caught his jaw with a quick jab and dropped to one knee to drive her dagger through his new boot, giving him zero chance to react in time. The knife clanged and bounced harmlessly off of the surface of the leather, genuinely shocking her as Killian grabbed the back of her head and drove his knee into her face, blood expelling from her now broken nose. She sprang into a graceful backflip, brandishing her second dagger as her boots met the ground. 

“Yes! More!” she screamed as she lunged toward him, both daggers extended as she giggled. He deflected them both with a swing of his sword, his left hand deftly reaching into the pouch on his waist and procuring a black sword with a gleaming edge. She eyed the weapon warily.

“I see our little dance is over if you’re going to get that serious, Mr. Stone. Nobody said you could use the goodies stored away in your reclamation pouch.” Her smile was still visible, but he sensed she was not used to being struck. The motion of her wiping the blood from her face seemed foreign to her, but did little to lessen her menacing aura.

“Well now, Keira. What chance would I have against a dual-wielding Bladequeen with only one longsword? Surely, you can’t blame me.” He smiled as much as he dared, not wanting to set her off. Not too much anyway.

She sheathed her daggers. Her nose was no longer bleeding - surprising enough to Killian, since he had put a good amount of force behind that blow. “Mr. Stone, you’re clearly well versed in the art of combat, and I appreciate you answering my question. You can most definitely survive. Thank you for the friendly dance.”

Friendly. Yeah, sure. She was definitely trying to maim me.

He looked her over, sheathing his sword and dropping his black blade back into the mysterious, tiny pouch that seemed to have no end to the dimensional space within it. “Please, call me Killian. Mr. Stone grants me the aura of a hardy businessman, of which I am surely not.” He grinned honestly this time, hoping that she would show some form of kindness. And then, to his surprise, she did.

She smiled back, and as far as he knew, it was genuine. No hint of crazy this time. “We will meet again, Killian.” Her grin turned into a sudden smirk, her glowing eyes of shining amethyst glimmering with mischief as they locked onto his. 

“Make sure that next time we meet, it’s not under more dire circumstances. On another point, I see why you were willing to go through such lengths for those boots. That material holds your enchantments quite well.”

She turned and began her stride into the forest, and as she faded into the thicket of trees, he heard one last word of advice from the Bladequeen. “Oh, and next time I won’t let you hear my footsteps. Makes the game more interesting.” He swore he could hear the wink on her face through her tone, and then her presence was gone.

Mollie tugged at her mother’s sleeve, pulling her ever closer to her father’s stall while offering unseen courage to face the crowds after months of seclusion. Finally, the stall came into view, and Lily gasped at the sight of her husband. It was as if she hadn’t laid eyes upon him in a decade or more, when in reality it had only been a couple of weeks. The light focused around him, the rest of the world dimming itself within her vision.

The danger threatening the town in the northern forests had caused a panic for weeks now, enticing the denizens of The Enclave to buy more supplies. For the more hardy of the folk, this included armor, leather, and various other survival supplies. This, in turn, caused a massive influx of business for Henry, stoking the plan to work as long as possible and sleep at his stall.

The sight of his wife brought him to tears as he pushed aside his current project and stood to greet his family. Mollie, still attached to her mother like a newborn puppy, stared in awe as she witnessed happiness from her parents for the first time since the incident. At that moment, she remembered the sight of her brother smiling alongside both of them. She fell into a somber recollection of events, vividly remembering her brother’s final moments. The sight of it. The sounds. The smell.

Three weeks ago. Daylight was fading, prompting the dusk wisps to bloom in preparation for the moonlight. These were Mollie’s favorite flowers, and she would often pick them to display at home as they died rather quickly, prompting her to replenish her ever-dwindling stock.

The jelly-like mass of tentacles had surprised her while she kneeled among the dusk wisps. The vibrant colors of their petals were quickly diluted by the horrid sight of the creature and the sound of Mollie’s screams. Her brother was the first one to hear and ran out of the house to aid her. The rest of the memory was distorted, playing as a dozen cut images alongside one another. 

Her brother trying to grab her before the creature could. His helpless expression as he was picked from the ground just as easily as the flowers she still held in her hand. And finally, the gel-like mass drowning him almost instantly, after which the creature returned swiftly to its home to finish consuming its new meal.

Even Henry’s booming voice did not wake Mollie from her nightmare-fueled stupor. “Lily, my darling. How are you out and about with not a care?! What has sparked this courage?” He looked at her with excitement, an expression not usually worn upon his face.

Lily wore a smile to match her triumphant stance, her hands on her hips as she proclaimed her victory. “My darling, the thoughts and apparent voices that have been dulling my mind and motivation have been quelled, by yours truly!” She locked eyes with Henry. She gave him the same bright-eyed look that first drew him in all those years ago.

Henry, unaware of how serious the voices plaguing his wife really were, would not understand how surprising her triumph actually was. They embraced each other, neither of them ever wanting to let go.

Henry and Lily were so ecstatic to be in each other’s arms again that they failed to notice their daughter running off towards their now-forsaken home. Mollie had one repeating thought driving her small footfalls across the town and into the forest. 

Killian meeting the same fate as her brother. 

She knew she had to stop him. She could force her father to let Killian keep the boots for free. She would pay for them herself if she had to, but she refused to let anyone else feed the monster that took her favorite person from her. From them all.

Killian faced the cave, feeling uncharacteristically nervous. The sounds churning within felt like a precursor to something horrid. The thought of fighting with a Cryptilis definitely wasn’t his favorite thing in the world, but he swore he would help this family. He would help this town as it had grown on him in the recent days. He stepped forward into the gaping hole; the entrance held sturdy by wooden foundations. A false pretense that the cave was domesticated to any degree.

“Hey, come get your next meal!” Killian yelled into the darkness, keeping his hand hovering just above his reclamation pouch.

As quick as Keira’s daggers, a tentacle shot out from the abyss and wrapped itself around his waist, pulling him into the cave with astonishing speed. He inhaled deeply before it consumed him. It took everything he had to not pass out. After being pulled with that much force, coupled with the fact that being absorbed into the Cryptilis was like waking suddenly in a bath filled with ice, he had to remember not to gasp or open his mouth and eyes. 

The substance a Cryptilis consists of contains numbing agents that rival the best healing treatments for agonizing wounds. When ingested into your body, you are permanently paralyzed and slowly digested. He shuddered at the thought of Henry’s son, and how slow and horrible his death must have been. But this filled him with a spark of anger, and he willed his now numb arm into his pouch, picturing one of the lit torches he had placed within it not too long ago. Flames engulfed the surrounding beast, evaporating it from within as it squirmed and shot him out, slamming him into the wall as if he was the source of the heat. He had left the lit torch within the creature, however, and gathered his mind enough to watch it squirm as it became a massive fireball, and nothing but a mess of leftover liquid soon after.

“There’s a proper meal for you, courtesy of the Locke family.” Killian sighed with relief, ready to be out of this disturbing musk and fog that swam throughout the cave like a living creature.

The numbing effect of the Cryptilis had only just begun to wear off just a moment later, soon enough for Killian to look up in horror as three more of them emerged from deeper within, almost close enough to attack. His legs wouldn’t work properly, and he was having trouble getting them to support any weight to lift him from the cold, hard dirt beneath him. 

Damn it all, why are there three more?! 

Killian knew a Cryptilis would normally exhibit territorial behavior, turning hostile in the company of any other. It made no sense to him why he now faced so many.

He fumbled for his pouch, but it had been knocked from his belt when he was slammed into the wall. Sitting several feet away from his only chance of survival, he felt true fear for the first time in a good while.

Summing up all of his willpower, he tried to make his legs work one last time, but they continued to fail him. His breathing hastened, his chest tightening at the thought of death when his goal was not yet finished.

But then a small pair of arms wrapped themselves around his, lifting with all their might.

“Get up, mister! My father didn’t make those boots for you to die in them!” Mollie had his arm around her now, and her face strained as she lifted with all of her might.

Killian looked at this young girl with astonishment, and knew he had to get up. Now. 

“You’re right. I wouldn’t want to irritate your father. He is a scary man for certain.” He did his best to not sound worried through gritted teeth while noticing the quickly closing distance between them and the jelly-like predators. What he feared most happened anyway. A scream erupted from Mollie as tentacles pulled her across the cavern and into the first Cryptilis. 

“Hold your breath! Keep your eyes shut and don’t open your mouth!” Killian hoped she heard him, and watched in horror as her little body shot across the cavern. The fear in her eyes swelled before she heard him and tightly closed them, taking what was possibly her final breath.

Killian shut his eyes tightly, not to prevent himself from witnessing her death, but to tell himself to awaken something he had kept buried deep within. He would almost rather die than resort to such measures, but this girl didn’t deserve to perish as a result of his morals.

Killian focused, releasing a protective enchantment he kept upon himself at all times. An overwhelming amount of images flooded his mind. Memories that weren’t his, of a creature this power originated from. The power he unwillingly stole. 

Mutilated children and laughing demons. Marcus, his only true friend, and the sacrifice he made. Voidfire burning down homes that had stood for decades. Trapped pets, trampled bodies, hopeless cries of terror. The scream of the little girl eclipsed all these memories.

“Disgusting vermin. Feasting on children as if you’re the apex of this world. In the name of Alfira, you’ll burn.” The words raked free from his throat as if they belonged to another, summoned from another realm and using him as a puppet.

Rage boiled within him like a burning coil wound much too tightly. Pure hatred for the creatures that fed on helpless victims.

“Forgive me, Mother.” He muttered painfully as he felt energy building within him. He knew what using this power would mean to her, no matter the reason.

Warmth returned to his limbs, and he shot up, gripping his sword and willing his blood to give in to the searing energy within it. He just needed to take care of these beasts and replace his enchantment.

I will maintain control.

The two empty Cryptilis were in range now, simultaneously shooting forth their deadly tentacles, looking to claim their new prey before the other could.

Flames erupted from the sheath of his sword as he sliced through the tentacles, the voidfire disintegrating them at the moment of contact. He raised his head to see his enemies in the glow of the flames engulfing his sword. His right eye was glowing a bold crimson and a rough, coal-colored horn protruded from the right side of his forehead. He yelled in agony at the pain this partial transformation brought him, but it was the only way to save her in time.

He threw his sword like a javelin with all his might, a beautiful streak of blood-red energy striking into the upper part of the Cryptilis holding Mollie. It writhed as if hit by a comet, and evaporated soon after, discarding the poor girl to the floor with a small thud. She was so numb that she didn’t notice it had released her, until the searing heat from Killian warmed her as he dashed by.

He had launched himself with incredible speed, and as he passed Mollie, the hilt of his sword sprang into action and flipped up into his hand in one smooth motion, following its master’s command. He felt the bitter bite of the chilled air within the cave tear at his left side, despite the heat emanating from his sword. The Cryptilis in front of him was a blur as he dove through it, sword first.

A tentacle from the final creature wrapped itself around his waist and pulled hard, forcing him to drop his sword. He grabbed the tentacle and let out a primal roar as his arm encased in voidfire, traveling along the jelly appendage until reaching its owner and burning it to a crisp within an instant. 

Mollie had seen it all before fainting, and even unconsciousness could not spare her from remembering it.

An infant was born, checked for health, and injected. Death followed soon after. Dozens more met this fate. Dozens more mutated, to be killed regardless, like sickly cattle.

Another day arrived, along with a child of mundane features donated by parents loyal to the goal of all. Small face, low weight, boring brown eyes. Weak strands of black, matted to her soft skull. The needle entered her arm. The tests must go on. Arcane Torrent must acquire power at any cost.

A doctor’s gasp at the absence of an instant flatline. Breathing continued, limbs kept moving. She survived.

The parents cooked and distributed. Their reward was to make the whole stronger. Ones with ample innate energy, but no manipulation or conjuration abilities, were always fed to the Inquisitors after producing a child, while normal meat was fed to the mounts. This prevented the off-chance of a vengeance-fueled parent. Retribution overtook obedience. Sorrow replaced resourcefulness. Revenge surpassed purpose. All that was to be circumvented.

The mundane child screamed into the night like a creature born into fire. It never ceased, its voice cracking from exhaustion as the surrounding walls absorbed the sound like hungry beasts. The same cry, again and again. The injector, the one in charge of the infant, began to echo the cries in his head. So long had he burned the corpses of failed infants. So long had he forgotten the endeavor and sacrifice he would need to make once they were successful. The cries were endless, marking the start, middle, and end of his days. He would hum the scream while eating, mimic it while dreaming, and think of it even in moments meant for pleasure. It permeated every aspect of his being until the sound became a name.

“Keira.” He whispered the word, hovering above the ire of his torment for these long weeks. The small form of the demon that drove him slowly towards insanity.

The infant ceased. Finally, silence…peace.

“Keira,” he repeated. The infant let a sigh escape her tiny mouth. For the first time in weeks, her eyes opened. The mundane brown within them had evolved. Like a gem from stone, her eyes shone an amethyst hue. Even within the enveloping darkness of their pseudo home, the color was brilliant.

He shed tears. Then he wept. Then he knew. He knew he was nothing. Born as nothing to become nothing. Picking on the innocent youth of innocent peoples. Was he worthy of bringing such harm?

His hand grasped a vial. The sanguine liquid swam within, leaving a thick film wherever it touched. Dekru essence, pulled directly from the brain of the beast. The liquid within held properties that killed at worst, mutated at random, and potentially otherwise at best. A creature that surpassed possible speeds, hid in the shadows, feasted on flesh. Extremely difficult to capture, killing dozens of Torrent members in the attempts. They had experimented with all manner of creatures, but this was the worst of them.

He injected it into himself. Was he worthy? Was he ready for his judgment? 

No. He was dead. Instantly, irrevocably…dead. Another corpse, another victim. Forgotten flesh left to rot and convulse upon the unforgiving steel of his lab. His prison. His coffin.

The Dekru cackled loudly, pleased at the death of its captor. Its scythe-like arms rubbed against one another, the small teeth of serrated bone along the edges releasing a flurry of noise with each swipe.

Its elongated head with beady black orbs for eyes ended in a foot-long maw of mangled fangs and a much-too-rough tongue that slithered among them.

No more would the disgusting human bring the stinging tingle to its head. No more would the world spin and the mouth go dry. No more. Dead. The periodic sedative dissipated quickly as the timed injections were not delivered by the now decaying hand that once did so diligently. 

The Dekru looked at Keira. It saw Keira. It knew Keira. Its senses had returned, and so had its purpose.

Keira’s amethyst eyes eluded the Dekru. Beckoning energies danced across the room as a connection was formed. The infant experienced something other than pain. Other than piercing noise and blinding light. She experienced love. Love from a mother she had thought lost.

The new mother bashed her head against the glass again and again, turning to a blur as it used its ability to form the first cracks. Again, and again. Cracks in the glass forming as quick as the crack in its skull. It was free at last, gently lifting its child in its maw, realizing quickly that her soft flesh could handle little in the way of pressure. It had seen the doctor approach and exit the door many times. It turned the handle and crouched low to exit, eager to raise this foreign being as its own. A burst of light greeted the pair, opening a hole where the Dekru’s hopeful heart had been beating furiously from elation. Keira fell from its lifeless maw, caught by the inquisitor that slayed her new mother.

She was alone again. Abandoned again. Theirs again.

Gone were the days of infancy as the child grew. Stronger. Faster. Not fast enough, though. No, no, no. They needed even faster. They needed stability. They needed results. They burned the pitiful notes belonging to project lead’s predecessor, along with Keira’s name. From infancy on, she remained “D-36”.

No matter the amount of tests or injections, the result remained the same. Seconds at a time, the girl could manipulate the Dekru essence within her. Never more, sometimes less. They dubbed it the ‘blur’ effect.

Injections, time and time again. Pain in waves of maddening and unending dread. The child kept on. She was durable and strong, but small and vulnerable.

She’d been alive for sixteen years now when the man responsible for her experiments decided it was time to try and replicate her through bloodline. They must see if the Dekru speed trait could be passed through offspring.

Who better than he? After all, someone else would muddy the job, or so he thought. She lay there, lifeless, prepared to close herself off to the world. She already had though, for a long time now. So much so that the door within that led from her disassociation had been forgotten, empty syringes and bloodied bandages piling in front of it.

He fucked her without mercy. Upon her, sweaty and heaving, he died. Nobody knows the means, but they knew the why…and they most certainly knew the who. How did she do it? Was she poisonous? Did she have other abilities? Her arms had been shackled, her mouth gagged, so it had to be coincidence. It was all a speculation coated in fear and paranoia.

Infertile was the verdict after other tests were conducted. D-36 would become a weapon. She was given to their Battlemaster, tasked to break and groom her. When he did, he sent her to fight. Before she fought, she was trained. For the first time in her life, she felt alive. The death of others brought life to herself. She finally had power. Purpose. Achievement.

A high value target announced; she was sent. The guards were killed, but a final enemy emerged from inside the cart they traveled with. Keira was defeated by this enemy. Almost executed, but when questioned, said nothing. The enemy saw something in her. Knew she was special. Noticed her eyes and resolve.

This is the day she became the most unorthodox Bladequeen to grace the faction.

They asked her name. She knew not why one so boldly danced upon her lips. It dug from deep within her, climbing through the buried memories and clearing the long-lost door that led deeper within her mind.

“My name is Keira.”

Six months passed. Months full of anguish and reformation. Her feral tendencies weren’t shunned, but molded. A mental needle was introduced through rigorous therapy and sown throughout her tattered mind to gather all the scattered bits. It pierced every aspect of what she was, bringing them together for better or worse. 

Hatred, defilement, speed, cunning. All were woven through by the Bladequeen’s mentalist and sown into a tapestry of their want and need. A tapestry that would hold the makings of an assassin upon them. An image of a girl who was nothing but a number, but would now count her victories as Keira the Bladequeen. She became a professional. A friend and a pupil. She was human enough to converse with the innocent, and monstrous enough to kill anyone deemed otherwise.

Morals crawled forward from the darkest corners of her psyche, barely noticeable, but morphing in the dim light in the forefront of her mind. Good and evil twisted around in her thoughts like swirls of grey and gray. The same, but splayed differently. Bland, but infallible.

Handlers passed her along, appreciative of her efficiency, but disapproving of her unorthodox behavior. She refused to follow protocols, bending rules to suit her needs. Only avoiding punishment through ruthless completion of her tasks. That is, until she was accepted. Entirely, for all she was, accepted.

She saved a man, and they recruited him. Her new handler, taking her quirks in stride as they completed mission upon mission. She frustrated him time and time again, but he continued to accept her all the same. Something close to a real bond had formed, but there was something crawling under the warm blanket laid over their relationship. Something with many legs and venom lacing its mandibles. An insect that ate at the foundation of healthy and comforting. Still, they pressed on.

Now Keira knew more than anyone once dared to tell her. It was necessary for her missions. For her purpose. Information, target, death. Information, target, retrieval. Information, target, information, target, repeat, repeat, repeat.

Through it all, her smile never wavered.

Pain spread through Roman’s body like a web of thorns as the cage shook furiously in the wind. The giant claw that grasped the ring atop spared no mercy upon his rattled body as the sound of beating wings confused him.

“Wha-?” Roman gasped for air. He didn’t know if it was awe or fear, probably a concoction of both, that stole the air from his lungs.

A fucking dragon?!

A massive, red-scaled dragon with a surprisingly white underbelly carried him across the clear skies. Below, mountain ranges formed a deep valley, cutting across the lands and ending in a clutter of larger mountains. Mountains that grasped at the clouds with ease and dominated the landscape by merely existing. No green spotted the immediate surrounding lands, but rivers of magma snaked their way through the careening angles of the harsh ground. Every bit of land on the slant down from the mountains was barren and flat. Creatures of unknown origin dotted the areas, taking shelter in fissure-like caves that created an underground world only known to the dead explorers littered within.

Roman had never been anywhere but the forests. His braid flew carelessly behind him as his mud-colored eyes soaked in every speck of anything he could lay them upon.

“Human, you wake. We arrive soon.”

The booming voice in Roman’s head reverberated within his skull. It was deep, like rumbling rocks in a shaking cavern. Mental communication?

“Correct, through the means of energy. You will learn to control your thoughts. If you don’t, one of my kind will eventually crush your skull.”

“What? How do you expect me to do that?”

“Prey learns to run. It learns to hide. Sometimes, it even learns to fight. You are more than prey. You are servant of dragons. So learn silence. Learn it or we will teach a more permanent solution.”

“I don’t understand. Why am I even here? The last thing I remember was a poisonous blade lodged into my shoulder. I was attacked.” He brushed his hand across his shoulder, pressing lightly, but feeling no pain or tenderness. They must have healed it after the fact.

“I do not care what events have led you to us. I simply know that a transaction was made and you are now under my care. You belong to us.”

“So I’ve been sold into slavery, for lack of an explanation.”

“Look at it however you wish. Fulfill your purpose and you will be fed. Water is also of abundance. You’ll want for nothing.”

Roman rolled his eyes. Yup, that’s definitely all he’d need. Water and food. Good to go! He was in new territory, though, and needed to gather information while learning as much as he could.

“What’s your name?”

A terrifying collection of seconds ticked away as Roman waited for an answer. His eyebrow twitched with anticipation. Did he mess up?

“Qavras.” Relief flooded through him. Though, a fleeting thought of his cage being dropped like a useless pebble still scraped at the back of his thoughts.

“What does a servant of dragons do? Can I ever return to my old life?”

“You were traded for our services. Your old life is gone, so no further questions regarding your past. As servant, you will act as ambassador to surrounding human tribes, enforcing our will with your energy in ways we cannot. Not without destroying entire settlements or burning bridges. Sometimes literally. Diplomacy is also a concern.”

“Ah, I see. So they wanted me for my damned power. Well, fuck me. Guessing my mates from the outpost are dead. Not a question, so don’t be angry with me. Simply thinking out loud.”

His only reply from Qavras was a snort, the exhale of air wafting down around him and causing a sweat.

“What happened to your last ambassador?”

“Dead”

“How?”

“Impalement.”

“Right. Okay then.” He did his best to sit back into a relatively comfortable position, despite the swinging of the cage. Truth be told, he had nothing back home after the last battle he took part in. His sister was the only thing worth caring about and the only one he could even begin to consider a friend was Larken. He fought for the outpost position so he could run from his problems. So he could hide from the world while feeling like he was fulfilling a purpose. Now he’s in a cage, halfway across the world…enslaved to a damn dragon.

“Good. You’ve already learned that silence is the best option.”

I can’t even think about how much that pisses me off. Because you’ll just hear me anyway.

“Correct.”

Alright, so tell me how to close off my direct thoughts.

“Energy manipulation.” 

Roman frowned, unsure if Qavras was being a smartass or genuinely trying to help.

Impossible. Humans can only manipulate actual elements. 

“Is your mind not a human element?”

He spoke aloud again, much too concerned by the growing concept of communicating with his thoughts alone. “Element of the Material. Not an element of perception.”

“You are a fool. You’re all fools.”

“Help me to not be.”

“Your purpose is to serve us. Do not demand anything of me. We are almost to the roost. Work on your thoughts while you have the chance. We are close enough that I could notify the Roostmother of our approach. You will see her this day.”

While being ‘spoken’ to by Qavras, Roman could feel the string between their minds. But not so much a string, upon further focus…more like an extremely narrow stream. In place of water, energy. In place of thoughts, words. It seemed so simple, but the mystery of it baffled him. If his thoughts became words…would his intent become actions? He imagined grasping the stream and pulling it away from himself, thankful for his natural talents, and just as easily as he wanted…it happened.

Qavras halted his flight and tilted his head downward, staring toward the cage. It seemed as if he was attempting communication, but Roman heard nothing.

By the Gods, it worked.

The stream appeared once more. Stronger, potent, angry. If it was a spear, it would have run him through as it collided with his mind. Qavras’s booming voice threatened to split his skull.

“You dare take me for a fool?”

Roman’s cage ceased swinging for the first time since his awakening. Qavras’s steaming breath heated the bars as much as Roman’s skin, his long neck craning to lean in close. A massive eye, bigger than Roman’s head, crimson iris with a dividing slash of deathly black, lashed him with a gaze so harsh that if he wasn’t already sitting, he’d have most definitely fallen back.

“N-no! I only did what you asked!”

“No normal human could cut a tether that easily, and so swiftly, after learning of the concept itself. They would never have traded for something as paltry as a ‘rogue’ Zitrul’s service if they knew your potential. Either they are mistaken, or you’re playing a dangerous game by lying to me.”

“On the soul of my late sister, the only one I’ve cared for in this life, I am not lying to you, Qavras.” His eyes were closed, the image of his sister as bright and beautiful as the last day he saw her.

“I believe you.” Qavras let a small snort escape his nostrils before raising his head and continuing his flight.

“You…do?” Goosebumps crawled up and down Roman’s arms as though he were infected. His skin was bristling against his command, fear gripping him by the throat and crushing his lungs.

“Should I not? I can make it so.” A tinge of amusement coated his words, if it was even possible.

“Noooo, I am entirely accepting of your…acceptance. Sorry, I’m honestly just very nervous. I’ve never met a dragon, yet alone seen one.”

“Do not refer to myself or any of us in such a mundane manner. ‘Dragon’ will not do when in the presence of our kind. You will refer to any of our species by their coating or given name. The given name shall be used only when told to you by the owner of it.”

“Coating? Like color? I know you’re Qavras, but what would your coating be? Unless I’m asking too much, then I apologize.”

“I will not repeat this information, nor would I recommend asking any other anything of the sort. Many of my kind dislike speaking to lesser beings. To go beyond that and bestow knowledge upon them would be even more egregious. Only the keeper of a lesser being will take that role, such as now.” Qavras stretched his wings, coasting them into a glide as he seemed to mull over his answer.

Before Roman could receive said answer, a bright light blinded him with a burst of energy somewhere above. And then he was falling. He couldn’t see, but he could hear. He could hear Qavras screeching in pain.

Peraklu craned her head towards the Roostmother, genuinely perplexed. She had been called to her nest to discuss the arrival of their new ‘guest’, to which Peraklu was in strong disagreement.

The glistening sheen to the Roostmother’s black scales reflected the light of the braziers as she met Peraklu’s gaze from atop her massive bed of melted gold. The sizable cavern chosen as her home was truly a sight to behold. It was the closest cavern to the heart of the volcano, with magma trickling through crafted holes to fill the basin surrounding the Roostmother’s resting area. 

Each Roost had a Vriska, who acted as their respective Roostmother. Always clad in black scales, they required the most heated habitat of any coating.

“What? Another human, so soon? Must we always trust such frivolous creatures at the drop of a tail?”

“Silence.” Her piercing gaze was like a sheet of ice shattering upon Peraklu’s growing flames of rage. The slight rise of her head seemed almost as if she was watching the flames wither in satisfaction.

“Yes, Roostmother. I apologize.” She promptly turned to leave, her tail kept close to herself as a sign of submission. She’d barely lifted a talon upon her claw before being given another command.

“Qavras is near, with the human you despise so much.” Peraklu winced, regretting her earlier outburst to a higher degree. 

Her eyelids blinked away the humid air of the Roostmother’s den from her crimson-colored eyes. A contrast to her white scales, each pointed with blue tips. It was much too hot in here for an Ice-attuned Zitrul such as herself. She dared to slide her tail in a slither, the spear of a bone on the tip clanging lightly upon the stone below. Luckily, nothing was said to her but the rest of the command.

“Meet and guide them directly to the Proving Pit. They’re flying in from the usual route.” She was no longer looking in Peraklu’s direction, glaring at one of her raised claws as if it was a foreign object, clicking her talons together as if to test their strength. Peraklu quickly averted her gaze to not be intrusive. The last thing she needed was a stronger shade of her Roostmother’s ire.

“By my wings, it shall be done.” She bowed her head needlessly for the Roostmother, even with her gaze still averted. Better safe than sorry, she figured. 

She swiftly left, unfurling her wings and launching into the air with a swirling mist of chill behind her. She had let some of her energy shed free to cool herself off, a desperate need after each encounter with magma levels of heat.

The wind felt euphoric as it flowed through her scales on her flight away from the roost and off towards their human-carrying Ruzok. She didn’t realize how tense she had been during that whole encounter. Roostmother had never been violent with her directly, but she’d heard stories and seen scars to match them. She didn’t want to be the next story communicated throughout the Roost. The physical pain would translate to shame for her mother, and that would be worse than any punishment she herself could endure.

Actually, I wonder what she’s—

Her thoughts were cut short when a brilliant light shot down from high in the sky. Her fears became audible as she heard the cry of Qavras the Ruzok, a coating able to use roars of abnormal levels of volume for various reasons. This reason was easy to discern, as its message was clear.

Help.

Wind rushed past Roman’s ears as the surrounding colors blurred. He blinked several times, looking above him to locate the deafening sound ringing through the air.

Qavras’s screech had become something else. Louder, more powerful, with purpose. It was agonizing.

Flecks of destroyed webbing floated through the sky around Qavras, his shredded wings barely holding him afloat as he bit at an unknown attacker and blew pillars of flame across the sky.

Roman quickly manipulated the rushing wind around him to stop the cage’s fall. He reached into his pocket, his fingertips grazing against the hard, foreign objects to the cloth within.

Thank the Gods, they didn’t take them.

Three stones remained—one more must have been lost at some point. He quickly grasped one before pulling his hand from his pocket and forming the enchanted stone into a sword with an edge strong as steel and humming with imbued energy. He cut through the bars of the cage and floated upwards as quickly as he could. His wind manipulation was average at best, and flying in a continuous state like this was going to get him killed. Falling to his death would also get him killed, though, so it seemed like he might be fucked either way.

Nothing ventured…

Peering upwards, he could barely make out the armor-clad figure assaulting Qavras.

“Oh, fuck…a Torrent Inquisitor,” he nervously mumbled to himself as he reached for another enchanted stone.

Inquisitors were cannibals and fiends, feasting on any being as it still lived, in order to absorb its innate energies. Much the same as some awakened demons have been known to do. Similar to a Krisk, but without the need to stalk and paralyze them. They could release pure energy with no element, pouring it forth like gods — pure light of destruction. Nothing could resist that, not even a dragon.

His hand found purchase, pulling the stone from his pocket and tossing it high into the air with one motion, using what little focus he could muster to raise the stone even higher. He had to be careful while executing this next move, else he might lose concentration on his wind manipulation. He didn’t have time to aim anything, so his plan would be simple and effective. The stone flew high as Qavras quickly turned his head to look at Roman. He reached out to Qavras the same way he had to Roman earlier.

“Fly down!” To his surprise, it worked. Qavras tucked his torn wings and began a dive-bomb as beams of light shot down around him, his massive form becoming more slender than what seemed possible.

This is going to use just about everything I’ve got, but it’s do or die against a damned Inquisitor. Time to do, before the die happens.

The second Qavras passed the stone, Roman unleashed his energy. A massive torrent of jagged spikes erupted from the stone and shot through the sky in a flurry towards the Inquisitor. Nothing but eyes could be seen behind the mask of his opponent, but Roman hoped the prick was surprised at the very least. The wickedly sharp projectiles covered a massive area, so wide that if it was a solid slab of stone, the light around them would be blotted out entirely.

The Inquisitor did his best to weave through the onslaught but had already taken a few nasty hits, his armor doing nothing to stop the powerful blows as it was pierced like cloth. They were tough bastards, though, and Roman knew well that this wouldn’t be enough.

In the seconds that had passed, Qavras had almost reached him. He focused on the still-intact link. “Launch me at him with your tail!” He caught a flare of frustration to be taking orders from a human, but as prideful as dragons are, Qavras was no fool. His massive body of red scales came out of the dive-bomb with a backflip, extending his tail to slam into Roman from below, which he was pretty sure just broke his legs. Fuck it, that didn’t matter right now. He had so much adrenaline pumping through him that he could barely feel them anyway.

Using the slight control over the surrounding wind, he manipulated his trajectory just enough, following right behind the last of his stone spikes. The Inquisitor had no time to react, blood spilling from a wounded arm as he made a desperate attempt to slash at Roman. Too little, too late. His sword was mid-swing as Roman plunged into him, his own sword piercing right through the Inquisitor’s heart.

Got you, bastard.

Killian stepped upon the same path he had walked earlier, the surrounding forest still twinkling with signs of life. This time, however, his steps were wary, and he carried Mollie as delicately as possible as he put his once-new boots to use. He had renewed the enchantment placed upon them, the only form of energy manipulation he could utilize without employing special weapons or items. He didn’t dare consider his transformation as any form of power. That was more of an unfortunate curse.

Henry and Lily met him a little sooner than the halfway point between their home and The Enclave. They looked as if a monster had stolen their very souls, clearly exhausted from running thus far. Gasping for breath, but caring not, they ran to him and carefully took Mollie from his arms.

Their questions sounded as if submerged in water as the surrounding light began to spin. The fight with Keira and then the beasts, along with his impromptu transformation, had taken more of a toll than he thought. He hated to make them worry any more than necessary, but what he wanted didn’t matter as he fell forward. Henry rushed to catch him before he met the ground, throwing him over his burly shoulder. He gave a nod towards Lily and she responded with an affirmative nod of her own. She could carry Mollie just fine, exhaustion aside.

It took them the better part of the remaining daylight to make it to town, where they quickly put their daughter and Killian to rest in the healer headquarters. After making sure that the healers were aware of how injured the two were, Henry left to make sure his shop was securely closed for the night.

Thirty minutes later, both Mollie and Killian had been treated for what wounds they’d obtained. Mollie awoke shortly after, her rousing accompanied by panic as she frantically looked around. She spotted her mother, standing ominously over Killian, unmoving and silent.

“Mother, is he alright? What happened?” Lily did not respond, nor did she move. Mollie got up to go to her mother, but suddenly felt a paralyzing presence; one that threatened to stop her very heart if she moved another inch. She shuddered softly. She didn’t dare make a noise. 

Mollie had little understanding of what was happening, but she couldn’t control her body any longer, watching helplessly as an ink-like liquid dropped from her mother’s face to Killian’s chest before creeping towards his mouth. Her mother collapsed just after. She realized now that this thing must have been inside of Mother for the entirety of her ‘sickness’. Then she felt it in her head, in her soul. She knew it had looked at her, just before slithering its way into Killian’s mouth.

Killian finally woke, but not in the bed his body rested on. Not in the Material plane at all, but within a realm constructed in his mind. A semi-physical representation of the soul made by the mind. His mother taught him how to enter this mindscape when necessary, to enchant it at will so he could protect himself. This was the most difficult thing Killian had ever done. That he was brought here against his will could only mean one thing…an intruder trying to pry its way into his soul, or worse.

He stared off towards the dark end of the plane, spotting nothing of concern just yet. The ground of his mindscape was a large marble floor with purple tones that seemed to move on their own, as if alive. The expanse seemed to stretch for eternity with no sign of any walls or structures, but it felt like home to him. He never thought he’d actually need to do battle with any foes in such a place, but here he was.

He knew whatever was here had only one place to go, drawn to the host of the mindscape on instinct as the only energy source other than the invader. Another look around, and he saw it, as if it appeared from nothingness. The demon now invading his mind stood around seven feet tall, roughly twice the width of Killian. It boasted massive curling horns, sharp and sturdy enough to pierce steel if need be. The eyes of this creature shone brilliantly with orange pupils and blood-red irises. His crimson skin clashed with the purple below, and his clawed feet tapped upon the marble as he stomped towards Killian. He stopped several meters away, eyeing the young explorer.

“You were too weak to stop this from happening, fool. Now, I will claim your mind for my master.”

Killian could almost laugh, the urge bubbling through his chest and into his throat, but he shoved it down for preference of silence and calm.

“He wants my mind, does he? Because I disgraced him? Is that it?” He didn’t move, watching the demon’s reaction with a growing confusion. This demon differed from the others he’d dealt with on his journey, and he was about to realize why.

“He? Ignorant whelp. My mistress is beyond Zalef’s measure. How dare you compare her cunning wits to such a disdainful brute. Zalef only rules through fear, and has little need for brains with his mundane strategies.”

The demon unslung a curved blade from his back, matching size to his massive torso. A serrated edge and glowing embers mixed with the darkened steel to form a sort of custom-crafted feel. The blade seemed alive, the colors within it glowing and dimming in a steady rhythm. As if it was breathing. Killian could almost swear it was looking at him, and he shrugged the growing shiver from his spine.

“A demon that wields weapons? Are you not confident in your enhanced strength?”

Killian was mocking as much as inquiring. Never had he seen a demon wielding a weapon. Often, their speed and strength was enough to win a duel with any denizen of the Material realm.

“You know nothing of our faction. The trials we face. You think only of your race and your struggles, unaware that events beyond you flow evenly through the passage of time.”

Killian eyed the demon, expecting trickery; a stipulation or reasoning for this freely divulged information. But it seemed the demon was talking simply to talk. Like he was genuinely trying to convince Killian that their entire race didn’t deserve to die.

But nothing would ever convince him otherwise. Nothing.

The demon continued before he could speak. “This weapon is not a tool like the ones you humans craft. Its name is Heliot. It’s a part of me. A part of me that’s going to cleave your mind in two and claim your soul for Kralixa.”

“Tell Kralixa she’s going to need more than you.” Killian kneeled down, placing his palm against the marble and closing his eyes. The deep purple within it resonated from his touch as he slowly raised his hand. His fingers wrapped around a handle birthed from the marble, pulling it further to reveal the basic blade of a withered straight sword. “My weapon is also a part of me. Let’s find out whose parts make the grander sum.”

The demon waited patiently, allowing him to finish the retrieval of his weapon. Killian still suspected trickery, but the behavior of his opponent continued to confuse him. “Chivalry, hmm?”

“Call it what you will. I would dishonor my mistress if I took advantage of a moment so pitiful.”

Killian leveled his sword, so worn that it almost looked to be made of stone. It was heavy, as if it carried the weight of many battles, but the enchantments of his mindscape allowed him to wield it without hindrance. He glared at the demon, eyes connecting across the expanse. A moment of silence followed, neither blinking.

Killian sighed, resigning himself and almost in disbelief at what he was about to do.

“You don’t deserve this, but I respect what you’re trying to become.”

He stomped the ground, massive outputs of glowing energy coming to life before shattering like glass. Fragments of golden light showered the space surrounding Killian, fading to nothing before touching the ground.

“You have banished the deceit you prepared, in the absence of the trickery you expected of me. My mistress may have chosen well, after all.”

“So tell me this, demon. If you’re so noble, then why did you torment a grieving mother and gather monsters in a nearby cave?”

“Misery draws in the miserable, and you’re nothing but.”

Killian paused, but the demon did not continue. “So it was to draw me in, then? Seems a little too convenient. Trickery may not be beneath you after all.”

“As you said, I am a demon. Having a tool in my arsenal does not make it my preference by default.”

Killian rolled his eyes. “No matter the details, do what you came here to do, demon.”

“My name is Silvarin, not demon.” Silvarin’s words carried no anger. He was simply making a statement.

“Good for you.” It irritated Killian that he couldn’t bring himself to hate this demon-that he was almost understanding of his devotion. But he knew what it was like to follow your purpose without worry of judgment. Was he more alike Silvarin that he was willing to admit? Maybe. But that didn’t matter, as his opponent readied a charge without another word.

He readied his sword, meeting the charge head on, confident in the sturdy nature of his sword. The weight of it allowed him to hold fast, halting Silvarin’s momentum as their swords collided. The fleshy metal of his sword clanged like an alloy, but squelched like a being clamping onto its prey. The serrated edges came to life like teeth, bending inward to grip the edge of Killian’s sword. He tried to pull away, but realized too late that it was futile.

Silvarin’s fist cracked against his face, sending him reeling before another punch collided with his skull. Pain in the mindscape was a funny thing. It didn’t affect your body, as pain was meant to, so the feeling became more than a warning or a survival instinct. It felt primal, malicious, angry. As if Silvarin’s soul, if he even had one, was gripping the core of Killian’s in a desperate attempt to snuff it out.

Killian’s demonic energy was stronger now that he’d dissipated some of his protective enchantments; a price he didn’t consider to match the honor of a demon. What a fool he truly was. Maybe it was the demonic remnant within him, or the proximity to a demon. Regardless, it boiled in his veins, striking out as if his skin were a barricade from freedom. He willed it back, kept it in check. To use the power of Zalef, now, in this circumstance…he’d have to kill himself if he ended up winning the fight. There’s no world where properly living past a disgrace like that was plausible.

He gathered his mind and threw his head against the next blow, meeting it halfway to rob it of its full momentum and strength. The pain was immense, but he ignored it. He threw himself forward, launching his shoulder against Silvarin’s torso and bringing them to the ground. He was bigger and stronger than Killian, but it was still only a remnant of Silvarin—and this entire space belonged to Killian.

Silvarin’s grip faltered, prompting his weapon to loosen its grip upon Killian’s sword. Killian rammed his forearm into Silvarin’s face again and again as purple blood surged from his nose. Killian reached back and grabbed his sword, raising it with inhuman speed to plunge it downward. Silvarin pulled his weapon across his chest in a rush, positioning the flat of his sword to block the thrust. Metal clanged against its fleshy counterpart as they both let out a grunt.

“Release! Show him the agony of all they wrought! Show him, now!”

Upon Killian’s screech, the words echoing as if thrown back from the endless dark, his dense blade magnified its weight by a hundred times. Maybe even more. Shouts from a battlefield, screams of women watching their children perish as husbands died in battle nearby. Burning flesh, cracking bones, cackling laughter, muffled sobs. This cacophony of noise erupted from the sword as it pushed down against Silvarin’s blade, snapping it instantly and piercing his chest.

“No! Heliot, return home now!” Blood climbed into his throat, following the laws of physics in a place that only mimicked it. Gurgled noises turned to a choking plea. “Please…return.”

And then Silvarin vanished. Nothing but swiftly dissipating smoke remained of where the demon once lay.

“Thank you. All of you,” Killian whispered to his sword before sinking it back into the marble below.

Mollie had been crying out for help, panicking and unable to tell any of the healers that came to her aid exactly what happened. 

They lifted her mother from the floor and began running tests, leaving the head healer, Winter, to listen to Mollie’s story of black ink. The young girl told her every detail once she had taken a deep breath. Winter grew concerned, but was trying to avoid showing Mollie her emotions. She was already concerned enough about her mother and this stranger, so knowing how serious it really was wouldn’t help the little girl calm down.

She tried to remember her lessons on the subject, but was struggling. “Demon blood, it sounds like...was it Thornbloom that fends it off? Dredgeresin? Damn.” She cursed her memory as she mumbled to herself. All those sleepless nights of study throughout the years were failing her when she needed that knowledge the most.

Deep in thought, while trying to listen to Mollie’s rantings simultaneously, she almost didn’t notice the black mist seeping from Killian’s mouth and nose.

“By the Gods...step back, little one!” She pulled Mollie away from the mist, but it soon evaporated, leaving behind no trace. Just then, Lily awoke.

“Get it away! Help! Someone help!” She was flailing now, the two healers that brought her to the table struggling to keep her still. One of them called out in desperation.

“Winter, help! Please, she’s delirious!” Winter ran to them, still perplexed by the sight of the black mist. She quickly analyzed Lily, realizing that her sudden outburst was most likely connected to the mist, or rather, the ink that Mollie said had left her body. This confirmed her suspicions. Somehow, that stranger on the table had vanquished the demon remnant invading his body and soul. She assumed him to be around the same age as her, and while she was struggling to remember the name of a plant to even slightly help, he was fending off a literal demon with nothing but his mind. Astonishing, was all Winter could think to herself. 

When demon blood is left behind on the material plane, while the demon that left it returns to the void, it experiences coagulation and can be controlled by the demon as a remnant of themselves. However, for the blood to survive in such a way, it takes a powerful entity. This made the stranger that much more impressive to Winter, and she couldn’t contain her…excitement? She wasn’t sure what she was feeling right now, but she knew she needed answers.

“Please calm down, miss. It’s gone now...dead, rather.” Winter held her breath as she waited for a response. Lily promptly relaxed and gave her a wide-eyed stare before letting out a rasp query.

“Are you certain? It said...it said it was done with me. That I would sleep for eternity as it slaughtered my family…”

“It appears it had a lingering effect placed upon you, but it lifted once the demon’s remnant was no more. As the story goes, it looked to find a more desirable host for its needs, so it attempted to assimilate that young man over there.” Winter pointed, and Lily’s eyes followed.

“Killian.” Lily whispered under her breath. “You save us once again…”

She walked over to where he lay and placed a kiss upon his forehead before whispering another thank you. Mollie smiled, hoping dearly that this entire ordeal was finished with. She tugged at her mother’s sleeve, beckoning her to listen.

“Mother, we must bring him back to the tavern! We can’t have him lying here so uncomfortably, and not amongst friends!”

Lily acknowledged her daughter, smiling towards her and nodding in agreement. She looked toward Winter. “Is there any way he may leave now? Assuming all danger has passed, of course.”

Winter placed a hand upon Killian’s forehead and felt no fever, his breathing in normal rhythm once more. After closer inspection, she saw he was indeed around her age, maybe slightly older. One might even think he was quite handsome if she wasn’t professionally inclined to ignore such things. It was also a wildly ridiculous set of circumstances to be having such thoughts under.

“Yes, I do believe he may leave. You said you’re taking him to the tavern?” Winter didn’t look away from Killian, suddenly even more intrigued by one who could vanquish such a foe while both injured and unconscious.

“Yes!” Replied Lily excitedly. “In fact, I’m sure Killian would love to speak to the healer that fixed him up and helped all of us flustered folk to figure out what happened. He is a kind soul and saved our home and daughter. Please, watch over him a little longer.” She was being sincere, and it showed through her luminous smile and determined glare. 

Mollie wasn’t used to seeing her mother smile in such a way, not since the incident. She could get used to this. Maybe not the demons and mortal danger, but all the things that followed, surely. She dared to hope, for the first time in a long while.

The tavern was brimming with life that night. The walls shook from the roaring laughter of bulky adventurers, drunk merchants, exuberant bards, and sly rogues alike — all of which were most likely passing through on their way to one of the major cities, avoiding the dense forests that loomed more inland. The lanterns burned brightly as the flushed faces of many told stories of lands both near and far. 

Henry and Lily were preparing for a night of merriment themselves, currently upstairs testing their garments and looking forward to mending past sorrows, if only for one night. Across the hall, Killian finally stirred, setting his eyes upon what had to be one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen. Her snow-touched hair moved across her shoulders as she looked towards him, bangs falling down her face to greet her bright, cyan eyes.

It’s said that those born with such vibrant and beautiful white hair are truly gifted in healing, and often brought up with expectations of doing so. Being blessed by the Healing Goddess of Frost was both a boon and a curse.

“Hello there, Killian. Glad to see you’re finally awake.” Her smile was just as wonderful, and even brighter to him than the candle on his bedside table in his otherwise dark room. 

“My name is Winter. I’m here to make sure you’ve recovered alright, and I also had a few questions for when you’re feeling better...if that’s okay, of course.” Her next smile was a veil to dampen the anxiety swelling within her. Killian easily sensed that she had no ill-intent, but carried a decent amount of concern.

“Ah, so you’re the healer that was assigned to my bedside. Of course I’ll answer some questions, Winter. First, though, I must ask…did you happen to notice anything out of the ordinary while I was under your care?”

Winter bit her lip lightly, happy that she didn’t have to bring it up herself, but nervous that she might offend him by making him think that getting info is the only reason she stuck around - however true that may be.

“Yes, I most definitely noticed the vanquished remains of that demon dissipating into the air, and you know I have to ask how.” She was determined. Her large, rounded eyes set upon him as she continued to ask. “How did you fend off that demon remnant, Killian Stone?”

He looked directly into her eyes, struggling to not get lost within them. The color of her hair and the relaxing calm that swam through her gaze reminded him of a time when he was younger. When it was okay to be some dumb, ignorant kid, and just roll around in the snow without a care in the world. Those memories were very few and thought lost until this very moment.

“Are you okay?” She looked concerned, her question pulling him from his daydreams and setting him upon the course of a proper answer.

“Indeed, I am. I was just…distracted. My apologies. The demon, yes. The exploitation of their own arrogance usually vanquishes such a powerful foe. A giant may be tripped and crushed by its own weight, but you would need a wire both thin enough to go unnoticed, and strong enough to withstand the impact of its step. That, Winter, is just what I so happened to have. The tools to trip the giant, so to speak.”

The look Winter now gave him held a subtle frustration from receiving such a vague answer, but generated enough interest for her to lean closer, her hand placing itself upon his bed for balance. 

Killian noted her hand, ever so briefly, as he thought to himself that admiring the kind healer in front of him may get him into trouble. He should probably avert his attention to more pressing matters.

Once again, she snapped him from his stupor with a question. “How do I know you’re not the demon, cleverly disguising itself until it’s in the clear?” Her eyebrow raised slightly as her expression became more firm.

“You said you saw the remains of the remnant evaporate from my mouth...is that not proof enough? Besides, no demon can match the uncanny personality of myself. It would drive them mad!” A grin was plastered across Killian’s face, brimming with confidence that he would indeed prove right here and now that he was no demon.

“True...but I am no master regarding demon culture. I know little of the past invasions they have wrought upon our kind, only that they have a supposed hierarchy involving some sort of council.” She pondered a bit, as if to confirm if that was right or not.

“Hmm...you’re close, but not quite there, Winter. Demon-kind only invade this realm to gain access to power they can not otherwise wield or control. Other times, it could be for powerful items. They mainly aim to enslave our more powerful warriors, whether it be through mind control, possession, or just straight slavery. It all depends on the abilities and preferences of the one enacting the subjugation.” 

Winter watched Killian as he spoke, noticing the anger that laced his words. She took notice of how tense this conversation was making him and felt sympathy for what must be causing this. She still had to know more, however much it may upset him.

He continued, sensing that she yearned for more on the subject. “Often, they will invade small villages or areas on the outskirts of cities to pull stronger foes far from the heart of their main defense. Once they have them in a more advantageous location, they will bring an even more fearsome force to claim their power. Others, like the one I just encountered, prefer subterfuge and subtle possession to reach their goals. The more of us they recruit, the stronger the invasion they can rally.”

Winter showed even more interest now, her eyes widening as her questions remained on the tip of her tongue, just waiting for Killian to finish. When he did, she asked the question he knew was coming the moment he told her this information.

“So in this case, why was that demon after you? What makes you so important that he would abandon a possessed host to jump to another? Surely, there are other warriors in this very tavern that were more readily available, if it were simply looking for someone to wield a blade. The same tavern its host had been staying in for a long while.” The suspicion she had earlier seemed to have disappeared, or had at least been set aside. She didn’t ask this question with awe in her voice, but almost rather seemed like she was assessing a threat. This made sense, this probably being her hometown, and her having the mantle of what he would assume was Head Healer.

“I trust you, Winter. For whatever reason.” As he said this, her face turned gentle and her eyes opened wider. He had caught her by surprise with this sudden confession. He figured trust is probably something she’s not too familiar with if that’s her reaction to such a simple gesture.

His gaze narrowed, and he took a solid breath before continuing. “I grew up watching my father bring trinkets and mystical items home from every corner of the world. A renowned archeologist, they called him. A wonderful man that would stop at nothing to claim the secrets of the old world. Battle-sites, abandoned ancient temples, ruins buried among the trees and dirt of long untouched forests...he wanted them all. His ambitions were true, yes. True enough to make him resent his family for holding him back as he lusted for more than just exploration.”

Killian found himself looking down towards the sheets, lost in the recollection of his father and the memories attached. He tried not to think of him too often, but felt the need to tell Winter of these burdens. Maybe it was some kind of confession, or possibly a way for him to remember what set him upon his path to begin with.

“These artifacts would often contain powerful properties, or a locked away spell of sorts, depending on the origin. Once he had a full-time team excavating and exploring for him, he began to show more interest than he should with the artifacts.” He glanced at her and held her gaze.

“Not to kill the already suspicious and nerve-wracking mood of demon talk, but it gets worse, as you might have guessed. My father would enact horrible experiments. He would test his new trinkets and toys, as he called them, on stray animals. Once that stopped producing results, he quickly turned to testing on sickly people who had no homes or family, promising them a hefty sum for their cooperation.”

Winter’s mouth remained slightly open now, her eyes fully focused on Killian’s as their locked gazes allowed them to both entwine with his story; her imagining the atrocities, while he relived the memories. To think this happened in real life, rather than a storybook, was sickening. She knew the world was a terrible place outside of her little town, but here was a man who’d lived terribly by his own family.

 He took a deep breath and continued. “There was an oil lamp by the large shed out back we would keep lit to dissuade would-be thieves by offering light as a repellent. The nights that lamp was snuffed much too early; those are the nights I knew the kinds of things I’d witness if I snuck over to spy on the happenings within. So I did, because as a child I felt as if I alone held the responsibility of witnessing what my father did in the swallowing darkness of the night. I thought to myself that one day I’d have the courage to stand up against him and bring his actions to light.”

A barely noticeable tear formed in Killian’s eye. Winter noticed, doing her best to not give in to her empathic tendencies. She’d listen with the respect this man deserved. Though she’d be lying to herself if she pretended she wasn’t terrified of what she may hear next. She had no idea why he was so willing to speak to her, but that didn’t change the satisfaction of results.

“I watched as men and women alike were set on fire, eaten alive by unknown creatures, enthralled and made to maim themselves, or worse. The list truly does go on. Disturbing acts carried on within that shed, and I was too young, and much too ignorant, to do anything about it.”

Killian’s fist clenched the sheets as he continued. Not once did his gaze flee from hers as she waited with bated breath for the rest of his story.

“My father would soon begin using the more ‘exquisite’ relics upon himself, hoping for immortality or power, I’d assume. His skin would become steel as I watched him test blades against it. Lifting objects with his mind, throwing impossibly heavy items, and even things such as shedding his skin and spitting acidic liquids.” 

Killian grew quieter, a somber tone drenching his words. “None of these boons lasted very long, and they left him drained. Again and again he tried them, and eventually, he went too far. What I hadn’t known is that my father had convinced a sorceress to place a barrier of sorts around our land. One that would block the ongoing energies from escaping into the ether, to not alert anyone or anything that may be sensitive to such energies.” He paused for a moment, contemplating the consequences of telling what came next to a woman he just barely met. 

Fuck it.

Her hand squeezed his, and she gave him a surprisingly determined nod. A flame of compassion and empathy burned within her now. He could feel it. She would not betray his trust, this much he knew. If there was anything he’d gained beyond artifacts and combat experience during his many travels, it was the ability to read most people’s true intentions.

He continued, but he had expelled the somber tones and replaced them with confidence. He was ready to finally confess. That he was finally about to un-bottle years of tightly locked history to a complete stranger just added to the oddity value of his rather hectic time in The Enclave. He almost died today. It was time to tell someone, in case the next time was different.

“My mother was the mage who placed the barrier. She’s a master enchantress, and specializes in defensive enchantments. So when my father’s newest experiment had caused a magnificent explosion, it broke the seal she placed, and she sensed it. I’m unsure of what caused it, seeing as how I was asleep in my bed during this particular experiment of his. My mother reacted immediately, knowing what would happen next, and came to wake me.” 

He hadn’t considered these memories in over a decade, but he could remember everything as if it had happened just moments ago. The more he thought about it, the more vivid it became.

“By the time she shook me awake, the cackling of demons filled the air. She took my hand in hers and dragged me out of bed. I’m just truly thankful that my sister, Vivien, was staying with a family friend that night.” Winter continued to hold his hand, just the same as his mother had that night. She sensed that the real story, and the answer to her original question, was about to surface.

“We ran from the house as I stared at the remains of the barn, knowing…or hoping, that my father had died during whatever was taking place. It was dark as sin in the dead of that night, but the air surrounding our little plot of land shimmered with every color on the spectrum as the barrier crumbled. At least it seemed like it was crumbling. Looking up at it, though it was blinding, I could see that it was being shattered and torn away by dozens of creatures. Like children feasting upon their first batch of sweets.” 

He let out another sigh, surprised that he was going through with it. Even more genuinely surprised that Winter was still listening intently without a single word.

“Mother saw the barn, and the damage done to it. She held my hand and focused, almost passing out for a moment before regaining herself. I know now that she was enhancing the protection she’d placed on me at birth.”

He sighed before continuing. “She looked me in the eye and sternly told me to wait a moment while she retrieved my brother. Then she took off sprinting towards the barn.”

Winter looked confused, clearly wondering why a mother would leave her son in the middle of a demon-strew field, even to retrieve the other. “She must have been quite confident in her protections to leave you like that.”

“She was…” His eyes shut tight for a moment. This was the moment.

“Have you ever heard of the demon Zalef?” Winter shook her head, her white hair making quiet sounds as it brushed against her long-sleeve dress.

“We mentioned a couple minutes ago that the demons manage themselves off of a power-based hierarchy. Zalef is quite high on that list. He is the spearhead for most of the material-realm invasions. Known for claiming artifacts of old and using their connection to our plane of existence to spread his power and influence throughout regions of land at a time.” He paused for a moment, seeing that Winter was understanding where this was going next.

She spoke hesitantly, afraid to hear the answer to her own question. Her only source of confidence was that this happened so long ago, and demons did not consume their realm. Not yet. “So…Zalef was the one leading these demons? For what I’m assuming was to claim the artifacts your father had been so loosely using once their energy became noticed?”

Killian was giving a light nod as she spoke to affirm everything before finishing the thought for her. “You got it. And the blowback from his final experiment destroyed the barrier and essentially lit a beacon that said, here be artifacts, come get ‘em!” Winter giggled a bit at this, and Killian couldn’t help but notice that he really enjoyed the sound of that laugh. Maybe he hit his head a little too hard in that cave.

“My mother may have been a master enchantress, but she was known amongst nobody. They essentially sold her off to my father when she was of age, so she could never make a name for herself. Being adept at enchanting, my father made her continue those studies so she may be of further use to him for purposes other than just children. That must be why Zalef was caught off-guard by what happened next. A barrier is one thing, but enchanting the actual soul of another human is a different subject entirely. Especially when she had just taken a moment to reinforce that same enchantment.”

Winter stiffened a bit, ready for the climax of the story. It was still hard for her to believe that this was a memory, rather than some folklore story.

“As the creatures moved on to combing the land for anything they could get their hands on, Zalef showed himself. I can remember the warmth draining from my body as my hair stood on end. I felt like an insect being washed down a roaring river. Mother was running back, holding my unconscious brother, Malus. Zalef unleashed a torrent of voidfire in her direction, forcing her to drop Malus and erect a hastily made barrier. She was already weakened from what she did to me, and reacted too slowly from having to drop Malus. Some flames clung to her before she could block the rest.”

Killian stood up and stretched a bit, feeling how sore his body was from the fight with Keira and the ordeal in the cave. Winter didn’t move, again waiting patiently for him to continue. He looked back at her after his stretch and smiled, admiring her patience. 

“Sorry, had to get that out. Feels as though I’ve been used as a chew toy for some horrendous beast.” She simply smiled and patted the spot next to her. He accepted the gesture and sat back down before continuing, appreciating the chance for a small break.

“Zalef, as high of a rank as he is, still requires sufficient energy to stay in the material realm. Usually as innate energy that they drain from humans along the way. Children haven’t been worn down by grief and stress, so their energy is usually abundant, while untapped by their underdeveloped brains. With my mother knocked out and little Malus fretting over her, the stunned twelve-year-old me was the nearest target for the demon.” He paused a moment.

“He looked straight into me and everything began to burn. It was as if I was being thrown into a cooking pot with no water.” Winter winced as he continued.

“He only took a few steps closer to me as I held out my arm to keep him away. At this moment, it felt as if my arm was being ripped from my body. His very aura was draining my energy from the first point of contact.” He was now staring down at his hand, opening and closing it slowly, as if reliving the moment.

“I could feel myself beginning to pass out. The right side of my torso and my entire right arm had lost all sense of feeling. The pain crept up my face, into my eye and the right side of my skull, blurring my vision and lighting my world ablaze. Until almost as fast as it began, the pain ended. It felt as if I had returned to normal for just a moment before something entirely unexpected happened. Zalef fell to his knees, the glow from his red eyes dimming as I felt warmth and anger swell within me I had never known before and never known since. Not in the same capacity.”

He locked eyes with Winter once more. A signal that this next piece of information was something special. Something he had kept within him for twenty years. Maybe it was being in this small town, knowing this info would remain tucked away in this corner of the world. Maybe it was the look in her eyes. Maybe he just needed to say it.

“Not even my mother could have predicted what was about to unfold. It was that protective enchantment placed upon me at birth that stopped the demon’s advances, the one she had reinforced. But then it did more. It reversed the flow and did to the demon what he was trying to do to me. It almost seemed to do it out of spite. Demonic energy flowed into the same areas of my body that he was draining just seconds before. The enchantment didn’t just stop his aura, it also drained what energy he had mustered to visit our realm that night. Demonic energy he had most likely been cultivating for decades, if not longer. All at once.” 

He stopped for a moment to survey her reaction. What he saw was a mixture of awe and fear. He waited a moment, making sure she didn’t have questions thus far. Right as he was about to continue, she did indeed lobby a question.

“I would imagine that demonic energy doesn’t just dissipate. Especially if it was…absorbed, and through a powerful enchantment nonetheless. So what did it do to you? No child, enchantment or not, could walk away unscathed from such an encounter.” She no longer looked fearful. It was replaced with determination, a habit of hers that he was beginning to admire.

“I most definitely was not unscathed. The energy manifested itself within my arm, the right side of my chest, and the right side of my head. Everywhere the demon’s aura had touched me before the reversal. I can trigger it when under extreme distress, but there is a price for each time I do it, and controlling it is entirely too difficult. If it wasn’t for my mother, and some work of my own…well, that will have to be a topic for another day, when I have some ale in me.” He smiled. A dry, hollow smile, but an attempt to be himself.

Winter was speechless for a moment, unsure of how to react to the expulsion of such a revelation. She knew he wasn’t lying, but she almost couldn’t believe it. Never in her years of medical training and mixed stories among her colleagues had she heard of such a thing even being possible.

Slowly, he stood once more, rubbing his bruised shoulder. “Winter, I think it’s about time you and I grab a drink together. What do you say?” He grinned at her, as if it was an offer she couldn’t refuse.

She stood, still bewildered and unable to speak properly. How could she? This man, around the same age as her, had most definitely experienced more than she ever did and maybe ever will.

She grew up in The Enclave. She worked hard in school, had a solid group of respectable friends, and always tried to make Mother and Father happy, as well as the town itself, when possible. She never took part in any time other kids wanted to take bites of skitter, a common and addictive drug that earned its name through the feeling of skittering bugs on your skin as it kicked in. Not only that, but she had only really been drunk a single time in her life.

Her best friend growing up, Ana, was convinced to eat an entire portion of skitter and was practically turned into a living husk. The two boys responsible were stripped of their family names and are now considered outcasts by most townspeople for not only dealing skitter, but convincing someone who was new to the drug to eat a potentially lethal amount. This wasn’t an entirely negative situation, though, not for Winter.

When she was told of Ana’s condition, she rushed to the healer center and found her bedridden in a forlorn corner of the tent, forgotten and discarded. Winter looked into her eyes as she lay there, trapped within her own mind, reality forever lost to her once lively friend. She wanted to, no…needed to help her friend. She had been researching healing techniques and practicing since an early age under the supervision of her mother, who used to be a healer in the city of Waper.

“You’re going to be better, Ana,” she said before her hair began to glow. 

Innate energy is commonly known to be kept within the brain and channeled through the mind. Those amongst the chosen few for a particular type of energy-wielding often see their own hair glow or rise from the sudden surge of energy pushing forth from their soul itself. This energy powered all manipulation and conjuration in this world, aside from pre-imbued items and old relics.

Ana woke moments later, feeling as if she had never taken the skitter to begin with. The entire healing community was bewildered, and the rumors of a child born with the snow-white hair of a pure healer blessed by the Healing Goddess of Frost became more than whispers on the tongues of curious folk. Winter quickly grew into the prodigal role her mother hoped her to achieve from an early age. Afterwards, she rapidly became the youngest Head Healer to grace The Enclave since its creation.

Winter never had a large ego, and she surely never thought of herself as anything more than a gifted healer. She knew, though, that what she had accomplished in her time so far was nothing to be scoffed at. 

She had even been sent a student from a far-off city to tutor at one point. That same student had become one of the closest people in her life. They even shared a kiss at one point, but it never evolved further than that. The day her student returned home was one of her most somber memories.

Even with that, she felt as if the experiences of Killian were far out of reach. Intrigue flooded her thoughts, entirely overwriting any sense of fear or hesitancy from moments ago. She would get the answers to whatever questions remained, but not right now. Right now was a time for change. A time to do something she would have never imagined.

She briskly stood, arms and hands much too straight to her sides in show of a nervous fit. “I would love to get a drink with you, please!” She blushed at her spontaneous enthusiasm, but he did nothing to enhance that embarrassment. He simply reached his hand towards her, suddenly a gentleman.

“Happy to have you, Winter.” The smile he wore now was something she would never forget. The excitement in her heart swelled till bursting, filling her with energy and renewed motivation. The healing prodigy, boring and humble at heart, would get a drink this night with the most interesting person she had ever met, and she was ready.

Her boots left no sound on the cobblestone as she walked through the town of Krile, ignoring the much too apparent stares of most she walked by. Not only was it odd to see a woman so fitted for combat in the middle of a town, but her outfit was sleek and fit to form, leaving little to the imagination. Her small bust wasn’t much by her own standards, but she knew what she had to work with as she moved her hips a little extra. She was looking to ease her boredom and blow off a little steam.

One man on the tavern porch called to her in a less than civil tone, asking her to drink with him. If she wasn’t in the middle of a town, she’d gut him and leave him there to bleed out.

Actually…

After some ‘debate’ with herself, she decided to have a bit of fun, regardless. She gave him a wink and walked behind the tavern, to which he followed like a sodden puppy looking for warmth. Nobody would see them in the winding alleys of this city.

Good thing about being a woman in a city like this? Every man underestimates you.

“Little thing like you, wearing a tight fit like that? You’re beggin’ for it, ain’tcha?” His cheeks were blushed, the alcohol practically dripping from his pores.

“Glad you think so. I’d hardly wear this for any other reason than a fine man like yourself.” Her voice was alluring, passion dripping from every syllable as she drew her gaze from him and walked further into the darkness. She scoffed at the man under her breath for not having noticed the several sheathes lining her legs.

“That’sh a damn good girlll, shtop playing hard to get now…” The drunkard slurred his words as he took one unbalanced step into the sunless part of the alley. 

Keira’s hand gripped his tunic tightly and pulled him towards her before drawing him into a deep kiss. His body relaxed as he finally got what he desired. Just as she wanted. She drove her knife deep into his belly, twisting it around in his guts as his eyes went wide. All those relaxed muscles allowed her to easily stab him to the hilt as she smiled against his lips. He tried to pull away, but her other hand held him close with surprising strength, muffling his cries with her mouth before slowly dragging her dagger up to his ribcage.

Blood spilled from his mouth and onto hers as the light faded from his eyes. He was dead before his body even hit the ground. She licked her lips and stepped on his neck with a twist of her heel, just to hear the satisfying crunch. 

“So trusting of a strength that was never present. Easily broken toys were made to be such.” She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, licking clean what was left of the blood. She giggled, ecstatic to have found a quick outlet for her bloodlust.

The streets welcomed her back just like it would anyone else. A few more glances shot her way, business as usual. Some folk, however, were beginning to notice that the man she lured just moments ago was not in tow. Screams erupted from the alley as his friends went searching for him. A smirk crossed her face at the thought of it. She couldn’t care less about any of the weakling nobodies in this city. Though there was one individual she should definitely pay mind to, and that had a time limit she was about to surpass.

As if sensing the growing impatience from her handler, she quickened her pace to the nearest inn. There were dozens of people on the street, mixing with mounts of all kinds. Horses, reptiles of different sorts, even a couple of birdlike ones capable of flight. This made her pathing more difficult, but not impossible for her small frame.

Krile was the hub of civilization on the eastern side of the continent. Kroniker came close, but only because of its Mage Academy. Naturally, this brought traders, mercenaries, and citizens looking for an opportunity of work or opening a shop. Normally, Keira would avoid such places out of disgust, but this week had other plans for her.

She was told to head north to and through Krile after dealing with Killian Stone. Sometime along the timeframe of that journey, they would give her further orders. Normally, a Bladequeen will meditate three to five times a day. A deep enough meditation to put them into a mental state akin to sleep. It was then that their handler would reach out to them through their bond, relaying entirely untraceable orders while maintaining complete privacy. The only way to get information about a Bladequeen’s work was to torture one, and that was a fruitless task indeed.

Keira’s mind often raced back and forth much too frequently for these meditations to be possible. Her handler thought that was a load of shit, but she was actually being honest. Thus, her meditations were few and far between. The bond to her handler strained against the back of her neck like a pulled muscle. She could sense his anger and quickly grabbed a room at a lower-budget inn within the middle of town.

Once in her designated room on the second floor, she kneeled upon the rug that lay in the middle of the mostly barren space. She hadn’t slept in days, so this should be much easier than normal. Her recent activities with that waste of a man would also contribute to a more calm mind. The meditation took effect much quicker than she expected.

“Dammit, Keira. What am I supposed to tell the Mentalists when they keep asking to tune you, but you keep ignoring me? It makes me look like shit when I tell them no on your behalf.” The irritation was palpable from her handler, causing Keira to flinch, as if she still had a physical form within her own mind.

“You know how much I hate this crap. Mr. Stone wasn’t pursuing any kind of artifact, and he got feisty with me as we danced. I let him go out of respect and came straight here.” She held her breath as if she needed air in this realm, silently waiting for an answer.

“On the topic of Killian Stone, there is more reason for me wanting an earlier communication than my personal preference. Vivien, Killian’s sister, is being hunted by the Arcane Torrent because of recent events. You can NOT let them take her, for the potential within her would prove troublesome for our order if she ends up joining them. Go further north, to the forest adjacent Kroniker. Locate the cabin hidden within, using the intuition I’ll provide about its location. Pray you make it in time, Keira. If you don’t, I won’t have any more leverage to stop them from fucking with your head. This is not a game. Use your recent interaction with Killian and the saving of her life to make her an ally. We will need her for future endeavors. Go. Now.”

The meditation ended immediately, jerking her back to reality as her eyes went wide with urgency. Normally, Bladequeens avoid any kind of unneeded attention, so they often traveled on foot through whatever dense environments they could, avoiding cities and the like. This was anything but a normal request though, and demanded immediate action. That, and speed.

She ran towards the window and dove through it, fists leading the way in a pointed pose that turned into a quick tuck and roll. Just two steps is all it took to reach one of the flight mounts from earlier and throw its owner from the saddle. The sounds of rushing wind drowned his shouts of protest as she increased her speed and elevation. Normally, taking another’s mount would be difficult, as they are mostly loyal beasts.

Keira had let loose an aura of innate energy, holding nothing back, forcing the gryphon mount to submit and take off at top speeds.

I’m beginning to like the Stone family a whole lot. This is fun!

She screamed with uncontainable joy into the never-ending expanse of sky surrounding her. The mount barely paid mind as he pushed his limits, careful to not upset his new master. As he flew, Keira ordered him to fly towards Kroniker. 

“Wake me once we’re close, Beak-Head.” The sodden gryphon let out a gruff sigh after hearing his new nickname.

Once satisfied that the gryphon understood her, she laid back against the fluff of his feathers, deciding to finally get some sleep.

“Proxus, has she been made to heel?” A robed figure, black against the white marble surrounding them, hissed at him for answers. Her long silvery hair spilled from the hood to surround her sleek features.

“She’s not a mut, Xila.” Proxus clenched his hands at his sides, unafraid to show his growing irritation. 

“Could have fooled me.”

Proxus turned fully toward her, rage glowing in his yellow eyes, a clear indicator of a Bladequeen’s handler.

“Aww, look how much you care for our most rabid of toys. When she speaks, does foam emit from her disgusting mouth? Or maybe a gift from the last man she fucked?”

“ENOUGH!” Proxus reached towards her, his hand enveloped in a darkened velvet of volatile energy. His shadow receded and climbed up his thin form, joining the energy gathering in his hand. His own hood lifted to reveal shining blonde strands underneath, writhed in a powerful aura.

“Drama with you. Always drama. No wonder you’ve managed to stay as her handler for so long.” She glared dubiously at the energy still gathered within his hand. “In the end, as long as she saves Vivien, then everyone is happy–including me. My, my, though…how I would so love to prod around inside that head of hers again. This time, with more…intention.”

Proxus dissipated his energy, his shadow returning to its rightful place upon the marble below. “Leave, Mentalist. You’re not needed here.”

Xila turned with a confident sway of her hips, a smile cutting the lower half of her face in a maniacal manner before throwing malice-laced words over her shoulder. “See you again soon, Proxus. And your pet.”

When not in her recurring nightmare, or the endless dark of a dreamless sleep, Vivien often dreamed about the Gods. Out of her small time at the academy, history was the one subject she took the most interest in. Old Gods, New Gods, all of it. Tonight’s dream was different. She was reliving her fondest lesson, taught to her by Vladus himself, head of the academy. A memory she’d never forget, remembered often alongside the ones she wished she could.

“So, in your own words, explain to me the origin of this world, leading up to The Old War’s conclusion.”

Vivien took a breath, glancing at her notes before beginning. 

“We live in the Material realm, once made up of a single landmass. Animals, plants, the world as we know it, were already in existence. The Material is a living thing, which produced an extension of its will–Alfira, the first Old God. It granted Alfira knowledge of all living things on the planet, knowledge that flourished into true intelligence as she produced her own additions to the Material. Her energy grew as she readily used it, no longer needing to borrow from Material’s abundant supply. She evolved too quickly, her excess energy eventually bending and warping the space around her. Material reacted to this development, stripping Alfira of her excess energy and infusing it into another being before she could damage the realm. This being was Exva, the second Old God. The two shared energy between one another, quickly developing a bond that some say is the first true love.” Vivien paused briefly, contemplating before continuing.

“Good, yes. And what came next?” Vladus remained at his desk, looking nowhere in particular, but glancing at her every so often. It was only them for this review, seeing as how she needed the assistance. Vivien had joined the academy rather late into the curriculum, but he didn’t mind helping such an exceptional student.

“Exva grew rapidly, developing his own personality as Alfira became the muse he loved more and more with each passing decade. Eventually, he created beings in her likeness. Beautiful, slender, powerful. Similarly pointed ears that Alfira herself used to listen to the world they managed together. Their longevity was so pure they would never see a natural death among their kind before The Old War was over. These beings were and are known as Elves.”

Vivien met eyes with Vladus, checking for disapproval or otherwise. He simply nodded, a gesture to continue.

“Much the same as the creatures of Material could, he gave them the means to reproduce, but couldn’t resist giving them something more–the ability to manipulate and conjure. Elves were the first beings of the Material capable of creating something on their own. These had limits, of course. They could only create what Exva held reign over–water, stone, lightning, wind, fire. An unintended consequence of this would be their evolution. They grew in number, living amongst wooden homes and pathways in the trees that covered a majority of the world. The energy surrounding their largest populations saturated the realm in dense pockets, but Exva and Alfira had faded into the background, too infatuated with one another to pay enough mind.”

Vladus coughed lightly. “Sorry, my dear. Please, continue. This is the important part. The relevant part, if you will. Speed it up. I don’t need every detail.”

Vivien frowned, knowing that details hold the most important parts of history.

“Nobody knows if it happened in an instant, or one after another, but the pockets of dense energy created explosions on an otherworldly scale, damaging the Material realm and splitting the land into multiple masses. Material reacted as a lifeform without emotions would. It defended itself against the threat in a quick and violent manner. Its days of creation would end, but not until it had created the third and final Old God–Kragsk, the first Demon. An uncaring, unloving being with only one purpose; bring an end to the creatures that were harming the realm.”

Vivien flipped to her next set of notes, excited to wrap up this review.

“Kragsk’s first creation was The Void. It exists alongside the current world, on the other side of the tears created by the explosions. Energy seeped through these tears, all funneled into The Void. Material used this excess energy to create its own race of creatures, led by the first of their kind and the most powerful by far. It boasted scales that absorbed the surrounding light, defining darkness to a new definition. A gaping maw lined with teeth screeched the first feelings of fear into the creatures of the Material. Sanguifas was his name, the first Dragon. The first of many. They had massive wings to carry their weight, easily flying above the treetops of the Elven homes and scorching everything within sight.”

The mention of scorching fires reminded Vivien of her thirst, giving her pause to drink from her cup. Vladus waited patiently for her to continue, as he did every time she had this dream. As if she was meant to remember these lessons for as long as she lived, no matter what.

“As they laid waste to the world, Kragsk built his own within The Void. Eventually, as his abilities matured, he grew powerful enough to generate his own unique energy. A corrupted energy that was rejected by the Material realm and kept him contained within The Void. Alfira and Exva had inherited Material’s world as their own, and swiftly came to its defense. Alfira created a race of creatures that could thrive underground, away from the deadly dragons, and utilize special materials that she’d been funneling excess energy into since the explosions. The dwarves, of which had no energy themselves, could use the surrounding materials to create special weapons and harness energy from what they call ‘shimmerstones’. The war raged on and Humans came into the mix as a median between Elves and Dwarves. Able to wield energy, but not as effectively as the Elves. However, they were more versatile with weaponry and craftsmanship of their own, and populated the mainland as they assisted in the war.”

Vladus raised his hand. “Good. Shorten your explanation where possible, but otherwise, this has been sufficient. Now go over the end, and then you may leave.”

Vivien nodded, aiming to simplify the final acts of The Old War. “Hmm…dragons continued to fight as Sanguifas gave birth to a daughter, Xentilus. While the war raged on, Kragsk had been making beings capable of briefly traversing the Material before their energy dwindled and they had to return. They abducted Elves, Humans, and Dwarves in an attempt to make hybrids capable of living in the Material. They succeeded, the Elves being the most powerful of the three when corrupted, while Dwarves simply faded away when brought to The Void. The Elves and Humans, however, lost their ability to wield energy and gained amazing speed and power.”

She flipped to her final set of notes in haste.

“Xentilus grew tired of their proud race fighting for a god they never laid eyes upon, so she killed her father and made a treaty with the races of the Material, securing peace for themselves atop mountains of the four Barren Isles. The Demons soon began to lose the war, even with their hybrids. Exva and Alfira were believed to have died while exterminating the last of the Elven hybrids and closing the tears, leaving the other hybrids to be overtaken. The Elves, terrified of becoming targets for abduction, closed themselves off in Greenweave. Dwarves retreated into their caverns, unable to be corrupted for they had no innate energy. Humans continued to populate what is now known as Matrudia, the central continent of the world. The tears are still closed to this day, but when enough power is gathered, more can open temporarily. That’s it, right?”

Vladus clapped slowly. “Quite a lot of information. You did well to learn it so quickly, notes or not. I could tell you only glanced at them. Real quick, though. What was Alfira’s final act?”

Vivien winced as if the question burned her ears. It reminded her of too much sorrow.

“She split herself into many objects and dispersed them across Matrudia when she died. Exva then sacrificed himself to power these Relics of Alfira. This would only be discovered later, after the war. They had been long buried until us humans began uncovering them. Humans like my father.”

Thoughts of her father and his misdeeds plagued her, bringing anger and shame. She trembled and her breathing became rapid as her chest tightened. Vladus’s words were no longer reaching her as she fell to the floor. And then she woke.

Vivien winced as the sunlight lashed at her vision. The window beside the bed she laid upon had its curtains closed, but the light had taken advantage of the small space between them as it began its daily cycle. Now that the sun had both effectively woken and blinded her in one fell swoop, she decided it was time to begin her day as well.

This decision ‘rewarded’ her with massive pain all throughout her torso, causing her to recoil against the backboard of the bed. The sheets fell from her as she looked down at the linen gown that adorned her. Gazing into the neck piece, she noticed her entire chest wrapped tightly in bandages. Being of average bust, this was extremely uncomfortable, but she assumed there was a good reason.

Once she focused a bit more and ignored her pain, she realized the bandages were actually emanating a rather soothing aura. This was a moderately adept healing technique, and it was then that everything came rushing back to her. The storm, the Zitrul that created it, and the battle that ensued were fairly clear to her once more. She was almost certain she had killed it, figuring she must have lost consciousness from the over-exertion and pain coupled together.

She briefly noted a piece of parchment laying upon the nightstand to her right and grasped it with her slender fingers, being sure all the while to not turn so much, as it caused too much pain. She quickly looked over it with growing concern.

Vivien Stone, I have saved your life. Your enchanted clothing may have softened the blow from your fall after defeating the Zitrul, but the ensuing injuries and broken bones would have been your end, regardless. At the time of writing this, you have been bedridden for two days. I would have liked to convey this message in person, but I am needed elsewhere.

Pay close attention so you fully understand. Where you’re being treated now is a cabin along the river that cuts through the middle of Kroniker’s less than friendly forest. You are miles from your home and Kroniker itself. If you leave this cabin, your bandages will evaporate, and the healing that was administered has been curse-laced to do quite the opposite if you choose to leave. Any attempt to remove them will end with the same result. I know this is a vile act, but it is necessary as well. If you were to leave and be taken, it would be a fate much worse than death, and a danger to everyone else as a result. Stay here until I return, if you value your own well-being. The cabinets in the main room contain enough food for the time I will be gone, and there is a water tap as well. I am sorry, but I only take these precautions for the good of everyone, including yourself. I can’t let someone like you fall into the hands of the Arcane Torrent.

Worry not about your mother. She is safe within the walls of Kroniker.

Her reaction was more docile than she expected of herself. She supposed that if they really wanted to harm her, they would have done so while she was unconscious. She also understood that her powers in the hands of Arcane Torrent would be absolutely horrific. That’s the entire reason Vladus told her to never show off her energy levels without good reason. Arcane Torrent would strip her of all free will, of her humanity, if she refused to contribute and rise within their ranks. After which, she’d be used as a tool for whatever they wished. Revenge, bounty hunting, war on other organizations, even controlled genocide in the most extreme cases.

The pain was still pulsing through her, but a grumbling stomach was urging her to find some of the food the letter mentioned. She perused the cabinets, spotting wrapped and salted foods, dried meats, vegetables, and more. A rune inscribed on the door of one said cabinet was emitting an aura of cold air to keep some of the more delicate foods fresh.

Not many people would casually wield energy for such mundane tasks, though she gave them credit for cleverness. An undetectable and rather useful use of inscriptions. 

She decided she would at least attempt to ration, seeing as how she had no actual idea of how long her captor would be away. She also had zero inclination to test the threat in the letter by leaving the cabin. Mother was probably worried beyond belief, but better to return to a worried sick mother than not at all. Mother was smart, and would know that failing to find a body at the scene of the battle meant there was at least some ounce of hope. She would cling to that, this she knew.

After munching on a single stick of celery and a one-third portion of dried meat, she took some water from the tap and sat in a nearby chair to think. There had to be some kind of enchantment on the tap for the water to taste the way it did. She was enjoying the interesting indulgences of her host. She decided her best action now was to wait, so she began to recollect the memories involving the fight with the Zitrul.

It felt good to use her abilities, though she knew how much effort she would have to put in if she really wanted to perfect them. If she had already done so, she most likely would not have fainted as she did. After meditating on it for some time, she made the decision to hone her energies as soon as possible, assuming she would get the chance. Mother had been pleading for her to refrain from using innate energy as much as possible in order to avoid unwanted attention, but Vivien knew damn well that her old life was now over. It was worth it to save all those innocent people that would have surely suffered to that dragon’s rampage. The storm alone would have wreaked havoc upon the less fortified portions of the city.

She made her way back to the bedroom and allowed herself to fall on the bed once more. She brushed the dark hair from her eyes and stared at the beautiful wooden ceiling as she tried to think of all the ways her mother might react. On that note, she wondered what Killian would say when he saw all that she planned to achieve come to fruition. She had always looked up to him, but there was still the hanging dread of regret and frustration accompanying any thoughts of her brother. Even dead, their father still caused distress within their family, both through his “legacy” and the decisions Killian had made to right the wrongs of their father.

In the end, the only hope she really had regarding her brother was that he would be around to see Mother again before her conditions worsen. In the meantime, Vivien would do her best to both care for her and live up to Killian’s example in her own way. 

Several days of captivity passed as Vivien strengthened her resolve. She’d made the decision to master at least minimum control of elements around her. After escaping from this cabin, if she escaped, she would move on to more advanced training. She could remain docile no longer with her talents. It was time to use what she had for the ones that had nothing. She’d figure out the rest as she went, including where to bring Mother so she would be cared for properly. Maybe Vladus would know?

Using a lit candle, she manipulated and grew the flame, taking care to not singe her surroundings and the bandages that were simultaneously acting as both medic and jailor. After a couple days of practice, she could now manipulate the flames into a small dragon the size of her hand and have it fly around the room. This precise level of manipulation was definitely considered advanced, but Vivien’s latent abilities made it less cumbersome to master. After a dragon, she made the flames do all sorts of interesting maneuvers; rapid growth and deflation, splitting into multiple motes, forming a multitude of shapes and flying in precise patterns across the room. This was easy in blatant application, but would prove more difficult during live-action combat.

She repeated this process with every element. Water from the tap danced around the room as she willed it to morph in a beautiful way. This brought a much-needed smile to her face. Her eyes grew wide with the beauty of her own creations as she made the liquid take the shape of a water nymph. She had the nymph pretend to conjure water across the room, only for it to dissipate immediately before impacting upon a wall or nearby object.

Her hair rose from her shoulders as her energy flourished to grow a budding sprout between the floorboards of the cabin. She could easily fix the damage with the same manipulation she was using now once she finished, so she wasn’t too worried about it. 

Her energy output was only now enough to make her hair rise because nature manipulation required an entirely different level of energy. For rapid growth of plant life, expansion of soil, or anything of the sort, it required immense concentration and a rather sizable energy pool to perform it multiple times within a day. Mingling one’s own energy with the energy already emanating from the world itself was difficult. Almost like asking nature for a dance before realizing you’d be dancing to a style of music you’d never heard before, and you’re floating rather than standing on your own two feet. 

This part took her a week, whereas the others had only taken two or three days at most. Even then, she could not do very much with it beyond making the sprout grow to waist height. After giving up on doing anything further, she burned down the sprout she had grown, and did her best to regrow and fix the planks that were ruined by her experiment.

She had saved the best for last. Wind, lightning, and everything in between had always been her specialty. A normal mage would find that they were naturally more adept with one element. They could attempt to learn others and can almost never learn the one element that they were not attuned to. This was one rule that always held true, as far as she knew. 

With a more gifted individual such as herself, one element could be created out of nothing, rather than manipulated; commonly referred to as conjuration. The others could be used to an average level, unless trained further. Her unattuned element would prove very difficult to use, but it would be possible. With Vivien, her strong suit was wind and lightning, and her most challenging was nature and stone. An academy would immediately classify her as a destruction type mage. This always sounded so evil to her, but she couldn’t argue with the facts.

As easy as breathing, she manipulated the air around to create small winds and picked up various objects to move them around the room like little puppets. She then moved on to creating sparks, up to a couple dozen at a time, all around her. Controlled bolts flew around the room as she exercised caution. Lightning and wood usually weren’t a good mix, but she was confident in her ability to control it. This continued for hours as she fell in love with her abilities all over again. She’d been so focused on her mother, and so worried about Arcane Torrent, that she had all but forgotten how much it used to mean to her.

The efforts and energy expenditure had worn her down, warranting a much-needed rest. When not used to it, spending energy in greater amounts, and in so many ways, seemed to have an exasperating effect on the body. It was like a hunger no food could sate, and a thirst no liquid could quench.

Vivien retreated to the bed she’d grown accustomed to. Her nightmares had subsided as of late, offering her a slight reprieve. She had to think that maybe living in a real nightmare bullied the ones from her head into submission. But she knew it couldn’t be that easy.

Sleep came quickly, her body accepting the offer and pulling Vivien into a slumber much like an inescapable quicksand. So deeply submerged in the miasma of her mind, she didn’t wake.

Not when the barrier to the cabin was removed. Nor when the door opened and excited footsteps crept across the expanse of the main room. Not even when a hooded form entered her room and slipped into the space above her, face hovering inches from her, lips quivering with restraint.

A whisper escaped the lips now hovering above her own. “Finally, so close. So very close. After searching, and wanting, and wondering, you revealed yourself like a beautiful moth across my window. Finally, my sweet muse, you are before me. I will be your light.” The figure shuddered, no longer able to contain his excitement. He bent down, lips locking with Vivien’s in a wet and wanting kiss, sucking and nipping as she stirred from her dreamless abyss.

Her eyes snapped open and her hands shot up from her sides, lightning beginning to form on instinct as she pulled her face away from him.

“Shhhh, shh, shhhhh.” He seethed the hushing noises as he wrapped a gloved hand firmly over her mouth before slipping a blackened dagger into her side. He avoided any vitals as her flesh parted and blood soaked the steel. Her lightning dissipated immediately, energy leaving her as it became sealed by the blade.

“That’s a good girl. It’s a sealing blade…and as long as your blood is upon it, no more sparky sparky. You’re mine now. All mine and just for Cline.”

Vivien was gripping the wrist of the hand holding her mouth shut as her wide eyes showed a fear that seemed to fuel Cline’s strength. Her second hand joined the first, trying desperately to wrench him away from her, but to no avail. He was strong, deceivingly so for how well his coat hid the features of his body. He held her down and pulled the blade from her, dropping it to the floor before bending lower to lick her wound, lapping up her blood like a starved fiend. “I’ll keep you clean…no dirty toys. No mess. Share your secrets with me. Give me your essence.”

 She screamed into his hand, panic and pain swirling through her in synergized dissonance. Her body felt weak, and for the first time, she felt no connection to her energy. It was gone, and along with it, all her hope and confidence. Tears streamed down her face to join the snot from her nose as she broke down, her entire body straining as she shook her head and violently fought back. But she wasn’t able to do anything but exhaust herself further.

The edges of her vision darkened and brightened again, blurring and distorting the colors of the room illuminated by the falling sun that poured through her window. The slurping and licking continued for what felt like hours. His tongue explored and prodded a scolding poker, stoking the burning embers that scorched her flesh from within. She didn’t know if she was dying, but she hoped if she was, that it would happen soon. All her nightmares and fears…they were nothing compared to now. Children’s stories in the face of true horror. She was living in never-ending agony and would never be ignorant to it again.

“Tell me, my pretty plucked flower, how this next part feels. I must know. Is it bliss? Is it torture?” Cline lifted the blade from the floor, his hand still firm on her face. He wiped her blood clean from it against the sheets. Her energy returned to her, her chest rising with the elating feeling. It was euphoric to feel it return in such a rush. Just enough to feel alive, but not yet enough to conjure.

And then he plunged the blade into her again, into the same perfect little slit he’d made the first time. And now, even worse than before, she was empty as energy faded and pain swelled. Her screams turned manic, escaping his hand and absorbing into the surrounding wood of the cabin walls as it continued again and again. Wipe the blood, blade in, blade out. Wipe the blood, blade in, blade out. Again. Again. Again. His whispers were the only difference as they filled the gaps between her muffled screams, the rustling of the blood-soaked sheets, and the sound of wet metal entering and exiting her torso. His words tortured her, entering her mind and registering as the only human thing to latch onto. It was maddening, but she couldn’t help but listen as the overwhelming rush of her energy returning and the despair of it leaving again in a never-ending cycle was confusing her body and rendering her limbs useless.

“Is it orgasmic?”

The blade slips in.

“Am I bringing you to the edge and back again?”

The blade slips out.

“You don’t ever want this to end, do you, my little flower?”

He wipes the blade clean.

“Let me pluck those petals. You’ll be so beautiful when they grow back.”

Again.

“Cline. You belong to Cline.”

Again.

“For years, I’ve searched. I knew you were real.”

Again.

Through warped vision, she gained her senses just enough to push her hand against the cold mask that covered most of his face, searching for strength that wasn’t there as she desperately struggled to shove him away. His eyes searched hers after he grabbed her hand and lowered it once more, unbothered by her weak efforts.

“Good, you’re ready now.” He stopped the agonizing routine that dictated her new existence. Five minutes was all it took to rewrite everything she knew about pain and suffering.

He stood, releasing her mouth as she gasped through sobs. He sheathed the dagger, her blood coating the lip of its scabbard as it collected the excess amount lining its steel edges.

He lowered to lift her when a deep voice sounded through the room behind him. “Stop. Now.”

Cline paused, his eyebrows furrowed under his mask as his lips stretched thin with irritation. “Back so early. Back so quietly. Nylus, is it?”

“Arcane Torrent is not welcome in Dryvera’s forests. In fact, I don’t think they’re welcome anywhere.” Nylus took a step forward, hand clenched within inscribed gloves as they hummed in anticipation. His long, maple-colored beard grazed across his clothing as he tipped his head forward to growl another warning. “I’ll kill you without another thought, if you give me reason.”

The newcomer’s voice differed vastly from Cline’s. Deep, warm, safe. Vivien turned her head slowly, the motion seeming to wither the last of what she was. Her body was weak, her muscles drained and her bones petrified beneath her skin. Her neck threatened to snap like a withered stem as she turned it further. Blood seeped lazily down her side from the wound, bleeding less than it should from such a repeated mutilation. What she saw dared her to have a sliver of hope.

A rugged warrior of the wild. He boasted a muscular frame, coated with intricate tattoos that told tales of the ancient forest goddess, Dryvera. With an axe slung confidently over his broad shoulder, he embodied the spirit of a tree become man. His thick, maple-colored beard framed a face hardened by the elements, yet his sage eyes were darkened with the burdens of the forest. Clad in a simple tunic and sturdy suspenders, Nylus looked furious and tense.

“Fine, fine, god-slave. You have me. But unfortunately for you, I know followers of Dryvera are pacifists. I’ve killed your kind before…tasted your blessed blood. That’s why this cabin’s protection was nothing to me.” Cline stood, pulling the dagger from its sheathe and turning, Vivien’s blood clinging to it as if it was honey. The last slivers of sunlight licked across the mask he wore, the material absorbing the light as if it had a hunger for it.

Nylus lowered the axe from his shoulder to his side, holding it firmly in one hand as he spoke. “I’m not her follower. I’m her enforcer. Now get the fuck out of our forest.” He began stepping forward, stopping just outside the doorway as Cline readied the dagger.

“One more step, and I’ll gut her for more than just pleasure.” Cline’s hand brought the dagger to rest against Vivien’s chest, the sharp point of it pressing gently against the divot between two ribs. She let out a pained whimper in response, her emerald eyes dimmed to faintness as they begged Nylus for help.

“Alright, tell me what you want.” Nylus lowered the axe, relaxing his body to show he wouldn’t take action. Cline’s smile showed teeth through the opening in his mask as he snickered to himself.

“I want you to go bye bye, so I can plant my little flower somewhere else. Now, Flyn!” He turned his attention to the wall next to him, as if speaking through it.

Nylus tensed, raising his axe swiftly as quickened steps approached from his left. A flash of steel swept through the air in an arc of bent light, severing his axe arm. Nylus reacted quickly, reaching for the throat of his new attacker before another swipe could be readied. He caught the assassin off-guard with his immediate action, finding purchase on Flyn’s throat with a large hand and slamming him into the wall hard enough to forcibly disarm him. 

Flyn’s curved sword clattered to the ground as he flipped out two daggers and sank them into Nylus’s remaining arm. Nylus didn’t flinch, reaching the stub of his severed axe arm toward its separated companion that lay upon the ground in a splatter of his blood. Small vines pushed through the wooden floor to wrap around the arm and bring it flush to his body once more. It wasn’t long before his hand around Flyn’s throat loosened its grip, the muscles along his forearm having been destroyed by relentless stabbings.

Flyn leapt back, catching his breath and straightening, brandishing the sword he’d snatched from the ground during his short retreat. Before Flyn could recover, Nylus had reattached his arm with the blessings of Dryvera and was holding his axe once more. His other arm was quickly healing the wounds made by Flyn’s daggers, as if being mended by the Goddess herself.

“He can’t be killed this deep into the forest! Grab the girl and go!” Cline’s shrill voice reached out from the bedroom and into the living room where Flyn nodded as if Cline could see him. Lightning erupted from Cline as Nylus turned to face him. It struck the axe like a lightning rod, growing in power as it ran through Nylus’s body. His muscles seized as he froze in place.

Flyn moved swiftly, avoiding a graze with the electrified Nylus as he passed into the bedroom and shattered the window with a kick before grabbing Vivien from the bed. Cline’s strained request reached through Nylus’s booming screams of frustration as he fought against the current.

“Flyn, cut the bandages on her chest with the sealing blade! I can sense the magic in them, and it won’t do to have her die from such a silly enchantment.”

Flyn didn’t hesitate, grabbing the knife and slicing through Vivien’s shirt and bandages in one clean motion without so much as touching the skin underneath. The exhausted and traumatized Vivien fought back weakly, but same as before, couldn’t muster any kind of actual strength. She felt the magical promise fade from the bandages as they fell away from her. She didn’t know whether to feel relieved or terrified.

“You dare use the girl’s own abilities to steal her away?! Inquisitor abomination!” Nylus was yelling against the shock coursing through his bones, his muscles straining as the veins in his neck bulged with his surge of adrenaline. The inscription on his gloves began to glow as Cline’s efforts weakened and Nylus regained more and more control.

Several seconds were all it took for the lightning to entirely absorb into his gloves, returning control of his body as he turned and hurled the axe at Cline without hesitation. “Borrow something from me instead,” he said with malice as the axe embedded itself in Cline’s shoulder.

“Damned mongrel…god-fearing waste of flesh! How fucking dare you fling such a barbaric weapon at the likes of me?!” He ripped the axe from his shoulder as vines erupted from the wood below to claim his legs.

Cline reacted by shoving a hand downward, flames engulfing the vines in the same moment before flinging the axe out the open window. As his eyes followed the axe, he saw Flyn tossing Vivien aside to the grass below, pulling his sword to prepare for something Cline couldn’t see. He could hear a sly voice, female, probing, from somewhere outside. Before he could maneuver, to get a better look, Nylus was rushing him.

Cline quickly surrounded himself in a pillar of conjured flames, aiming to dissuade Nylus and light the cabin aflame as a distraction. The heat was immense, already beginning to sear his flesh. He would need to dissipate the flames quickly and use wind manipulation to escape back to base. He readied to lower the flames, satisfied that Nylus had been forced to retreat.

But he was so very wrong.

Nylus burst forward through the flames, his flesh falling from bone and tendon underneath as it burned away, his arms still reaching for Cline in frenzied determination. Cline couldn’t react in time, the charred hands of his foe clamping around his throat. Survival became his only instinct, directing all of his flames to Nylus to turn him into a smoldering fireball at the cost of more damage to his own body. The hand remained on Cline’s throat, almost choking him to the point of blacking out before it finally let go. Nylus went limp, now just a man-shaped inferno falling to the burning wood below as the cabin began to fully engulf in the flames.

Cline quickly dashed for the window, ignoring the burning sensation throughout his body. He dove through, coughing wildly as he impacted with the ground. He would need a moment or two to concentrate enough for wind manipulation. His energy was low, but it would be enough.

Cline’s blood-soaked hands gripped into the soft grass below him, lifting him enough to look ahead. The blood seeping from his shoulder wasn’t as distracting as the pain from the wound itself, but he blinked through it at the sight before him now. Two figures in a stand-off, Flyn on the left, a Bladequeen on the right. Cline recognized the attire instantly. Behind them both, a gryphon adorned with riding gear was watching with an almost interested glare.

Keira noted Cline briefly, focusing instead on Flyn with analyzing eyes of amethyst and an eerie smile.

“Release her to me, or die.” She looked at Vivien, noting the wound on her side, the traumatized and glazed eyes, the guise of a victim. It stirred feelings within herself; feelings that chewed through her like a beast. She knew the look of one who felt less than human. A pawn. A plaything. Rage filled her words, her smile twitching, begging to turn to something more sinister as she held it in place and locked her eyes onto Flyn. Daggers flicked outward from her slender hands, catching the light of the raging flames that quickly worked to consume the nearby cabin.

“On second thought, I think I’ll just kill you, regardless.” She snapped her head quickly to Cline, her smile broadening briefly. “Both of you.”

News of the cleared cave brought high spirits to the patrons of the tavern. After many cheers and free drinks for the man responsible, an ecstatic and very much tipsy Killian sat beside his new drinking companion.

Winter reveled in their chat as the night carried on. She told him of her story, and how she came to be head healer. She shared her limited repertoire of memories with him as he listened to every word, sipping his ale all the while. This was only the second time she’d been intoxicated within her lifetime, and damn, it felt great.

The ongoing stares of several patrons within the tavern didn’t bother her, because she felt safe next to Killian. Something she never knew she wanted, and couldn’t shake the comfort of it. She could most definitely show fangs and be tough when she had to be, but feeling like she had someone strong to depend on was something else entirely. She’d been relied on for the entirety of her adult life, both by the town as a healer and her parents as a prodigy. Maybe it was her turn to rely on someone, even for one night.

Henry and Lily were with them for a time, but the stress and lack of rest had caused enough exhaustion for the both of them to turn in rather early. So remained Killian and Winter for hours on, and suddenly, Killian found himself dancing with a beautiful woman. A strong and talented woman. Whether it be the drunken stupor, or something else entirely, he felt as though he could relax.

Then his eye twitched, and his breath stopped short. His steps stuttered mid-step, the walls warping as the lights dimmed slightly. A pulse of pain shot through him and he closed his eyes reflexively as he gripped at his chest.

When he opened them again, every patron in the tavern was splayed across the floor, the walls, each other. Their blood-soaked innards matted the walls and gleamed with a disturbing freshness. Intestines hung from the lamps and wrapped themselves around the tables as faint screams played from a backroom behind the bar. The room was tinted with a red hue as the wooden interior of the tavern seemed to breathe. 

Whispers crept into Killian’s skull as he slowly turned his head towards Winter. Her arms and legs were nailed to the wall, her body displayed to all the dead, lifeless gazes of a corpse-filled room. Even in death, she was an angel. Her light blue dress was shredded and her bare chest was torn open from within. Crippled ribs protruded from her corpse, dripping with the remainder of her heart. The death of a splendid healer and wonderful woman did so much to destroy his own heart that he vomited without a second thought. As he crumpled to the floor amongst the rest of the filth, he sobbed. His chest heaved, and the tears flowed. He was a child again, lost in a world too cruel to fathom.

Reality seeped back into existence, crawling its way back to the forefront of Killian’s perception. The only remaining facet of the recent experience was that he still laid upon the floor in a crumpled mess. Some looked concerned, others laughed. The dancing continued. The ale flowed. All was normal.

Winter called his name, her voice laced with care and panic, a fusion he couldn’t yet process. Her vision blurred from the ale, but she could easily see that he was not okay.

With some help from the tavern keep, Winter managed to place Killian back in his room. She checked on him once more, noticing sweat upon his brow. He was rooted to reality once again, but the terrible vision still gripped his thoughts, and his head felt like it was splitting open.

She turned to leave, figuring she would respect him enough to not treat him like a child and give him some space. She would check on him later, just in case. Before she could take another step, his hand gripped her wrist with surprising gentleness. A silent plea, followed closely by quiet words.

“Please, Winter. Don’t leave me, not again.” The words seemed silly to him, this being their first night getting to know one another, but they had a connection now. More than either of them knew.

She was perplexed, if not curious, what he meant by ‘again’. She turned to him and sat on the bed, eyes upon his as they seemed to lighten upon her gaze. He sat up and they shared a moment as the tavern grew back to life below them. He leaned forward slightly, but pulled back quickly as if burned. The image of her ravaged corpse still plagued him, and he was doing his best to not feel sick. 

As he closed his eyes to clear his mind, Winter’s delicate hands played at his back and torso to lower him to the bed once more. He didn’t resist, allowing her to lay him back. She squeezed herself beneath the covers next to him and rolled onto her side, letting the effects of the ale dilute her shyness. She slid her slender leg over his and carefully wrapped an arm around his stomach as she laid her head on his chest. Then she whispered to him, the same way she would to a distraught loved one. This is because she’d already made a choice. She knew what she wanted and where she wanted to go.

“You don’t have to tell me what happened, you need only let me be there for what happens next.”

He pondered her statement as his head swam. Despite her words, it was hard to focus. For however small her frame was, the warmth she emanated seemed to reach his soul and heat it from within. Her subtle breath in the dim, candle-lit room was the only sound he could hear, even above his heavily beating heart and the rowdy patrons below.

He placed his hand on the small of her back, letting himself sink into the pillow as she made herself more comfortable, becoming more snug against him and beginning to drift into sleep. The events of the day and the after-effects of drinking and merriment finally took hold of them as they both fell into slumber. No nightmares found their way into Killian’s sleep that night. It was a much welcomed change.

Fully dressed and ready for what the day would bring, Killian took some time to stretch and breathe a bit. Mulling over the events of the previous day was proving to be a lot. He couldn’t be upset with the results of what unfolded, but the visions resulting as a side effect from the demonic energy he exuded worried him some. From what he gathered in past experiences, they could last up to a week, or just be a one and done type of situation. Nothing he could do about it anyway, he decided before strapping the reclamation pouch to his belt and stepping out of his room.

Walking down the stairs to the tavern, he wondered if Winter was experiencing any trouble with her task. Despite everything, she decided to join him on his journey. One, to learn more about the world, and two, to go on an adventure of her own. She expressed how she had always disliked being a ‘prodigy’, and despised being expected to do one task and only that for the rest of her days. It took some moments of consideration, but she finally resolved to go inform the other healers that their leader would be taking a longer than temporary leave. 

He warned her that this journey was most likely going to be dangerous, to which she replied, “Mr. Stone, now that you have a full-time healer, you can take all the hits you want!” Her following smile was breathtaking and full of true joy, and he couldn’t have been happier to see it.

“Mr. Stone is not something I ever thought my ears would have the displeasure of hearing. Especially not twice in such a short time.” She tilted her head at the mention of it happening another time, but he continued. “Nor do I wish it to happen again.” He chuckled and tapped the end of her nose, to which she crinkled it and stuck her tongue out at him like a child. 

“But yes, I’ll take all the hits. It’s what I do anyway, since I lack the skill to dodge.” She snickered at that, if not nervously, since he might actually be serious. He wasn’t, but she didn’t need to know that yet.

“Only difference is I have a dedicated healer of justice now.” He laughed, and she gave him a glare that told him ‘healer of justice’ is not the title she desired either.

So now he was off to Henry’s stall, where he would convene with and thank their family one last time before heading to gather Winter for the journey ahead.

Approaching the stall, he saw what he could only describe as a happy family, for possibly the first time since the death of their son. Mollie danced upon the top of the stall as Henry yelled at her and Lily snickered, hand covering her mouth, hoping her husband didn’t hear how one-sided this situation was against him. Killian couldn’t help but smile to himself as he approached.

“Hey now, Mollie, better get down before you give poor Henry here a heart attack.” Henry turned to see a grinning Killian, and his flushed face grinned right back at him.

“Killian, my boy!” He smacked Killian on the back, almost knocking him to the ground. “Need anything before you head out? And is that healer lass really heading out with ye? The mayor won’t be so pleased. I’ll tell you that much.” Mollie had hopped down from the stall and was now rocking on her heels, excited about her chance to speak.

Killian recovered from his stumble and stood upright, hands on his hips, before replying. “Sure enough, once we shared some stories and drinks, it seems Winter has a keen taste for adventure.”

“Among other things,” Henry grumbled under his breath in Lily’s direction as she nodded and gave a slight laugh in agreement.

Ignoring Henry’s comment, but taking a moment to smile at it all the same, Killian continued. “Yes, well…sorry to the mayor and all those who may need her help in the future, but she assured me there are many talented healers within the ranks here to make up for her absence. I’ve never really had a traveling companion, to be perfectly honest. This will be a new one for me.” He glanced at the mid-morning sky, the sun reflecting the hazel hue of his eyes as his black hair moved with the wind. 

Henry crossed his arms, preparing his goodbye as Mollie piped up. “Killian!” She started excitedly, but quickly grew quieter as her gaze fell to the ground. Lily eyed her curiously.

“Thank you. For avenging my brother. For saving me. And for killing the evil thing that was in mother.” Her expression was now firm as she looked up to meet his glance, her tiny head tilting back to make it possible. 

A couple of seconds passed before she finished her thoughts with a surprising amount of maturity. “We feel like a real family again, and I will never forget you for as long as I live.” She ran up and hugged him, her little arms wrapping around his waist as he placed a hand upon her caramel hair.

“I should be thanking you, Mollie. I was done for and had underestimated my enemy and the situation. Without your help and motivation, I’d surely not be standing here today.” She continued to hug him and squeezed tighter as the mixture of emotions within her caused tears to fall down her cheeks. She looked up at him again and pushed herself onto the tips of her toes to whisper to him.

“Your secret is safe with me!”

He tousled her hair a bit and gave her a thankful nod before she pulled away to stand next to Henry, nodding back with a smile, tears and all. Killian took one last look at them as he noticed Lily silently mouthing the words ‘Thank you’. He gave her a slight nod, remembering how the ale the night before had allowed her to tell him she felt as if she had always been, and still was, a burden. He told her otherwise, but knew that was a wound that only time would mend. Especially after her mind was shrouded by a demon remnant for so long.

“I’ll never forget you, Locke family, for as long as I live. If I’m ever close by, I’ll give you all a visit.” They waved him off as he turned on his heel and set off to collect Winter.

As Killian entered the Healing Center, he heard several voices arguing in protest. Thinking to himself, he considered maybe it best to let Winter deal with them on her own. On second thought, she was only in this situation because of his influence, so in he went.

“Hello there, ladies!” Killian stepped in nonchalantly as his boots tapped upon the stone. This resulted in four angry women wearing white dresses, and one confused Winter, all staring at him in what was now complete silence.

“Whelp, this is awkward, so I’ll just say it. I’m sorry to you all, but I’ve commissioned Winter’s services for the foreseeable future, and I’m willing to accept responsibility for whatever hardships this is causing you.” Winter glanced nervously at the four women, waiting for their response. She didn’t have to wait long at all.

The first and only one to speak was the eldest of the four. Clearly, she was to be the new head healer in Winter’s absence.

“Young man. Killian, was it?” To which he nodded with a smile. “The main issue with your…commission, is that Winter is one of the few reasons people actually visit The Enclave; to see the snow-haired angel of healing in the flesh. Granted, it’s a long journey for most, and it doesn’t bring in a substantial amount of traffic, but it’s enough to be wary of losing her.”

Winter cut in, shedding her embarrassment and shyness from a moment ago. “I am not some object to behold simply because of my healing prowess. I refuse to let you treat me as such.” Her eyes showed resolve, and her voice was heavy with disgust. This was obviously something she had been dealing with for the majority of her adult life.

“Winter, that’s not what I was meaning. I was simply trying to reason why-”

“No. It is exactly what you were meaning, Mariel. Don’t pretend to act like you care about me for anything other than my title. I’m entirely through with all of this. Killian is not commissioning me. I am not being hired, nor am I being persuaded, dissuaded, or bribed by anything or anyone. This is entirely my decision, with no motivations or reservations besides the ones that I’ve constructed. I am leaving. Now. Deal with it.” 

In one motion, Winter turned, grabbed Killian by the arm, and walked out of the Healing Center for quite possibly the last time.

“Wow, you really gave it to ‘em. You even scared me back there.” Killian laughed nervously, still being dragged along as she stomped towards the market. The market square divided into multiple sections, with the produce and ingredients on the opposite side of gear and armaments, so it would be unlikely that they run into any of the Locke family here and now.

After a couple minutes of silence, aside from the ramblings and conversations of stall-owners and their consumers, they finally arrived at what seemed to be Winter’s destination. A quaint stall, with flower-dabbled vines hanging from the top cover, and several plants occupying the space around the main counter. The humbly small woman standing behind the counter approached the edge of it and set her glowering eyes upon Winter, a warm smile complimenting her gleeful gaze.

“Well, well. You only come to see me directly when something interesting is brewing.” The merchant did indeed seem excited, which slightly confused Killian. Wasn’t she just a typical herb supplier? He would think that routine visits by a healer would be nothing but normal.

Winter waved her hand in dismissal. “Forget all that. Aside from the usual requested ingredients, I’m going to need the more volatile selection.” Winter leaned on the counter now, using the word volatile rather dubiously. Despite the care in which she used her words, an almost sinister smirk adorned her face. Killian had yet to see this side of Winter, and he most certainly didn’t mind it.

The merchant seemed to understand the context of Winter’s words now as her face became tight and focused. She briskly turned, beckoning them to follow as she shuffled over to the corner of her little storage tent. The interior was consistently peppered with all manner of herbs and plant life. After moving several bags of fertilizer that were almost as big as her from the corner of the room, she gripped the moss-covered metal ring of a trap-door.

Killian looked incredulously at the small woman, and again at Winter as his excitement boiled. “And here I was thinking my healer companion was doing just another routine shopping trip.” Winter quickly shushed him, to which he raised his hands in surrender before following her down the now open entrance.

The cellar-like room was surprisingly spacious, and Killian really did wonder how such a space was secretly commissioned. Also possible that the space might have been there before she set up shop. He would love to ask, but knew now was not the time. Now was the time for business.

As Winter discussed her interests with the mysterious merchant, Killian took the time to truly admire the amount of professionalism in the presentation of goods that filled the room. Shelves lined the walls, featuring ordinary bottles and vials in order of size, followed by filled versions of the same, organized instead by the color of liquid and amounts within. 

Monstrous plants that seemed to breathe were gushing various gases into an intricate system of tubes that were all connected to a fairly large copper canister. Several rows of herbs lined the wall opposite of the one containing the vials and potions. The colors of these herbs were wildly versatile and very pleasing to the eye.

“By the Gods…” Killian whispered to himself as he realized the need for secrecy. By his surveyed conclusion, there were over six types of poisons present in the room, ranging from paralyzing to just plain lethal; at least twelve different ingredients used in explosive alchemical concoctions; and various other objects and mixtures that he hadn’t a clue about, if he was being honest.

After handing several bags of various materials to Winter, the merchant turned towards Killian and smiled at the awe and excitement in his eyes. “I see you’ve taken a liking to my little black market operation.” Her arms crossed in satisfaction, obviously proud of herself and everything she had built. 

“Now, I’m assuming you’re trustworthy. One, because you’re with good little Winter here. And for two, because you don’t seem even a tad appalled. Quite the opposite, in fact. I respect that, young man.”

“I assure you, I’ve seen many evil operations, with many horrible people attached to them. I am confident this is nothing like those, but I would be lying if I said I’m not curious about the motivation behind it all.” Killian was bent over as he spoke, inspecting a translucent liquid that stirred curiously of its own accord within a massive flask.

The woman mulled over his words, nodding in understanding. “Many creatures wander around The Enclave, seeing as how we are located fairly far from any other civilization. Bandits and hooligans are not entirely common, but they do prove to be an occasional issue as well. Now, I will say that I only serve those I know, so I avoid any of my wares being used for nefarious reasons. If random or less than desirable folk come asking about any of my special product, I politely turn them away. If trouble proceeds beyond that, the markets have their own guards, and there are usually capable fellows at the tavern, taking the long journey around the forest and stopping by here for a day or two. Could always hire one of them to rough someone up as a warning.”

“So you sell these items for protective and security purposes, then? I understand defending yourselves against nature and man alike, but some of these poisons I recognize are a little over the top, I’d think.” Killian wasn’t trying to prove her wrong or dismiss her words, but his curiosity remained unsated.

“You seem to be seasoned, so I need not tell you that some creatures out there are truly fearsome. So much so that what would prove instantly lethal to a human might still only slow down such a beast. If I can give our budding adventurers and traveling healers even a chance at defending themselves against dangers such as these, I’ll do my damned best to do so. This point actually brings me to a question I had for you.”

“Go right ahead. I’d be happy to answer any questions you may have. I appreciate your honesty.” At this, Winter wore a delighted expression. To her, meeting Killian was a turning point in her life. A chance to see the world, and with interesting company at that. She could be no more pleased that he was also getting along with just about everyone he interacted with. Kindness was a commodity rarely found, especially among strangers.

“Alright. My question is simple, at least by my standards. Excuse me if I ask more than a couple for clarity.” Killian nodded, not minding that one bit. 

“Why are you in The Enclave? What is your goal? And why do you require Winter to journey with you?”

Without hesitation, he answered. This surprised the merchant, but Winter did not share in that surprise. She expected this from him. Respected it, even.

“I came to The Enclave because it is the foothold town in the eastern realm of the continent. This also leads to my goal. Several weeks ago, a hooded woman bumped into me as I traveled through the main square of Farul. She asked if I had checked on my family lately, and specifically mentioned my brother Malus. When I questioned her why, she replied with, ‘He resides to the east. Find him.’ After that, she disappeared into the crowd.”

Both the merchant and Winter looked to be deep in thought, but still attentive. He continued after taking a breath.

“Now, I should mention that my sister and mother were very much against my journey before I even began it. I originally left to collect relics from around the world so they could never be misused, but this random encounter with the oracle changed my course. I left home ten years ago, so I really have no clue what is happening. I was a week west of here when this happened, and my old home is in the northeastern corner of the continent, near Kroniker-a rather long trek. So I figured on my way back home, I’d check for Malus in every location I could on my way to see good ol’ mom and sis.” 

Killian paused a moment, his expression tinged with something close to regret.

“I’ll admit, I’m concerned by the oracle’s words, but I will not ignore the plight of others for the sake of my own goals. Never again. Hence the reason I helped the Locke family, which also led me to meet Winter. Besides, she said nothing about speed.”

The merchant nodded, curiosity swimming through her gaze as she waited for the end of the story. Winter was still turned towards him, silent and thoughtful, piecing together everything with the information she already knew.

“I can answer this next part.” Winter chimed in, to Killian’s surprise. He smiled at her as she gave him a cutely smug grin. 

“After treating him for the better part of a day, he shared part of his story with me and we spent a rather enjoyable night at the tavern he was staying in.” To this, the merchant elbowed her with a sly grin plastered on her face, eyebrows raising in an annoyingly suggestive manner.

Killian laughed, but Winter was not so amused. “Nothing like that happened! Tell her, Killian.” Her lips formed an almost pouting expression, which Killian couldn’t help but find adorable.

He raised his hands, wearing an expression of innocence and guilt, the duality doing nothing to help prove her point. Winter let out a deep sigh, knowing she would not get his support on this. The merchant simply giggled and motioned for her to continue. She didn’t get the chance though, as a mess of commotion broke out above them. 

A loud clang of falling objects and what sounded like some angry cursing as another thump hit the floor. Without hesitation, Killian shot up the ladder and into the tent. By the time the merchant and Winter had clambered up the ladder after him, he had already subdued someone with unseen means.

Whoever was in the tent moments ago now lay on the floor a couple feet in front of it, next to the stall. They writhed as if struggling against a mighty beast, but to no avail. Killian simply stood there, a smile on his face, one arm raised as if gripping something. Winter gave him a quizzical look as he met her stare.

“Spidersilk steel. Obtained from Manticore Arachnids in high peak caves. Happened to get my hands on some of it a while back. Makes for a fancy, almost unseeable way of subduing others.” 

He looked proud of himself, and Winter was inclined to agree that he should. She leaned forward while squinting, hardly making out the glint of a small thread in the morning sunlight.

“Thank you, my boy.” The merchant said before taking the sack from the boy’s belt and fishing her stolen goods from it. “Ah, trying to nab my dragonthorn, eh? Can’t say I blame ya, though you’re unlucky that such a capable fellow was in my company.” She threw the empty sack back onto the boy and motioned for Killian to let him go. Seconds later, the boy was free and Killian was dropping the near-invisible spidersilk steel back into his reclamation pouch.

“Is that a common occurrence, or are you just feeling generous today?” Killian asked this light-heartedly, but genuinely wanted to know.

“It’s not common, but it’s also my fault for leaving my area unattended for such a long period of time. There’s not a lot of external income to The Enclave thanks to our location, like you mentioned earlier, so it can be rough for certain folk.”

Killian fell into deep thought, but only for a moment. “Well, maybe one day that will change. I hear the main cities are looking to extend their trade routes and influence, so who knows?”

The merchant shrugged, obviously not too concerned with it. “Did you get everything, dear?” She asked with a smile, looking towards Winter.

“Yes, thank you again. I don’t want to be a burden to Killian, so I feel this was necessary.” She looked at Killian through her peripherals, hoping he didn’t take it as her not believing in his combat prowess, but a generous intention.

He was nodding, hands on his hips and a slight grin on his face. “Smart girl, because our journey could get quite messy. I would tell you again that it will be dangerous for a healer, poison and explosives or not, but I have to take the selfish route this time.”

She gave him a quizzical look as to his meaning, so he clarified. “I have enjoyed our chats thus far, and I would honestly enjoy not being alone during this journey, as hesitant as I am to involve you in potential family matters.”

Winter waved off the notion that he would be bothering her with any of that. “You’re doing me a favor, Killian. Trust me.” She smiled, and he felt guilty for letting his mind wander to how beautiful she looked.

That smile was just as important to him now as any other treasure he’d claimed over the last decade.

“But you have to do me a favor first!”

Killian tilted his head, a sneaking smile surprising him as it crept its way across his face. “Oh? What could that be?”

“You’re a self-sustaining adventurer.” Her finger was up, as if she was teaching him some forbidden knowledge.

“Yeah, and?” His curiosity was swelling.

“Surely, you know how to fish?” He nodded, quickly seeing where this was headed. “My father always told me it was a man’s job to provide, and wouldn’t teach me. So…I’d like you to. Please.”

Her voice softened at the end of her request. She was nervous of rejection. This was obviously more important than she was letting on.

“I gladly accept. It’s the least I can do.”

He let out an oof as she jumped forward and hugged him tightly before hopping up and down. “Okay, let’s go!”

The nearby lake was teeming blue with the light dancing upon its surface. Killian had fashioned two rods from suitable branches. He hacked away the extra bits from them and smoothed makeshift grips, ensuring to find the best combination of malleable but sturdy wood. On the ends, he cut grooves to tie spidersilk steel tightly into them, weaving the other end of the steel through various bits of mushrooms that would look rather enticing to a passing fish. Finally, he enchanted the tips of the silk to be more rigid and durable, creating a hook of sorts.

Winter was giddy, gladly accepting the makeshift fishing tool and plopping herself onto one of the closely grouped flat rocks they were treating as convenient seats.

“It’s actually happening!” She lifted the rod and examined it, rubbing the steel silk between her fingers and closely inspecting the notches Killian had made. “Okay, so…what do I do?”

Killian laughed briskly, something he should have allowed himself to do more freely during the last ten years.

“Well, when you get a bite, the end of the rod is thinner, but tough, so it will have a noticeable dip. You will feel a tug…”

He continued to explain, giving her some extra gloves needed to pull at the steel silk when necessary. An hour passed by quickly, with Killian catching two, and Winter none. Despite this, her excitement didn’t waver. The same eager glow she wore earlier remained.

Finally, she had a bite that wasn’t immediately lost. After a small struggle, the medium-sized fish was hers, spooking her slowly with the intensity of its flips and flops until Killian ended its struggle. They cooked their fish, enjoying a late lunch together as she told him some stories from her childhood. He returned the favor, hazel eyes glowing in the firelight, drowning the light of the flames with buried regret.

It was a good day. One of many, he’d hoped.

Lifeless eyes stared into his, a perpetual state of shock instilled upon the corpse that now fell with him. The force of his blow had knocked the mask clear off the Inquisitor, the face beneath a grotesque form of mutated flesh.

Roman’s legs were screaming out at him, the pain shocking his entire nervous system as he attempted to muster wind manipulation. He couldn’t. He was spent. The enchanted stones enhanced his stone conjuration, but drained his energy reserves rather quickly. He pushed at the corpse, sending it away from him to a satisfying distance. He probably could have found something useful on it, but he had more to worry about, and that fucker was ugly as a demon’s asshole.

He looked below in hopes that Qavras had somewhat recovered, only to notice the extent of damage done to poor Big Red. Massive holes of torn webbing littered his wings, offering little resistance to the air around him as he slowly lost altitude. Blackened scales of a dim red hung loosely from flayed skin. One eye was forced open through sheer will, the other damaged beyond what natural healing could fix.

As much as he felt for the poor bastard, this meant one thing for Roman.

It meant death.

“Well, shit. It was fun while it lasted.” He glanced downward, dreading the minute or so before impact. “Ah, who am I kidding? This life fucking sucked.” He closed his eyes, trying to remember anything good beyond the small fragments of joy floating in a cauldron of misery. Beyond the innocent star that was his sister, he could only think of one thing. Bread. Bread was pretty fucking good.

“Goodbye, bread, I’ll miss you. See you soon, Sis.”

The vision behind his eyelids darkened. A cloud? No, it was gone too quickly. A rush of wind followed soon after. Whatever it was, it was moving quickly. He opened them to see a flash of white swoop down below him. Seconds later, he was on the back of a serene creature. White scales with beautifully tipped colors of a deep blue that almost looked purple, dancing on the ends as the wind moved them. Just like the nightdranga flowers back home.

“Hey, thanks. Friend of Qavras?” He was feeling fairly nonchalant about this new development. Guess everything just sort of flows right after accepting your death. Or he’s in shock. Who knows? Both? Probably both.

Sadly, she ignored him. Rude.

“Oh, awesome. Good to see you’re friendly.” 

She shook her head in response, clearly frustrated. Then he saw it, the tether being sent to him from her. He accepted it, knowing the last thing she’d expect would be for him to know how it works. He cleared his mind as the tether connected, readying his second attempt at communication.

“Your scales are marvelous. You remind me of a rare flower from my homeland.”

She didn’t speak in return, but he received an emotional response – his ability to speak through the tether clearly surprised her. A moment of silence passed as she confirmed Qavras was slowly making his way to a rock below, her crimson eyes darting to his massive red form.

“You going to help him, or is he just going to die down there by himself?” He strained to keep the tether from breaking, the pain in his legs growing each passing second.

“He will be fine. A Scalemender will be sent to his location. Stop speaking to me as if we’re equals. I dislike you, as I do all of your kind.”

“Well, I appreciate the honesty. Glad to see Big Red will be alright. Him and I are friends now, I think.” No response from her, emotional or otherwise. He tried again. “What is your coating, if I may ask?”

“It seems Qavras has given you initial lessons already. And you listened. Good.” He winced in pain, his legs suddenly reminding him once more that they were very broken. “What is hurting?”

“I’m surprised you give a shit, to be honest.”

She huffed, a chilling breeze washing over him for a brief instant.

Cold breath?

“Yes”

“Shit, sorry. Was thinking out-loud, literally. You’re a Zitrul then. A Frost-Zitrul.” She didn’t seem upset about him knowing, so he pressed his luck further. “Zitruls are usually pretty aggressive from what the dusty tomes at the academy taught me. You…don’t seem so bad. Why didn’t you just let me die back there?”

“We would need to acquire another one of your kind if you perished. Powerful human mages are rare. Rarer few are the opportunities to obtain one. A warrior will not suit our needs, as they can not quell many foes at once or strike wonder and awe without so much as a weapon that we don’t have the means to maintain.”

“Remind me again why you need such a lowly human mage to relay your messages to the surrounding humans?” Okay, now the irritation emanating from her was palpable. He was worried she might shut him out, but he needed to know.

“They trust their own kind much more than one of ours. Direct communication from a dragon breeds actions through fear rather than loyalty. Fear breeds heroes, who then foster rebellions. We could quell them, yes, but that means fewer people to tend the animals. We require a steady flow of livestock and various other materials to maintain our way of life without war. Make humans dance with death too long, and they become acquainted enough to bring it home.” 

She slowed as they approached a large cluster of mountains. Roman spotted a plethora of dragons flying about, but it was difficult to make out any details.

“I didn’t realize there were scholars amongst your kind.” He couldn’t help himself, but he sure damn wished he could. The urge to be an ass at all times was surely a curse only he had to deal with.

“We don’t require individuals to guide feeble minds. They fend for themselves. I’d imagine someone like you heavily relies upon said scholars.” Before he could respond, she continued, forcing him to drop it for fear of pissing her off even more. “First, we shall take you to the Scalemenders. It would be a disgrace to greet our Roostmother while you dealt with such weakness.”

Their approach was swift as they closed in on the roost, reaching it sooner than Roman initially thought. He very much appreciated the smooth flight, despite how fast they were travelling. His time in the cage was much less pleasant, but at least his legs were working back then.

Looking around, he found his mouth agape. The connecting sections between mountains had been flattened into pathways and blasted into a texture that offered both beauty and support. The massive talons of a dragon claw could easily grip this molten-glass type of surface, despite the glossy look it displayed. He imagined it would also help to keep the shape of the mountain intact. Everywhere he looked, there were caverns carved into the surrounding mountains. And everywhere still were dragons of many colors and sizes, moving with efficiency and purpose.

Off to the right, there was a particular mountain that stood out amongst the rest–something he’d never noticed on any map or illustration because he didn’t give a damn about the Draconic Isles, or The Barrens, whatever they may be. 

A volcano, and a sizable one at that.

In all my years, I never thought I’d live to see a bloody dragon roost.

“Tread carefully, or you’ll have lived just to make it a bloody dragon roost.”

He cursed himself for thinking aloud again, but had no time to think further before several tethers attached themselves to his mind. Nausea came over him in waves, the mental intrusion proving to be more than he could handle.

Voices barraged him like he barraged the Inquisitor not thirty minutes ago. He almost wished it was sharp stones, rather than skull-splitting voices booming within him like a rolling thunderstorm.

The Frost-Zitrul quickly changed in his eyes; from dragon carriage to prophetic savior as she freed him from the torment with one word.

“SILENCE.” Her command used him as a conduit, forcing every dragon that had turned his way to quickly do the opposite. The connections ceased. He was alone again. Well, alone with her again.

“Thanks for that.” It was the most serious ‘tone’ he’d used with her thus far. He didn’t know if he could have handled all that mental pressure without losing his mind. Not yet, anyway.

“Their many voices annoyed me as well. We do not communicate as we must with other races. We simply speak to each other with no effort. Using this energy tether allows all voices to all recipients at once.”

“Well, thanks regardless.”

She turned her sleek head, horns straight and smooth behind the sides. Her eyes were massive, their crimson glow stunning him in place. And then, she nodded. No snide comment or menacing warning. Acknowledgment.

They arrived at the Scalemender’s cavern not long after, herbs and plants hanging from the ceiling and lining the walls in dugout sections. How anything grew on this mountain, he was unsure. There could only be one possible way that came to mind, and that would require something he never would have imagined could even exist. A Nature-Zitrul.

As if summoned by his thoughts, a graceful figure crept out from behind a row of tall plants, blooming with flowers of every color. She seemed timid, but not afraid. Her painted eyes of lavender met his own before she tethered to him. 

She was, by far, the smallest dragon he’d yet to see. Her legs were fairly short and her body was slender. Sage-colored scales rippled along her frame, turning a lighter shade around her underside. That shade continued away from her belly and swirled throughout her tail, like something from a storybook made for children. It was thinner than he’d expected, but longer than her body itself, ending in the shape of a leaf that flicked lightly back and forth to display her curiosity.

Peraklu wasted no time. “Qavras is on the main route, injured badly and downed. Send Mithusis while you tend to this human. His legs are in need of repair.”

Vela nodded, turning her head and focusing for a moment. A swoosh of hurried wings could be heard from deeper in the cavern. There must be another entrance on the other side. She quickly returned her attention to him.

“Hello there! My name is Vela. It’s nice to meet you.” It wasn’t possible for her to give a smile like he’s used to, but he could feel one through her words.

“Wow, you’re so kind. I’m honestly shocked. The other dragons I’ve met have been assholes.”

Without warning, he was dumped onto the floor unceremoniously. Wincing, he held his legs as they thumped in agony. Vela laughed lightly, a thread of guilt sewn through it.

“Peraklu, you’re so mean. He was obviously being humorous.”

“Heal the annoying human so we can report to the Roostmother. Please, Vela.” She wasn’t being impatient, but her gaze was somewhere else. Distracted. Lost. Vela didn’t seem to mind, but her eyes showed concern. Roman could tell they were friends, at least to some degree.

“How long do you think this will be? She might be waiting a while. A guard I knew underwent treatments for weeks, and that was just one leg.” He knew it would be painful, thus failing to hide the slight concern in his voice.

Vela eyed him as if he were a lost pet wandered in after a storm. She approached him silently, without menace. Her demeanor was sweet and gentle, something Roman never thought possible from a dragon. 

She was only a foot or so taller than him, and maybe ten feet long, at most. Definitely still large enough to be intimidating, though she was still only a little over half of Peraklu’s size, and maybe a fourth of Qavras’s, if he had to guess.

She examined him for a moment, her large eyes reflecting the warped perspective of his body laid across the floor. She inhaled slow and deep as she closed her eyes, a surge of energy radiating from her. He hadn’t noticed them before, but the small, pointed horns on her head began to glow bright enough to temporarily blind him.

What an immense amount of energy…

She released her breath, a glittering swath of energy-infused greens and purples washing over him in swirling waves. Five seconds of this beautiful display left him stunned, but not stunned enough to neglect the feeling surging through him. It felt as though his body had stolen itself away from his mind. He felt light, strong, and helpless all at once. The innards of his body warped and clicked, remade by Vela’s energy before his very eyes. Energy surged through every inch of him, flooding his senses and drowning out any pain. And then it was over. He was healed.

“All done!” She was very proud of herself, and rightfully so. What she had accomplished should be impossible, at least by human standards. A talented elf might heal wounds like that in a matter of hours…but seconds? Not possible, or so he thought.

Roman stared incredulously at his now-fixed legs. He was speechless, and had to admit that was a rare occurrence. They seemed to catch some of his thoughts as Vela broke the relative silence.

“Zitrul breath is quite potent, especially among the more pure bloodlines. I’m cursed with a weak body, but blessed with energy similar to the Origin dragons.”

“Healing is just nature manipulation, right? I’m not even sure how that kind of manipulation works, if I’m being honest. Nature manipulation was almost unheard of where I’m from. Besides the healers, of course.” 

Peraklu glanced at him, then drilled her frustration into Vela with a stare. The sweet Scalemender promptly ignored her with a cheery tone in her voice, which Peraklu seemed to have expected with a slight shake of her head.

“Healing energy is actually something not so simple. As you humans refer to it, nature manipulation is difficult, but can manipulate trees, plants, and the minds of lesser creatures in more advanced cases. This is, however, the full extent of it in the traditional sense.” 

Vela plucked a vine from a nearby plant with her tail. She held it between them.

“Nature conjuration is impossible. It doesn’t follow the same pattern as the other elements, since nature is the combination of life and energy, rather than just energy. In place of conjuration, there is the ability to assist the life-infused being or object. To aid their natural function, such as the growth of a plant, or the restoration of flesh and bone. Therefore disabilities or scarred wounds can not be healed in such a way. It’s their normal state at that moment, for better or worse.”

She blew a gentle breath upon the vine she held between them. It twisted before Roman’s eyes, growing and sprouting new leaves along the freshly formed stem.

“This is straight-forward, but difficult to learn unless you have the aptitude and a teacher to foster it. Using the energy within you is more simplistic, but transferring that energy to another living being is another thing entirely. Do you understand?”

He nodded, deep in thought. The air grew colder as Peraklu let out a heavy sigh. “Peraklu, stop! You’ll damage my plants! You really need to separate your emotions from your energy output.”

“Not like you can’t just grow them again, anyway.” Peraklu almost seemed like a pouting child as Vela scolded her. It was honestly pretty adorable in a, ‘She’s still a big, scary dragon that could chomp my fucking head off,’ kind of way.

“I can’t just sprout a new plant and grow it back whenever I wish, all at once, you know that! It would be too much for it…” Vela was the one pouting now, eyes down to the floor in somber reflection. She really cared about her plants. They are innocent, just trying to survive. Roman understood completely.

He stood, stretching his legs timidly, still unable to believe they could be healed so completely in such a short span of time. “By the Gods…thank you, Vela.”

“Looks like they work. Let’s go.” Peraklu’s claw grasped him with little effort as she took flight. A quick and quiet goodbye was slipped to him from Vela before her tether disappeared.

Heat molested Roman’s senses as they entered the Roostmother’s cavern. It was difficult to see, the only source of light beyond the entrance being the far off glow of lava streaming from holes in the back wall and filling a deep basin down below.

By the Gods, why were humans the only race to not receive darkvision?

As soon as he asked, he realized his folly. He forgot again, quickly understanding that trying to refrain from something so natural as thinking was an impossible task.

Luckily, no tether was attached to him, or so he thought.

“That is because your kind was an afterthought. A quickly made creation to fulfill a gap in a hastily made strategy. Peraklu, why have you brought him here, rather than where we discussed?”

Confusion addled him. How was this happening without a tether? And was she talking about the Old War? He guessed if anybody knew the truth about the stories of old, it would be a Roostmother.

“You seem to misunderstand your situation.”

He spoke aloud. Something about attaching a tether to someone as powerful as her seemed…wrong. “Please explain. I’m new here.”

“Ah, the spark of defiance through humor that all ignorant buffoons of your race seem to hold within themselves. I am not amused by it. This entire cavern is my domain, and all are connected through my energy whilst in my presence. Near me, I may as well be your God, worm.”

Four braziers surrounding a mass of smooth, shining gold lit instantaneously, blinding him for a moment. The dragon sitting upon the gold was smaller than Qavras, but longer. More deadly looking. He felt as though she could kill him just by meeting his gaze. Terror overtook him, and then he was upside down.

Her serpent-like tail, a wickedly sharp arrowhead shape on the end, had plucked him from the ground without a sound. She held him above the basin, his final enchanted stone falling from his pocket. He watched it fall, confused and in pain, as he tried his best to shield his face from the unbearable heat using his dangling arms.

A flash of white passed beneath him across his blurred vision. He was lifted away from the lava and thrown across the room, sliding along the ground before colliding hard with the wall. His head swam as his arms and face continued their protest from the burns. Turns out being so close to flowing lava really fucking hurts.

He looked across the room, expecting the Roostmother to bathe him in flames, but saw her looming over Peraklu like the overwhelming shadow of a mountain during sunset. She craned her head above the poor Zitrul, menacing and deadly, growling as energy flowed from her like an angry river. Peraklu shrank as low as she could, but her voice was still defiant.

“This item could save another dragon! He needs it to properly serve us in an emergency…”

“You dare try to justify an interruption of my actions? Insolent and pitiful Zitrul, I’ll pluck the scales from you and name you a rodent!”

“Please, Roostmother! The stone is enchanted. He used one to save Qavras from an Inquisitor. They were attacked not even two glide lengths from here!” She remained low to the ground, but her words gave the Roostmother pause.

It surprised Roman that she had witnessed his earlier struggle. Even further did it surprise him that she was coming to his aid, in any context.

The Vriska’s pause was brief, whilst her rage was seemingly endless. “Do not move even a single muscle, or I’ll kill you and feed your corpse to the lava.”

Peraklu stilled, her eyes closing slowly. Roman wished he could cry for her. She was being punished because of his outburst. The time for tears passed too swiftly–now was the time for blood.

Vriska’s talons had a poison within them, and while dragons are immune to poison, that didn’t stop a Vriska talon wound from burning like the lava they so coveted.

The swipe was fast and brutal. Peraklu’s head swung from the impact as her body hit the ground. Flesh and scales smeared across the stone and hung loosely from her face. The acid sizzled in the wound like raw meat on an open fire. The roar she unleashed was like nothing Roman had ever heard before. It was shrill and desperate, resonating between pitches as it sent vibrations of dread through the marrow in his bones.

Roman didn’t close his eyes. He had to watch the active consequences of his actions. Just because he didn’t care about his own life didn’t give him the right to make things worse for those around him.

“I’m sorry, Peraklu…” 

A resounding whimper, like a stray puppy kicked into a puddle, was her only response as the wound continued to burn and fester.

“Sorry? You’re not sorry. You’re dead. On further thought, you’re both dead. That’s twice this disgrace has challenged me this day. Two times too many.” Her head turned slightly towards him. “As for you…easily replaced.”

He messed up again. It never stops. Mistake after mistake…

She raised her claw once more, glaring down at the writhing Peraklu as her talons glowed brighter with each passing fraction of a second. She was infusing them with some kind of energy. 

A killing-blow type of energy.

He noticed earlier, but it hadn’t registered until now that Peraklu had dropped his final stone once downed. It had rolled halfway between them, and he was confident he could buy the time to grab it. He had his energies restored by Vela, but normal stone conjuration wouldn’t be enough to save his life against a foe like this.

Roman focused, only a second left before Peraklu would receive the blow. He began sprinting for the enchanted stone as he raised his hand. A gauntlet of granite conjured midair, grabbing the Roostmother’s arm. Her eyes were wide with shock, but this was only a briefly opened doorway for hatred. Pure, unfathomable rage poured from the Roostmother as her horns began to glow. She bit the gauntlet off her arm with a quick snap of her jaw and began inhaling.

A massive bolt of lightning shot from her open maw and forked several times on its journey, forcing Roman to predict its next motion. He managed to, but barely. He raised his arm as if he was holding a shield and erected a hastily made, thick slab of stone. The lightning shattered his makeshift shield and numbed his arm, dropping it to his side uselessly.

The stone was finally within reach. He scooped it up as the Vriska quickly inhaled another breath. The stone was firmly secured in his only working hand. He just needed one good chance to use it. 

Do or die time.

A concentrated plume of white fire erupted from her. He raised the ground beneath him in the shape of a pillar, launching him into the air. The fire didn’t touch him, but proximity alone set his lower body on fire. He had to ignore the burning. This was his one shot.

And then everything became a blur. Colors mixed as objects tripled and danced around each other like phantoms. It was sound causing this new madness. A sound so horribly loud that he couldn’t see straight. Blood poured from his ears as he fell to the ground and directly into the lingering flickers of white fire still tormenting the stone beneath.

His very existence became submerged in heat and covered with a shrieking that drowned his senses. The sound had ceased, but the noise in his head remained a constant backdrop to his agony.

As his head swam from the ringing in his ears, white flames engulfed him, redefining pain in a way Roman never thought possible. He became aware of his soul within his own body, like a child he never knew he had, dirty and beaten on the cold, unforgiving floor of everything he was. It burned as well. He could feel his sense of self, his life, the very energy flowing through him, all burn away as a boundless scream failed to escape his scorching body. 

And then there was nothing.

Vivien could see properly again, her vision less blurred and her eyes able to fully open. Whatever Cline had done forced her to feel as if she hadn’t slept in three days, and was deathly sick. Her arms barely responded after hitting the ground, Flyn having discarded her without hesitation.

A figure landed, quickly dismounting from a flying creature she’d never seen before, but recognized from drawings in her books. A gryphon, if she recalled.

She was small, clad in black, with a confident stride. She thanked the man for lighting such a shining beacon to guide her way to them, motioning casually towards the cabin before sizing him up. The woman looked at Vivien briefly, her demeanor changing slightly, quickly becoming hostile as she declared she would kill both of the men that had worked to hurt and take her. Vivien felt a pang of regret at the realization of how sinisterly pleased that thought made her, even despite what that sick man Cline had put her through.

“My name is Keira, and that will be the last thing you two ever learn in this life.”

Keira’s arm was a blur, slinging a dagger at the prone Cline. He quickly rolled, pulling his face away from the tip of the flying blade just in time for it to nestle into the meat of his thigh with a wet thud. He winced as he reached for the blade, pausing at the sight of a shining black liquid swirling into the blood running down his leg.

Keira almost never used her poisonous tools, the effects of it stealing a kill or good fight from her in an infuriating way. But for someone from the same organization that ‘raised’ her, she’d make an exception every time. Her eyes lingered a second longer than she knew they should, soaking in the sight just the same as Cline’s body soaked in the poison. Flyn took the advantage he knew she’d allowed him to have, but that didn’t make it any less of an opportunity.

He dashed forward, pushing into her with equal parts speed and power, using what seemed like wild swings from his curved blade. In actuality, they were precise and meaningful, no effort or motion wasted as he made swipe after swipe, each lethal if landed. But they continued to be deflected.

Steel clanged upon steel, sparks dancing into the air around them as the long edge of his blade slid along her daggers with each parry. Flyn knew she was here to save the girl. That’s the only reason a Bladequeen would be here in this moment. The hatred and bloodlust must be an intimidation tactic, for he knew just how tactful their organization tended to be.

And this gave him an idea.

He made another swing, Keira casually blocking, as if playing swords with a child. He glanced at Cline before making his move, spotting his ally using fire conjuration to burn the poison from his wound, but he knew that wouldn’t be enough. Healing or an antidote would be needed soon. At the end of the next parry, when Keira was in the worst part of her stance for any sort of reaction, Flyn spun to fling a dagger of his own at Vivien. If the young mage died, Cline and his entire organization would be furious, but he’d rather the girl die than himself. If it became so, the Bladequeen would have no reason to pursue her quarry.

In all of his fifteen years of mercenary work, he’d never witnessed what happened next.

Keira activated her ‘gift’, as her employers liked to call it, becoming a blur as she dashed between Vivien and Flyn, catching the dagger and throwing it back at him. His body reacted before he could even process the event, but not quickly enough. The dagger slid across his jugular, deep enough to seal his fate without a doubt. Blood cascaded from the wound as he desperately tried to hold it in. He could feel himself draining alongside his blood. He had thirty seconds, ten if he took an action. 

Enough calculations. Enough work. Enough suffering. He closed his eyes.

“Good work, Keira.” Flyn fell to his knees. He coughed, blood soaking his chin. He hesitated briefly before taking the sealing dagger and wiping the blood from it onto his pants. His body gave a final shudder before going limp.

Keira was in front of Flyn before life had fully left him, lifting his chin and forcing his gaze to hers as his eyes opened in confusion. She watched them glaze over and go vacant, giving Flyn a parting smile as genuine as she could give it. She kissed his forehead and stood before kicking his body to the ground.

“Save your praise for the being that devours your tainted soul, vermin.” She turned to Cline, watching carefully as he finished burning his wound shut and started manipulating the wind to carry him upward.

She activated her blur once more, rushing to him before he got too high, but quickly found herself off the ground and weightless. Her eyes shot upwards, glimpsing a purple-robed figure with a mask like Cline’s. He was lifting Cline effortlessly now with a casual wave of his hand. The other hand pointed at her, swirling her around in a quickly forming maelstrom.

Keira cursed under her breath. Wind manipulation was common among mages, but wind conjuration itself was rare, and infuriating to fight against. Dozens of options crossed her mind before a bolt of lightning shot across the sky and struck the wind conjurer in the shoulder, setting their robes aflame and freeing Keira from her prison. Keira’s eyes shot to Vivien, confirming that she was the source. Considering the state she was in, Keira felt genuinely impressed.

The figure quickly dissipated the flames and caught the falling Cline. His conjuration seemed weaker than before, and no longer targeted Keira. Vivien’s hair began to glow as she coughed blood. She took aim as the wind mage glanced toward her. A second later, both he and Cline were gone. One burst of energy and they were flying away, dots in the distance as Keira huffed a sigh of irritation.

She looked towards Vivien. “Hey, you should probably stop using your energy.” She approached the nodding Vivien, who had pushed herself up to a sitting position and was panting through pained breaths. “Thanks for saving me though, beautiful thing.” 

Keira kneeled in front of Vivien, the same way she had with Flyn just moments before. She brought her lips to Vivien’s for a quick kiss before standing, licking the blood from them and leaving the lightning conjurer to be the shocked one for a change. Vivien looked lost, as if she wasn’t sure what was real or not. Exhaustion, confusion, and a clear amount of mental trauma, was Keira’s conclusion. She didn’t have long to contemplate what they may have done to Vivien before several smoldering logs fell away from the cabin, a blackened figure covered in soot stepping out and beginning to approach them.

“The tree-fucker lives.” Keira kept her eyes on Nylus as he continued his steady approach. Charred skin fell from him like a molting snake as his muscles and the skin to cover them reanimated over his body much too quickly for her liking. Keira knew a thing or two about special abilities, but this was ridiculous. By the time he reached them, Nylus had fully regenerated, Dryvera’s inscribed tattoos shining upon his freshly healed skin once more as he stood before Keira in a shameless display.

“Wow, look at you. Ever think about fucking something other than trees?” Keira turned to face him, running a finger down his chest.

He dismissed Keira, barely bothering to look at her as he walked to Flyn’s body and tore the shirt from his corpse. He tied it around his waist before making his way over to Vivien, who had passed out just before he emerged from the smoldering remains of the cabin.

“Thank you for the assistance. I must ask, though, what’s the price?” He stood after his quick examination of Vivien, small roots reaching from the ground to wrap around her wound.

“Price?” Keira tilted her head slightly. “Death is free, so I am too.” Her smile widened for a fraction of a second.

Nylus gave her an exasperated stare. “Right. Foolish of me to ask a Bladequeen of her intentions.” He looked down at Vivien, satisfied that Dryvera’s roots had healed the wound. “As I came to, I saw her lightning. You knew to remove her blood from the blade?”

Keira blinked slowly before turning her head to Flyn’s corpse. “He did it before he died. Probably because he hated the Arcane Torrent just as much as he hated working with them.”

“That man. The one that stabbed me. I’ve seen him in my dreams for years.” Vivien had come to, color quickly returning to her face as her eyes focused their emerald glare onto a random patch of grass.

Nylus nodded, crossing his arms over his bare chest. “Seems he is a seer with the makings of an inquisitor. He stole your energy and ability temporarily by consuming your blood. Sickly fiend. Must have sensed you some time ago, because of your potential, but couldn’t pinpoint your location since you hadn’t used your energy in any larger capacity. Until recently, of course.”

Keira kneeled over Flyn’s corpse, noticing the newly revealed symbol in the center of his back after Nylus had removed his shirt.

“Ah yes, should have figured they’d seek allies with the scum of the world.” She kicked Flyn’s corpse fully onto its stomach, revealing the symbol for the others to see. The head of a Scalper, a rather nasty species of demon, was etched into the center of his upper back. It rested within a circle of thorns, looking vivid enough that it could come to life at any moment and peel itself from the skin that imprisoned it.

Nylus snarled, his fist clenching. “Demonvile scum. Why anybody would choose to side with those foul creatures is beyond me. Why help the demons with their assault on the Material?” It wasn’t a question meant to be answered, so neither tried.

“What does this mean?” Vivien’s timid and still-weakened voice clung to the air like a floating drifter lost at sea.

“It means, big-tits, that shit is about to get real fucked up around here.” Vivien looked down at her chest, frowning in confusion before drilling an embarrassed and annoyed look into Keira. She ignored her new ‘nickname’, choosing instead to draw more information from these two. 

Nylus looked lost in thought, and she did her best to avoid looking at him for too long. He was much too naked, and much too…everything. Keira simply remained smiling, staring at her in anticipation.

“I know about Arcane Torrent, and their goals to build an army of powerful mages through brainwashing and coercion. Vladus taught me that much during my short time at the academy. But Demonvile is a term I’ve not heard before now.” Her body screamed in protest as she stood, Nylus flinching as if to help her, but stopping himself just as quickly. Instead, he offered words.

“The Demonvile cult usually consists of those wishing to earn the right to become a demon themselves. Though that’s considered suicide. The probability of surviving the process has proven to have a high fatality rate. Others do it simply for promises of a nice home, safety for their families, money. You get the idea.” He absently stroked at his beard, looking at the ground again in deep thought.

“Now, I’m unsure of why Arcane Torrent and the Demonvile cult would work together, but we can’t let them get their hands on someone like you, Vivien.”

She stumbled slightly before answering. “So that’s why you stole me away and threatened me with that letter?”

“Better dead than an enslaved weapon for a group like that. And it was only I who had to shelter you because Vladus was too slow to arrive.”

Vivien looked up at him, some shine returning to her eyes. “You know Vladus?”

Nylus gave a firm nod, his densely focused gaze slamming into her. “Indeed. I am Kroniker’s main defense against monsters, outward brigands, and anything in between. I also act as their scout, since my goddess’s forests cover the front side of the city, while the ocean guards their backside. In return, they provide me with the supplies I need for comfortable living. The necessities, I can procure myself.”

Vivien nodded gently, tearing her eyes away from his with some hesitation. “Lucrative. I wasn’t aware there was anyone like you, especially so close to my home.”

Keira rolled her eyes, sitting down to stab thoughtlessly at Flyn’s body, very obviously bored. Nylus glanced at her briefly before turning back to Vivien.

“Why do you think your humble patch of land never had to contend with any monsters beyond the ones akin to rats? I’ve watched over you and your mother for quite some time. Dryvera knows of your potential and knew you’d go after that dragon. She sent me to your aid, and I arrived just in time to mend your crippled body. The fall almost killed you.”

Vivien smiled, remembering all the times she’d feared such an event. Now she knew who to thank for never seeing one come to fruition. “Thank you, Nylus. We haven’t had many allies, my mother and I, so that means a lot.”

“Simply doing my duty.” He wasn’t being humble, he was just stating it as if nothing else was to be said.

“How does one become such a powerful confidant of a god or goddess?”

There was nothing nefarious in her question, this much Nylus knew. But even so, his hardened expression made her regret her question. He answered her anyway, for he saw no evil within the young woman.

“Live a life of solitude, avoiding the world and its troubles, only to risk your life to saving a dying goddess. And then fail.”

“Dryvera is…dead?” Vivien was taken aback, not understanding how such a thing could even happen. “What could kill a being like that?”

“That, my little lightning bug, is a story for another time.” He patted her on the head gently, a gesture that seemed out of place for someone so large and rugged and…naked. Vivien couldn’t help but blush, satisfied by his answer and flustered by his actions.

Keira’s voice cut through the moment like one of her daggers, startling Vivien and earning a tired sigh from Nylus. “Alright, alright. Enough about this and that, those and them. Don’t care. Vivien, look at me.” 

She did so, and for some reason, she felt annoyed.

“Hmph, your brother gave me the same look, except he was much better at hiding it. You are an interesting bunch. Every time I see one of you, I get to have a fun time.”

“You know Killian?!” The excitement and wonder in Vivien’s voice was palpable. Nylus smiled behind her, subtle enough that nobody would notice.

“Of course, I danced with him not long ago. My mission to kill him if he proved weak crosses our paths. He wasn’t, so he lives.” She said it matter-of-factly, as if it was obvious. As if it didn’t prompt a rage within Vivien that had her body sending warning pains to stop summoning energy.

“Why would an assassin syndicate wish my brother dead?” Anger laced through every syllable, but restraint was the tapestry.

“Mr. Stone carries many Relics of Alfira. If he is killed, they could fall into the wrong hands. And that many powerful relics in the hands of someone who wants to exploit them could very well end this plane of existence.” She bent down, wiping the blood from her daggers on Flyn’s clean pant leg before sheathing them. “But he is a capable fighter, and the only way they are taking those relics from your stubborn brother is torture, seeing as how I now know about his reclamation pouch. Tell me, Vivien, would your brother give in to torture?”

“Never.” The word was doubt-proof, and Keira nodded in agreement.

“I feel that as well. So your brother is only guilty of playing hard to get, less so than being a liability. I can’t wait to play with him again, but I’ve already told my handler that he’s not to be hunted any longer.” She straightened, her eternal smile dampening for a more serious expression. “I’m supposed to earn a favor from you for the Bladequeens, but all I want from you, Vivien…is friendship.”

Vivien didn’t want to blink, or even breathe wrong in this moment. This strange girl, a Bladequeen no less, was asking for her friendship? What kind of trickery-

“She means it, for whatever that’s worth.” Nylus was a pillar of strength, unmoving and stalwart, eyes poised upon Keira as if he was witnessing the world’s end. “I can tell that much. Never would I guess the Bladequeens to have recruited such a broken soul.”

Keira scoffed, her demeanor returning. “Like you have room to talk. You’re not even human anymore, you tree-fucking oaf. But yes, my recruitment was…unconventional, I’ll give you that. I’m definitely not their favorite project.”

“I’ll be your friend.” Vivien said it suddenly, like she was signing a contract with a demon.

Keira raised an eyebrow, her smile deepening and a faint squint covering the edges of her amethyst eyes. “Oh?”

“And since we’re friends, educate me about why you stay employed to an organization you obviously don’t trust.” Her eyes remained on Keira, the clashing brightness of their locked vision both harmonious and hostile.

“Because my handler is just like me, and I can’t save him.” Keira turned suddenly as the words left her lips. “I’m not having fun anymore. Bye.” 

Before the other two could respond, she ran and leapt onto her gryphon. “Come on, Beak-Head! Anywhere but here, now!” A magnificent ‘caw’ sounded from the creature before it lifted off to take them into the quickly darkening horizon.

Gorifix heard the news from Zafre before leaving his quarters. Both Cline and Flyn had failed. Flyn dead, Cline furious. Killed by Vivien and her strange allies. That was an issue, a big one, but not something he could focus on at the moment. He would leave that to Zafre and her chosen. This evening, he would prepare for a mission long in the making.

The armory was lined with weapons and armor, gleaming along the walls in sync with the flicker of the candles. For the elites, enchanted items and special potions waited with dormant strength. Most of said potions could only be consumed by demonkind, or their ascended. These were often behind sealed glass or kept within secured rooms on the sides of the barracks. One day soon, he would claim their power as his own.

Being underground, every room in their base of operations was lit by candlelight. Lighting never needed a more dedicated method, since most of the base remained in the dark. A majority of demonkind preferred to just use their darkvision, so there was never much need for lighting.

Beside him, his chosen partner for this mission, courtesy of Zafre, was preparing his own weapons of choice. This consisted of two Elven daggers, preferred for their malicious curve, and a hand crossbow.

Gorifix eyed him from the side, not too familiar with any aspect of his new colleague. He knew him to be a dependable soldier. One of Demonvile’s best ascension candidates, in fact. He would need to be, with the target they’d be hunting.

“Litra.” He sounded tired and hoped it wouldn’t translate to weakness.

“Yes, Gorifix. What do you require?” A prompt response, with no hint of hesitation or apprehension. Good.

“Killian is dangerous. We won’t be approaching him directly, not without knowing the full range of his abilities and arsenal.” Gorifix finished his preparations, sliding into his coat once more, the many filled pouches and satchels jostling about beneath it. “Subterfuge is our best option. I’m sure you’re fine with this?”

Gorifix had been appointed head of this operation for his extensive knowledge of Killian’s travels. They’d known he was heading east to the coast before traveling north, and they only needed to wait for him to get closer. That time had come. His reclamation pouch would be theirs, and all the powerful items within, if they played this correctly. Some of which had the power to instill a demon within this realm. Permanently. 

A demon such as Zalef.

“I am satisfied with any course of action decided upon by my superiors.” Litra stood straight, motionless, as his finely chiseled features were dimly defined by the candle in front of him.

Gorifix turned to gaze upon him. A fine specimen, he couldn’t lie, but he never mixed business with pleasure. That wasn’t about to change for anyone. He could order Litra to get him off right now if he really wanted to, and he’d surely listen…but Gorifix knew restraint.

He could sense Litra tighten his muscles and tense his stance the longer he held his stare.

He’s nervous. He should be.

“We get one shot at this. We survey his actions, devise a plan by the next sundown, and execute it by the next morning.”

“Understood, Sir.”

“This isn’t some kind of human military, Litra. Drop that act. It irritates me.”

Litra responded with a firm nod, not knowing any other way to respond to someone in command. They originally snatched him from the aftermath of a battle. As he lay dying, Zafre made him a deal. His lot in life was to fight, so he accepted. It’s only natural that he would keep this militaristic style, but it still irritated Gorifix all the same.

Satisfied, he walked for the door, Litra on his heels. He could think of nothing but this mission. Nothing else mattered. His mouth watered at the thought of success. The subjugation of Killian Stone.

Finally, we will have you — thieving coward. 

Nylus and Vivien watched Keira go in silence before Nylus suddenly broke it. “Darkness of night is almost upon us. Though it belongs to me, the forest is still treacherous, and we have no shelter. Fire and the presence of my goddess should, together, be enough to stave off the creatures that dislike the light and stalk the night. Come.”

Vivien obeyed, perplexed and still in shock about the events of today. She started the day as a prisoner, eating dried meat and experimenting with her abilities. Since then, she met a living nightmare of a man and was tortured. The feeling of losing her energy was horrific, multiplied by however many times it was that he made her experience it. She shuddered deeply at the fresh memory. She had also met the vessel of Dryvera, and became friends with a gryphon-riding Bladequeen who was definitely borderline psychotic. Sleep was definitely in order. Though she feared the nightmares that may ensue.

Nylus walked into the remains of the cabin, small embers kicking up from his confident steps as he dug out his axe from the ashes. She imagined it must be enchanted, having survived an inferno like that without so much as a scratch. 

He pulled the most intact log he could from the remains of the cabin with ease, setting it on the open grass and splitting it in one chop. He continued until he’d created a sizeable pile of firewood. Vivien was shivering as he turned to her, the slice in her clothing and lack of it welcoming the chilling breeze of a swiftly approaching night. The sun was gone now, only the remnants of its fading glow barely reaching them. How Nylus wasn’t cold, she would never know. She supposed he did look quite…warm.

“Work on stacking this in the clearing on the other side of those trees, away from the corpse. I’ll remove it after this, but the scent of blood and death will remain. Once I finish, I’ll join you in moving the remaining wood. Then we will talk, and we will rest.”

She nodded, eyeing the corpse in question, suddenly remembering the impossibly heightened speeds Keira was moving at to take down such a foe so easily. She couldn’t help but wonder what other magnificent people graced this world, and was feeling not so special at all in comparison. Though somehow, this comforted her.

She settled her racing mind with manual labor, making her feel like she was back at home, preparing for a cold night with mother. Suddenly, she felt nervous and…shy? She looked at Nylus—the shape of his broad frame standing tall in the darkness—before dragging the body into the treeline.

By the Gods, Vivien. Focus.

She slapped herself gently on the cheeks, refocusing herself on the task at hand. 

He’s a vessel of Dryvera, not some teenage crush.

She finished moving the wood before he got back, surprised at how quickly her own body had recovered. The roots Nylus healed her with had returned more stamina than she initially thought. She separated the wood into a smaller pile, lighting it with a weak spark of lightning. The lack of moisture from the earlier fire helped the process, flames sparking to life in an instant.

Nylus was behind her, and how such a massive man could move so quietly, she didn’t even have time to contemplate. Not before she jumped and made an irritatingly embarrassing noise. His strong hand brushed softly over her shoulder before gripping it assuringly.

“You’re alright, lightning bug. Nothing will harm you again. Not before I get you to Kroniker, come morning.”

“T-thanks. I am just on edge, is all. These events have riled my senses. I don’t think I’m properly processing anything.”

Nylus grunted his acknowledgement. “I understand entirely, but you’re stronger than you think.” He pulled his hand from her shoulder, leaving her confusingly wanting. He moved to sit across the fire from her with a sigh, staring into the flames as if to feed it his deep thoughts. It took her a moment to realize he was fully clothed again, as if that was abnormal.

“Where did you get the clothes?” She wouldn’t say it was disappointing that he found some, but it was. Maybe letting herself feel these silly things about this strange savior was helping her ignore the creeping terror matted onto the back of her mind. Either way, it was working.

“I have supplies throughout the forest. Sometimes monsters get into my things. Sometimes people. Other times, I forget to put the barrier around my cabins, and it never goes well. Living for hundreds of years breeds more negligence than anything else, so it would seem. Keeping packed and preserved supplies throughout the forest helps me maintain my weekly tasks.” 

He briefly glanced up from the fire, the glow of it showing Vivien that his darkened eyes of sage could reflect light like thickened glass. They were beautiful, in a foreboding type of way. But one thing was even more distracting than his eyes.

“Wait…hundreds of years? How old are you?” She wouldn’t think to believe it, but knew she already did. He didn’t seem the type to lie.

“I stopped counting. I exist in a timeless loop of changing seasons.” He poked the fire with a rather large stick, half the log he made contact with crumbling to ash. He grabbed another one, filling the newly made gap before sitting back.

A silence stretched between them, Vivien not knowing what to say, gently brushing back the hair that had escaped her ponytail to rest neatly behind her ear.

Nylus spoke suddenly, his voice drowning out the crackling of wood, even with his hushed tones. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for when your brother was taken. I was...preoccupied.” Something awfully close to remorse swelled within his tone, and for what seemed to be the dozenth time today, Vivien found herself surprised.

“You knew?” She wanted to say more, ask more, but she held back. She waited for seconds, disguised as minutes, within her mind for an answer.

“Did I know demons invaded my forest? Of course. I was just too far and too restrained to do anything about it.”

Vivien felt jostled at the use of the word ‘restrained.’ Did he mean it literally, or was he being vaguely ominous as a deflection? Before she could answer, he followed up with a question of his own.

“Why would they expend energy just to abduct a random boy? It’s a question I’ve always wanted to ask, and one I will take an answer to as payment for saving your life.” Nylus stared at her expectantly, leaving no room for anything but her answer. She felt as if she was being interrogated, but that was most likely because of how small she felt in the face of someone so extraordinary.

“Our father. What do you know about him?” She shuffled her feet so the tips of her boots touched one another, focusing on the contact between them in small disassociation.

“Clerk Stone. A snake wearing the guise of a human, experimenting with terrible things until it came back to haunt both his family and Kroniker itself. Your mother’s enchantments were astonishingly powerful. Enough to hide what he was up to from me, even within the close proximity to my forest. When Zalef showed himself on the night it all came crashing down, I could do nothing but quell the numbers of the demons spilling out into the forest. I wrestled a Gnasher for the better part of an hour, till its energy ran dry and it withered away. By the end of that, the invasion was over. If I understand correctly, your other brother, Killian, stopped Zalef with an enchantment placed by your mother. Till this day, and every day before it, I’ve never heard of any similar event occurring.”

Vivien couldn’t help but breathe deeply to settle her nerves. She felt partially responsible for what happened that night, having snuck away from the house to spend time with her friend. While the demons attacked her loved ones, she was experimenting with kissing that friend like a stupid child. Though she respected the way Nylus wore his thoughts without shame, regardless of the subject.

“All true. But there’s more. After he died, my Mother released the enchantment on his journal. She never read it, for fear of incurring his wrath, and couldn’t bring herself to even after his death. But I read it, front to back. Twice.”

He leaned in closer, the flames seeming to pull towards him, illuminating the strong curve of his jaw that she couldn’t help but notice.

“Well, Vivien? Tell me all of it.” His request was absolute, genuine, and to the point.

“Artifacts of Old and their power had corrupted him. Items tainted by demons during The Old War. The lust of these forgotten demonic tomes and relics poisoned his mind and corrupted his soul. He sought power and the means to enjoy it for eternity. He wanted to live forever, but that’s impossible. Now that I know of the Demonvile cult, I am not sure if he knew of their existence. If he did, there’s no way he would give them any sort of power over him. That’s the one way him and Killian are alike. Stubborn, in all things.”

“I see. Continue.”

She wasn’t sure if he had an endgame, or simply craved the knowledge of it, but she continued.

“The scrawlings in the journal became difficult to read, but I’ll shorten the long of it. He experimented on my brother with various items. He was trying to prepare Malus for some sort of demonic soul swap, which could only be accomplished through blood relatives. The closer the relative, the higher the chance of success, and Malus was young enough to have a very malleable source of energy. His final experiment was supposed to be the end of his goal. Instead, all it did was call Zalef upon us, looking to claim the bounty of Father’s findings as the world’s most acclaimed archeologist. At least in Matrudia. You know the rest.”

Nylus sat in silent contemplation for a few moments, mulling over her words and leaving her to relive the emotions she felt whilst reading those wicked pages. His deep voice rumbled Vivien back to her senses.

“A summary of a man that should never have held the title of ‘father’. He finds power and sacrifices the humanity of both he and his kin. Then, fails through ignorance and further damns his kin through future events. Dies, leaving those close to him to sift through the ashes of his burned desires. This is no surprise. So the experiments turned your brother into a conduit of demonic energy. Enough so that they spent some to retrieve him.”

Vivien confirmed this with a nod. “Yes, I believe so. Which, to my knowledge, means one of them consumed him to hasten the next major breach. If my father wasn’t dead, I’d kill him myself.” Her nose twitched slightly as her lips formed a grim line.

Nylus rested his elbows on sturdy knees, his hands lacing into one another as he hunched over. His eyes found hers, holding them hostage with an intensity that reached his next words in equal fervor.

“We are fickle creatures, sometimes ruining our lives and others so we can live a longer version of it. If living this length of time has taught me anything, it’s that we are never improving as a species. The things we hold as foundations in value are ever-changing, yet we act as if the Gods themselves set them in place. Morality, objectives, ideas of a better world, even crime. All these concepts adapt to what we believe we need to spread and infect more of these lands with. Corrupt ideals and fragile leadership win the day, often. The one true foundation is death, and shaking that will bring it all down. To prevent death is to bring it, and may mercy never be granted to the ones that defy it. Myself included.”

Vivien was listening intently, stifling a yawn and feeling phantom pains in her healed abdomen. She readied a reply, but the memories that came flooding back to her of Cline rooted her in agony. It was as if her attempts to ignore it all had incurred a wrath she’d never known before now. It stole her voice and moistened her eyes. Her fists clenched and her legs locked in place as they shook. Nylus took notice, rising immediately to take her to a sleeping bag he had retrieved from one of his many stashes.

“Time to sleep, little bug. You must rest. And though you may with me…never let them see you cry.”

Rays of light shone through the thick forest, bathing the ground in spots of radiating warmth. The shaded light surrounding these beams welcomed the piercing glow as it filled the rest of the area with a calming aura.

Dangerous beasts indeed lurked about, but strong warriors often traveled the roads and protected caravans, so most of the wildlife knew to steer clear of them.

Killian stopped suddenly, alarming Winter, but his expression wasn’t one of panic. He let his arms rest at his side and dropped his usually tense stance to look around at the forest, genuinely appreciating it for the first time since leaving The Enclave.

They had been traveling for over two weeks with no real issues and were half a day’s travel from the next city. The sun was making its way toward the horizon, the forest beginning to dim under its growing lack of influence. Most of this journey so far had been spent swapping stories and getting to know each other. The other bit was spent in short spells of content silence as they contemplated their time together and everything that had happened so far. 

They’d been fishing multiple times since her first, and she had become significantly better. She even caught more than him the last go around. Killian grumbled a bit as she beamed at him, but was ultimately proud of her for being such a quick learner.

Winter quickly joined Killian in admiring their surroundings. It really was too good to be true. She finally left The Enclave. She escaped her so-called “destiny”, and was only a day at most from being in a major city with a plethora of faces she’d never seen before.

He turned toward her suddenly. “How about we find a nice resting spot and wrap up the last bit of travel tomorrow? Maybe a clearing with nice sight lines or something like that.” His eyebrows perked up to match his grin. He really was in high spirits.

“Sure, sounds good. You’re the pro here. I’m just a tagalong.” She gazed downward timidly, knowing this was a bit too true of a statement to be taken lightly.

“Huh? I’m not a pro at anything. A decade of bumbling around like an idiot and shoehorning your way through life doesn’t make someone special. Being a truly gifted healer and a more than decent human being is another thing, though.”

She noticed the genuine twinge of his praise, real and earnest, not just to make her feel better. The corner of her mouth pulled up into a small half-grin.

“Thanks, Killian, but you can’t fool me that easily. I mean, even people in our small town know about you.”

He scratched his head, wondering how to word his next point. “Well, mass murderers and gang leaders are famous and well-known, even on the outskirts of the continent. So, of course I’d be somewhat famous, since a majority of people think I’m just some hooligan desecrating temples and coercing people into giving me their prized possessions.”

She looked up at him with sympathy. The shining hue of her eyes were emblazoned by the small speckles of sunlight glittering around her, endless pools of brightly shining blue, incapable of malice or harsh judgment.

He stopped himself from getting lost in them as he continued. “I don’t need people to know why I do what I do. I just need them to never need witness the horrid things these Relics of Alfira can do. Many people want my reclamation pouch, and not just because it’s a rare item. A lot of what’s contained within will never see the light of day again, if I can help it. Even if they claim it, they’d need my cooperation to use it.”

To his surprise, Winter retorted with a surprisingly tactical question.

“Okay, so what’s in there that’s actually yours and will see the light of day? I have really only seen the spidersilk steel and some torches. I figure it would be good for me to know, since we’re a team. You know, so I can be aware of your capabilities and I don’t get in your way or whatever.”

He brought a finger to his temple and tapped it. “Hmm, it’s strange to think of the whole list like this. Let’s see if I can make one without forgetting anything.”

Killian listed everything he could think of:

- 2 X Spidersilk Steel

- 12 X Rope

- 50 X Torches (recently restocked)

- 20 X Empty Vials

- 25 X Food Rations (Preserved when in the pocket dimension)

- 25 X Jugs of Water

- Several Dozen Bandages

- Healing Ointments

- Winter Gear

- Swimming Attire

- Camping Materials

- Maps, Books, Blank Parchment

- Black Blade of Sealing (Stops any use of innate energy as long as the target’s sword-drawn blood is on the blade.)

- Sensory Shield (Small kite-shield able to reveal spirits or ethereal beings within a 50-foot radius.)

- Several Dozen Throwing Knives

Winter blinked a couple times once he finished, surprised at the amount of items the pouch actually held within it.

“Where did you get such an item? There can’t possibly be many of those in existence. I never even knew such a thing was possible.”

He puffed out his chest proudly, his hands resting on his hips as he bathed in her envy. “It was given to me near the beginning of my journey, actually. My master, who taught me swordsmanship and hand-to-hand combat, gave it to me as a graduation gift of sorts. She claimed it from the bone pile of a manticore.”

“Wait a second…” Winter looked dumbfounded. Her mouth was even slightly agape. “Manticores actually exist?!”

Killian could understand her surprise. It seemed like a silly notion for something as exotic as a manticore to actually be roaming this realm. But in reality, there really were worse creatures. More bizarre, and definitely more deadly.

“I guess a creature resembling a lion with a humanlike face is kind of hard to imagine. Especially with the dragonlike wings and big stinger tail.” He wore a scrunched face, actually trying to imagine what one would look like.

“Wow, that’s actually so amazing! That still doesn’t tell me how a reclamation pouch is even made though.” She furrowed her brow in cute frustration, earning a smile from Killian before he did his best to sate her curiosity.

“Honestly, I don’t know the specifics behind the actual spell, but it is essentially a permanent travel dimension held in stasis.” Winter held a perplexed stare, clearly waiting for him to clarify.

“I’ll explain further. When a being travels through dimensions, such as a demon or an extremely potent mage, they don’t travel from point A to point B as it would seem.” Winter nodded, following his explanation. 

“Instead, they enter a temporary plane of existence where matter is held and transferred to the exit point. So, there happen to be very few known mages that can create this dimension. They use the pouch as the access point, but instead of creating an exit, they dedicate a permanent portion of their energy to keep that dimension in a constant existence, with the access point always being accessible.”

Killian watched Winter go through a quick thought process before asking her next question. “So…it’s like a permanent enchantment, then? Which would mean the dimension would disappear if the original caster dies?”

“Not quite. A permanent enchantment can be dispelled with enough effort, returning that portion of energy that was assigned to it. However, the cost of creating and maintaining this pocket dimension is almost the same as a blood pact, in terms of cost. The energy is sacrificed, rather than delegated. Therefore, few exist. Not many mages have the potential to make it, and the ones that do are surely reluctant to give up a portion of their energy for an item of convenience. Trinkets hold no value to a corpse, after all, and a mage of that caliber would surely have enemies. Enemies that would take advantage of their lessened energy pool.”

Winter’s eyes sparkled with recognition. After some more processing, she looked up to the sky, an endless canvas to draw her thoughts upon for examination. “Does that mean anyone can access it?”

“Technically, yes. They would have to know what they’re searching for though. The more they know about it, the faster it can be reclaimed. The name, smell, looks, the sound it makes…the list goes on. However, the less attuned they are with the pouch, the harder it is to reclaim from it. Such as, I have traveled with the pouch at my hip for many years, so my energy is quite entwined with it. This makes the use of it quite easy and instantaneous for me.”

She was nodding in agreement, following along with his explanation thus far. “Okay, and…the Sealing Blade seems pretty insane. Is it really able to disable anyone’s abilities by simply touching them with it?”

“Erm…not quite, but that’s definitely the result. If it is the item to draw the blood placed upon it, then it seals the victim’s connection to the energy of this realm. It was being used by Arcane Torrent to disable mages and relocate them to a cell so they could break them. Once their minds shattered, they cleaned their blood from the blade. This would restore their energy and they’d have a new slave, back at full strength and ready to serve.”

“And…where did you get this?” She was almost afraid to ask.

“You don’t need the gory details, Winter. Just know that it’s better held in my hands.” His tone was firm.

Winter seemed to be a quick learner, which Killian highly appreciated. He only just realized that he really didn’t like explaining things twice, which he was spared from entirely. 

She thanked him before giving him a hug that felt undeserved. He hugged her back, a bit flustered. His hand ran through her long, silk-soft hair as he squeezed her gently.

After pulling away from the hug, their eyes met for a lingering moment before she blushed and looked downward, prompting an equal response from him. Not a moment passed before they both tried to say something at the same time, but quickly chuckled at their timing. She nervously gestured for him to continue before bringing her arms across her mid-torso in a self-hug of sorts. Killian noticed she tended to do that when she was nervous, and it was pretty endearing. Dangerously so.

“Let’s uhh...focus on finding that camp spot. I’ll take the lead, stay close to me. It gets dark fairly fast, with the trees cutting off the sun.” She nodded in response, closing the distance between them. Close enough for him to notice the warmth of her body and presence of her energy. 

It reminded him of home. Not the chaotic home he knew as a child, but what a home’s supposed to be. Like snow on the doorstep of a room lit by a fireplace. Beauty in white, with the warmth of red. He had to remind himself that she was only listening to him and coming to a safe distance, like he asked. This was no time to lose focus.

Come on, Killian. Don’t let one woman fluster you so much. Safety first, dumb thoughts later.

They traveled as quickly as they could, covering a decent amount of ground in a short time. By the time they reached an optimal clearing, fading beams of orange sunlight cut through branches, the sun mostly retired for the night. Moments later, it was gone, and the moon peeked its way into the clearing as Killian set up the necessities for camp. 

Only having one tent, he offered it to her while stating that he’d be on guard for most of the night anyway, just as he’d done all the nights before. He would wait until they reached the next town to get some decent rest. She always agreed out of respect for his experience, but he could tell that she felt guilty, regardless. 

He noticed her draping her robes across his bag before getting under the blanket. Doing his best to ignore the fact that such a beautiful woman was in her undergarments, he quickly turned away from the tent opening and scanned the treelines.

All seemed well, but it always did before any sort of disaster struck. As much as his paranoia had served him before, several hours had passed with nothing happening. Besides, they were fairly close to the city, so why did he feel so uneasy?

As his eyes started to feel heavy, he heard some heavy rustling from the inside of the tent. He shot a quick glance towards the opening, becoming concerned. Winter popped her small head out of the tent, startling him.

“Hey there, I see you got all your beauty sleep. Seems it worked.” He offered a stupid smile to accompany his silly attempt at flattery. She didn’t smile back though, and looked troubled.

“Thank you for the compliment, Killian. I’m not used to being in the middle of the woods at night, let alone a tent. The noises are unsettling me more than usual tonight. I just experienced a rather terrible dream.”

“Want to talk about it?” Killian was being genuine, but Winter shook her head.

“I know it’s silly to ask, but please lie with me.” Killian stared blankly at her, not sure how to respond. “Don’t think anything of it! I am just a bit of a coward, if I’m being honest.”

He gave a straight-forward answer, not wanting anything to be misconstrued. “Don’t put yourself down like that. I very well know you aren’t a coward. It’s perfectly understandable to feel that way when you’re in the middle of a forest you’re not familiar with, and in the dead of night, no less.”

Winter seemed to feel as if she’d let him down, but she perked up a bit after hearing his words. “Thanks. That means a lot.” A shy smile splayed itself across her pale face.

“But yes, I’ll join you for a while. I won’t lie down, since I’m rather exhausted and can’t sleep yet, but I’ll at least sit with you.” She nodded in agreement before retreating into the tent. He took one last look around at the forest, but saw nothing. Silent clicks from unseen creatures and wind fluttering through leaves are all that could be heard.

Killian nodded to himself, agreeing against his better instincts that there was no danger. 

But wait, what was that clicking noise? I don’t recognize any sort of creature that would make that noise in the dead of night. It’s too cold for those types of insects to be out and about right now.

He listened intently, trying to pinpoint the subtle clicking, noticing it was coming from two different spots. One in front of the tent, and the other behind. Exactly opposite of one another.

He climbed into the tent without seeming suspicious, quickly gesturing for Winter to not make a sound. She was bundled under the blanket, looking nervous at first, but quickly switching to a more serious expression before nodding in acknowledgment.

Killian silently unsheathed a dagger from his thigh and handed it to her. He then hovered his hand above his reclamation pouch and briefly concentrated before two throwing knives snapped into his hand from within the invisible portal. He closed his eyes and pinpointed the clicking one more time before throwing both knives at once with either hand through the tent fabric in opposite directions. 

Killian never considered himself skilled enough to use these in actual combat, but they had their uses and he threw them high, regardless. For all he knew, these were children playing some kind of prank on them. He wasn’t that naive, though. No group of children would live to see morning in a forest like this, relatively safe or not.

The chirping stopped the moment he tossed the knives, and rustling leaves accompanied by snapping branches told Killian all he needed to know.

“If it’s money you want, we don’t have any, so I deeply apologize. If you require food, I can share some with you…if you ask nicely.” He acted unfazed, as he usually would, knowing confidence unnerved those who may have little of it. 

However, it was more feigned than usual. He would have to get used to having Winter around, especially in dangerous situations, before he could regain his true composure. Until then, he knew he had to stay humble in the face of danger.

Killian clambered out of the tent and stood before taking in a sweeping gaze of the forest. To directly attack, they would have to come out into the open. He continued to wait patiently, his sword drawn before him in a loose but sturdy stance.

The sounds of the forest disappeared within seconds as a figure emerged from the treeline. Even the wind calmed itself for the stranger’s arrival as the moonlight draped itself across its form, revealing a grotesque creature.

Oh, Gods.

Killian immediately recognized the creature as a Krisk. Humanoid beings that have no gender and wear no clothing, but have high intelligence for a monster. Their skin appeared waterlogged, with swollen veins and shades of purple and green throughout. While only some contain the capacity to speak, they are well aware of other races and their hierarchies. Their main source of food is innate energy and are easily drawn to those who have large, unhidden quantities of it. They usually only stuck to thicker forests with dense traces of energy flowing through them. Though they’re known to roam when bored with their local prey.

Killian looked toward the tent, realizing he never thought to teach Winter how to suppress her energies. 

Dammit! I should have been more careful.

Its thin and unkempt hair scraped along its deformed back as it walked with purpose toward their tent. Killian knew that fire was effective, but a torch wouldn’t cut it. He didn’t know fire conjuration, and he sure as hell would not risk attracting demons or losing control by loosening the enchantments upon his curse. He desperately looked toward the opening of the tent, thankful that Winter was already dressed and ready to move.

“Winter, get out of here. Right now. Please!”

“Whatever it is, I’ll help!” Her brows furrowed with resolve as her lips pursed with a nervous quiver. She was digging through her bag for the concoctions they had bought before.

“I’m sorry, Winter. I respect your strength, but if we lose this fight, you will be devoured alive, slowly. It’s here for your prodigal energies, and it can’t enjoy those as purely if you’re dead. It will keep you alive for days while force feeding and hydrating you with its fluids to keep you paralyzed.”

Winter visibly paled as her breath caught sharply in her throat. As she climbed out of the tent and made eye contact with the creature, she let out a small yelp as fear swelled within her. She turned to run, but stopped before she could even take a step. Glowing eyes peered from the forest behind them, accompanied by a low growl.

“Am I that frightening to you, that you’ve already forgotten about your second enemy?” The Krisk spoke in a gurgled voice, as if its head was submerged in murky water.

Killian had his sword at the ready, quickly pulling the blackened Sealing Blade from his pouch in one smooth motion and holding it ahead of him with a firm grip from his right hand.

“Wow, the monster actually speaks. Please, seeing you was enough; I don’t need another reason to feel nauseous.” Killian remained stoic, despite his joking.

The Krisk showed no amusement as it clicked its sharp teeth together in three quick snaps, prompting the other creature to emerge from the trees behind Killian. A four-legged Thorn Beast resembling a dog made of writhing vines rushed into the opening, yellow eyes locked on Killian while it growled and nipped the air. It quickly closed the ten meter gap between them and launched itself towards its prey with powerful legs.

The corner of Killian’s mouth rose into a smirk. He had not forgotten about the creature as the Krisk claimed, and knew what it would be the moment he spotted said Krisk. He was also well aware that they liked to leap.

“Return!” A wooden snap came from behind the dog as a flash of steel drew a moonlit line from the trees, through the dog, and to Killian’s feet. The beast dropped to the floor in a heap, just a few feet from where the throwing knife had landed. Its head now dripped purple blood from a fresh hole where its left eye used to be.

“Ah, I see. Enchanted throwing knives. How clever. That would explain why the knives dripped with innate energy.” It raised its fiercely clawed hand, brandishing the now normal knife that it had drained the energy from…and threw it directly at Winter’s leg. “Stay, my meal.”

For how thin the Krisk was, the speed of its throw was incredible. Killian tried to intercept the knife with his sword, but failed to react in time. He honestly didn’t expect a monster to use a human weapon so efficiently. The knife lodged into the now panicking Winter, just above her knee and into the back of her thigh. Blood splashed out to accompany her screams of pain as she fell to the dirt.

He looked down at her, his eyes filled with worry as she locked hers onto him. To his surprise, she looked more determined than before, angry even. She gave him a curt nod before looking down at the knife lodged in her leg.

She’s got some strong mental fortitude to bring it around like that. 

He couldn’t help but be proud of her. This encounter was terrifying and he talked a big game, but this Krisk was powerful.

He centered his full attention on the Krisk, brandishing the point of his blade in its direction. Killian knew the claws of a Krisk were powerful enough to deflect the likes of a sword, so he had to be more cautious in his approach. 

Alright, I’ll go on the offensive to catch it off guard-

His thought was cut short by the glow that was now flowing through the Krisk’s rising hair.

“Oh, shit,” he said aloud before quickly dodging to the left as a spearlike projectile flew out of the forest and grazed his torso, deflecting off of his enchanted tunic and hardened leather. If not for the enchantment, it would have surely cut through and bit into his side.

Appears as though it can flawlessly use nature manipulation. It’s an extremely talented Krisk, but at least it’s not conjuring anything. The extra distance it has to throw them by pulling branches from trees behind should allow me to react in time and-

Again, his thoughts were interrupted by a jagged branch projectile that he deftly deflected with his sword. He quickly noted that the branches were being transformed into perfectly aerodynamic javelins of wood, almost in the same instant that they were launched. Sweat formed on his forehead, the exertion and focus forcing deep breaths before his next action.

Before it could launch another projectile, he began a sprint towards the creature, both swords at the ready to deflect its casts. Ten more meters would close the gap as he deflected two more javelins, bouncing them harmlessly to the side. He knew if he could close this final gap on this creature, he would have a massive advantage; sword-deflecting claws or not.

Two things happened next, both within a single heartbeat. A root from beneath Killian shot up at breathtaking speed, prompting a reactionary hop to the side to dodge. As he did, the Krisk launched itself forward, glowing strands of brilliantly green hair flowing in the air as it readied both hands for a massive cross-slash.

Astonishment, glazed in fear, encased Killian’s shocked expression as he met eyes with the bloodthirsty Krisk. Its grin was ear to ear, dagger-like teeth locking against each other in a grotesque display.

Still midair, Killian braced for the oncoming attack, using both swords to deflect the cross-clash, thus leaving him open for the gaping maw of teeth that had now separated and were mere inches from clamping down onto his neck.

“Raaaaaghhh!” A zealous roar sounded from Winter as she tackled into the Krisk, too distracted by its almost-sated hunger to notice her surprisingly quick approach. She had pulled the knife free and healed her wound with astonishing speed to get there in time.

As they collided with the ground, the monster let out a wet, phlegm-filled screech, filled with hatred and bewilderment as its glaring purple eyes locked onto Winter.

A determined Winter let out a shout as she raised her fist. “Brace yourself, Killian!” She punched into its dripping maw and dropped something inside of it. Barely a second passed before she rolled off of it. Killian braced for what he knew was coming next. 

An explosion sent pieces of the Krisk flying in every direction as Winter careened into the nearby trees, smoke trailing her trajectory.

Killian, somehow unscathed, wiped the purple Krisk blood from his eyes as he launched himself into the forest toward Winter. Reaching her in seconds, he quickly assessed her wounds, noticing her shredded skin and tattered clothes. Her face was badly burned, one of her arms and both legs were a mess of blood and singed flesh, and her breathing was raspy as she lay unconscious.

He quickly tossed his swords into his pouch and retrieved several bandages from within. He tightly wound the cloth around her arms and legs to stop the bleeding before picking her up as carefully as possible. Knowing this would damage her further, he had no other choice as he began a full sprint, leaving the camp and his other supplies behind. The city was a couple miles north, too far for him to travel with the limited time he had, but he had to try.

As he ran, she came to with a groan of pain from the bounce of his steps. “I’m sorry, Winter. I’m trying to be as gentle as possible, but we need to move fast.” He panted the words through stressed breaths as he continued his mad dash through the forest in a straight line to the north.

She tried to speak, but the only result was more groans of pain as her burned mouth failed to produce her words.

“Don’t speak. Save your energy.” He did his best to hide his concern from her, deciding it might be best to lighten the situation in any way he can.

“Listen, I wouldn’t have let you buy those explosives if I knew you were so keen on blowing yourself up.” He said it with humor laced between his words. Even through the burns, she gave him a classic Winter stare he had grown to know and love over the past two weeks. A stare that said ‘please shut up, dork.’

He swelled with pride to know an individual capable of gritting through so much pain. It also told him that when she was healed, she would be pissed by his poor attempt at humor, but that was fine. He wouldn’t care if she was mad at him for the rest of her days, just as long as she lived.

Her eyes closed as she began to drift, the shock finally catching up with her. He quickened his pace even further than he thought possible, praying the enchantments on his boots would give him the small speed boost he needed.

I’ll make it in time, was the only thought running through his head. But at the rate her skin was turning pale, his confidence began to waver.

Blurred swirls of green and red danced in front of Roman’s vision, with the looming ceiling of a cavern behind them. He felt a tether latch to his mind as Vela’s voice popping into it like a blooming flower.

“Oh, hi! How are you feeling?” He blinked hard to clear his vision, everything coming back at once as he fully woke. He wasn’t quite aware of where he was, but he knew it was Vela speaking to him, so he used the tether to respond.

“Feeling…lost. And exhausted. I think I remember what happened, mostly. Was I, uhh…on fire? I’m pretty sure I was on fire.”

Vela’s laugh was infectious, dancing around his mind and forcing a smile out of him. He glanced toward her, letting the tug of the tether guide his head. He could see more clearly now, but his mind was foggy at best.

The soft sage of her scales surrounded the gentle lavender eyes that stared back at him. She looked cheerful. A good sign, as far as his health went.

“You may or may not have gotten into a clash with our Roostmother. That you’re even alive speaks volumes. You’re just lucky that Qavras is her link-mate. Not to mention that he sensed her rage and brought me along with him.” She said it lightheartedly, for his sake, but he knew it was much more serious than she was letting on.

Roman rubbed his temples more roughly than he intended. “Ugh, be straight with me, Vela. What’s going to happen now? And where is Peraklu? Did she heal alright?”

A somber aura resonated from the small dragon as her wings dipped lower to her sides. “She…wasn’t allowed mending for her wounds. The same applies to all punishments given by a Roostmother.”

Roman felt himself deflate, his eyes turning to the floor from a swelling guilt deep within.

“She’s in the back part of the cavern, so the others can’t see her while passing the entrance. Maybe you should go see her, though.”

He looked up at Vela to confirm that she meant it. “See her? I’m sure she’d rather have any other visitor besides me.” Vela’s face lightened, like someone with good news. Wow, maybe she really meant it.

“Quite the contrary! Go see!” She was excited again. Strange. Regardless of his concerns, he rose to his feet, stretching and checking himself over. He felt like nothing had ever happened. Vela truly was gifted.

He pointed towards the back of the cavern and shot Vela a quizzical look. She nodded to confirm the direction, and he thanked her with a nod of his own. 

As he walked towards the back, visions of Peraklu on the ground plagued his thoughts. He could hear the sizzling flesh. Smell it even. Then he remembered her screech and the whimper that followed. Tears formed in his eyes before he blinked them away. Why did he care so much? She was defending him, sure, but only because it would benefit their kind. So why did this matter to him so deeply? For the first time in years, Roman began to think that maybe he was still a part of his old self. Before the invasion. Before his sister was eaten alive. Before he was too weak to save her.

A link extended from the shadows inhabiting the depth of the cavern. When it attached, Peraklu’s weakened voice crept through.

“So it’s true. You’re alive. I thought maybe Vela was just showing me a kindness and lying to me until I recovered.”

Roman was confused, but responded without restraint. “Why would that even matter? You hate my kind. You certainly haven’t shown any sort of inclination to not hating me either.”

“I’m sorry.” He sensed unhindered guilt in her response. Okay, now he was concerned. Was she dying?

“Not dying. Simply weakened. As for your confusion, you need to come closer. Approach me so I can confirm my suspicions. I didn’t get the chance earlier, on account of my injuries.”

She could sense his thoughts, even against his best efforts. Words wouldn’t help him understand, so he stopped using them. He quickened his pace, sensing the urgency of what she wanted to show him. The cavern was deeper than he originally thought, heightening the tension with every step.

Then he saw her, and everything changed.

Her tether disappeared, but it didn’t snap away like normal. It simply…vanished. The darkness of the cave became muted, as if someone was tweaking his vision. He could see. This was…darkvision. He saw her lying there on a stone slab covered in leaves, looking tired and ragged. The fresh scar on her face was painful to witness. As he looked at it, he felt pain on his face to match.

Fuck! By the Gods, what is happening?!

He stopped walking as her eyes met his. He felt patience. He felt stability. It was as if he was attempting to read a book in another language but found a passage in his native tongue. He could hear her without a tether, and knew that he could just as easily talk back. He didn’t need to convert his thoughts or hide anything behind them. He felt a connection he had no explanation for.

“They say the white flames of a Vriska sear more than flesh. Flames that lick at the very soul, burning away the body and being within simultaneously. That must be how it happened.”

They were one. They were linked. She nodded to him as he understood the depth of this link. This was something he had never felt. He would be terrified if it didn’t feel so natural.

His words came out in a forceful whisper. He wanted to be scared, but he felt no fear. 

“Peraklu…what happened to us?”

Qavras entered the Scalemender’s cavern, focusing on Vela as he made his approach. “Small one. What is the status of my human? Where has he relocated to?”

“He’s with his link.”

“Do not refer to her as such. I refuse to warrant merit in such folly.” 

Vela gave a quick snort, frustrated at his blatant disregard for something so obvious. “There’s no other explanation. You were there, Qavras. You saw it happen. Is it strange? Yes. But is it horrible? No. Would you rather him dead, or her for that matter?”

Mithusis suddenly swooped down through the entrance and slowed to a light trot as his feet hit the ground, stopping next to the much larger Qavras. His mahogany-colored scales looked almost as black as Vitra scales when enshrouded in the cavern’s darkness. The white horns curling to a very sharp point on his head made it easy to spot him, even without darkvision.

“Sorry for the sudden intrusion. The egg is secured in the hatchery. The one that laid it is in good shape and high spirits.” He directed his message to both of them, quickly realizing that more was unfolding than a simple conversation. “Did Peraklu wake, or is she—”

Vela cut him off with a lighthearted exclamation. “Nope, not dead! In fact, she is linked with the human now. So let them be while they work that out. Please.”

Mithusis blinked in confusion, a rare emotion and an even rarer sight for dragons. “Excuse me, Master…did you say linked? With the human? Surely your humor hasn’t become that stellar overnight.”

“Oh shush, you. It’s no joke! It’s not as if they are mates. That would be absolutely horrid! Not to mention impossible, considering…”

“Yes, yes, okay. I believe you, to a point. There’s a story behind this claim, I presume?”

“Curl your tail and quell your energy, for this is hard for me to believe, and I was there for part of it.”

Mithusis did so, if not to only entertain Vela. The callous, hook-pointed end to his tail hung lazily next to his claws as he prepared to listen.

So began her story, to which even Qavras turned his attention, despite being present for the events within it.

“Without going into too much detail, Peraklu and Roman, the human, had made some…diplomatic mistakes when talking to the Roostmother. She threatened Roman, sending a precious item of his to the lava below as she held him. The same of which was used to save Qavras’s life this morning.”

Qavras let out a hefty sigh, his only sign of confirmation. She half-squinted at him in a silly tease before continuing.

“Peraklu interrupted the Roostmother’s scolding of Roman in order to save this item. Naturally, this drew her temper. Not to mention that Peraklu had ever so slightly challenged her this same morning about bringing in the human she was now trying to assist, ironically enough.”

Vela turned her head from her plants, her favorite backdrop when stewing her thoughts, to catch Mithusis’s eye. His attention was stalwart and focused. She continued, satisfied that he believed the story thus far.

“Peraklu received punishment and Roman sympathized aloud, angering Roostmother further. You know how she is about punishments; always deserved, never pitied.”

Mithusis nodded grimly, well aware of the wounds many dragons had received at the hand of their mighty Vriska. Somewhat often, he’d been asked to make sure they do not succumb to their injuries during slumber, for that would be an ‘inconvenience’ to the roost. This was the only instance in which they were allowed to mend her victims, if only to a minimal degree. Her behavior was necessary to rule over a race such as dragons, but that didn’t make it any less difficult to deal with.

Vela explained the rest, leading up to Qavras using his Ruzok Bellow to paralyze Roman and snap the Roostmother from her rage.

“Roman fell into the white flames of a Vriska, which we all know is ever-burning until snuffed by its caster. Even knowing this, I attempted to mend him in a panic. By now, Peraklu had risen, looking to settle her life debt Roman earned by saving her. She blew her most potent frost in a desperate attempt to snuff the white fire, depending on my healing to reverse the damage she may have been causing his body. Then it happened–a phenomenon that I can only assume nobody has ever witnessed. At least not on record.”

Mithusis was wide-eyed, rarely seeing his master in such a bewildered state. Reliving the events made Vela realize once again just how impossible this all seemed as she continued the story.

“It must have been the infusion of both our most potent energies. Healing and Frost of the utmost strength combined into one, upon a human actively being stripped of his body, life, and soul by a Vriska’s white flames.” 

She lost herself to thoughts, but only for a moment. She refocused with a timid blink and a sharp inhale.

“Now that I’m thinking about it more deeply…the white flames of a Vriska would surely cut away a human’s energies before devouring his soul. Maybe, with the mingling of such potent mending and energy, I somehow sealed Peraklu’s energy within him as a replacement? That would explain the link, since only two dragons are supposed to experience such a bond. Granted, the link among us is obviously for mating in the long term, but that’s not the case here. A link binds two dragon’s energies…but what if a dragon’s energy is bound to another first? It seems that in certain circumstances, a reverse method can establish the link under very specific conditions.”

Qavras spoke before Mithusis could react, stepping forward with a heavy claw. “Lumanasta may be my link-mate, but while she is grateful to Roman and Peraklu for aiding in my survival, she still must punish their actions as Roostmother. I can only calm her to a very minimal extent. The fact that Roman attacked her, whether in defense or not, is still unforgivable. Was he not under my tutelage, I would have recommended he be fed to the lava.”

Vela raised her head, her eyes looking surprisingly fierce. Rarely did she show aggression, but she felt strongly that what was happening here was more important than their customs.

“Qavras. Firstly, I understand. Second, they cannot be killed or reprimanded too harshly. This was all a misunderstanding at best, but what’s happening between them could be a way to bridge true peace between our races. A peace that would break the chains lashed to us by the Origin dragons. We could even use it to reach the elves and dwarves, perhaps.”

Qavras snorted, irritated that Vela would even think to speak back to him about matters regarding her Roostmother. She continued, despite his irritation.

“Furthermore, I think we should observe them. We don’t know the effects of this phenomenon in its entirety. It could go beyond their link. Maybe he can even blow dragon breath now!”

Her irritation was quickly turning to silly excitement, her lavender eyes shining brightly in the dark of the cavern as she opened them wider and her tail swung wildly.

Mithusis knew when she was passionate about something, enjoying the joyful mood it put her in. He glanced at Qavras, who was at a loss for words. He seemed to be deciding how to tell them something important. 

“Master, I understand your excitement, but I hardly think Roman is going to begin spewing the breath of dragons.” Vela looked hurt by his statement, but her excitement didn’t falter. He stared at her a moment longer, wishing he could feel that same excitement, before turning his head. “Qavras, I can tell you’re holding something back, my large Ruzok friend. Enlighten us.” He gave Qavras a pointed stare. Vela did the same, having needed to hear Mithusis’s words to notice Qavras seemed distressed.

“She’s sending them to the Proving Grounds against would-be exiles in the pits.”

Vela’s tail stopped, as did her breath. Mithusis stiffened his wings, remembering the next Proving Grounds event was today.

Mithusis turned his head towards his tiny master, watching her once visible excitement turn to overwhelming panic.

“Qavras, they are injured and crippled beyond our understanding! This can’t be happening…I have to talk to the Roostmother.”

Qavras stomped the ground and moved his large body to block the cavern opening, prompting a snarl from Vela. A sight that no dragon had ever seen from her. Not once.

Qavras remained calm, his position unwavering. “Vela, your words will find no purchase if you approach her this day.”

“This day?! They don’t have a tomorrow! It has to be today…”

“No.”

“Curse you, Qavras! Curse this whole roost!” She quickly turned to start off towards Roman and Peraklu. Qavras simply stared, something akin to sadness dwelling deep within his expression. He glanced at Mithusis, who seemed distraught as he readied to follow Vela.

“Stop, Mithusis. Leave them to Vela. I will go talk to Lumanasta, though I fear it will only irritate her further.”

“Thank you, Qavras.”

“Do not thank me. Thank the small Zitrul you call Master.”

He turned to leave, taking flight and heading towards his mate’s cavern. He was beginning to think this human was definitely more trouble than he was worth.

Qavras stepped timidly into his mate’s chambers, her palpable irritation still seething through the entrance and beyond. His large form filled the cavern’s smaller opening as he stood tall in the face of her. Mate or not, he must still tread carefully.

“Speak now, Qavras. Not as my mate, but as my Roost Guard.”

“The human is valuable. Worthy of keeping alive, despite the troubles.”

She rose, examining him with her piercing gaze. Every scale was rendered bare to her dominion. Every movement of his muscles. Every clench of his jaw. All were under scrutiny of his deadly lover’s judgment.

“Continue.”

“The Inquisitor that attempted to vanquish me and assassinate Roman was powerful, swift, and deadly–more so than the standard. He had fed upon adequate amounts of energy before the execution of his mission. If not for luck, and the maneuvers taught to me by Laxrus, I would have surely perished. His light was pure, Lumanasta.” Qavras was unmoving as he spoke, matching her eyes with intensity. She continued to listen, allowing him to continue.

“Timing and preparation points to the Arcane Torrent being involved with Demonvile. For what purpose, I’m not entirely sure. It appears their intention was to trade the human to us and act as if Arcane Torrent was also tracking him. Either that, or Arcane Torrent is indeed acting of its own accord, separate from the Demonvile agenda. Now that he is under our firm protection, within the midst of our roost, I cannot perceive a reality where they continue their deathly pursuit.”

A snort of rolling steam released from the slick and pointed snout of Lumanasta, showing her impatience. “Get to the point, Qavras. I could deduce as much on my own. How does this pertain to keeping the boy alive?”

“Because it’s obvious that I was correct. There’s more than meets the eye with Roman. He is more powerful than he lets on, simply because he had nothing to live for and no reason to truly fight. But he does now.”

Lumanasta’s eyes flickered with brief curiosity at his last comment. “Power does not excuse a poor attitude. He will bring more problems than not.” Her eyes reduced themselves to slits as she leaned in with her long neck. “In my cavern, Qavras. He disrespected me and then had the inclination to feel as though he could defend himself, despite the consequences of his actions. Is that his new reason to fight? To defy his betters?”

“Lumanasta.” He was unflinching as he stood taller to demand she listen.

“The next words from you better be apologetic, or spectacularly titillating.” She raised her head to meet his new height.

“You were too lost in anger to realize…” The temperature rose quickly, her irritation swelling. “Roman and Peraklu are now linked.”

For a moment, only the sounds of bubbling magma permeated the space between them. Her gaze shifted left to right, a confusion rarely, if never, seen from this ancient Vriska. She knew Qavras wouldn’t dare bring this information to her unless he was absolutely certain.

“Explain every fucking detail…and then bring them to me.”

“Lay your hand on me.” Not a demand. A need. For both of them.

Roman extended his hand towards Peraklu, her slender head leaning towards his touch. His body, his soul, was yearning for this connection. He had never felt the allure of anything like it. A second half. A part of him. His hand met her smooth scales, those beautifully-blue tips that reminded him of home pushing lower from the slight pressure of his fingers. 

Energy surged through him, feeling alien but alike his own core in mesmerizing fusion. Her crimson eyes leveled towards him, pulling in his gaze as she spoke to him.

“This…is the feeling of linking with a dragon. We are one now. Bound by energy. Bound by soul.” She sounded so content. So unimaginably comfortable with him, as if they’d known each other for their entire lives. Little did he know, they were about to.

“I…don’t understand. How is—”

“Touch your head to mine, Roman. Let me in and I’ll do the same. We must allow this, to finish the link.”

He stepped towards her as crimson eyes closed in preparation. His eyes reciprocated, the sight of both the cavern and her disappearing as he touched his head to hers.

Her life played before his eyes as he felt his do the same for her. All thirty-four years of his and thirty-eight years of her existence, splayed before each other in unfathomable realism. He wasn’t seeing her…he was her.

The feeling of hatching and realizing who mother is. The first time wind flowed freely beneath her beautiful wings as she learned to fly. The discovery of her frost breath and the excruciating process of acclimating her body to the glacial energy within as she reached maturity.

Every moment and emotion was laid bare to him. Hatred, love and everything in between. He knew her favorite food, where she went to be alone, her largest regrets. Everything.

Visions swirled before him of her father standing up for a lowly female Wentel, weakest of their species, establishing a link with her in a horrendous betrayal of her mother. For breaking a link and defending the crimes of another, they sentenced him to prove himself in the pits. His enemy…an indigo-scaled Zitrul named Laxrus, who had only been with their roost for a hundred years as an emissary from their neighboring dragons. Father was swiftly cut down, shaming their family twice over for the rest of their days. Next came years and years of unwavering devotion to the Roostmother, Peraklu just doing her absolute best to earn a moderate life for both her and Mother.

Just months ago, she learned to hate the race she had once been so curious about. Humans.

Memories of commands from the Roostmother. Landing at the human settlement. Seeing their own dragon-chosen representative, Roman’s predecessor, leading the people in a rebellion. Dodging his lightning and impaling him upon her tail as her breath froze the bodies of entire families. The tears she shed after for the hatred she now so openly received from two races. The desperation to break the cycle of human representatives, and the conflicting relief when she saw Roman save Qavras. The relief that maybe she was wrong. Maybe humans weren’t all terrible. Despite her attitude, she enjoyed his attempts at humor and the ability to shrug off criticism.

Every memory was vivid, all the way till when and how the link was established as he lay burning into nothing upon that cavern floor.

He knew she’d just seen his life in the same manner. That she now knows what happened all those years ago. But after seeing her interaction with the human settlement…things were making a little more sense. He felt complete. Like a lonely sun had found a wandering planet, warming it and granting it the power to harbor life.

Vela walked into view in abrupt interruption, her eyes laid bare upon Roman’s now wrapped embrace around Peraklu’s slender neck. The energy between them was almost blinding as it receded back into them. 

The small Scalemender’s mouth was agape in a wordless, awe-inspired stare as Roman pulled apart from Peraklu and ran his hand gently down her marred face. She winced in pain as he did, their link causing them to share physical stimuli while within proximity of one another. Despite their shared pain, she noticed something spectacular. The look in Peraklu’s eyes was an emotion Vela never thought she’d see for her friend. Love.

“Klu…”

“Roman…it wasn’t your fault. You—”

As they both stopped to notice her, Vela briskly approached them with determination emanating from her round, lavender eyes. Her small mouth opened wide as she focused. Energy flowed as her horns lit like magnified torchbugs. Her swirling energy enveloped Peraklu, and a second later, her wounds were healed. Peraklu and Roman both turned their heads, astounded and speechless.

“Customs be damned. Your link is the most beautiful and unique thing I’ve ever seen. Also, in a way, I kind of made it happen, so I feel responsible. I’d sooner die than let the pain I could easily mend be any kind of hindrance to you both.”

Peraklu’s panic rose quickly. “But Vela…you’ll receive the very wound you chose to heal! I can’t let that happen. I’d sooner sustain the wound in your place.” Her scales bristled slightly at the thought of her small friend taking such a vicious blow.

“Hold on, Klu,” Roman said directly to her mind as he stepped forward and attempted to connect a tether to Vela. He quickly realized that he no longer needed one–but just had to focus on his target.

Slightly flustered by this discovery, he continued, earning a brief look of shock from Vela as he spoke to her without a tether. “You healed her after coming here…so what was the initial reason you wanted to speak with us, Vela?”

Sadness veiled the small dragon’s face. “Umm…well, it would seem that punishment must still be due, regardless of circumstance.” Roman became rigid, hesitant to hear what came next. The thought of any more punishment for his new link filled him with fear and hatred.

“You’re both to fight exiles in the pits. Today.”

He realized just what awaited them in the pits, thanks to the memory of Peraklu’s father. He didn’t need to look her way to know her feelings. He could feel her fill with despair before she even spoke.

“We need time! No, this…this isn’t fair. We have our link to help with combat, but I know nothing of stone conjuration or how to fight alongside it.” The usual glow of her scales almost seemed to dim with her mood.

“Wait, Klu.” She didn’t have to admit it, since he already knew from her thoughts, but she rather liked the new nickname he’d been using for her. After living through her entire life, he felt rather close to her. Imagine that.

“We just need an opening and I’ll be able to end the fight in one move. I still have that final stone you saved from the lava.”

He pulled the stone from his pocket. Dread filled him as he examined it. Vela looked at him with growing concern. “What’s wrong, Roman? Is it damaged?”

“No…I am,” he said aloud, his eyes glazed.

He looked at Peraklu, then back at Vela, hopelessly seeking some kind of answer in their eyes. He focused a moment, testing a theory. Then he held his hand out and focused again. So…it was true.

His conjuration and manipulation abilities were lost to him.

Days had passed since her encounter with the lightning mage and the tree-fucker. It left her wanting–but for what, she wasn’t sure. There was something budding in the depths of her being…with deep roots, threatening to bloom into something deadly, beautiful, or both.

She closed her eyes for meditation, sitting upon the fluffy back of Beak-Head. She couldn’t bring herself to leave him behind. Fuck the rules of discretion. He was worth it.

Despite her inhibitions and stubbornness, talking to Proxus made her whole. When bone shatters or mind crumbles, she always returns home. She always returns to him. Her Family. Her Handler.

“Keira? What’s wrong?” 

He sounded…concerned? Is that concern in his voice? Worry for me? Care? 

Paranoia oozing, she clenched her teeth.

“Proxus. I need to see you.” It made her sick to sound so desperate for anything. For anyone. Seconds of silence. Agonizing. Wanting.

“Now is not a good time, Keira. They want inside of your mind.” 

Not concern. Fear.

“Fuck them! I’ve been trying so fucking hard! No! NO!” 

She was frustrated enough to grip a fistful of Beak-Head’s feathers, despite her meditation, prompting a flinch from her in-flight companion.

“Keira, what am I supposed to tell them? You’re actively flying in the open for anyone to see. That’s possibly one of the most taboo actions a Bladequeen can take. You’re lucky if he lasts till tomorrow. Frankly, I’m surprised they haven’t already killed it and administered a punishment.”

Something about his last sentence drew Proxus’s breath short. She noticed. His mouth was dry. He doesn’t want these things for her. 

He does care.

“I will kill anyone who touches my Beak-Head.”

“Keira, stop. Just…stop. I can’t defend you forever.” He sounds tired. She’s a burden. She makes him sad. She is failing.

“Then don’t! Stop defending me!”

A pause before he spoke again, enough to make her nervous.

“Keira, I mean it! You will lose your status, and you know too much. You’ll lose your life more than anything. And I’ll lose you.” She flinched at his words. 

“I can’t lose you, Keira.” 

Affection? Love? Proxus…

“I will behave. But I want to keep Beak-Head. Just call me a special unit or something.” A small chuckle came from his end. Rare. So very rare.

“Keira. You’re already special.” 

She could hear the tears forming. She could feel him. His longing. His soul.

She could hear the sigh. The same sigh he makes when he runs his hand back through his brilliant hair. “Keep him. I’ll figure something out.”

“Thank you. Thank you so much!”

“Wow, thanks from the dreaded Keira? I should be honored.” His words bounced from his smile and into her mind. She smiled back.

“You’re worth it, Proxus. I don’t kill for them. I kill for you.” She knew, though. She knew she owed them everything. Proxus helps though. Proxus is better.

“I’ll have your next target soon. Contact me tomorrow morning, alright?” He felt her nod in response. Not normally possible, but they could always feel more of each other than a normal mental bond would allow. He always assumed it’s because she’s special. But then again, so was he.

Shadow manipulation—something you would hear about only in bard tales. Something he gained when locked in the deepest dungeon of Acraxia, far off in the dwarven lands. He was teleported to their territory in the midst of an untold story, carried by no other mind and spoken by no other tongue.

The result was grim, but it granted him the power and status to be here now. To help her. Protect her. And he would do so until his final breath. Or hers.

The lush greens of Northeastern Matrudia faded slowly, turning to coastland and shoal as the landscape flew beneath them. Water lapped the edges of the continent, smashing upon rocks and crawling along sand. Keira often came here when she suspected an order to travel for her next target. She had a way of sensing these things. Experience, intuition…both, maybe.

Proxus had a way of turning around the problems she presented him with–he was brilliant like that. In this case, she knew he’d offer her up for a far off job. An excuse to keep Beak-Head alive a little longer, just for her. Maybe even permanently. She could become the exception, since she already was one to begin with.

She had finally arrived at her favorite destination as a crossroads for any potential journey across the ocean. Northeast of Kroniker, the coast was wild and untamed. It was the dead of night, but she had the gift of darkvision thanks to her…mother. This made traveling much more versatile for her.

Here was where she would wait in anticipation of trips to either the dwarven lands or one of the Draconian Isles. It was a short trek along the coast in either direction to reach a calmer sea, where she had multiple options for traveling vessels.

This time, however, she’d be able to leave directly from her favorite spot–all thanks to her new friend.

She gave Beak-Head a firm pat, his head receding back into her touch. He was tentative when she first stole him away, but that had changed quickly. He’d really warmed up to her in these past few days, and she felt surprised by just how happy that made her. 

She dropped a fish into his mouth, her eternal smile widening at the sight of her satisfied friend. She glanced around the battered cave, carved into a massive rock just for her, as if by fate. Everything seemed well. 

Maybe she should sleep? Two birds, one stone, being able to rest and await a chat from Proxus all at once. She briefly imagined a rock slamming into Beak-Head’s…head. She’d have to cross that saying off her list. Too many thoughts.

“Ah, fuck. Sorry, Beak-Head. Nothing will come of it. Just funny.”

Her friend tilted his head in confusion, but quickly dismissed it. He knew to expect random and senseless mumbling from her by now.

Dawn would be upon them before long, so this was perfect.

“Make sure nothing in here crawls anywhere weird.” She laid back, resting her head against him as he chirped in acceptance. Slumber came quickly. The nightmares did too.

She was back in the labs, as she always was. She wasn’t a child this time. She was herself. Ready. Angry. But something was so very wrong. A jacket, tightly wound, restricted her movements. Her bare legs felt as if submerged in a marshland sinkhole.

Outside the thick and murky glass of her room, there were chatters among dozens. A hundred or more men waited for her outside in an endless line. They filed in, one by one, taking their turn on her useless body. All her strength, stolen. All her abilities, stripped—same as the rest of her, save the jacket. It felt everlasting. In this scenario, sometimes she’s being injected. Sometimes murdered. And sometimes…other things.

The fifty-sixth in a growing line entered, but this time was different. Another entered behind him. “Two at once? No…I’ll break. I’m too weak right now…”

Shadowy tendrils wrapped themselves around the first man’s neck, popping his head from his shoulders like a wilted flower from its broken stem.

Proxus.

“Are you okay, Little One?” He only called her that when things were bad. Really bad. It wasn’t degrading. It felt warm and comforting. It was rare that he’d appear in her dreams, but it was always welcomed. She nodded against him as he undid her jacket, her prison, and propped her up. He laid a blanket across her and kissed her on the forehead.

“Thanks…” Her voice seemed hollow. Metallic. Purposeless. Her smile was gone here. Her mouth forgets how. The perfect touch to an imperfect existence.

“Shhh, it’s okay. I’ve got you, Keira.” He held her close, his warmth banishing the dread that clung so heavily to her soul.

He gently lifted her face. She was inches from his as beautiful eyes of sunshine illuminated her. The amethyst in her own dulled, a muted reflection of her normal self. She wanted to kiss him, but she never did. She never would. Unlovable. Undeserving. Delusional.

“Stop. I don’t need that from you to know your feelings.” He knew her thoughts.

Wait. Too real. Too warm. Too…him. “Proxus?” The question was breathy, hanging loosely between them as she realized the truth.

“Yes, Keira, I’m actually here. I’m not part of your dream. Well, I am technically in your dream, but not as part of it. Just a passenger.” His eyes looked heavy, burdened with guilt and regret. “I wish your mind wouldn’t torture you in this way. Or at all. Is this…the real reason you avoid sleep and meditation?”

She nodded gingerly. So unlike her, but so real. “Yes…” By the Gods, she sounded so broken. So small. He wanted to cry for her. “Mostly, anyway. I didn’t lie to you. I really can’t focus.”

“I know. Trust me. If anybody knows, it’s me.” He gave her a quick and gentle hug.

“So what’s the job…?” She asked, seeking some semblance of normalcy as he pulled away from her.

“There is none. Not yet, at—” A flicker lit the flames in her eyes again, her words whipping at him as fast as her Dekru-fueled movements that carried her away from his arms and to her feet.

“Why the fuck are you here, then? Is my privacy a joke to you?!” The usual bite had returned to her tone, mixed with something more volatile.

Proxus looked as though she had stricken him; his next words laced with pain. “You’ve been more emotional lately. More…in tune. I could feel your turmoil. I can’t just ignore that, Keira.”

“Who do you think you are? My Dad? Or maybe my Daddy?” She spat the word ‘Daddy’ with a sarcastic sway of her hips. “Either way, that doesn’t give you the right to pop in whenever you feel like it!”

She enjoyed the attention, and couldn’t deny how happy his intrusion made her, but something crawled beneath her skin. Something sinister, waiting to lash at anyone who got too close. Keira knew–you get too close to her, you die.

“I’m not lingering upon every thought, or watching every dream. It took a massive amount of effort for me to come here unprompted, and without preparation. You have no idea how much energy this takes…and after just waking, it-”

“Boo fucking hoo! I don’t give a damn. Fuck off, Proxus! Come back when you have someone for me to kill, so I can pretend it’s your predatory ass.”

She felt his thoughts hollow. The version of him standing before her now distorted for a moment. Anguish, she knew. He probably couldn’t figure out whether to be furious or disheartened.

“Okay. I’ll contact you shortly.” Complete professional once more. All sense of care gone. And then so was he. She was alone again.

Good.

She woke, pushing herself from the cavern floor and startling Beak-Head. The perceptive gryphon could sense her irritation and sauntered to the other half of the cavern.

She pulled a crablike insect with vicious claws from the leather on her breast and crushed it beneath her heel. “I said let nothing crawl anywhere weird!”

Beak-Head flinched from her harshness, worriedly looking across the cold stone to gauge her anger.

Keira let out another exasperated sigh, already done dealing with today. Fuck, I was actually having a good day, too.

“Sorry, boy. Not trying to be a bitch. It’s not your fault.” Beak-Head chirped in relief, resting his head again.

“Don’t get too comfortable. I need to kill something.” She looked out the entrance, noting the already risen sun. Noon or so, she had slept longer than she meant to.

Beak-Head stood, prancing over happily. He hated how wet his feathers were getting anyway, shaking his wings on his short trot over to her.

She climbed upon him, her small form conforming to the comfortable bed of feathers. He glanced back at her with a question in his eye.

“There’s a fishing village up the coast that I saved from monsters a few months back.” The intelligent gryphon turned his head slightly as if waiting for the command.

Proxus had ordered her to rescue that village. They were a happy little group when she saved them. Food, gifts, the whole deal. Their thankful hands gave her it all.

What happens next is his fault. 

Proxus made me save them, so I’m going to un-save them.

“Go.”

A couple of steps and a powerful hop later, and they were airborne.

“Look, Father, a bird! A big bird!”

The boy was hopping up and down, knee-high ocean water splashing about in every direction with his movements. His child-sized fishing spear frantically flailed about as he continued to point with his free hand.

“Son, watch that spear. The tip is sharp. And yes…that is a bird. No, not a bird…a gryphon. Nothing like that should be out on the coast. Creatures of that size hunt deeper inland…”

The grizzled angler of fifty-five squinted into the sun, the shape of the eagle mount growing closer at an alarming rate.

“Out of the water. Now.”

The gryphon headed straight for them, diving now, wings tucked to its side. The figure on top of it was clear to see–a slender woman clad in black and raising her arm to throw…

“MOVE, SON!” He shoved his boy aside as a blade spun into his forearm, piercing the appendage clean through.

“Why do you get to be happy?! Fuck you! FUCK ALL OF YOU!” The attacker was screeching from atop the gryphon as they closed in, her screams teetering on manic insanity as her rage turned to laughter. 

She leapt from the gryphon as it closed the gap; the man pulling the dagger from his arm and attempting to swipe at her. She leaned back, easily avoiding his attack and swinging with the momentum in her hips to slice halfway through his throat like a loaf of freshly baked bread.

The fisherman’s son fell back in a panic as his father crumpled, the soft plush of the moist sand pulling him in greedily with the impact.

The woman approached him, her blood-soaked dagger held before her in a challenge. The boy was not afraid. He was stupid. Angry. Vengeful.

“Hold on to that feeling, child. Let it envelop your very soul and seep through your veins like a miasma. This hatred. These tainted memories. It’s all part of you now.” She stopped before him, dagger held above his small form. The boy made no move, but never broke eye contact with the purple orbs of destruction staring back at him.

“Old enough to know how to count, I presume? Count out loud with me.”

In an instant, the girl was thirty feet away, moving like a blur. Thinking she had left him as food for her mount, he turned quickly. The gryphon she rode in on flicked his head left to right, staring at the boy with what could only be construed as pity.

The girl entered the village as the boy turned back to look, frozen in his own little spot on the beach. His prison, made entirely of his own jelly-like legs that insisted on betrayal. So he counted despite himself. One…five…Sister…twelve…Mother…thirty…sixty-two. His eyes blinked lazily, his thoughts attempting to catch up with his new reality.

She returned to him, eyes glowing and heavy breaths pushing past the foreign blood dripping from her face. “I was wrong. I can’t leave you to that fate. I just can’t…”

He was never able to count her last victim.

Winter was breathing in ragged, short breaths as Killian carried her past the city gates of Krile. The guards quickly let them through, one of which began escorting them to the healer center located within the center of the city.

Killian counted his blessings that this city saw little hostility, else getting through the gates with such urgency might have proven to be an issue. Granted, that was only because of P.R.E.Y. — Prevention. Retaliation. Everlasting. Yearlong.

They are dedicated to pinpointing and eradicating problems before they actually become one.

The board in every P.R.E.Y. Embassy will have posted jobs, and any custom or discovered jobs must be run by the proper channels before they are considered finished. This is for the proper approval and payment of said job, else it is considered a good deed by a concerned citizen, and nothing more.

Come to think of it, The Enclave would greatly benefit from a P.R.E.Y. Embassy, but this wasn’t the time for that.

On the way to the healer tents, he took stock of their surroundings. Having passed through the city a few times before, he’d never really looked around or had to stay for any period of time.

Market stalls lined the streets, weaving through and between various establishments. He took note of a rather serious looking barracks, raised on a stone foundation. It easily overlooked the entire section of the city, from the building itself all the way to the gates they had come through just moments before.

The streets were made of shoddy cobblestone that greatly improved in quality the closer you were to the center of the city. That’s because the center contained the Council House, Healer Stations, Guard Center, and several other important buildings. Killian noted the Trading Center, where auctions and shady deals behind stalls took place daily. Nearby was the P.R.E.Y. Embassy, as well.

They reached the healer tents before too long, considering the walk was longer than expected. He handed Winter over to the healers, urgently assuring they were aware of internal damage from an explosion, as well as blunt trauma.

He watched anxiously as they went to work, applying medicines to the burns and using innate energy to help stabilize her organs. His brow raised as he noted a younger healer who was literally giving it her all. Her energy pool must be enormous, seeing her hair fully suspended and glowing with her efforts. Even her skin seemed to glow, which told Killian something interesting. A gentle green aura wavered from her silky blonde hair as sweat made its way down her forehead. Her eyes were squinting, but she shut them tightly before increasing her energy output even further.

“Mercia, stop! You’re going to be the one needing a healer if you don’t slow down.” One of the nearby healers expressed her alarm, but was promptly shut down.

“This is my master! I wouldn’t even be a healer if it wasn’t for her.” Her voice was quivering, tears coating the back of her eyes, threatening to expose her desperation.

Nobody said anything further, but Killian had approached without her noticing. As he stood beside Mercia, her eyes still shut tight, he reached into his reclamation pouch and produced an opalescent stone. It gave a moderate glow to its surroundings, obviously containing a substantial amount of energy. He slowly brought the stone closer to Mercia and spoke to her in a gentle, unalarming tone.

“I’m here to help. I’m the one that brought Winter here. Please, accept the flow from this Holding Stone.” She nodded in response, too focused to give much resistance, anyway. He pressed the stone to her temple and focused on it, imagining a lock coming undone to activate it.

The energy flowed from the stone and into Mercia, revitalizing her skin almost instantly as color returned to her face. “Thank you. It won’t be long now.” She spoke alright, but he knew she would need to be left alone for the final part of the process. He returned to a waiting bench on the edge of the healer tent.

An hour passed before Mercia approached Killian. The latter had passed out from exhaustion. A speedy approach to the town while holding another adult-sized human had taken its toll, apparently. Mercia gently touched his shoulder. Her face showed a tinge of guilt for waking him, but she figured he’d want to hear the news as soon as possible. She could tell he cared for her, and this meant that she would do her best to help him.

As her fingers grazed his right shoulder, his hand shot up and grabbed her wrist. His eyes were wide and drilling into hers with an intensity that caused an instinctive whimper. Amid this shock, she somehow felt as though his grip was…warm? Hot, even. The fear and sudden rise in temperature prompted her to yank back her arm, of which he let go immediately.

The ferocity in his eyes quickly replaced itself with guilt as he raised his hands in a slow and surrendering fashion. “I…am so, so sorry, Mercia. I have these-”

“I-it’s okay. No need for sorry…” She was obviously putting on a front. A weak one, but commendable, at the very least. Then, as if a veil lifted, her brow furrowed as she mustered a sudden determination. “Winter has been healed, and is sleeping peacefully. No permanent scars, besides a small mark on her thigh. She was mumbling your name in her sleep.”

“Thank you so much, Mercia. Again, forgive me for my outburst. I did not intend to frighten — I was having a most horrid nightmare, in all honesty.” He tried his best to give her a convincing smile. One that would hopefully wield a genuine edge to slay his overbearing exhaustion he knew plagued the finer details of his face.

Much to his surprise, the timid answer he expected never came. It seems the girl was simply startled, and embarrassed by it, but was normally quite bold. “Your apology would much rather be received as an answer to a question I very much would like to ask.”

“Yeah, sure. Whatever can I answer for you?” He liked this girl. Something about her was so very…strong. A complete one-eighty from just a moment ago.

“That Holding Stone, as you called it.” Killian nodded in response. “I’ve only ever heard of items such as those during times of war, usually reserved for gifted conjurers. May I ask how much an item like that costs, and where did you acquire it? I would very much be interested in having one for dire times such as earlier.”

He answered with confidence. “I gained it from the corpse of an Arcane Torrent Seer.”

“Were you the one to kill this Seer?” She didn’t hesitate to ask the rough questions. Another trait he was fond of.

“Yes,” he said. No shame hid itself in his tone. She needed to know the origin of his confidence.

“Why? Forgive me, but you don’t seem like a mage.” Her purple eyes darted to his swords before returning to his.

“You are correct, I am no mage. I can’t even manipulate energy, let alone conjure any. The most I am capable of is a modest talent with enchantment, as far as manipulation and conjuration of energies go. As for the why, they were asking if I had seen my sister lately. The Arcane Torrent, as you know, is never company you would bring to the doorstep of a loved one; or anyone, for that matter.”

“…And why would they be wondering that?” Her hand crossed over the other as she held them low and close to her body, a subtle hint of becoming guarded as more information reveals itself.

“I’m uncertain, but it’s almost as if they weren’t sure how I was going to react. Like they knew something I didn’t, but needed to confirm it.” His lips pursed, the subject of his sister stressing him a bit more than he initially thought it would.

“My apologies if I’m overstepping, but is she alright?” Her hand gripped harder to the other, her knuckles whitening. She was keenly aware of his growing irritation, but also that it had nothing to do with her.

“You’re alright, it’s simply a touchy subject. A calamity within myself that I foster as some form of silly masochism. For context, I took it upon myself to be the counterbalance to the sins our father committed when I was a child. A silly mission, but I was much too young and far too hotheaded. Now, all these years later, I haven’t spoken to my family in quite some time. So I’m not one hundred percent certain, but as far as I know…yes, she’s okay.” 

His gaze fell to the ground and stayed there. “For all I know, my family was in trouble, and Vivien was their lone defender. At the time of the incident with the Arcane Torrent Seer, my brother would have been too young to help. I can only hope that nothing too terrible befell them in my absence. I also can’t query for information about them, for fear of drawing more attention from Arcane Torrent. An irritating predicament.”

“You can’t stop the world from being terrible.” Her hands unclasped, her eyes glistening from her growing sympathy. She wanted to tread carefully, doing her best to not exude what may appear as pity. She felt no such thing for this man. Not a wink. Though, she felt his sorrow buried deep within himself, with no stone to mark its crossing.

“But I can contribute to it being so, and I have.” To both his surprise and Mercia’s, a tear fell from his lowered face, hitting the ground with a soundless splash. “It doesn’t matter anymore. What’s done is done, and I’m on my way to see them.”

Mercia knew not to press further. Especially not with someone she just met—not about something so obviously sensitive. “Does Winter know your family?”

“No. Not yet, anyway. She healed me back to health after I dispatched some rather unsightly creatures in The Enclave.”

“Wait, she was still at The Enclave? I’d have thought that after I left her tutelage, she’d surely be on to better things before long. Not that a small town is bad in any way…but she is a prodigy, you know?”

Killian nodded, understanding the surprise. “I too was shocked to see a healer of her caliber in such a place, but it was also a blessing for all those that lived there. So much so that I am almost ashamed to have pulled her away from it all.”

“Why did she come with you?” She bit her lower lip gently.

“We got drunk together to celebrate my victory and recovery. The clever girl used it as a cover to drag information out of me. Kind of like how you’re doing, actually, just with alcohol.”

“Oh, no no, I-”

He put his hand up in a calming gesture, a genuine smile behind it to show her she had done nothing wrong. “Don’t worry, Mercia. To finish answering your question, she sympathized with my tellings, and I definitely divulged more than I meant to. She wished to join me as both an excuse to get away, and a chance to help a new friend.”

Mercia hesitated for a moment, as if she was convincing herself she had truly done nothing wrong. “What caused such a horrible condition upon her arrival?”

Killian let out a sigh. “I got sloppy whilst fighting a Krisk. Granted, it ambushed us in the night, but that shouldn’t have been a problem. It was a tad more powerful than I imagined; something I should have more readily considered after I saw its level of manipulation. Winter brought explosives of sorts from The Enclave, which she….” he chuckled a bit, remembering just how manic the whole thing was. “She tackled the damn thing to the ground and shoved some of those explosives into its mouth. She tried to roll away in time, but the blast sent her flying into a tree.”

Mercia brought a hand to her gaping mouth, her eyes wide with disbelief. “That…that is something I just simply can not imagine. I am so proud to have such a brave teacher, but I will say…that is much more bold than I thought Master would ever be.” She meant it, and her face proved as much. Killian was also proud of Winter, but didn’t have time to say any more on the subject as she stirred.

Winter sat up, eyes heavy with sleep and exhaustion. She began rotating her arm while wincing in pain.

“Well then, speak of the dead and they shall rise, so it seems.” Killian was grinning now, as strongly as he had since meeting her.

“By the Gods, was I truly dead?” Winter looked pale, obviously in need of more rest, but she still looked wonderful to him. He didn’t think that would ever change.

“Not quite, but fairly close to it, I’d imagine.” He nodded towards Mercia before walking over to Winter, easing the volume of which she would need to speak to continue their conversation.

“Wha-?! Mercia!” Winter threw her arms around Mercia, happy as can be, despite her condition.

Mercia couldn’t help but laugh happily as she hugged her back. The jubilant mood was infectious. Killian stared at the beautiful reunion with a dumb smile on his face.

“You two are close. It’s good to see such a bond,” he said as he readied his exit strategy. He remembered Winter telling him how the two had kissed, once upon a time. From the look in Mercia’s eyes right now, he had a strong feeling those emotions never really dissipated. Maybe he should give them some space…

“Now that I know you’re okay, I’ll be back, Winter. I need to gather some supplies for the road ahead. Mercia, keep her company, won’t you?” He gave them a wink that would make Winter’s eyes roll if anybody but him had done it–but she found it cute.

“Hey, don’t be gone too long. It’s your fault I was almost blown to bits.” Winter snickered as Killian flashed a sour face at her. He quickly reversed the mood and gave her a gentle smile with a special glint in his eye.

“You saved me at the risk of your own life, with a tactic that took no small amount of bravery. Thank you, Winter. Seriously.”

Her words caught in her throat, the quip she had readied for a sarcastic response blocking the way for the proper, heartfelt response she now wished to say. And then he was gone. Several seconds of eye contact before he turned on his heel and left for the markets was all it took to cement her in place, happily dazed.

“He seems like a nice person.” Mercia was eyeing her master. Her friend. Something akin to envy pooled within her as Winter gently nodded in response, still in deep thought. She was happy for her, but wanted some attention herself. After all, she hadn’t seen her master in a very long time. Not since that heartfelt parting.

“So, what do you think about the hair?” Mercia ran a hand through her hair, the luscious straights of its blonde lengths flowing lazily through her fingers.

“It looks wonderful! I always wondered what you’d look like with long hair.” Winter kept admiring Mercia’s hair as she reached over to play with it. Mercia leaned into her touch, ever so slightly.

“It also hides your ears quite nicely. Was that what you wanted?”

Mercia beamed, proud of her master’s praise. “Yes! Being the only elf I know on the eastern side of the continent definitely feels strange, even after all this time. You think I’d be used to it…but I guess I just can’t get over it.”

“Mercia. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with you, but there’s also nothing wrong with the way you feel about it. Besides, you’re a catch, and I think the ears add some mystery. Mystery is good.” Winter studied Mercia for a moment to test her reaction, noticing the smile she gave in return. There was a fleeting hint of sorrow, but the sudden hug Mercia wrapped around her quickly snuffed it out.

“Thank you, Master. I missed you more than I even knew.” Tears dotted the top of Winter’s robes as she hugged her back.

“I missed you, too.” She spent a moment more in Mercia’s embrace before pulling back and placing hands on both her shoulders, prompting a startled look of confusion as a blush heated her pale cheeks.

“Let’s get a drink while I’m in the city! I feel fine, thanks to you, and I want to celebrate our reunion.”

“What about Killian?”

“He would love to, trust me. Unless you’d rather it be just us?” Winter reassured her friend with a smile.

“No, no! I was actually hoping to speak with him some more, anyway.”

It was settled then. Tonight would be a night for merriment. They both fostered a growing excitement for the night ahead as they continued to catch up with one another.

Gorifix watched as Killian milled about the stalls, meticulously hunting down a variety of supplies. He was patient. Waiting while his target finished his little shopping trip wasn’t a problem at all. He’d already waited so very long for a moment like this to arise. For circumstance and calculation to come together and conceive a child of perfect coalescence.

A light tap on the shoulder, barely a touch among the slight breeze flowing through the city, brought attention to his flank.

“The two females, both the one he’s been traveling with and the healer they are friendly towards, have made plans for a tavern visit tonight. Killian will be attending.”

“Perfect. Thank you, Litra. The local girl…which of them is she affiliated with?”

“She knows the white-haired girl. There seems to be something more between them.”

A silence permeated the small space between them. It was only a few seconds. It was a thick silence, almost palpable. Litra began to sweat. Then even that sweat halted in place as Gorifix spoke quickly.

“What kind of something?” He needed to be sure.

“The proper kind. It will work nicely. Also, there’s one more thing that you need to tell Zalef.”

“And what would that be?” He sounded impatient, but his curiosity was even more prevalent.

“She’s an elf. Full-blooded.” Litra rarely sounded anything but dead inside, but excitement crept out from behind his words. The corners of his mouth curled up ever so slightly as Gorifix raised his head to meet him eye to eye. A rare thing indeed.

“A full-blooded elf with no clan to protect her? How is this possible, so far from Greenweave?”

“No clan. I’m unsure why or how, but it’s the truth.”

Gorifix turned away, deep in thought. A grin flashed itself beneath the hood, his wicked thoughts forcing it upon his face like a mask. He thumbed the syringe in his pocket before handing it to Litra.

“Take this and get it done. We do it tonight.”

The tavern was louder than Mercia had ever heard it as they milled through from the entrance to the barkeep. Granted, she didn’t go often, for fear of someone making fun of her ears. She was also terribly lightweight, as were most Elven kind. The barkeep, also the tavern’s owner, was ready for their approach.

“What can I get you fine ladies tonight?” Killian looked hurt that he’d been ignored, which only became worse as Winter laughed at him. Mercia smiled, enjoying the way they interacted with one another. She could be happy for them, she was sure. At least…she could try.

Killian and Winter gave their orders, after which the barkeep turned to Mercia for hers. His plump face flushed from hard work as sweat beat upon his brow, but he looked happy enough as he patiently waited for her answer.

“Umm…I suppose I’ll have a Bubbleglut, please.” He gave a nod and quickly turned back to his work. She’d normally not enjoy something with so much life to the liquid, but the bubbles within it held a certain sweetness to drown out the normally foul taste of ale. She’d never liked it much, but Killian clearly thought differently. His first mug was handed to him and returned a mere moment later, emptied. Winter seemed tentative, but she did her best to keep up. It was adorable.

You know what…I deserve this.

She finally convinced herself that having a good and wild time wouldn’t be bad, just for one night. Honestly, she’d never had enough to truly be drunk, but she planned on changing that. 

So she also began her attempts to keep up with Killian, prompting a silly competition between her and Winter. The prize? Probably a shitty morning, but they didn’t care. This was a night they’d remember. A reunion they’d remember.

As they talked above the crowd, Killian led the conversation happily. He told them of his adventures. Temples he’d explored. Crypts he’d fought to the depths of. Even about some of the mysterious items held within his reclamation pouch. Winter had asked specifically about a black sword she had seen him wield as they faced off against the Krisk. The ability to seal someone’s connection to their energy as long as their blade-drawn blood remained upon it was fascinating. She could see why he attempted to use it against such a foe. Without energy, a Krisk would be no more than another dime-a-dozen creature with vicous claws.

“Enough chit-chat! Let’s get moving a bit. I’m feeling stiff.” 

Killian didn’t wait for their response as he pulled Winter away from the tables and into the open part of the tavern. Mercia thought she’d have felt jealousy in this predicament, but was genuinely just having a really nice time. She took to the open area as well, dancing as if she had a peg leg, but dancing nonetheless. The longer she was at it, the more comfortable she became.

As they danced, the tavern shook wildly. She wouldn’t have been surprised if the wood jostled free from its supports, but she knew it wouldn’t. Her eyes were closed, the music flowing through her as she danced like a leaf on the breeze, her feet tapping gently in rhythm with the music. She could have been a graceful warrior, had her fate been different.

“Ow!” She felt a sharp pain in her back and turned to smack whoever jabbed the end of their hilt against her. But there was no rowdy swordsman or fool with a sharpened object to be seen. Just the usual group of delinquents nursing their drinks and singing their songs. She rubbed her back where she felt the pain, but the fabric was fine.

Anxiety swelled within her throat, but she had to quell it. There’s no way she was going to tarnish a reunion with her only true friend. A few more sips of ale would fix the sudden pain, surely. Yes, yes, that’s what was needed. She left Killian and Winter to themselves, lost in each other’s eyes, and returned to the barkeep to order another drink. Cheeks glowing red with her small, pointed nose retaining a bit of froth from her drink, she continued to chug it down. She was feeling pretty good, despite the further-growing jealousy.

“Little lamb.”

She stopped suddenly, motionless as her eyes went wide. Did she just…hear something? It was a deep, rumbling voice. Hard to make out, but also somehow louder than the music. She shuddered, the ale blurring her vision as she tried to turn her head, but her body wouldn’t listen.

As soon as panic began to overtake her, she could move again. The breath she’d been holding finally released as she placed her hands on the bar for balance.

She stood and turned to find her friends. It wasn’t hard to spot Winter’s beautiful white hair through the crowd. She made her way over, the two of them laughing about something as she approached.

“I think I’m going to head to bed!” She was yelling over the music, her small voice carrying better than she’d hoped. Killian looked concerned, swaying slightly from the copious amounts of ale he probably shouldn’t have drunk so quickly. Winter understood, though, handing her small friend a rather large key.

“Second room on the left, upstairs! I’ll send Killian up to enchant the door in just a moment!” Winter looked at Killian to see if he had heard her, which he confirmed with a curt nod. He then raised his mug slightly and shook it, his way of telling them he’d be up once he finished the last of his drink.

Mercia nodded, her head suddenly throbbing uncontrollably, too much for her to yell any kind of response. She took the key from Winter with a pained smile before squeezing through the patrons of the tavern to reach the stairs. Every stair-step felt like a journey across mountains as her slender legs did their best to carry her up. By the time she reached the top, she was more exhausted than she’d ever been in her entire life.

She had no trouble getting into the room, which she left unlocked for Killian’s entry before she laid down to rest. Sleep took her immediately, as if it was a hungry beast gripping at her with greedy and ravenous claws. It pulled her down into the depths of the deepest sleep she would ever know.

“Wake up. You need to wake, child.”

Mercia’s eyes opened lazily as she sat up. Something wasn’t quite right. Breathing felt wrong. The colors she was seeing felt wrong. Existing felt wrong. Where is she? Where was she before this? She looked around, nervous about what she might find.

“Beautiful…” the whispered words escaped her mouth as she took in her surroundings. A forest like nothing she’d ever seen before swayed in a non-existent breeze before her eyes. Colors warped, fused, danced. Like a moving painting replacing the colors of the world and slapped on top of it like a canvas.

She stood, feeling light as a feather. Her body didn’t feel right, but it wasn’t alarming. She felt almost like a spirit, but was solid as far as she could tell. She looked down at her hands, a slight glow to them as she made them into fists to be certain they were real.

As she looked away from her hands, she noticed she was entirely nude, but she felt no shame. This felt like home, like she’d always been here and always would be. The surrounding forest was like a blanket of love, one she’d been swaddled in for her entire existence.

“Child, you must flee. He is coming.”

The words echoed through her mind like a soft lyric to a beautiful song. She knew she could trust this voice. Something inside of her reached towards it, needed it. It was almost like…

“Mother?”

There was an affirming swell within her, and she knew it to be true. Her mother, who had died so long ago, was here with her. And then it all came rushing back to her. The lessons about their ancestors, the destiny of their clan and their purpose in Greenweave, and how they’d soon be at war for fear of their adept ability to control energy. Mother was right. The warring clans did come, and they did hunt them down for their prowess that undermined the Elven king and his daughters. Mother died getting her to a boat, using the last of her riches and breath to convince the captain of a trade ship to find her a home on the human continent.

Besides her killers, the trader was the last one to see her mother alive. After the long journey across the sea, he could see that Mercia was special. He wouldn’t be right in trusting her to a possible fool when he knew himself to be able. He took her in and gave her a home.

By the Gods, how could I ever forget such a thing?

Fear swelled within her at the sudden realization of what her mother had actually been saying.

“Who’s coming?!”

No answer, but she could hear distant voices. No, not voices. Screams. 

She now knew where she was, but not what was happening. This was the forest of her ancestors. All Elven kind held their own clan’s forest within their very soul. The Elven version of a mindscape, as humans call it.

These lessons were lost to her until now, but she didn’t have time to contemplate why. She needed to run, as Mother instructed. She ran from the screams, sorrow coursing through her, but she’s no fighter. There’s nothing she’d be able to do as a healer. They were all here, doing their best to defend her because she was the last of their line. She knew this now. Her life was more important. More than just her own. She needed to survive.

She ran as fast as she could, her body heavy with fear that weighed upon her steps and warped the colors beneath her. The bright colors swirled around her and became darker as the screams became louder.

Where should she run? It’s an infinite forest, but to continue away from the screams seemed most logical. And so she did. Time was strange, and she felt as if she’d been running forever but getting nowhere.

She felt heat. Unbearable, overwhelming heat, as she knew the souls of her family’s ancestors were being burned alive by voidfire.

“Look out!”

The warning wasn’t fast enough.

A wicked spear pierced her shoulder from behind. A demonspine spear made of crimson and night, an energy shuddering through it. An energy full of hatred and lust, power and envy. Her body felt like stone as she fell to the ground. The spear was draining her. She could feel it thirsting on her like a hungry babe latched to its mother’s breast. She tried to move, but no part of her gave any sort of response.

Heavy steps moved slowly towards her at an impossible speed, making no sense and confusing her. The vibrations of the steps were swift, while the sounds were slow. Whoever was approaching embodied The Void, twisting the reality of the forest as they drew closer. 

Then she felt Mother and everything she was in this moment. Crying. Weeping. Sobbing. Dying. Helpless. Useless. Despair. So much despair. The end is close.

A massive, clawed foot the size of her back pressed Mercia down into the dirt. Overbearing force loomed over her, bending closer to grip the spear and rip it from her shoulder, the lingering effects of it draining even her ability to scream. Everything was different in this realm, but pain was the same. Wait, no. Pain was worse. So much worse. So pure and unrelenting. Never so constant was another resonating agony. Never before had there been such gripping dread among any of the souls in this realm.

Her chin dug into the ground, her eyes set forward. Her unmoving body remained disabled amid this flaming world of death and loss. The feet of her mother came floating into view as the attacker walked past her, effortlessly carrying Mother with one hand around her slender neck. The spear he ripped from her shoulder sat heavy in his hand, but carried it as if weighing nothing.

Twenty paces he took before reaching the one surrounding tree not yet licked by flames. The only untainted element of this forest in sight. He lifted Mother and pressed her against the tree with a gratified snarl. Held her there. Reveled in her pitiful existence. And then he impaled her through the stomach, driving the spear to its half point through both her and the tree. She screamed. Mercia knew not how death worked in a place such as this, but she knew that the stomach would offer a slow and painful version of it. She knew her mother’s soul would die here.

She did her best to close her eyes and drown out the cries of her mother, stronger than she, that she could muster such noises while impaled by such a spear. 

Sobbing and moans of agony filled the outer circle surrounding the flames that now surrounded the demon, her, and Mother. These were the sounds of her onlooking ancestors. Her clan. Her family. They would witness the death of Mother. And the death of her.

The demon turned and looked at her. Eight feet tall, wide as the massive tree it impaled her mother to. With horns as thick as her arm twisting into a spiral, upwards from both sides of his head to a foot long or so. A muscular body that assaulted the surrounding area with a sharp shade of red that made fire look like water. His eyes glowed a bright orange, like two suns captured from the horizons of far-off worlds and injected into his obsidian-colored glare. His grin revealed nothing but dagger-like teeth, perfectly fitting among one another in a murderous cacophony with each clench of his jaw. He is death. He is the embodiment of strength. He is…

“Zalef. This is the name of your liberator. Your God. That you have been able to openly gaze upon me so bare is a gift. This is allowed only because you’ve been chosen.”

“Chosen…for what?” Her voice came out as a withered rasp, the vibrations of her words scraping her throat like broken glass. She was a wilted plant that yearned for moisture in a world where water no longer existed.

He stepped towards her with purpose as the feeling slowly returned to her body, but she had nowhere to run, even if she could. Her sight fluttered to her mother for a brief second, whose face was now contorted in pure terror–her mouth agape in a silent scream as if everything had been taken from her, or rather…about to be taken from her. The spear wasn’t causing this. Mother clearly knew what was about to transpire, even if she didn’t.

Zalef stood before Mercia, his presence commanding her to look up at him. What she saw was his excitement. His readiness. In the worst way. The most disgusting way. She had been scared before, but now knew she had never felt true fear before this moment. This was indescribable. Unavoidable. Fear as it was in its origin, at its strongest. It stuck in her throat like a rock, scraped at her skull like a knife, and twisted her insides like a spoon in soup. No tears came, but she knew she was sobbing.

He stepped behind her and used a singular claw to grasp around her shoulders; the size encompassing the width of her back. Her body had full feeling once more, the grip of his hand against her burning like a branding iron. Finally, her scream found its way, returning to her and exploding from within. It sounded foreign, different. She never knew herself to be capable of such a noise.

His free hand roughly gripped her entire waist with ease, raising her in sync with the other. Her mother’s eyes had closed. What had she done? Why was Mother abandoning her? What was happening?

Mercia knew, but she didn’t know.

He entered her roughly, one thrust, splitting her tiny innocence and searing her insides as though she had swallowed magma. Again and again, without pause.

Her clan had gone silent. Her mother was vacant. Mercia’s world was fire and blood. Sorrow and anger.

He laughed behind her. Praising her. Thanking her. “Little Lamb, it will be over soon.”

But it wasn’t. It lasted for her own small eternity. Her own piece of forever.

Then he pulled away from her, slowly, just enough for a brief reprieve. She was surprised to still be alive, but realized again that things work differently here. This was something else. Something somehow worse than what she originally thought.

He slammed her onto her back and lowered to his knees, raising her hips and continuing again, pressing her backside into the dirt as he pushed down on her chest with his free hand. The magma returned. The screams never left, they only grew. She wished she was dead. 

It felt like years before his hand left her torso, the release from such pressure opening her eyes in response. She watched as he cut his wrist with his fangs before lowering it to her with a wicked grin, the back-and-forth waves of pain and guilt pushing into her again and again as he spoke to her.

“Drink, Little Lamb. Drink and become The Wolf.” She wanted to resist. She wanted to fight, but something was so terribly wrong. He overpowered her in more ways than she thought. More than she’d ever understand. She opened without a second thought. Blood poured into her small mouth, too much at first, but it soon lessened. She drank and drank till she was full. And then he fed her even more. He reveled and laughed. In that moment, she felt her mother’s soul pass on, tarnished and burned for eternity. Now she was truly dead. It was over for Mother, but just beginning for her.

More thrusts, the burning intensifying. He finally finished, and when he did, she did too. But not in the same way. She finished existing. She finished living.

Mercia is gone. Mercia is dead. Mercia is new. Better. Obedient. Mercia is…

He rose, leaving her to thrash about upon the burned and spoiled ground, her body changing rapidly along with her soul.

“Demi, welcome to your new world.”

Dawn proved a quick bane to her growing nightmares. Cline must be in dire condition to refuse a visit to Vivien’s dreams, but the horrors were no less abundant. Talk of demons, her father and brother, cults and syndicates…they turned to sinewy shadows in her dreams. Crawling through her nose and out her ears like legless insects, propelled by a lust and hunger for any memory that brought her happiness.

Vivien woke in a sweat, her hands flying to her ears in a half-second desperation to grasp at creatures that no longer existed. Her reddened panic quickly turned to a blush as Nylus stared at her from the fading embers. He finished covering it with dirt as his stare remained.

“You’re troubled, as you were the first couple of nights under my supervision.” He finally looked away, gathering supplies he didn’t have before and stashing them into a bag. Vivien figured he must have another stash somewhere close.

“I apologize. I’m not trying to be poor company.” Vivien gently brushed loose strands of hair into their rightful spots, remembering suddenly that the bandages he applied after saving her involved her bare chest. She turned away from him slightly, a futile attempt to hide her sudden mixture of emotions.

“You’re not expected to be anything but alive, in my eyes.” 

Vivien nodded solemnly, accepting of his neutral answer.

“But for what it’s worth…”

She turned her head slightly, waiting for him to finish. His hesitation was slight, but unlike him.

“You are fine company, Vivien Stone. I would have you as a guest again, if future circumstances permit.”

She blinked once, then twice, slowly processing what seemed like genuine praise from the vessel of a literal god. A minor god, but still a god.

“I have nightmares almost every night.” She blurted the words before she could think them, a confession she didn’t know was so private until now.

“Tell me of the one you just awakened from.” The usual edge in his voice had softened. Hard granite turned to smooth marble.

“I dreamt of the moment my energy fully awakened, except in this nightmare…it doesn’t awaken, and I am lost to the demons.”

He took three large steps, closing the gap between them and sitting beside her. “I know of this moment, though I did not witness it. I felt your power awaken. It was the day they took your brother. I saw the scars upon you while applying the bandages. Bites, claw marks…vile creatures did vile things to such a beautiful being, and it sickens me.” Anger was more prevalent than anything else, allowing her to ignore the compliment hidden within his statement.

“They wasted no time taking him. My mother had just reapplied the barriers for the week, which always forced her to a deep slumber, lasting up to a full day. But they had already prepared their entry point before that happened, opening the portal and pouring through.” Her hands were fidgeting, knuckles whitening as one gripped the other.

“They were draining me.” She lifted her shirt, pointing to the faint but obvious bite mark on her side, just under her ribcage. “Right here was the one that triggered it. I felt tired, exhausted, drained. And then everything turned green, and the demons turned to charred corpses, strewn about every which way.”

Nylus turned his head to her suddenly. “Green lightning? Have you always had those brilliantly emerald eyes, Vivien?”

She eyed him curiously. “Have you known eye color to change so suddenly?” She smiled, knowing that teasing him was a far cry from anything he would enjoy. Or so she thought.

“So you do have humor locked away beneath all that sorrow. This is good. You should exercise it more often.”

She smiled wider, despite herself. For the first time, he smiled back. It was a confident and genuine smile, fitting his face perfectly, but foreign against his hardened features.

“And that smile will take you far, lightning bug.” He stood up suddenly, wincing with the slightest admission of pain. “Speaking of taking you far, we really must be on our way to Kroniker. Vladus awaits, and I’m not capable of fighting mages as much as I’d wish, whenever Arcane Torrent decides to send more.”

Vivien stood too, looking up at him. “Are you alright? I saw…whatever that was.” She didn’t expect him to be truthful about anything that might be weakness, but he continued to surprise her with his answer.

“Regeneration hurts more than the acts that cause it. Regenerating my entire body is less than pleasant and has its repercussions.” His gaze went distant, as if admitting it hurt just as much as the regeneration.

“I see.” She wanted to change the subject, and knew exactly which question to ask to do so. “You know Vladus?”

“Yes, he is one of the main contacts I have within the city to coordinate any monster sightings. The city council leader is whom I speak with regarding my provided supplies as payment.” He tilted his head for her to follow, slinging a pack over his shoulder and beginning his long strides, which he quickly shortened when realizing how difficult it was for Vivien to keep up. She wasn’t terribly short, but when compared to him, it didn’t matter.

Thirty minutes later, they reached the road, the slightly dented ground and ruined path a clear indicator of where they were exactly. Vivien wondered what the protocol was for disposing of a dragon’s corpse, and what they used to haul it. Maybe wind conjurers from the academy.

The last half hour consisted of small talk and getting to know the man that had now saved her life on multiple occasions. Several animals passed close by, seeming to admire Nylus and offering him a long stare as he passed. Monsters acted much the opposite, snarling and evading his presence. Seems a couple hundred years in the same forests earns you a reputation.

“You carried me all the way from here?” Vivien could definitely believe it, but she still couldn’t imagine.

“Compared to a log, you are a bouquet of flowers.”

Okay, maybe she could imagine after all.

“Well, thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Our time together is coming to a close. If there are any final conversations you would have of me, speak on them now.”

Vivien searched deep, knowing a chance like this may never come up again. She had been trying to gain knowledge from him the entire time, but nothing worth asking the vessel of a god who has lived for centuries. When recalling the events they had already discussed, something stood out to her.

“Why did you ask about my eyes at the mention of green lightning?”

He stopped moving, bringing his legs together, not bothering to turn toward her for his response.

“Become strong, Vivien. Let nothing distract you. Not love. Not duty. Not even family. Live, or this world may very well not. Not for long.” He continued to walk, as if his ominous words would satisfy her question. He should know better than that after a day by her side.

“You don’t get to say something so cryptic and act as if I should just agree and move on.”

“Vivien.”

“Yes?”

“Agree and move on.”

She shot an irritated scowl at his backside, stretching her steps to catch up to his hastened pace. She opened her mouth to ask for more information, but he cut her short.

“My next words to you are more important than any before.” 

She waited patiently, hoping his subtle hints and darkened tones would cease.

“For the rest of your life, those around you will be in danger. Your allies will be few, your enemies many, and your obstacles endless. If you ever need a reprieve, seek me out. If I am dead…then let us hope Dryvera’s essence survived, and you should seek its next vessel.”

Vivien wanted to tell him he was wrong. That she’s not the person he thinks she is. But she knew. She always knew. The way Cline so desperately wanted her. The desperation in the assassin’s movements to either abduct or kill her. The caliber of the mage that showed up to save Cline. She was terrified to admit it, but she wasn’t ready for any of it.

“What if I stay in Kroniker? At least for a couple of years?”

“My warnings carry no restrictions. Time, place, circumstance, none of it will matter. If I am still alive, seek me whenever you need assistance. Now, no more words until we reach the heart of Kroniker. Many lurk on the outskirts of cities in search of weak travelers, and their ears work just as well as their thieving and murdering hands.”

She obeyed, closing off her emotions behind a wall that was steadily beginning to build within her mind. The question is…was the wall keeping others out, or keeping something deep within her from escaping?

The city of Kroniker was a sight to behold. It took Vivien’s breath away the few times she’d entered before, and this time was no different. The stone walls were massive, surrounding the city in a circle, ballista and guards stationed upon them at short intervals. The city had grown vastly in rapid succession over the last decade, thanks to the success of the academy and all the business within the walls. Buildings were packed tightly every way you looked, and the main roads were always crowded.

Much to Vivien’s surprise, Kroniker was aware that the impending dragon attack was stopped by none other than herself. She could only thank Vladus for that, she was sure.

Thanks to the titles being thrown around, “Dragon Slayer Vivien, Savior of Kroniker, and Mage Beyond the Gates”, passing through the entrance and vouching for Nylus was as easy as buying bread from a market stall. For the first time in her life, she wasn’t experiencing fixed glances or disdain from those who despised her family.

It felt wrong that she was experiencing this newfound status without her mother, who deserved so much more than she did.

“Are you alright?” Nylus laid a firm hand on her shoulder, the patience in his voice reaching his eyes as she looked sideways to meet them with her own.

“Just thinking about Mother. I hope she’s alright. I’ve never experienced this feeling of…acceptance–from anyone but you, if I’m being honest. We’ve always been outcasts, thanks to my father. You know all this, of course, but I just hope that my new status extends to her as well.”

“I’m sure it does, and I know she’s alright. Worry not, there’s nothing to be done about it until your reunion with her. Let’s hurry to the academy so we can get everything sorted.”

“Will you be alright, so far from the forest?” She didn’t want to overstep with her question, but he didn’t seem bothered.

“I’ll be fine, for a time. I won’t linger.” He kept moving, not missing a beat.

They moved quickly through the bustling pathways of Kroniker. After crossing the western guard gate, they entered the markets that dominated that portion of the city. As they moved inward, warriors and mages covered in pre-contract gear became more abundant as they closed in on the inner area where the P.R.E.Y Embassy stands. 

This is where Vivien was suddenly addressed by her new titles, from faces she’d never laid eyes upon until now. Clearly, the guard, or someone the guard told, was aware of her presence in the city and telling others of her description. She wasn’t hard to spot, with jet-black hair and emerald eyes. Not to mention that her coat was something special, given to her long ago by Mother before she became too ill to travel.

A dragon attack was not something most people would ever see in their lifetime, or even two of them. Seems saving a city from such an event really did carry merit.

They had just left the Embassy grounds, moving inward toward the second wall that guarded the core of the city. The academy, several churches, and the castle were the major establishments that existed within. Dabbled throughout them were houses of the more wealthy and prestigious, as well as some rare item shops and top of the line armor and weapon shops.

Approaching the guards, they took notice immediately. As was now expected, they gushed over her and entirely ignored Nylus. Vivien found this ridiculous. If only they knew who he really was.

“By the gods, it’s her! It is her, right?” The first guard hurriedly looked to his companion, who nodded readily.

“Yes, I believe you’re right.” He looked ahead and straightened up. “Vivien, I’m assuming? And…whoever your friend is.”

“Nylus, and I’m simply escorting her to the academy.” If he felt offended, it didn’t show.

“You’re still my friend, Nylus. The same friend who saved me after I slayed the dragon. But yes, he is indeed escorting me to the academy, where Vladus awaits us. May we please pass?”

“Of course!” The first guard seemed to truly observe Nylus for the first time in light of this new information.

“Thank you for saving her. We’d never have the chance to thank her if you didn’t.”

The second guard stepped aside to clear their path before saying his final goodbyes.

“On that note, thank you, Ms. Vivien. Truly. My daughter can’t walk right, let alone run, so I fear we may not have evacuated in time to survive the attack. You saved us.”

Vivien smiled in response and continued on with Nylus in tow. She couldn’t let any of this go to her head. She didn’t do it for glory, fame, or any kind of recognition. She did it because it was right.

Thirty minutes later, they arrived at the gates of the academy.

“Well, lightning bug, this is where I leave you.” Nylus offered a thin smile, obviously hesitant to leave her in the protection of another.

“Nylus, I’ll see you again, I’m sure of it. Dryvera is lucky to have you.”

Nylus nodded, his smile widening to reach his eyes.

“I know you will. I look forward to that day. Stay safe, and remember my words.”

Vivien grabbed his hand and squeezed it, giving a knowing smile and a short nod.

“Well, if you’re ever nearby…feel free to visit. You can meet my mother and I’ll make you a warm meal.” She hugged him deeply. 

He hesitated with surprise before gingerly returning the hug. She knew he wouldn’t venture from the forest unprompted, but it felt good to offer the chance, regardless.

“I shall. Take care.”

With that short farewell, he was gone, his silent footfalls padding him away from her sight and into the bustling crowd of finely dressed citizens milling about.

Vivien turned, sizing up the academy. It was illustrious. That much was true. Four major towers protruded from points within, the stone of its buildings shining white. It almost seemed to absorb and reflect the light above.

Much like a lot of things within this city, a gate guarded it with a sizable wall surrounding the grounds. She approached slower than she meant to, nervous at the sudden loneliness she felt. This was a lot, and her only friend in years was now gone. She almost wished she could just go back to tending their little farm. But that life was gone now.

A voice called out suddenly, causing her to jump. Her sight ripped away from the oddly capped towers of the academy and down to the source of the voice.

“Vivien?! No way!”

She looked to the guard that was now leaving her post to run towards her. She recognized her immediately and couldn’t be happier.

“Caliste?!” She ran forward, meeting her halfway and embracing her in a long hug. They cut the hug, only to smile at each other for a time-stopping moment. Vivien couldn’t help but notice how much cuter she’d become with age.

Caliste was the only true friend Vivien made during her initial stay at the academy. While she was in-training to become a proper mage, Caliste was also in training, but to become a high-guard like her father was. A high-guard’s duty was protecting the most important assets in the city, given both expert training and high-quality resources and gear. Her family, for generations, loved this city and couldn’t be more proud to be a part of it. Caliste was no different.

Caliste wore armor, rather than robes, because she wasn’t a mage. As well as training mages, the academy also had a division of melee fighting instructors that specialize in fighting alongside and against energy wielders. They held their own section of the academy to further train more fighters like them to both guard the school and act as a frontline against forces like energy-wielding beasts and Arcane Torrent forces.

Her large amber eyes looked at Vivien from an even height. Normally, Vivien was an inch or two taller than Caliste, but whatever boots she had on must be adding some. Unless she somehow grew, but Vivien doubted that very much since they were the same age. Beautiful and bouncy blonde curls fell around her shining chestplate, always looking a shade brighter when she spent all day in the sunlight.

“Caliste, I’ve missed you. I would have taken the time to visit, but…”

Caliste shook her head, her hair bobbing to and fro to match her bubbly personality. “Don’t you dare! I know very much why, trust me. But that’s all different now! They fucking love you, Vivien. I couldn’t believe it when I heard. A dragon? I thought we were on good terms with them all this time. The officials have been trying to figure out which island they sent it from and why. There’s also speculation that it may have been a rogue Zitrul with its own agenda.”

Vivien smiled at her friend, enjoying the loud fullness of her voice and the color held within her sun-blemished face. Caliste took notice, pausing a moment to wear a nervous smile and giggle. There was a slight pause, a spark of something kindling quietly.

“I’m talking too fast, I know, but there’s just so much to talk about! How did you kill the dragon? What happened after? How have the years been treating you? How’s your mom? How are you? What is-”

“Caliste, pleaseeee. Calm yourself, my friend.” Vivien laughed and set her hands on Caliste’s shoulders. “I’ll tell you everything, but I desperately need to see Vladus and get set up. I can be sure we find time together between my lessons.”

“Okay, okay, fineeee. Just don’t forget about me!”

Vivien tilted her head and raised her eyebrow. “I would think that would have happened by now, don’t you?”

“You know what I mean! Also, meet my friend, Luria!”

A voice from the second guard of the gate spoke across the distance in a firm tone. “Not a friend. Colleague.”

Caliste rolled her eyes before grabbing the sleeve of Vivien’s jacket and pulling her over to Luria. “You can say whatever you want, Luria. You and I both know we are friends.”

Luria’s gaze remained non-interested, her eyes flicking slightly to examine Vivien. Her black hair was short and curly, nowhere near as much as Caliste’s, and hidden neatly under the hood of her elegant purple robes. Vivien took notice, looking intently at the hue of the fabric while recalling what little she knew about its meaning.

Luria spoke suddenly, leaving no room for argument in the tight spaces between her curt words.

“Since you’re new here, and obviously ignorant; white, blue, black, purple, opalescent, special-made. Those are the ranks of our academy’s mages, and you’re in the presence of a purple high-guard mage. Dragon Slayer or not, respect me enough to look me in the eye, rather than examining my attire and making small judgments.”

“That’s not what I-” Vivien was flustered, babbling the words out into an incoherent mess before Caliste came to her rescue.

“Hey! You pipe down, Luria. This is no time to be mean. Seeing as how we’re always stationed together, you may as well get used to Vivien here. She’ll be around a lot.”

Luria scoffed and moved her head away in irritation. “We’re only stationed together because we complement each other’s fighting styles, unfortunately.”

Caliste lowered the lids of her eyes, squinting unamused daggers into Luria. “You know it’s more than that. Now be quiet and watch the gate for me while I take her to Vladus.”

“Do whatever you want, I’m neither your mom nor your keeper.”

Caliste ignored Luria to pull Vivien along, past the gate and across the lush grass of the front courtyard.

“As nasty as she acts, Luria is actually a good person. I promise.”

“Somehow, I can tell you’re right.” Vivien’s intuition had kept her from feeling sour about Luria’s attitude. It wasn’t an act, but she knew her intentions weren’t volatile.

“Good. Now let’s go see the old geezer.” Caliste smiled wide and pulled Vivien to and through the ornate double doors leading into the lobby of the academy.

The lobby was spacious, with students of all colored robes milling about busily. Twenty or so feet ahead of them was what seemed to be a reception desk, with two individuals helping to answer questions from behind it. The left and right walls had two sets of large doors each, propped open for the plethora of traffic going through them. 

Behind the reception area, there was a wide staircase melding into the back wall after thirty steps. The railing along the stairs curved left and right in beautiful symmetry to finish paths leading up to the second floor.

Vivien had never been inside of such a large building. She was going to live here? The thought sent her reeling.

Caliste pulled her along to the desk before setting both her arms to lean upon it, comfortable as can be.

“Helloooo, Janeece. And hello to you as well, Brina.” The two girls smiled and returned the hello. Brina took notice of Vivien, leaning around Caliste to look at her. Her black hair fell away from her shoulders as she leaned, her brown eyes widening. Vivien quickly took notice of the barely noticeable contrast between Brina’s hair and her black robes.

“Oh gods, it’s her! We’ve been waiting all morning for this moment!” Brina grabbed a paper from her desk and stood, walking around the desk and extending a hand towards Vivien as Caliste smiled from the side.

“My name is Brina, as you probably heard just now. I want to be the first non-Caliste student here to welcome you to the Kroniker Mage Academy.”

Caliste leaned forward a bit, raising her hand. “Umm, actually, Luria also greeted her. Well, sort of.”

Brina scowled at the mention of Luria. “Yeah, well, Luria doesn’t count–she is a sourpuss. Anywayyy, let’s get you to your room!” Brina shot a large smile in Vivien’s direction as Caliste snickered at her comment.

“I really must be finding Vladus before I head to my room. Is that alright?”

As much as Vivien longed to rest after her long trek, she knew finding Vladus would have to take priority.

Brina looked past Vivien as if she was suddenly invisible. She blinked hard and refocused before Vivien could turn around to see what had her so surprised. 

“Well, it would seem that won’t be a problem at all–he’s right behind you. I’ll leave you to it. Just let me know when you’re ready for that room.” With a final smile and a slight bow, Brina retreated behind the counter.

“Hello there, Vivien. It’s been too long.” His voice was worn, and his body old. His robes touched the floor, but only just. They were grey as an old tome, deeper shades swirling within them. Custom-made, as expected of the head mage.

“Vladus!” Vivien hopped forward and hugged him a bit too tightly, prompting an ‘oof’ and a chuckle from him as he hugged her back. She didn’t realize just how much she had missed him. He helped her discover an aspect of herself that used to be terrifying. Now she’d be relying on his help once again. Even more so than before.

“Please tell me you didn’t come here alone. Where is Nylus?” Vladus gave a cursory glance to their surroundings, but didn’t seem too concerned.

“He led me here and then promptly left. He didn’t want to be away from the forest too long.” She searched his eyes, curious about his thoughts on Nylus.

Vladus grabbed at his beard, deep thought stealing his gaze and diverting it to the floor. His beard was much shorter than she remembered, no longer reaching to the neck of his robes. Black and grey were battling within it, but the grey was clearly winning.

“I see, yes. Well, I’ll have to thank him another time. Losing you to them would be…beyond tragic. For more reason than one.” Vladus looked up, noticing Caliste for the first time. “Hello there, Caliste. Sorry, I am very distracted today. Interesting to see that you two have already reunited. That’s delightful.”

Caliste smiled, inching closer to Vivien. “You bet. I’m on guard duty today, so it worked out perfectly!”

Vladus stared at her for a moment, prompting an awkward smile from her. “Uhh…sir, are you alright?”

“Hmm?” He blinked twice in quick succession. “Oh, yes. I’m so sorry. Vivien, do you carry any sort of weapon?”

“No. We’ve not had the means of acquiring one. Do…mages typically carry weapons?” She looked around at the passing students, eyeing their waists in examination.

“Not quite, but the Arcane Torrent have access to mercenaries that specialize in combatting mages. Much the same as Caliste here. Seeing as how they so vehemently desire you, you’ll need to learn a melee style, and I think I know just the kind.” 

He turned to Caliste, giving her his full attention. She stood as straight as possible and held her breath. Vivien could tell he made her nervous, but Caliste acted that way around any authority she had respect for. He continued, taking her silence as his cue.

“Caliste, I need you to train Vivien between classes. Hand me your rapier, please.” Caliste quickly unsheathed her gleaming rapier, shining brightly in the windows’ bathing light. She gently handed it, his blotched but capable hands accepting it without haste.

“Thank you, my dear. Vivien, as you know, all special weapons here in Kroniker are made from the treated bones of a dragon. This helps their durability when facing powerful energy and steel alike. We get these through trades with The Barren Isles, but they are still in somewhat low supply.”

Vivien nodded as he spun it slowly in his hands, focusing on it as if it was speaking to him. Then he looked up at her, his brown eyes as docile as ever.

“I will have a special weapon made for you, as well as specialty robes.”

 Caliste’s mouth literally dropped open. Everyone within earshot, Brina included, stopped moving and paid attention. Specialty robes were not something handed out very often. Maybe one every ten years, if that. Vladus ignored them all, focusing solely on Vivien as if this were the most important conversation of their lives.

“This weapon will be a rapier, in the same design as Caliste’s, so your training will not go to waste. It will be silver, which is normally a softer material, but I will encase it in the same dragon bone I just mentioned. I will be personally enchanting it while I’m still capable of wielding my energy properly. This will be a permanent enchantment of durability, featherweight, and amplification.”

He looked up and brought a hand to his beard again, as if trying to make sure he wasn’t missing anything. He continued as though he’d never paused.

“Durability to keep the dragonbone layer from shattering, featherweight to allow free movement while conjuring, and amplification to counter the featherweight. Normally, amplification would allow a weapon one or two powerful hits, unless it was made from the strongest known materials only obtained in the Dwarven Lands. In this case, it will simply give weight to what is weightless, but only for the purpose of impact. Your foes will feel the weight, but you won’t.”

Vivien didn’t think before she interrupted him during his next pause, blurting out her concerns before she could think. “Vladus, no! Three permanent enchantments will affect you greatly. I can’t let you use that much of your energy on a weapon I can’t even wield!” To further her point, everyone around them began chatting loudly. Some even seemed angry.

Vladus ignored her concerns entirely, paying no mind to the growing crowd and increasing tension around them. Caliste shuffled nervously at their side, glancing at the gathering students. He held the rapier firmly in his grasp, raising his free hand above it.

“And to assist this plan, I will now apply featherweight to your weapon, Caliste. This enchantment will not be permanent. It should only last a week. Can’t have Vivien training with a weapon that will feel entirely different from the one I will gift her. Her weapon will take weeks to make. A week to have it crafted, and three to four days between the enchantments to allow myself to recover.”

Vivien was reeling. She knew Vladus was a talented earth conjurer, but enchanters were exceedingly rare in Matrudia. She could recall the things she’d learned from his lessons, but funny enough, he never told her he himself could do these things when he taught them to her.

It’s said that enchanters are more common amongst the Elves, but only because they are more energy-attuned. Someone could only enchant items through pure energy manipulation. No element, only a thought and control of that energy. These applications had strict limits, depending on the item, thus being given names such as ‘durability’, ‘featherweight’, etc. to mark the effects that could be applied. While mundane and straightforward, they were amazing effects. More unique enchantments were occasionally discovered, but the most applied ones all had names for trade and service purposes.

Caliste said nothing, staring at her weapon in Vladus’s hands as it glowed. His hair shot up so quickly that Caliste jumped. It shone furiously bright, same as the rapier. Enough so that Vivien had to turn away. His hand coated in an aura as he grunted slightly from the exertion. Twenty seconds later, and it was done.

He handed the newly enchanted weapon to Caliste, who took it with an awestruck expression. “I trust you can easily adjust to the new weight, or lack of? You’ve been trained to wield a multitude of weapon types.”

Caliste lifted the weapon a couple of times, bewildered by the lack of resistance. “I…yes, Sir. I can definitely get used to this. I will train her for you.”

“Very good. Vivien, we will take you to see your mother. Afterwards, you will rest. Tomorrow, you begin classes—and training after. It is imperative that we train you as quickly as possible.”

After climbing the stairs to the third floor, Vivien, Caliste, and Vladus entered an open room with a few tables and another desk with someone behind it.

“Oh, Mr. Florne!”

“Please, Maria. How many times must I tell you to just call me Vladus? Any name that starts with an F saddens me, family name or not.”

“Oh, I’m sorry Mr.-umm, Vladus. Sorry.” Maria nervously shuffled some papers in front of her. “What can I do for you three?” She smiled as she looked up again. 

Caliste had joined them to see Vivien’s mother, since she volunteered to take her to the room Vladus picked out for Vivien. They’d head there as soon as Vivien had some time to catch up.

Vladus chuckled a bit in response to Maria’s pleading smile. “Don’t worry, my dear. You know I’m not the kind to get worked up over such trivial things. You deserve honesty from me, so that’s what I give.”

“I understand. Thank you, Vladus. We would be lost without your guidance!” Maria’s smile widened into a more earnest version of itself.

“Well, you don’t seem lost to me now, and the only thing I’m guiding is this young woman to her mother. Has Sarah needed anything in particular, or is she doing alright?”

As Maria began explaining how her mother asks for nothing and simply likes to stare out the window, Vivien couldn’t help but find it strange to hear someone call Mother by her first name. In all her years of witnessing her interactions with others, she had always been Mother to the family, and Mrs. Stone to everyone else. She wondered just how well Vladus actually knew her. Her thoughts were quickly interrupted just as soon as they began.

“Come, Vivien. Let us continue on. I’ve been staying in my office as of late, so I’ve let your mother use my personal room to rest. It has an oh so wonderful view of the city.” He nodded when her eyes said thank you.

He led them down one of the four hallways that split off from the main room, doors lining the sides all the way through.

“It’s awfully quiet. Is everyone in class?” Vivien was getting an uncanny vibe from the silence of the hallway. She knew the academy carried a decently large population, but it sure didn’t feel like it.

“Hmm? Classes are staggered and run throughout the days and nights at different times. There are many within these rooms at this time of day, though the doors were built with materials that assist with sound suppression. As were the walls.”

“Oh…well, that’s quite something. Thank you, I didn’t mean to offend.” Vivien felt embarrassed, not even knowing that a material such as that existed. Caliste placed a warm hand on her back.

“Don’t be like that! You’re not offending anyone.” Caliste was being sweet, just as she always was. Vivien couldn’t help but smile.

“Caliste is correct. You’ve spent your adult life inside of a cabin, with barely any contact. The blame falls on no one, but that innocence is a fresh casualty. You will learn everything you need to know here, as well as progress your abilities. But enough of that right now.”

They reached the end of the hallway, the door on the end swirling with some kind of faint purple. As Vladus reached for the doorknob, the energy fled from his touch like a scared critter.

“What is that?” Vivien couldn’t help but ask. It was beautiful. Vladus turned suddenly, his hand pausing on the doorknob.

“Hmm? You can see the energy on this door?”

Vivien gave a firm nod. “Yes, I can. It’s wonderful to behold.”

“Interesting. Well, regardless, let us enter. She is aware that we are planning to visit today.”

They stepped in quickly and Vivien was stunned–but not in the way she thought she’d be. The room was mundane, without adornments or trinkets that someone such as Vladus surely would have collected. The only notable feature was the stacks of books littered upon every surface and overflowing from several rather large bookcases. It was the same size as the room she had when she stayed here originally, with the necessities, a bed, and a large window that overlooked the bustling city below. The window had drawn her attention once she’d scanned the room, but a shape blocked her entire view of it. The shape of her mother, who was smiling at her and patting the bed next to her.

Vladus bowed slightly and pulled Caliste back through the door as she hastily waved a hello. Sarah returned her wave, smiling with the warmth of morning light.

“Thank you, Vladus. Thank you, Caliste.” She turned her head to Vivien, who shed tears of joy at seeing her mother again. “It’s so good to see you safe. Now…please sit, V. We have much to discuss.”

An ordinary-looking man with no distinguishable features watched Vladus and Caliste return to the hallway as he pretended to fiddle with his door lock. He had heard Vivien mention the energy upon the door before they stepped into Vladus’s room. Just the thing he was hoping to hear as he exited his room just in time to see them enter.

He turned the lock and entered his room, turning to shut the door as quickly as he could. It wouldn’t shut. The door pushed open, and Vladus’s voice entered the room as it fully opened to reveal him in the doorway. He was fast. Much faster than anyone his age should be.

“Such strangeness. You left your room to simply return immediately. What did you forget?” He seemed unamused, no sense of folly or friendly grace accompanying his words.

Caliste looked uncharacteristically angry behind Vladus, her rapier drawn and her left hand clenched. “What’s your name, student?”

The man stood stunned, unsure of what to say. “I’m Frankfurt. I met you both at the welcoming ceremony for first-years. You don’t remember?”

Vladus stood deathly still as Caliste remained ready behind him. His eyes normally looked dull and uninterested, but they were fully open, viewing the man like an insect on his favorite rug. The wine color swirling within them gripped Frankfurt from across the room, holding him still.

“I don’t remember you, Frankfurt. What I do remember is the way a girl named Breanne retired from our school. The way her resignation arrived from her abandoned home in a hurried letter. The way her signature was a centimeter to the left from where it always was in that same letter. She was particular about that signature and used it many times in her requests to me throughout the years. She didn’t like people, and kept to herself. She was forgettable to most, but not to me. I’m willing to bet you were hoping otherwise.”

Frankfurt panicked, raising his hands and gathering energy quickly.

“Now get out of her room and pay the price for killing a person so undeserving of such a fate.”

The energy Frankfurt prepared was pulled violently from his hands, flaying his skin and ripping apart his muscles and joints upon its exit. It sat before him, floating in a swirling ball of light, as Frankfurt screeched in pain and looked down at his mutilated hands.

“Since you think my academy is yours to use, I’ll reciprocate and use what’s yours as well. Nod if you’re with Arcane Torrent, and I’ll kill you quickly. If you don’t nod, I’ll assume you’re with them anyway and rip every minuscule speck of energy from you through every inch of your body. Slowly.”

“I…”

“No words, Frankfurt.”

He nodded furiously. “Yes! But there’s-”

The energy floating in front of him shot forward with blinding speed, wrapping around his head and muffling his voice. It constricted slowly as Frankfurt uselessly clawed with broken and bleeding fingers. A crunch and sickening pop sounded through the room before the energy finished crushing his skull and turning his head to mush. It consumed the material within and quickly spun in place until it no longer existed, taking the contents within to nowhere. His headless body fell to the floor and blood cascaded from the neck in gushing spurts.

Vladus turned, a shocked but ready Caliste staring hazily at the corpse. She looked up slowly, locking eyes with him before he spoke.

“Caliste. Train Vivien with haste and diligence. We are running out of time.”

Her mother spoke more today than she had in years. She’d spoken of her true father; a drifter who briefly worked as a bodyguard for their family while they were traveling to different quarry sites. She knew he was the father because, after Killian, Clerk had refused to touch her again until he realized Killian wasn’t able to manipulate or conjure. Only then did he say, “Let’s try for a proper child.”

Upon discovering Mother’s pregnancy with Vivien, the questioning began. The bodyguard, whose name was actually unknown to Mother, confessed immediately to prevent harm to innocents. He was proud of giving a much deserving woman the attention she needed. After speaking such words, they killed him instantly. He died with a smile on his face. That was Vivien’s true father. It was also revealed to her that he was a very skilled lightning conjurer, which came as no surprise.

Vivien sat in silence, listening to her mother without interruption. When it was done, she simply nodded. It all made sense, but she had to bury the guilt she felt. She was happy Clerk wasn’t her father. Despite Killian and Malus’s misfortune, and her father being dead, she was happy. She’d use that guilt as target practice later on. For now, Mother was examining her, waiting patiently for her to process what she needed to.

“I’m alright, Mother. Better than alright, in fact. Thank you for the information.”

“No questions for me?” She gave a rare smile to assure her it was alright.

“Just one.” She squeezed her mother’s hand as a thank you and stood, arms to her side, face expressionless as she stared at the ceiling.

“Ask me anything, but just remember how wicked truths can be, V.”

Vivien held back a moment, confused by her mother’s tone. She brushed it off and went ahead with her question, anyway. “Why did they take Malus? I know you want to limit my involvement, but we are well beyond that.”

Sarah looked distant. She knew the question was coming, but it still stung. Her darkened eyes of faded green met the shining emerald of her daughter’s as she inhaled. Delicate, withered hands slid off the bed to rise and rest upon Vivien’s shoulders.

“To answer, I must first explain the sins of Clerk. The fool I failed to stop. He had one dream. Immortality. Life extension. Body transfer. Whatever you want to call it. That is what Clerk was using him for. He was attempting to corrupt relics with demonic tools to remove his own soul and place it into Malus’s body. To do so, he’d offer everything Malus was and push him out while maintaining the energy in his body.”

The words ‘what’ and ‘why’ formed on Vivien’s lips one after another, but found no escape. Her mouth made gestures, but the sound remained buried. Mother gave a sad smile, her lips a thin line of regret, but she was determined to finish.

“He corrupted Malus with demonic energy to have it consume your brother’s consciousness. Once that was done, he’d feed that corrupted energy to a powerful demon and offer it the relic he’d then use to transfer to his body once he was done with it. His attempt failed, causing my barrier to fall, and you know the rest well enough. This let that power fester within Malus, mixing with his natural energy until it matured into something else entirely. Once his energy fully developed, I can only imagine they sensed it and took him as a bolstering entity. Demonic energy such as that could vastly hasten the process of storing enough power to lead a massive and lengthy incursion into our realm–just as Zalef had intended to that night, until my enchantments upon Killian drained him of that stored power.”

“Wait, so…”

“Yes, Vivien. Your brother was consumed for no more than a shorter sentence of relative peace. The only reason Zalef even chose that night and location was the fact that Clerk had stored a multitude of artifacts that were exposed without my protections. Given enough time to corrupt Alfira’s relics, they can most likely remain in this realm without a timer. This, you knew. Hence the reason your older brother left us.”

“Killian…” Vivien brought a timid finger to her mouth, slightly biting it in deep thought. “Why wasn’t Killian targeted for this ritual? Or me, for that matter?”

“You’re not of his blood, so it wouldn’t work. As for your other brother, Killian does not possess the proper ability to manipulate energy enough for the process to be effective on him. Besides, Clerk wanted a powerful body to transfer to. One that could use manipulation and conjuration. The only reason Killian is even capable of something advanced, like enchantment, is because of his connection to me. He takes more after Clerk, who was not a mage whatsoever. This means little energy output, and no means to control it. The little energy Killian has takes immense effort to apply for enchantments, but he was a stellar student whilst I was teaching him. He overcame the odds thanks to his stubbornness.” A real smile this time, creeping into her face like a stranger when compared to the look in her eyes.

Vivien knew Mother never resented Killian, but she could tell there was more. She wouldn’t dig, at least not for now.

“Killian is strong, though. He is skilled with many things and has enough temporary enchantments at a time to make those skills formidable.” Vivien looked for assurance in her mother’s eyes.

“Killian is more fragile than you think. He has his own plethora of problems and will need your help in the future. That’s why you need to focus on getting stronger at this academy, while you still can. With Malus being consumed and whatever other means they have of building power, it’s only a matter of time before they come for Killian in full force. They’ve made attempts, but it was never quite enough. The only thing keeping him alive is that they’ll never retrieve the artifacts within his reclamation pouch if he’s dead.”

“So…what? You stay here while I run off to hunt demons across Matrudia?”

“Something like that, yes. And that’s why I’m having this talk with you. To tell you your purpose.”

Vivien pushed her mother’s arms from her shoulders, standing and backing away slowly. “Why are you acting like this? Why are you speaking as if I’m merely a tool?” Tears swelled as her voice quivered.

“Stop this, Vivien. You don’t understand what’s at stake. I was literally sold to Clerk as a magical tool. This is not the same.” 

Sarah didn’t sound demanding or angry, but her tone left no room for argument. She stood tall, boring into her daughter with a level of seriousness Vivien rarely witnessed.

“Killian will only trust in you. If you won’t fight alongside him, then you need to convince him to scatter the relics across the world once more–hide them in places where they can’t be found. His father dug them up and gathered them together, so he refuses to believe it won’t happen again. He’s failing to see that he’s a greater weakness to his own plan than any random person hunting these relics or otherwise.”

Vivien raised her voice, throwing her arms out wide. She was being childish, but she couldn’t help it. Her mother had never acted this way towards her before now. This made no sense.

“And what am I supposed to do regarding Arcane Torrent? Make my brother a willing target for their attacks, as well as Demonvile soldiers?”

“They are working together, Vivien. That’s inevitable.”

Vivien paused, blinking slowly. “How do you know that?”

“I said what I said. They are working together. It was proven by the events leading up to today. To what end, I am not sure, but it’s surely not good. Vladus was the one who discovered it. They sent the dragon for one purpose, but diverted their attention to taking you once they witnessed your slaying of it. That’s not the whole picture, though, Vivien. The only solution is for you to grow stronger. You need to. You have to.”

“That doesn’t make any damn sense, Mother! A Demonvile soldier tried to kill me. Why would they do that if they’re working with Arcane Torrent?”

“Did he now? Did he actually make a move to kill you, or was he trying to subdue you instead?”

Vivien thought back to the events that had unfolded. Flyn attacking Nylus and grabbing her. His fight with Keira and the dagger she saved her from. One moment he was taking her and the next he was throwing a dagger at her. Not to mention how clouded her senses were during the entire ordeal.

“Maybe you’re right…but still.”

“You see it now, don’t you?” Sarah crossed her arms, a clear sign of her distress. Vivien knew this all too well. “Demons want to rule this realm. Arcane Torrent wants power. So what do the two stand to gain from one another?” She was asking herself more than anything, not even looking at Vivien as she pondered the question aloud.

“I barely know anything about these two groups. I didn’t even know of the Demonviles until recently.”

“I’m sorry, Vivien. I’d have chosen to shelter you from all this as long as possible, but that’s no longer an option. If only I’d noticed you preparing to chase that dragon, I might have been able to stop you.”

“And doomed this city to its wrath? How dare you suggest such a thing!”

“Vivien, I don’t give a damn about anything but my family! I gave up the only thing that ever made me useful in this life. Almost the entirety of my power was sacrificed to protect you three!”

“Well, look how that turned out, Mother! Malus is dead, Killian is being hunted, and now I’m in danger as well. So it seems it was for naught.” 

She bit her lip the moment she finished. She shouldn’t have said any of that, but it was the truth. She couldn’t understand why she was suddenly being put into such a position by the same person she’d taken care of for so long.

“I won’t get angry at you, Vivien. I should, but I won’t. Despite my obvious failings, I still want what’s best for you. None of that matters though, because the current events can’t be reversed. It’s time for you to grow up and harness your gift.”

“And if I fail? If I’m taken? What then?”

“If the worst happens, then you have to kill yourself at the first available opportunity.”

Silence spread between them. A passing cloud darkened the skies that veiled the room with the coming dusk. Vivien stared in disbelief.

“What are you keeping from me?” The sad, helpless version of herself that she’d known her entire life was fading fast. Dying as if being drowned. She could feel the walls she’d put up crumbling like dried clay.

“I’ll tell you the rest when you’ve earned it. I’m sorry to be harsh, but you don’t need a caring mother anymore. You need survival, and I can’t provide that for you.”

Vivien straightened and walked for the door, grabbing the handle and hesitating. Sarah said nothing behind her as Vivien stood in the doorway.

“I’ll do it, but for all of Matrudia. Not for you. Not for me. I won’t forsake the people of this world for my own benefit.”

“Then you’ll die, or worse.”

“I won’t compromise, even if it means I lose. If I did, then it would be like killing myself, anyway.” She slammed the door, leaving behind the woman she feared she never really knew to begin with.

His panic was swelling. No energy? None? What the fuck is happening?

Peraklu answered his unspoken thoughts. “Roman…your energy is still present, but your lack of ability to use it is strange, to say the least. I will tell you…that if this persists, we are going to die.” She was downtrodden, but he sensed something similar to solace creeping through her mind. To know they would die together was a thought she clung to. That wasn’t good enough for him.

“You’re a Zitrul. We’ll be facing Wentel nobodies, right? How can we lose?” He knew the answer, but he asked anyway. As if the stalling from his question would somehow buy them more time.

“You know from my memories that frost is near useless when used against dragons. Our scales are just too resistant to it. Therefore, Roostmother had me in charge of the humans for a time. Their skin is quite…brittle.” 

Her head dipped as memories of frozen children surfaced, their faces contorted in confused panic as they forever reached for their parents. 

Just before she shattered their bodies.

Vela paced nervously, deep in thought as the situation began to look hopeless. “Roman, can you manipulate frost? Or try? I know it’s not an element, but maybe her energy being infused with yours has changed you on a more fundamental level.”

Peraklu and Roman exchanged a quick glance before she blew a steady stream of frost in front of him. Roman closed his eyes in concentration, but to no avail.

Vela’s eyes darted between them, hoping to spot some kind of revelation on their faces. “Anything? Anything at all?”

Roman let out a deep, exhausted sigh. “Nothing. Literally fucking nothing. I’m useless! Klu…you’re in danger of dying again, because of me. Except this time I won’t be able to stop it.”

Peraklu’s eyes widened with a mixture of irritation and empathy. “Stop that. Don’t think this way. I said we will die, but I didn’t say we’d roll over and let it happen without a fight. They have a selection of weapons retrieved from insurrection and past invaders of human origin. You’re adept enough with a spear that you could ask to use one during our combat. That will reduce our chances of death. Minimal, but still a reduction.”

“I haven’t used a spear in over a year, and I’m supposed to just pick one up today and poke a couple of dragons with it?” He ran a hand through his disheveled hair.

“I could do without the attitude, Roman. I’m trying to help you. I’m trying to help us.”

“I know, Klu. I’m sorry. I’m not trying to be an ass. I just…don’t understand why everything good in my life must be immediately met with something equally bad, or worse. The only conclusion is that it has to be me, right?”

Vela sat patiently, feeling out of her depth with the now uncanny levels of familiarity the two now had with one another. She couldn’t presume to know what having a link was like, yet, but she knew the intricacies of it. She wanted to pitch in, but Peraklu knew everything about Roman, while she had just met him.

Peraklu gave Vela a soft nod with unusually gentle eyes–her way of saying sorry for putting her in such an alienated position. Vela nodded back, assuring her it was all fine, before Peraklu turned back to her link.

“Logic holds no place in your comparisons. Circumstance. Coincidence. And only sometimes…your less than eloquent vocabulary. Those are the main factors.” He looked up at her, catching her subtle humor, but seeing the truth in her words. 

“But none of the things you’re referring to are truly your fault. As for our current situation, the Roostmother held me in bad tidings for a very long time. Her decision to end me was not because of your quip. I believe she simply wanted to wipe the slate clean on the entire human front of our situation; kill me, make her mate, Qavras, manage them instead, and find a less rebellious type as her human representative. It would have been efficient to achieve all of those with a flimsy excuse and a heat of the moment decision.”

The tip of her tail lightly scratched the rock below her makeshift bed as she twirled it in small, thoughtless circles. A telltale sign of her nervousness, and a habit she’d had since the age of five.

Roman seemed to relax a bit, the crease in his forehead disappearing. “Okay, that’s a fair point. I can see that being her reasoning. Though, the punishment now is because I fought back, but we’d both be dead if I hadn’t.”

“Focus, Roman. Think of the nightdrangas and the memories attached to them. Whenever you are too distressed…look upon the tips of my scales. You did say they remind you of those cherished flowers, yes?”

Roman was speechless. He knew she already had the answer to that question. He also knew she was well aware of just how much he admired her scales, but would never openly admit it for fear of pissing her off.

Is she giving me permission to stare despite her reservations, just for comfort? Is Klu actually being…sweet?

Peraklu’s eyes narrowed. A clear sign for him to not push his luck and just accept what’s already been given. Roman’s face tightened with a nervous smile, nodding mildly in understanding and thanks.

Vela finally spoke, needing to spur them into action in light of their quickly dwindling time before the pit fight. “I know you two are having some kind of moment, but what’s important now is preparation. She’ll likely call you two to her cavern once Qavras finishes informing her of your new developments. I doubt she will retract the punishment, but I will need to come along so she doesn’t absolutely lose her wings when she sees your mended wounds.”

Peraklu tensed, her talons pressing harder against the bed. “Vela…”

“My body is small, but I’m big when I need to be. Let me deal with what comes next.” It always amazed Peraklu how tough her tiny friend could be.

“Alright, Vela. Thank you. For everything.”

Roman recalled the vivid memories of events that led to the close bond between the two. Vela is the only one Klu considers a friend. The only one that comforted her when her father died, while all others bid good riddance. The only one that’s ever truly loved her aside from her mother. Until him, though his love was very different. He knew he had to speak up.

“Vela. I’d like to thank you as well.” Vela turned to Roman, curiosity embedded within her expression. “I’m aware I didn’t earn the right to know you, or have these memories…but I’ve witnessed what you’ve done for Klu. All the times you’ve talked her up when she was down. The times you cried with her…and for her. The list goes on, and I don’t mean to be a sappy idiot, but it needs to be said. Gods know Klu is too stubborn to say any of it outright.”

Peraklu exhaled a puff of frosty air as she gently whacked his back with her tail. A sign of affection as much as irritation. He stumbled a bit, but laughed aloud. Peraklu warmed at his laugh. His joy brought her joy. The link was a wondrous thing indeed, but she feared the repercussions of it. His laugh faltered near the end, his thoughts reciprocating hers.

A roar from Qavras shook the walls of the cavern, stemming from the front entrance. It was time.

Roman’s nerves reached a peak as they walked into the cavern where he very nearly burned into nothing just a day ago. His wary eyes continued to flick glances towards the Roostmother’s tail, making damn sure she didn’t sneak it behind him like last time. 

As if he’d be able to do anything about it without the use of his energy. Even with it, Roman was pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to truly damage her.

He felt the reassuring presence of Klu on his left, her tail casually curving to surround him in a protective gesture.

Vela was to his right, her bright colors dimming slightly in the lava-lit gloom of the cavern. At least he had darkvision now, through some kind of link mumbo jumbo he would never understand. Qavras was on the end next to Vela, making her seem even smaller than she already was.

The Roostmother rose from her throne to loom her menacing presence over them all. Her power was palpable, crackling through the cavern like a vice grip, threatening to tighten around their very souls. Roman’s sense of her strength and presence were more keen than ever before due to his link. It was overwhelming, taking everything in his power not to look away from her all-consuming figure of sinister black scales.

Her long neck slowly dragged her emotionless judgment across them all until it landed upon Peraklu’s unmarred face. The slits of her pupils widened slightly in recognition before turning to bore upon Vela.

“As if I haven’t witnessed enough betrayal within my home. What have you done?” She stepped off her throne, slowly approaching the small scalemender.

“You’re no fool, Roostmother, and neither am I. I’m not raising their chances of death because of an injury. Their link could mean so much more for us as a race. By my wings, scar me in her place. I don’t give a damn.”

Roman’s mouth fell open, and he felt a similar response from Klu. 
No fucking way she just opened with such bluntness. What was she thinking?!

The Vriska’s deadly glare sat upon Vela for a moment longer. No more words exchanged between them as deadly silence closed around their throats. She raised her claw without warning and curved her talons before swiping them downward. Roman closed his eyes as Peraklu tensed beside him. He couldn’t watch this again.

But no sound followed. No tearing of flesh or rending of scales. No whimpers of pain. Nothing.

Roman opened his eyes, seeing the Roostmother’s claw stopped just short of Vela’s unmoving face. She hadn’t even seemed to flinch, her lavender eyes still locked with the Roostmother in open defiance.

“You really believe in them, Scalemender Vela. Commendable. For all who ask, you were given permission to heal her wounds of punishment.”

Vela’s eyes softened, her body relaxing slightly from her adrenaline-fueled stance as relief calmed her heart and slowed her racing blood. “Thank you, Roostmother. Your kindness will not soon be forgotten. I am honored to mend for this roost.” 

Being the excited dragon he knew her to be, Roman noticed the tiny whips of excitement from her tail, hidden closely behind her to not give it away. He couldn’t help but smile. A mistake, of course.

“And you, you insolent wretch.” Lumanasta turned to him, bringing herself close enough for exhales to scold his skin. Peraklu coiled beside him. What once would have been fear was now a protective rage.

She halted several meters from him as he stood tall. He knew to cower now would disgrace both himself and his link.

“Xentilus save us…it’s true.” The perplexed Roostmother glanced between Peraklu and Roman with an excruciatingly focused stare. He could feel her probing his mind, using her domain to explore his energy inside and out. Peraklu was probably experiencing something similar, but she showed no signs of discomfort as he glanced at her for confirmation. It was hard to feel his link to her while oppressed by the overwhelming presence of Lumanasta.

The terrifying Vriska pulled her head back, returning to her normal stance as she seemed to mull over her next words.

“Roman.” He looked up, unable to hide the surprise from her using his name so formally, or at all.

“Uhh…yes?” Despite the dulled link, he could sense Klu’s irritation from his lackluster response. Oops.

“You are one of us now. Do not disappoint me.”

He blinked. Then he blinked again as if this wasn’t the real world. What was happening right now?

“Does this mean they don’t have to fight?!” Vela’s excited voice cut through the confusion. 

Qavras slammed his thick tail upon the stone, shaking the ground and silencing the small Zitrul.

“Know your place, small one. Do not let emotion cause irrationality.” Qavras was stern, but not angry. Vela lowered her head, but her eyes remained on the Roostmother for a definitive answer.

“One of us or not, Peraklu defied me twice within one day. Roman attacked me in my own home, and Peraklu then proceeded to save his existence, alongside you. Technically, you yourself have defied me three times after this outburst, but you’re much too valuable for me to damage you harshly. Do not think you’re immune to punishment, though. I will hurt your apprentice in your place if you continue.”

Vela tensed, locking her head in a lowered state. She cared deeply for Mithusis. She may even love him, but those feelings, time and time again, had been pushed aside for the sake of duty.

Everyone seemed on edge now. Everyone except Qavras, who simply stood at attention, staring ahead and towering over the rest of them. Lumanasta readied her gaze over Roman.

“These are my final words before your departure for the pits. I’m aware you’re unable to use your energy, but this does not mean it’s absent. The connection may heal in time, if you survive this night.”

Her words almost seemed encouraging, but he did his best not to read into them. He needed to focus on living before he could focus on recovery or anything else.

“With you being one of us, you will have a chance to acquire one human weapon from the enchanted goods I have collected over my centuries of life. Be aware that most of the obscenely powerful items were traded to humans in return for more powerful mage servants, so expect nothing glorious. That said, Qavras will take you to the cavern where you may choose. If you live, we will discuss your purpose within the roost.” 

She glanced at Qavras, exchanging a private communication between the two of them. He nodded before turning to exit.

“Come, Roman. Peraklu, head to the pits. Vela, you may choose to watch at the pits or return to the mender’s cavern. Mithusis can handle any duties tonight if need be.”

Vela snuffed, as if offended at the implication that she may not go to watch her friends fight. “I’ll be in the viewing section. I need to be ready to mend once they win.”

The Roostmother gave what seemed to almost be a proud look in Vela’s direction. “Very well. I will see you all there.”

Roman looked upon the sprawling piles of weapons scattered about the cavern. He felt initially overwhelmed by the sheer quantity of options, but could quickly pick out which weapons weren’t worth a second glance.

“Choose quickly.” Qavras was being impatient, but Roman suspected it was being caused by another emotion entirely. Was he…nervous?

It still amazed Roman that communication no longer required a tether of any sort. In just one day, his entire world, his existence even, had been changed. Repurposed. He felt reborn again.

“I’m trying, fuck. Calm down, Big Red. This choice could literally be the difference between life and death.”

An exasperated sigh huffed loudly from Qavras as he turned away from the cavern to stare aimlessly outward.

Roman took in his surroundings. A cavern like any other, just with a plethora of weapons shoved into it unceremoniously. He was going to criticize the organization, or lack of, but then he had a silly thought. He imagined dragons attempting to meticulously pluck the small weapons between their talons and placing them gently against the wall one by one.

He chuckled a bit at the thought, prompting a smack to the ground from an angry, for no good reason he might add, Ruzok’s tail.

Big Red is such a joykill.

He focused up, trying to spot the spears among the numerous polearms and various blades. Even a few axes adorned the pile, which could not be farther from Roman’s preference. He was a well-built guy, but a cumbersome and clumsy weapon like an axe was definitely not for him.

The more he focused, the more he felt a sort of pull. It lightly gripped his attention, tilting his head to the right and bringing his vision to home in on the back of the cavern. His energy surged as his hand raised, his hair beginning to rise with the surge. He could feel it again…but he knew it was different. Not the same he’d used to manipulate or conjure, but his raw and unattended energy itself.

A foreign burst of concentrated power formed within his palm without a thought or prompt from himself. It summoned itself as easily as breath to his lungs before a spear shot forth from the back of the cavern and spun into his grip as if returning home after a long journey.

It was light for its length and felt at home in his grip. He could swear it was glowing, though no light emerged from it.

“Holy shit. What just happened?” Roman spoke aloud, almost breathless, as he tried to come to terms with why a spear would shoot across the room like it did. The thought of the spear tipping, and impaling him instead, sent a shiver down his spine.

Qavras noted the weapon, his eyes widening. He turned to glare at it more closely.

“That spear belonged to an odd human. His name was Chalice. He died defending unborn hatchlings from a wandering cave spider.”

“I don’t recall a Chalice in any of Klu’s memories.” 

The memories of her life were fading quickly, much like the memories of his own. The same as one would read a story and forget everything but the important parts. Though he knew he’d remember someone with such a name. Especially a human amongst dragons.

Qavras lifted a claw before setting it down again in a puff of dust and mild frustration. 

“Peraklu is young, as you know; especially by the standards of dragons. The event in question happened well before her hatching.”

Roman didn’t think about it too deeply, but thirty-eight is definitely very young when referencing dragons.

“How many representatives back was Chalice?”

“He was never a representative. He was hardly even a mage. He had power, I’m sure, but no manipulation or conjuration to speak of. He simply washed upon our shores one day and claimed to despise his own race. He told us to kill him or let him live among us, and so the Roostmother chose to let him remain.”

“That…doesn’t sound like the same Roostmother I know.”

“Long ago, when we first became link-mates, she harbored no unfavorable emotions towards humans. Over time, this has changed. Things may have been different if Chalice had lived. She liked the boy.”

Roman turned the spear over in his hand, admiring the perfect craftsmanship. The unit he fought in taught their mages to wield spears so they could properly fight any flying creatures or demons that may attack the back lines of their formations. He could wield a spear such as this with efficiency, but certain aspects of it were foreign to him and would take some getting used to. That the spear almost bordered upon the design of a halberd would prove a new experience, but it still shared enough traits to be considered a spear.

The shaft was a beautiful maple-colored wood, coated in something he could tell made it strong. Obscenely strong. He knew it could withstand almost anything just from touching it. The back end was capped with a beautiful tip of blackened steel. The front had the similarly charred metal swirling from the wood to encase the base of a blade with a wicked sharpness to it. The steel was like nothing he had seen before. It seemed…alive. It was slightly curved, like a thick saber, while the tip was elongated and looked as though it could pierce a boulder.

“He showed up with a weapon like this, and then what? He just moved in and lived here for free?” He was finding this hard to believe, like important pieces of the story were being omitted.

“His initial duty was to clean the caverns, which soon became managing the chambers at the pit. Afterwards, once we properly learned of his aptitude with the spear always worn upon his back, he was assigned to guard the inners of our hatchery, before we had a larger area carved out. He would use a cart-like device he built to bring the eggs further in and keep them nestled away. This only became necessary when dangers of the neighboring island became apparent. Weeks later, the spider would claim his life and Lumanasta ordered his spear to be put in the back of the cavern here, so she may not need to think of him again. She enjoyed his stories. His life. The loss of it was also a loss for her.” 

Qavras adopted a distant gaze. Something within it made Roman uneasy. Big Red was always so stalwart, but in this moment he almost looked…vulnerable.

“That sounds so…otherworldly. Like I’m hearing a fairytale. So tell me…what’s the deal with this spear? Did he ever speak about it? I’ve never seen such craftsmanship. And there’s something off about it.”

The distance in Qavras’ eyes remained as he absently answered.

“The spear is voidborn and was wielded by his sister before him. It has an enchantment that allows it to be reclaimed from a distance and remain attached to your grip, even when it’s loosened. It chooses its owner and is a loyal weapon. That is all I know.”

Roman felt fear seep through his veins and tighten the hand now abnormally attached to the spear. Being chosen by a voidborn weapon is akin to the worst of curses. An early death always accompanied such a bond, even further proven by the story of Chalice. Weapons wielded by demons should never ‘grace’ the hands of humans.

“Qavras, I don’t think I want this weapon. It only chose me because I’m probably the first human it’s seen in some time.” He spoke the words aloud, almost hoping the spear would hear him.

“False. Many humans, since its placement here, have sifted through our collection. Never has the spear so much as shivered. You’re going to pass the opportunity to wield a powerful weapon amongst the choice of many weak ones, voidborn or not? Your life is not the only one that hangs in the balance. Think of your linked one.”

He knew Qavras was right. There’s no denying that this weapon was obviously powerful, not to mention the fairly useful enchantment upon it. He’d be increasing Klu’s chance of death out of fear for what might just be folklore.

“Fine. Fuck it, I choose this one.” His declaration echoed through the cavern, the spear humming in his hand with approval.

“Then let us move on to the pit. And Roman...” The words hung heavy as they entered his mind.

“What’s up, Big Red?” He sensed something. Was this real emotion from his ordinarily deadpan companion?

The Ruzok’s giant eyes shed the strangeness that veiled them moments ago. He turned his head to lock eyes with Roman, sending a shiver down his spine.

“Good luck.”

The pit was just as Roman remembered it in Klu’s memories–the same glasslike flooring, though it was flatter and marred by a plethora of char lines and deep cuts. Repairs seem to have been attempted, but only to maintain, not to perfect. The walls of the pit itself were much the same, thirty feet high and surrounding the circular center as the stone shelves above began filling with a multitude of every type of dragon imaginable.

He looked above the walls of the massive pit, admiring the effort it must have taken to carve the top of his mountain into what he saw now. Dragons had little need for comfort, as shown by the crudely crafted shelves lining the walls. Roman could appreciate the ‘one slab fits all’ style they had chosen.

Centered near the top of the viewing area was a more decorated and secluded shelf, with adornments and several symbols carved into it. The Roostmother sat upon it, as expected. On her right was Qavras, exuding no emotion in particular. On her left…the shining indigo scales of Laxrus, who had returned from a journey back to his roost this very day. He looked angry, furious even. His pearl-white eyes stared directly into Roman’s with murderous intent. The same stare that Klu’s father received before his death.

Klu’s tail brushed against his shoulder, pulling his flitting glance towards her and away from Laxrus. The crimson eyes he’d grown to know so well now expected something of him. Reassurance. She wanted to know if he was ready. Ready to fight. Ready to die. Her voice, softer than he knew it could be, gently nudged into his mind.

“Roman. Our link was unconventional and short-lived, but know I feel no shame. You’re human, but you’re strong. I know what lurks behind your humorous facade, and you have my utmost respect.” A pause, as if she worried that her next words may overdo it, but she quickly decided. “I could not ask for a better link-mate.”

The implication of a link was one thing, but the word mate carried something else entirely. They experienced no physical attraction for one another, but he knew why she said it. Knowing each other in one’s entirety wasn’t enough to create a working link. A link is only established by two dragons that have already chosen and gotten to know one another, so in theory, it’s entirely possible that they could have been linked to someone they entirely despised. Luckily for them, that wasn’t the case.

Even with their forced bond, they accepted each other’s lives, welcomed them even. They were, for lack of a better word, compatible. He had known it, but he wasn’t sure if she had felt the same, despite being able to feel her emotions. If they tried, they could block each other out, but neither of them had done so, even for a moment.

Now there was no doubt of her reciprocation. His heart swelled a bit, but only to deflate again with sorrow, knowing that death may very well loom in the near future.

Just a few days ago, dying wouldn’t have been the most horrible thing to happen to him. Now, he would do anything to live. To explore his new friendships with Vela and Big Red. His new connection with Klu. This marvelous world full of dragons and…human slavery? Okay, scratch that part, but he was still excited.

Klu’s chilled breath washed over him, pulling him from his quickly building thoughts. He refocused, meeting her probing stare.

“I feel the same, Klu. However brief, this has been pretty fucking amazing. Thank you for putting all that effort into saving me. Thank you for being you.” He rested his hand upon her slender snout and they both closed their eyes. They knew what needed to happen.

A final goodbye between them, but not with words or thoughts. Energy flowed freely through their connection and Roman’s now shared mindscape, crashing into itself like an endlessly curling wave in the swell of a typhoon. Never had the chill of frost felt so warm. His frozen heart had been thawed by the one of his link-mate, whose own was encased in an endless blizzard. 

He only ever accessed his mindscape once, when he first discovered his ability to conjure stone. Since then, he’d almost forgotten that he even had one. Now, his link with Peraklu and the surge of energy between them had forced his consciousness back into it. A mindscape should feel like home, but it just felt odd. Like opening the front door of his home to step in and find that he’d somehow entered through the back door instead.

He opened his eyes with hesitance. Squinting across the vast plane of nothing, he saw the silhouette of a woman in the distance. Her only discernable feature was a long flow of beautiful lilac hair and piercing blue eyes, glowing on the darkened horizon. 

Who is…?

Klu’s voice echoed throughout the mindscape. “Roman…what is this? Where are we?” She sounded bewildered and breathless, but he couldn’t see her anywhere. Then he remembered dragons lack the connection to the Origin Goddess Alfira, hence lacking the presence of a mindscape.

The booming roar of Qavras snapped them back to reality, his Ruzok bellow enhancing his shout and silencing the population of the pit. He reached out using Lumanasta’s dominion, speaking to all present as if the words were meant for only them.

“Today, a pair shall be judged for their defiance. They will fight two Wentels that aim to challenge their sentences of exile through combat. The two in question include our new human representative, Roman Avarin, and his linked one, Peraklu, who reigns as our guardian regarding the human population.”

Roman almost felt hurt that Peraklu had given Qavras his family name, with as much as he hated it, but he could understand why. His thoughts on the matter were drowned out very suddenly.

An uproar began. Lightning, flame and everything in between streaked across the sky as dragons screeched upward in rage. He could hear many of their thoughts, most of which wished for Peraklu’s death and the end of their ‘link of abomination’. 

The noise was overwhelming, but just as the outburst became anarchy, the Roostmother exerted her presence. The sheer weight of that exertion made Roman’s legs tremble. How did he ever stand up to that? How did he never sense her undeniable strength? He knew now…that her wanting to maintain the health of her cavern was the only reason he was alive. The only reason he didn’t instantly die when he challenged her.

As silence draped itself over the pit, she spoke.

“The link with this human came to exist through highly unconventional means that we are still trying to decipher. They are not traditional link-mates, but simply linked through other unintended methods. Any who wish to bring harm to them should hope the two fall here, for any action taken beyond the punishment about to unfold will be met with claw, fang, and breath. I will personally kill any who touch either of them, should they survive this ordeal. If I sense a plot to harm them, or sinister intentions to pull strings behind veiled wings, I will kill the one I sense it from. Know my words, or know fury. The choice is yours. Now…”

The Roostmother paused to rake her glare over the entirety of the pit, as if to confirm her words had sunken into the hole of every soul. The very hole they carved within themselves to make room for her.

“The rules do not differ from any other instance within these walls. Death to your enemies, or death to you. No flight, or we will kill you before the second full beat of your wings. Now earn that right to fly. Earn that right to use what makes you dragons. And as for you, Roman. Earn your place. Or die.”

Roman looked forward as shapes formed in the entrance opposite of theirs. Two orange dragons, steel for talons and upper fangs that protruded well past their lips to hug their bottom jaw, slowly sauntered in from the darkness. They were smaller, similar to Vela, but this was normal for a Wentel. They existed to crush stone and excavate caverns, as proven by their steel-coated talons.

“Do or die, right Klu?” He managed a smile, hoping to reassure her as much as himself.

She glanced briefly in his direction. “Pray it be the first option.”

They locked onto their chosen opponents. The left’s beady black eyes focused on him as the other sized up Peraklu. Roman glanced to his right to see Klu bare her teeth and dig her talons into the glass rock beneath her. Her frost breath can’t affect a dragon’s scales, and her talons are nowhere near the strength of a Wentel’s. Here, her bigger size over them would just give the opponent more surface area to rip apart. He needed to somehow win his fight to help with hers. Sweat ran along his forehead to kiss his brow, but he barely took notice of the heat as the voice of Lumanasta rang through their heads once more.

“Begin.”

She sat beside the child’s corpse, feeling just as broken as his little neck. She glanced at what used to be him—wishing she could cry—wishing she truly cared. 

She liked to pretend, but the emotions she coveted were nothing more than dormant seeds in the dry and barren soil of her soul.

Proxus had been probing into her mind for some time now. An unknown amount of time filled with bleeding bodies, chirping birds, and broken tides with rolling waves. 

The wind whistled through her hair like it would anyone else’s. Like she wasn’t a monster disguised as human. She was undeserving of its touch and attention.

Proxus was slamming against the barrier of her mindscape now, like a guard trying to break into a prison. She continued to shut him out. Whatever he wanted could wait. 

She didn’t need apologies or explanations. She didn’t need missions or purpose. She needed blissful solitude amongst her sins—and Beak-Head, of course. She looked at her friend, yearning for the chemical reaction her brain triggered whenever she laid eyes upon his cute self.

Beak-Head noticed the turn of her gaze and locked eyes with her, releasing a gleeful ‘squaw’ of approval. He crept closer to her, staying low to the ground to match her mood. After plopping to the ground, he inched towards her until his feathers brushed against the tight leathers of her outfit.

She looked back to the open waters for a long moment before leaning back to lie upon the bed of feathers that made up her companion. Sleep took her in an instant.

The nightmares came quickly.

She was on the beach again. Beak-Head was missing, but the bodies strewn around her weren’t. She was no longer next to the child, but in the middle of the now unpopulated fishing village.

Blood pooled thick from the bodies and trickled in slithering streams towards her unmoving body. A body she couldn’t operate as she strained with all her might. Her muscles were stone and her skin was acid upon them, burning and vulnerable against the cold insides of her useless self. She was both victim and predator. 

Keira wanted to scream, but the idea was stolen from her. The woes and whys of her victims filled the surrounding space, erupting from popping bubbles forming atop the blood. 

Drowned voices continued to gurgle at her. She closed her eyes, desperately pleading to wake, but the veil behind them danced with images as her eyelids sealed themselves shut. 

Confused faces looked upon what used to be their savior as they swirled through the black mist around her. Betrayal, hopelessness, acceptance. Every emotion on the death-dipped part of the spectrum assaulted her until she panicked.

Cut eyes. Claw eyes. Open eyes. Need to open. Need. NEED.

The voices clashed with a foreign sound. A sound with an origin beyond the blood and her splitting mind. Words, being thrown across this gore-covered nightmare.

Proxus?

She opened her eyes, the need to see if it was him overriding the part of her mind that kept them closed. She turned her rigid neck to stare across the expanse of deep sanguine. Proxus was waist high, wading through the innards and liquids to reach her. Yelling. Panicking.

“Keira, wake up! Wake up, now! They’re coming to kill you!”

He reached out, weak shadows lashing out from his fingertips like a lightless spear. They strained against their own length, struggling to reach her.

A centimeter more…

The shadow touched her cheek and fell away as if relieved. The contact left an energy upon her soul. An energy that expanded until it pulsed in unison with her heart. She snapped her head back as if breaking the invisible stone holding her in place and unleashed her scream into the void above her.

The nightmare crumbled around her before she woke. Her head pulsed as if her skull itself was trying to kill her. Her vision blurred as she gathered her surroundings, worriedly noting that her companion was no longer serving as a pillow.

“Beak-Head?”

The sunlight had dimmed, giving way to the dusk-draped beach she now sat upon. Something was wrong. The air felt cold and lonely. The deathly quiet that permeated the village was uncanny. Then she remembered the nightmare. She remembered Proxus.

They’re coming to kill you. 

She lifted her head; the ocean spreading out before her. Beak-Head was above it, hundreds of feet out, flying about and diving into the water to catch slightly glowing fish that only emerged this time of day.

She swiftly turned, rising to her feet and wielding her daggers in one motion, smile splayed wide in defiance of her confusion and panic.

Three figures stood before her, each a decent distance, but close enough for hostile action. She knew what they were. What they stood for. Why they were here. She’d worked with them all before.

Sorry, Proxus. 

Sorry, Beak-Head.

I think I die here.

HOURS EARLIER - BLADEQUEEN ESTATE / EAST WING

Proxus gasped, rising suddenly in his chair as if he’d come back to life after a long slumber. His body ached and dried blood coated the entirety of his upper lip. He wiped the back of his hand against his nose. Fresh blood that hadn’t fallen smeared itself along his hand as his nose began to bleed again.

“Fuck…”

Something was different with Keira. The connection between a handler and his partner wasn’t supposed to be this strong. He had woken from his own sleep to a panic attack. At first, he couldn’t pinpoint the cause, wondering if he had experienced a horrible nightmare he couldn’t remember. But he always remembered those. The frigid aura of the underground prison. The lifeless eyes of the ones he had to murder to claim safety in his own cell. The specter.

It couldn’t be that, and that’s when he knew it was Keira. She was the one having a nightmare, and it had somehow affected his own mind without him reaching out to her.

He had risen from his bed to sit at his desk. He reached out to her mind, entering her mindscape and thus her dream. He saved her, held her…but she rejected him. She didn’t want his help, she only wanted orders. To kill, to maim, to hunt. He didn’t know what he was expecting, but he couldn’t let her suffer. 

It was worth it.

He knew they shared a kind of love - an unspoken weirdness between them. But now he realized the truth. Something that hurt more than any blade or burn.

I just realized…she doesn’t love me. She only loves the cracks in my soul that match hers.

But now he sits awake, aching and miserable. Reaching out to Keira consumed a lot of energy. Doing it without preparing his own mind was dangerous, not to mention extremely difficult. 

He glanced at the window of his room. It was dark. Since becoming a handler for the Bladequeens, he had never been awake at this hour. It was an unspoken rule to not be. Prowling around in the dark was for the partners, not their handlers, and the home of the handlers shared walls with the leading forces of the Bladequeens. This was to keep them close. Loyal.

The feelings he experienced when she treated him like an enemy and a tool were torturing him worse than any device could.

“Fuck it, I don’t care,” he said aloud to himself before standing. He needed to wash his face and clear his head.

He walked into the washroom and activated the enchanted water tap to splash his face with. His room was nothing but an eight by eight square made of white marble with a barred window and a tiny room that held necessities for standard living.

After cleaning up, he approached his door and wrapped a tentative hand around the handle. He hesitated, holding his breath to listen. And then he pulled.

The hallway was dark and eerily silent, blackness claiming it either way he looked. His room, along with all handler’s rooms, nestled into the eastern side of the building along the expanse of a long hallway. They held no doors within the western wall of the hallway, the only exit being a door at either end of its length on the north and south. His room happened to be dead center of the hallway, so he had free choice to go right or left without losing any time. 

Left would bring him to the door that opened into the physical training corner-room that was attached to the entrance chamber.

Right would open to their dining area, another corner-room that further led into the meeting room. Handlers, their partners, and council members all gather there at one point or another to discuss any range of matters. He was uncharacteristically hungry, a product of his overexertion, so he took this path.

No sound graced the hallway but his quiet footfalls, with Proxus doing his best to stay silent. He wasn’t sure of the punishment for roaming around in the hours of the night, but he didn’t really give a damn at this moment. He knew the door would be locked, anyway. It always was whenever they weren’t needed. Every time he’d try to open it during off-hours, it never…

The handle turned, and the door opened. 

Well, that was unexpected.

He glanced at the keyhole to be sure there wasn’t a key left inside, confirming that there wasn’t. Whoever had opened it either forgot to lock it or kept it unlocked for quick entry. Nobody of importance forgot things like that. Not here. So if that’s the case, why would they need a quick re-entry?

He crept forward, even more cautious than before, and lower to the ground. The dining room was empty. Thick wooden chairs with cushions upon them remained neatly pushed beneath the long table they all gathered at twice a day. The smoldering remains of a once boisterous fire still shone dimly against the back wall.

He continued left, past the table and to the door at the other end of the room. Voices crept from the underbelly of the door as he neared it. He kneeled upon reaching it, peering through the keyhole and wincing slightly when the light from the other side assaulted his vision.

A mage-lit fire upon a candle burned brightly for how small it was. Fire produced by conjuration was always brighter. This meant it was lit hastily, with the intention of a quick meeting. There was only one fire conjurer he knew of residing within these walls, and they just so happened to be one of the three mentalists capable of linking minds with enchantments.

As if on cue, his vision adjusted, and he saw the long, silver hair hanging in strands against the black robe it fell from.

Xila.

Across from Xila stood three handlers that Proxus knew well. All too well. Keira and he had worked with all of them and their partners. It was never pleasant. Their yellow eyes were deeply locked onto Xila, as if taking orders.

The mentalist that creates a bond between handler and partner becomes responsible for them. The complicated enchantment upon both of their mindscapes is difficult to create and occupies a permanent portion of the mentalist’s energy. This divided the Bladequeen faction into three teams–six handlers per team, for eighteen actionable pairs.

The absent two pairs on his team kept to themselves and focused on the tasks at hand whenever they’d worked alongside them. However, these three before him were always difficult, and seeing them meeting with Xila in secret caused his stomach to churn. He leaned his ear to the keyhole, trying his best to hear.

“En route…quick…finally…nuisance…” The hushed voices were barely audible.

Xila turned away from them and snuffed her fire. With her facing more towards the door, Proxus could make out her parting words.

“We’re doing the Bladequeen faction a favor.”

No...no, no, no.

Proxus turned and headed for his room as quickly as he dared. The handlers were already walking for the door as he made his escape. Luckily, they weren’t moving too fast, and he was able to return to his room with no issue.

He sat at his desk, closing his eyes and focusing on his connection to Keira.

Please. 

He knew she was awake. Angry. Fighting? No…not fighting. Hunting. What exactly, he didn’t want to know, but he kept pushing at the connection.

And again, after her hunt had ended.

And again, after she pushed back for the dozenth time.

And again. 

Again. Again. Again.

Blood flowed freely from his nose once more, his head swimming as he struggled to stay upright. He had to get through to her, no matter how stubborn she was being. No matter how close to death it might bring him. He had to. She was all he had left in this world.

He continued for what seemed like an eternity, only pausing to stop himself from passing out entirely.

And then he remembered something crucial. How he ever could have forgotten, he didn’t know. He rushed to his mattress, his legs barely obeying his commands. He tiredly jammed his knife into the mattress and sliced it open. He reached in and pulled out a glasslike stone, perfectly rounded into an egg-like shape. It was sizable, resting heavily on the palm of his hand.

He focused best he could, pouring energy into the stone until it began to glow, focusing on the message he wanted to imbue within it. With the stone shimmering steadily on its own, he sat it down upon his desk.

Then he felt Keira’s turmoil, just the same as before. No…worse. This was his only chance. He didn’t care if he had to violate her privacy in the same manner as before. It was this, or she dies. He closed his eyes and focused the last of his energy.

He opened his eyes to a sea of red, a small figure sitting among it in the distance. Nightmares and apparitions assaulted the small shape from above and below.

Keira.

The three stepped closer to Keira, moving slowly. She looked between the lot of them, wondering if they’d all attack at once or if they planned something more tactical.

“Keira. My, my…did you do this?” The middle of the three, Malara, gestured around herself, looking back toward the corpse-strewn fishing village.

The other two remained locked on to her - eyes unmoving, faces emotionless.

“Keep your gullet shut, Malara. Your voice alone would probably make them wish they were dead, regardless. I’m sure Aerith and Clera agree with me. Don’t you, girls?”

The two didn’t answer. They didn’t even move. They waited patiently beside Malara.

They were never ones to fuck around, but you can’t blame a girl for trying.

“So what’s the deal, you three frequent visits here on a girls’ fishing trip? Would explain the smell whenever any of you came around.”

She knew Malara was the strongest of the three, but tended to not partake in tasks she considered beneath her. Malara was simply here to supervise and confirm that she was dead. Unless she decided to get personal with it, which wouldn’t surprise Keira in the least. Keira realized she had never really witnessed the extent of Malara’s ability…and probably never would.

“Enough.” Malara raised her arm high, something akin to boredom coating her eyes as they looked down at Keira. And then she swiftly lowered it in a commanding gesture.

Aerith and Clera advanced slowly, wary of closing in too quickly. Keira knew they were just being cautious of her ‘gift’, but she also knew what to be cautious of as well.

Clera liked to use more than just her assigned daggers. She wielded throwing knives, a pouch full of special sand, and a short-sword along her back for when she faced other dagger-wielders. Being adept with one longer blade than your other can throw off an opponent who’s used to uniformity in their opponent’s style. Keira could fight against daggers, swords, spears, you name it. Though, she had to admit…a hybrid style like that would prove difficult to face when wielded with such mastery.

As for Aerith, she enjoyed getting close. Though she was still insanely skilled with blades, she preferred bypassing an opponent’s reach and surprising them with close combat punches. The interesting part is her signature gloves. They’re enchanted with durability and infused with flintrock. A hard enough touch against something like leather and her opponent is suddenly on fire.

Clera drew her weapons, leaving a dagger in its sheathe to wield the short-sword with her right hand. Her short hair was the color of the mud beneath her and her hazel eyes scanned Keira as if she was an insect crawling up a wall.

Predictable cunt. I’ll gut her before I die.

Aerith, to no surprise, simply stood with a unique stance, her front foot suddenly planted firmly. A subtle but noticeable preparation. Cobalt eyes scanned Keira’s feet, attempting to guess her first move. Her blonde hair was back in a ponytail, feathery and flowing lightly behind her in the ocean breeze.

I somewhat like Aerith. Her handler’s a piss-dipped rat, but she’s never done wrong by me. Except try to kill me tonight. But maybe…

“You’re not even going to fight me one-on-one? I thought you were better than that, Aerith.” 

Keira eyed Aerith, gauging her reaction. A flicker of doubt played in her eyes like a scratch catching light atop an otherwise flawless gem.

I knew it.

“Let me fight her.” Aerith left her stance and stood, turning slightly to face the other two.

Malara cut in loudly, rage propelling her words. “You know her abilities, you fucking moron! No! This isn’t about honor or duty or any of that shit! This is about ending this volatile trash.”

Aerith simply blinked at her, giving less of a reaction than she gave Keira just before.

“Keira won’t use them. Not against me. I’m not a target, and I don’t insult her without reason. If I had a choice, I—”

“Shut the fuck up and fight her, then. Clera, get back. This is a win for me either way. Keira dies, or she guts your pathetic ass. I’m happy regardless.”

Keira knew Aerith was aware of her own disdain for her blur ability. She used it to serve Proxus, nothing more. Though, lately, she was warming up to it. It was more a part of her than the ones that made her.

Aerith let out a shallow sigh, her annoyance peeking like a shell in the sand beneath them.

“I’m doing my duty. Nothing more, nothing less. You are not my handler, nor my mentalist. You’re simply egotistic and lazy.” Aerith remained monotone, but her fists clenched slightly.

“Oh, is that what you think? Keep talking like that and maybe Xila will consider you as our next problem.”

Keira groaned loudly to catch their attention, pointing directly at Malara once she had it. “The only problem here is your shitty attitude and that annoying as fuck voice. How many times do I need to tell you nobody wants to hear it rattle from your throat like crunching glass? Come on, Aerith. Let’s do this.”

Malara’s mouth tightened and her jaw clenched, but she didn’t humor Keira with a response.

Aerith glanced back at Malara one more time, the latter refusing to meet her eyes. Satisfied, Aerith turned back to Keira and raised her fists, assuming her stance.

“Mind if I make the first move?” She was being genuine, as Keira knew she would be.

“Wow, Aerith. Chivalry isn’t dead after all, huh? Careful with all that, or you may just make me want a taste of more than just your fists.”

Aerith blinked slowly, neither amused nor insulted. “A yes, then. Thank you, Keira.”

As if to say ‘you’re welcome’, Keira stopped speaking. No more quips or talk. No more Proxus. No more Beak-Head. It was time to die, on her own terms.

She glanced briefly at the ocean, her feathery friend nowhere in sight. She didn’t hear the flapping of wings or the caws she’d grown so accustomed to. She remembered the look her friend gave her after she killed the child. The most disapproving look she’d ever known.

Seems you finally took your chance to leave…I hope you find your way back to the one I stole you from. Goodbye, friend.

She raised her daggers at Aerith, meeting her focused gaze and bending her knees slightly. She took her own stance and flipped her daggers to reverse holds. This was a favorite of hers, but it served a deeper purpose for this fight.

Any attempt to stab or wide-slash an opponent like Aerith would cause a parry, knocking her arm aside and leaving her wide open for a punch to the chest. A punch that would break all her ribs and light her ablaze.

She held her hands in front of her as if she was going to fist fight, same as Aerith. She’d match her blow for blow, using the reversed blades as both a shield and a threat.

Aerith dashed toward her, leaning forward before tucking into a lightning-fast roll to close the distance. Keira hopped back to avoid the inevitable followup, but couldn’t muster the distance she needed.

Aerith launched up and forward from the roll, her right fist leading with a deadly uppercut. Keira aimed her blades down towards the blow, but tilted them slightly. A direct impact, point or not, against Aerith’s enchanted gloves would break her blades, and then she’d truly stand no chance.

Aerith’s fist met Keira’s blades, sliding along the flats of them as Keira used all her strength to pull Aerith’s fist to the right, hoping to imbalance her and leave her open for a counter.

Aerith flowed with the pull, wrenching her hand from the grip and using it to catch herself on the ground. She continued her momentum and swung her left leg back to slam her heel into Keira’s head.

A flash of black from Keira’s left was all she saw of the kick, her arm moving on its own to meet Aerith’s leg with a dagger. As the kick landed against her temple, Keira slid her blade along the tendon on the back of Aerith’s ankle. The kick sent her to the ground while shaking her vision. She tried to stand, but the world was spinning.

Aerith quickly reached down to her cut tendon and ran her glove along the roughness of her boot where the slice had landed. Her imbuement encased the spot in fire and she cupped her glove around it to seal her wound shut. She hastily snuffed them out before the flame could do more damage than good.

Seconds later and Keira had fully recovered, back in her stance and hopping slightly. 

Aerith was also standing again, a new stance replacing the old in an obvious attempt to favor her healthy ankle. The wound was closed, no longer bleeding into the cold, packed sand. 

She smiled. Something Keira had never seen in all her years of knowing Aerith. It was a smile just like hers…but this wasn’t to hide. It was to show. To show respect.

Keira sheathed her daggers and stared at Aerith, her own smile widening into a genuine one. Aerith gave a slight nod in response and took her gloves off, throwing them to the ground.

“Didn’t think you would wish for such a duel. Are you sure you want to try me in hand-to-hand? Even with my injury, you’re at a disadvantage.”

“Maybe I just want to touch you a little. Ever consider that?” Keira slowly slid her tongue across her lips and raised her eyebrows slightly.

Aerith smirked, raising her fists once more. “Always the funny one, Keira. I do think I’ll miss you.”

They rushed each other, sand shooting up from behind them as they collided. Keira was matching the wounded Aerith blow for blow, finding it difficult to keep up without the use of her blur. Aerith could not pivot her foot properly, giving Keira more leeway to dip her torso at wider angles.

The flurry of hits continued between them, several blows making it through from both ends. One punch cut over Keira’s block and broke her nose, prompting reactive laughter as she delved deeper into her bloodlust.

The next thirty seconds seemed like an everlasting war between them. Keira could feel her forearms bruising and her knuckles cracking. 

The speed they engaged at was already beginning to wear them down, heavy pants filling the space between punches. Keira managed a lucky parry to throw Aerith off-balance. Her wound had opened again and caused her to hesitate.

Keira wouldn’t waste this chance. Now was the moment she’d waited for since goading her into this duel.

She reached her arm back for a finishing blow, one that would put Aerith onto her ass and earn her the win. Aerith knew she had no time to react, not from such an imbalanced state.

Even so, Aerith’s eyes widened and flickered slightly. She was no longer looking at Keira, but behind her. That was dismay upon her face, not anticipation. Keira glanced past Aerith, noticing that a certain someone was missing from Malara’s side.

Keira activated her blur, knowing it would further exhaust her, but it was that or death.

In one blitz of a motion, the world around her seemed to slow as she made her punch. Instead of bringing her fist into Aerith, she swung downward, aiming for one of the enchanted gloves. Luckily for her, they were so used that the wrist on them remained open for easy access.

Her hand slid into Aerith’s discarded glove as she kept the momentum in a plan to launch a one-eighty spin and push up into an uppercut, just as Aerith had tried on her earlier. The difference now was that her target had changed. This was her true goal all along.

She made the turn, eyeing a slowly moving Clera with her arm pulled back for a sword thrust. 

Ironically, moving this fast always felt sluggish and heavy, like she was moving her body through a thick jelly that everyone else was firmly stuck within.

I knew you’d try to do me dirty, Clera. You little bitch.

Keira mustered all the strength she could into the right side of her body, pushing up with her leg to power the uppercut. The glove scraped just enough against Clera’s chest to light a flame upon it before colliding with the bottom of her jaw in a fiery smack that lifted her off the ground and sent her flying back.

Clera’s teeth snapped together from the blow as she went airborne. Her chest was on fire and a scream erupted from her burned face as she writhed in the sand. 

Keira felt strong arms grab her from behind just as soon as her blur had ended. That was all the strength she had left. Killing the villagers, the nightmare after, the slugfest…she was spent. Blur took more out of her than anybody really knew. She was good at keeping appearances like that.

Well, fuck. Here it is. At least I got to clock that bitch. It wasn’t a gutting…it was better, actually.

Aerith’s grip tightened, pulling Keira’s arms back even further as Malara appeared in front of her, a dagger held tightly as her smug face lit with glee.

“Goodbye, Keira. You should have been put down long ago.”

Malara pulled her arm back and thrust it toward Keira’s heart. Just as the blade tip pierced the leather, Malara was yanked from the ground. A flurry of feathers accompanied her scream of fury.

Beak-Head had grabbed the neck of her tunic with his mouth and dug his talons into her shoulders. He wrenched her sideways and threw her ten or so feet before rushing her again and tossing her once more, determined to take her away from his friend.

Now that Malara was on her back, arms splayed from the impact, Beak-Head quickly stepped on her shoulders and dipped down for the killing blow to her neck. Before his beak could make contact, two daggers punctured deeply into both his sides. He screeched in pain, reeling back and looking side to side for his attacker, but there was no one.

The blades dislodged from him on their own and launched into the air as if they were living creatures. Before he could react, they came down with terrifying speed, tearing through his wings and piercing his back paws.

Malara’s ability was telekinesis, though she never told anyone. All who had known were either dead, or loyal. Her desperation had driven her to use the ability, much to Beak-Head’s misfortune.

“No!” Keira screamed as she struggled to watch.

Need to save friend. Need to break free. Any cost. Any means.

Keira panicked, struggling against Aerith as Clera rose from the ground. Her face was charred and her jaw hung loosely at an awkward angle. She’d used the sand to put out the flames and unsheathed her dagger before running at Keira.

Keira screamed with rage, activating blur, unsure if it would even work. Blood seeped from behind her eyes as she used the speed to break from Aerith’s grasp and dive into Clera.

The blur ended as Keira landed on top of her with a heavy thud, the sand absorbing partial impact.

Clera raised her arms to stop her, but Keira quickly pinned them both to the ground. She plunged her head downward and bit into Clera’s jugular before tearing it away. The metallic tang of her blood filled Keira’s mouth, and she welcomed it.

Should be deep enough. You’re done.

Aerith quickly stumbled forward, hesitating but still trying to restrain her. Keira reached into Clera’s pouch as the bitch choked on her own blood, desperately trying to keep it from gushing out with fumbling hands.

The sand in Clera’s pouch wasn’t like the sand that surrounded them now. It caused burning on contact and stuck to the skin and eyes.

Sorry, Aerith.

She grabbed a handful of the sand and whipped her arm around just as Aerith reached her. Aerith clawed at her face and screamed in agony as the sand settled into her skin with a hiss. Keira kicked her leg out, driving her heel into Aerith’s knee and snapping it backwards. Aerith crumpled to the ground as a caw of pain pierced the air.

Beak-Head!

Keira struggled to push herself up off the corpse that was Clera just seconds ago. She looked out across the sand to see her beloved friend struggling to move with his torn wings and pierced paws as he fought in a locked melee. 

Malara was avoiding his swipes and taking her own at him. She was toying with him; her damaged ego preventing her from doing anything but killing him slowly.

Shredded feathers and globs of blood fell to the ground around them as the gryphon’s movement became sluggish and his cries became weaker.

No…STOP!

Keira grabbed a throwing knife from Clera’s corpse and threw it with all her might.

Malara noticed too quickly. She plucked the knife from the air with telekinesis and threw it right back at her. It found a new home in Keira’s shoulder, knocking her back onto the sand.

Keira thought back to all the horrible experiments. The torturous training and the punishments she’d received when she failed their tests. She could never use blur for more than a second or two, and she couldn’t use it more than a couple times per day. Not for them. But for her friend, she could do anything.

She sat up and ripped the knife from her shoulder, holding it firmly. She willed her body to rise, the burning muscles and stressed bones lifting her spent body one last time. She activated her blur, blood flowing freely from her nose and ears. It felt as though her skin was being peeled away and fed into a grinder. Her muscles were like entwined snakes, biting at every reachable object within her and injecting fatal venom.

She ran, somehow, faster and longer than she ever had before while using her ability. Agonizing seconds of eternal pain as she blinked past the blood to see her target.

One. Malara was turning slowly to meet her advance.

Two. Beak-Head was falling in slow-motion, blood flowing freely into the air from several deep cuts along his neck.

Three. She was in front of Malara, knife raised, sights set on those wonderfully terrified eyes she was about to gouge out.

And then everything distorted, and her body began to drop. She’d fallen out of blur and onto the ground, a broken and crumpled mess. A victim of her own recklessness. Her body had failed her just when she needed it most.

Malara cackled with shrill ecstasy.

“You worthless pile of nothing! A shame that a majestic gryphon such as this chose to die for such a pitiful master.”

She plucked the knife from Keira’s limp hand. Keira could barely hear her. Sound itself seemed submerged in oil, oozing into her broken ears in slow motion. The world didn’t show itself to her when she tried to open her eyes. She might even be dead already, it was impossible to know. She hadn’t tried dying before. Until now.

Malara stabbed her in the back, ripped the blade out, and then plunged it into her a second time. Keira didn’t even flinch, already fading.

“Dead already? Fucking pathetic. This is what happens when you—”

Malara’s words were stolen by a searing pain. Her heart wasn’t beating anymore. Her blood had ceased pumping. She looked down before it all went black, in time to see the bolt protruding from where her heart once rested. 

She fell, dead before she even hit the ground.

“Aye, little lass, you’ve gone and gotten yourself into a bit of a mess.”

A hearty voice filled her broken senses as the stranger turned her over and got to work.

He packed her stab wounds with some kind of powder, wrapped her damaged body, and forced a liquid down her throat.

“My friend...” Keira’s words came cracked and broken, her body wishing her dead from the inside out. She tried to reach in Beak-Head’s direction, but had no idea where that was.

“Don’t ye worry, I’ll be looking after the creature as well. Ole Dorvin the dwarf won’t let such a feathered beauty die while he has somethin’ to say about it.”

Dorvin quickly approached Beak-Head, applying the same healing techniques.

“Proxus is lucky. I always keep the telling stone in my pouch, else you’d be dead right now. This gryphon, too.”

Dorvin prepared the two as best he could before using his strength to bring them to his boat one at a time. He packed his crossbow into his bag handle-first and settled it against the side. The tips of Beak-Head’s wings, as well as one of his arms, hung over the side of the boat.

“Nothing to be done about the lack of space. Considered my boat to be quite large until I tossed the two of ye aboard.”

He was preparing to leave, briefly touching a glowing stone protruding from the top of a device attached to the back of the boat.

“Hey, dwarf!” Weakened words hung loosely upon the wind, barely reaching the boat. Dorvin turned to the source.

“What do ye want, harpy?”

Aerith took a deep breath, fighting through the pain to deliver her words.

“Take care of them. Don’t let them find her.” Her weakened voice carried across the sand and silence, only a slight breeze offering any competition to the ears that listen.

“Aye, from what I’ve heard about this one, you’ll all be seeing her before too long.”

The stone within the device began to glow brightly as an unseen force propelled the boat at moderate speed.

“You’re damn right about that…” Aerith’s head hit the sand, her body refusing to move further, exhaustion overwhelming her.

Only the sounds of the fleeing boat gliding upon the waves now played throughout the darkening night.

The tavern roared as the night reached its peak. Most of the patrons had reached the level of wildly drunk, raising their volume and rowdiness to surpass the table beside them.

Killian finally finished his ale, glancing at Winter to make sure she was alright.

She was smiling at him, bright as the sun itself. He stepped closer to her, discarding his empty mug on the bar before pulling her into a close hold. She blushed, but she held her eyes to his without wavering.

“It may be the ale shoving my courage along, but the words are no less true. I’m fairly certain I’m in love with you, Winter. This past month has been a more valuable treasure than any I’ve ever collected.” He had to roar the words for her to hear him, even when she was so close. It didn’t take away from the impact. Her tears came quickly. Tears of joy and reciprocation as she nodded happily.

Her beautiful voice carried across the tavern’s chaos like a floating petal above a field of flames.

“I think I’m beginning to love you too, Killian! I never would have imagined such an exciting life for myself.”

They kissed and held each other a moment longer. Someone bumped into Killian at some point, but he was too enthralled to notice.

She leaned in even further so he could hear her better. “I know we are having a moment, but we really should check on Mercia and enchant that door.”

He stood up straight, still wearing a stupid smile as the glowering cyan of her eyes lit the room. He nodded, grabbing her hand and turning to head for the stairs. They had to shove their way through the crowd, but it didn’t hinder the mood as they excitedly made their way across and up.

Walking down the corridor, the torches mounted along the walls lit the way for their clumsy steps.

They stood before Mercia’s door, but something didn’t feel quite right. Winter was reaching for the handle when Killian grabbed her wrist firmly enough to startle her. She shot a concerned and mildly frustrated look at him, but he didn’t let go.

He shook his head and motioned for her silence before pulling her back gently. He mouthed the words me first, stay here, before entering.

He could feel a presence. Demonic, but not quite the same. It was almost like…

No…that can’t be right.

Killian glanced down at his torso and raised his right hand, examining it as if it was foreign. He even checked his head for the protrusion of a horn. He closed his eyes and sensed his enchantments were still intact.

Everything seemed normal, so what was happening? Why did he sense Zalef? It’s not possible that the ale was affecting him like this. His vision was blurred, but he wasn’t mistaken. Everything was normal.

“Killian, is that you?” A voice from within the room reached out to him. Mercia’s voice. She seemed normal as well, just exhausted. Maybe he was wrong, or just confused.

Winter was staring at him with a worried look, unsure of how to act. She trusted him, but glanced at the door for him to answer Mercia.

“I…I’m coming in, if that’s okay.” Killian couldn’t stop his voice from wavering, unsettling Winter even further. She was just as confused, but nevertheless, she trusted him.

“No problem at all. I was just having a terrible nightmare, so I could use the company.” Mercia’s voice flowed from the door like weightless water. It was different, but clear. He was getting irritated by these strange emotions. He didn’t want to enter the room, but couldn’t understand why. Was this residual from his transformation all those weeks ago? Whatever this weird feeling was, he refused to let it control him.

He stepped into the room.

Mercia was standing next to the bed, wearing nothing but her undergarments. Killian looked away instinctively. “Please, Mercia. Make yourself decent.”

“That is no longer an option.” Her voice was like steel, with an edge sharp as the blade at his hip.

“What do you mean?” Killian’s voice was wary. The uncomfortable aura he felt earlier was buzzing around inside of his skull like a volatile insect. The influence of alcohol muffled his senses. He couldn’t focus. He glanced briefly at her, but looked away just as quickly. She was just standing there.

“I’m assuming Winter is just outside. Why did she not enter with you?” No fluctuation in her tone. Emotionless. Drained. Angry…?

“She…just wanted to accompany me while I checked on you and locked the door with my enchantment.” He stepped closer to her, trying to make out her face.

“Bring her in. There’s something or someone lurking about. I can sense it.” She stood perfectly still, but she didn’t sound like she was lying. He wasn’t sure what was happening, but this was beginning to feel uncanny.

“Why didn’t you say that before I entered?”

“I didn’t want anyone else to hear me.”

He looked up at her, ignoring her ‘outfit’, and stared into her eyes. He couldn’t tell, the only light being the bright moon shining through thin curtains, but her eyes seemed…darker somehow.

He took a step toward her, beginning to grow keenly suspicious that this was all very wrong somehow.

A scream came from the hallway, with only a second before it cut off abruptly. Killian spun as the door opened slowly. 

A figure shuffled in swiftly before shutting the door behind him. He had Winter, as well as a knife pressed firmly to her throat.

Rage swelled within Killian, but he did his best to survey the situation before taking action. He couldn’t risk spooking this assailant into harming her.

He sensed this was no ordinary thug, but he couldn’t see their hooded face in the darkness. Mercia cried out from behind him, snapping him further from his drunken stupor.

“Killian, save her! He…he has horns, and his energy is incredible!”

Horns? He wouldn’t be able to make out shapes like that without getting closer, but he trusted her darksight and Elven perception. The assailant had his hand over Winter’s mouth, her eyes still shining through the darkness. They looked at him, full of terror and begging for his help. 

The room spun a bit as he tried to focus. That last cup of ale he’d downed moments ago was beginning to affect him fully. His head swam through liquid stone and whispering twisters. This didn’t make any sense.

“What do you want?” He couldn’t contain the anger in his words. Seeing his hand over Winter’s mouth and the knife tip against her throat was worse than anything he could have ever imagined.

“It’s not about what I want. It’s about what she wants.” The figure’s voice was higher pitched, but masculine. Sinister even. It seemed lost, as if it had forgotten it belonged to a human.

“Surely, she wants to be free. I will give you trinkets worth a thousand gold if you let her go.” He meant it. Beyond the Relics of Alfira he’d promised to protect, he’d give this man just about anything to get Winter back.

“Always thinking money can solve your problems. Ignorant fool, I’m not talking about this one. This girl is merely a snack.”

If he isn’t talking about her…

He quickly turned, his sword drawn in a flash as he felt Mercia’s movement. She was fast. Too fast. Like…

Like a demon.

She was already upon him, grabbing his sword with her slender hand and snapping the steel blade in two with minimal effort. He reached for the pouch on his hip as he watched the now lost portion of his sword clatter upon the ground.

Again, she was too swift. She grabbed his arm before it could reach into his pouch, twisting it with the flick of her wrist. His tendons strained and tore as his bones snapped with a sickening crunch. A short cry of pain escaped him before his mouth turned into a snarl. He clenched his teeth through the pain, head-butting her and leaping back to gain some distance.

Panic was overtaking him. He wasn’t sure how, but she was much stronger than any Demonvile he’d ever faced. He pulled the black blade from his pouch, his only remaining weapon that could hurt such a monstrosity. 

A hundred thoughts raced through his mind in an instant. An elven demon…something he had only heard about in legends. He’d always thought them immune to demonic corruption, but he couldn’t deny what was in front of him. Now he knew why she was so powerful.

I don’t stand a fucking chance.

“Mercia, please. I know not what happened to you, but surely you could spare your master? Do with me what you will.” His words were through gritted teeth, his arm feeling as if it was being ripped off and set on fire all at once.

She smiled ear to ear and laughed hysterically, her laughter turning to fits of tears as she gripped her head. “I can’t stop it! I can’t! You just have to listen to me. I need this. I need her.”

“Mercia, I…I don’t understand. Stop what? What happened?” It was a forced whisper, belief nowhere within the words tumbling from his mouth. This…had to be some kind of nightmare.

“Demi…that’s my name now. Mercia is the name of a purposeless child that now lies dead in the blood of her pitiful ancestors. The ones that abandoned me.” Her voice quivered as she stepped closer to him. “Tell me, Killian. Why do you hold back the influence of my master’s power within you? It’s not so bad…giving in.”

Killian’s growing fear turned out to be true. That explains why he sensed Zalef at the door. Neither he nor Winter had told her anything about his condition, so she must have been fed information from Zalef himself. He was sure there’s no chance she was already like this when the night began. He glanced at the figure holding Winter, who was struggling without gain to escape his grasp.

He ignored her question. “Why are we not dead?” He asked the obvious to buy time and hopefully conjure a plan. She could easily have killed them at any moment once they were outside her door, so what was the endgame here?

“Because I need to fucking think! Give me…a moment. I have to do this, but it’s so very wrong. So why does my mouth water for it? Why am I wanting these awful things?!” Drool crawled over her lips, dripping off the prominent fangs as she hunched over. She was holding her stomach and groaning, as if she’d been fed a deadly poison. Her groaning turned to screams, her fingers digging into her face. “I need it…I can’t say no. I don’t want to…”

Her head snapped up, her eyes wide and her mouth hanging open as though she’d forgotten how to shut it. She stood up before launching at Killian without warning. He reacted immediately, bringing his arm back for a slash. Demi’s hand was a blur as she flattened it and jabbed it into three spots along his forearm before he could even ready his swing. The bones under each impact shattered. His sword fell to the ground, clattering atop the hard floor.

“Resist no longer. Embrace it.” She spoke the words as if she were whispering to a dying sibling. She had caught his Blackened Blade of Sealing. She gave it a momentary gander, admiring the sheen of it in the pale light. Then she looked closer, as if she’d noticed a hidden message along the blade.

“Killian…why do you have an Elven-enchanted blade? This is perfect…I can do it myself without it shattering. But do I…? Yes…yes. I want to.”

Killian’s broken arms hung worthlessly at his sides as he watched her stare at the blade in awe. She turned suddenly and plunged the blade into his shoulder, ripping it out again without mercy. Shock flooded his senses. 

Oh Gods…save me.

Now he knew why she hadn’t killed him on the spot once he first entered. The effects were immediate. His enchantments faded from both his mind and body. He felt the energy leave every piece of his gear as well. Perhaps worst of all, his mother’s permanent protection was lost to him. Normally, his chest piece would have blocked a blade, but not one meant for sealing energy. It cut through magic with zero resistance.

Truly, he was a fool for not seeing this outcome earlier–as if he’d have the power to stop it, anyway. Regret gave way to pain. He felt as though he was being immolated as the right side of his torso darkened and covered itself in voidfire. His right arm twisted and snapped until it was healed and formed claws upon his hand. A curved horn pushed from his skull, manifesting from the demonic power coursing through him.

“My, my. Such a dramatic transformation. I must admit, I was curious when my master told me about it. It’s one thing to be granted power from Zalef, but to steal it…well, that’s a much better way to acquire his power than what I went through. Just remember, Killian. Everything that happens next is on you…for bringing the ones that watch you to the unwilling arms of an innocent elf girl.” Her voice was teetering on a manic level as she struggled to focus.

The truth stung deeply, but he ignored her, focusing on the quickly growing portion of him that wasn’t him at all. It wanted more. It hungered to consume him and give strength in return. He fought back with all his willpower as Mercia, or Demi, leaned close to him and watched for a moment before turning to the one holding Winter.

“While he accepts the change...I need to eat. I can’t hold it back any longer. Please…give her to me. Oh, I almost forgot.” She stepped toward Killian lightly and plucked the pouch from his waist.

“I can’t access any of the items currently inside, but I can use it for anything I put in myself, if I remember correctly. Besides, you’ll help us with the rest in due time, for being so mean. Right, Killian?”

He wanted to spit in her face, but it took every ounce of strength just to keep focus. Maybe if he could resist long enough, he could learn to control this without enchantments. It was creeping its way across his chest, yearning to reach his heart and spread throughout his body. To his horror, it began to seep through his neck, burning on its desperate crawl to his brain.

Demi dropped the Sealing Blade into the reclamation pouch before putting on her clothes and strapping it to her waist.

“There. Sealed till I say so.”

The hooded man dragged Winter to her as Killian watched helplessly.

“Thank you, Litra.”

The obedient soldier let go of Winter. Demi looked at her with pity and slight hesitation. Winter searched for solace in her student’s eyes. Her friend’s eyes. And maybe, in another lifetime…her lover.

“Mercia—” Winter sounded desperate, struggling to utter the name before being cut off.

“Demi. Mercia is dead.” Winter flickered with anger at this response, reigniting her spark.

“She’s not dead. You’re just confused and brainwashed by a twisted evil!”

Demi’s eyes went wide as tears swelled within.

“Brainwashed?! You don’t understand what he did to me! You have no idea what happened…he showed me the truth!”

Winter flinched at her sudden anger, but listened without looking away. She could only imagine the terrible things she might be referencing.

“My own people tried to kill my family, and they almost succeeded with me. In fact, this entire thing is the fault of the ones I’m supposed to call kin. I didn’t receive the training I needed to master my mindscape. I didn’t get to live in their cushy forests or enjoy the tutelage of ancient teachings.”

“Were my teachings not good enough for you…?”

Demi flinched. She looked uncertain before replacing it with malice-filled anger, her face reflecting the emotion.

Sadness welled within Winter, tears falling effortlessly down her cheeks. “Please, Mercia. Fight him. Come back to us. Wipe Killian’s blood from the blade and help us fight Zalef to free your soul.”

Demi raised her head, as if profound knowledge clung to the dark cracks of the ceiling above. A sigh came from deep within her, mouth agape as thoughtfulness reigned over impulse.

Killian writhed silently, focusing deeply on resisting the demonic power while listening to Winter and Demi’s exchange. 

Bring her back. You can do this, Winter.

Winter lurched forward and hugged her. A deep, loving hug as her tears grew heavy, and she sobbed into her shoulder. Demi stood completely still, her head still hung back in silent contemplation. Her own tears began to dampen her cheeks.

Winter whispered, her words slicing through the silence that followed her sobs. Salvation in a pool of damnation. 

“I won’t hold any of this against you, I promise. Mercia…let me be your family.”

After a moment stretched across eternity, Demi spoke softly. “You can help me…”

Winter gasped hopefully, backing away from the hug to look at Demi, who slowly lowered her head to set heavy eyes on her former master. Her eyes still glistened, but the liquid burned away as it touched her skin. The purple sheen they held before twisted, a deep red oozing through as it attempted to assimilate the old.

She placed her hands lightly on both sides of Winter’s face, rubbing her cheeks gently. “I love you, Winter. I always have…and always will.”

She raised her thumbs, extending her nails into claws before plunging them into Winter’s eyes and splitting her skull open. She lowered her face into her open skull, devouring the brain and thirsting upon her essence. Demi’s power swelled the moment her consumption began, the power of a Winter Goddess blessing bolstering her ascension and satiating her hunger.

Killian saw it all as sorrow gripped his slowly consumed heart. Another version of himself bellowed into the depths of his burning soul, somewhere far, far away, bound by the unbreakable chains of his looming transformation. The color drained from his face as his muscles relaxed and his eyes closed. 

This fight. This endless bout of good versus evil, right against wrong. It was all a silly game. A whimsy upon the brand the gods stamped into this world.

He didn’t care anymore. All his wishes, all his desires and aspirations…meaningless. 

This is all my fault. They’re both gone because of me.

His next words came slowly. Speaking them out of his charred throat was one of the most difficult things he’d ever done. Each syllable raked through his rendered flesh. “She was good…in a world full of cruelty and depravity, she was truly good…”

He stood, breathing deep as the transformation took hold. “And now, for what you’ve both done…I’m going to fucking kill you.”

Voidfire consumed him upon his final word, swirling up the length of his body as the frail skin of a human turned to swirling flecks. Regrets and inhibitions burned away under flames as his ear-splitting roar filled the room.

Litra was greedily watching Demi enjoy her meal when he heard Killian speak. The words were guttural and distorted, as if they were being turned to ash after rolling from his tongue. He hadn’t quite noticed, enthralled with his new goddess. But the roar pulled his gaze away. 

Attention snapped to the flaming figure as the final wisps faded away. He tried to react in time, but Killian’s transformation had already finished, and his speed was beyond measure. Litra was already dead–cleaved in two as his top half hit the floor next to his lifeless legs. His arm twitched and his vision went black.

Killian was no longer human. Something different stood above the corpse of what used to be Litra. Sleek and muscular, skin tough as steel and a smooth crimson with swirls of a bottomless black. Two horns, curved like twin crescent moons, protruded from his forehead in front of a shoulder-length mane of thick black hair. His eyes were nothing but onyx orbs with scars of red streaked throughout, shining through the steam from every deep breath he released. His claws dripped with Litra’s blood and intestines as they hung at his sides.

Demi pulled back from her meal, Winter’s body falling with a thud beneath her. She stepped over it, offering a final glance to what used to be her first love, before staring in awe at Killian.

“You…are beautiful. How have you achieved such a perfect transformation while still in this realm?”

Killian turned his head towards her as though he were gazing upon an insect that flew much too close. His breathing paused for a moment and Demi threw her arms up in a reflexive defense. 

Killian was upon her in less than a second, tearing at Demi’s small frame before batting her arm away and shattering every bone within it. He grabbed her torso with his massive claw and threw her across the room, an indent forming from the impact into the stone wall.

She fell to the floor, but swiftly recovered to ready herself. Killian was gone. Nothing remained in the room but the quietly leaking corpses. A slight change in the air raised the hairs on her arm, and then he was in front of her, seemingly manifested from nothing. 

He grabbed her head with both hands, cracking her skull and opening his fanged mouth with a sickening screech of anguish. Voidfire erupted from his open maw, enveloping her face at point blank. She screamed loud enough to shake the stone walls around them. Her hands desperately clawed and scraped in an attempt to pry his massive grip from her face as her skin melted away.

And then she disappeared. 

Nothing but darkness and a faint resonance of energy replaced where she once was, leaving Killian with nothing but infuriating confusion. He punched through the stone of the walls and ripped the wood from the floors in search of his prey.

His keen hearing picked up nothing of use, but was plagued by the constant and scraping noise of the patrons and music below. He smashed through the floor, crushing two men beneath him with his clawed feet and the debris. All noise ceased, every being in the room caught in an endless struggle to act or die.

And so they died. He killed them all. Some he ate. Others he destroyed. Then he stepped onto the muddy streets. House after house. Bystanders in his way. Mages, mercenaries, soldiers. Children. Families. All fell. Flowing blood mixing with the light rain in a blooming red through the streets. Krile knew fear and pain that night. Just as Killian did when he lost his humanity.

Only the ones that hid in time remained alive to see the newly born demon walk calmly from the carnage of the once bustling Krile. 

The robed figure of a woman’s corpse lay softly across his arms as he carried it into the rolling mist.

“Krile is requesting help from the other cities. She better be worth it, you fool.” Zafre was furious, her words like daggers against the back of Gorifix’s neck as he focused on the grimoire laid before him.

“Zafre, we have her. Is that not enough? An elven demon has not arisen since Origin. Not one of pure blood. Their folly is to our benefit. They should have killed her long ago, but something as paltry as politics and borders prevented them from pursuit. Now their unprotected egg has hatched into a creature that we can take advantage of.” Gorifix was calm, stating the facts and doing his best to ignore the growing irritation seeping from her and drenching his back in goosebumps.

“The reports say demons. Everyone will be on high alert. For all the power our new weapon has, she was almost killed. By a human, no less!” She was furious, clenching her jaw tight enough so that her fangs pierced her bottom lip. “Zalef will see us burn for this.”

“Killian is hardly human, and as long as we have the sword, it will remain that way. I doubt there’s any chance of him reversing the effects, even with the blade. Besides, Zalef will do nothing.”

“Excuse you? What did you just say to me? I’ll cut your fucking tongue out!” Her fist slammed into the wall, knocking a map of Matrudia from its holdings.

“Calm yourself, Zafre. His satisfaction far surpasses his rage regarding the matter. Have you ever seen him in such a euphoric state as when he corrupted the elf?”

Zafre eased slightly, the heat resonating from her body lessening with each breath as she contemplated the words of her pupil. “This is true, but Litra is dead and they will hunt Killian to the ends of the realm for what he did. Not to mention we had to spend one of our most precious items on retrieving Demi. I only know of one weavestone, other than the one we crumbled, and it’s nigh unobtainable. Also, the fact that it’s probably attuned to an elf already, so it’s most likely useless to us.”

“Killian will not remain at large for long. I have a surefire way to lure him to us, after which we will make him heel. Then, access to the Relics of Alfira he’s hidden away over the years will be ours for the taking. Now, as for the power to wield them…I am getting close to finishing the grimoire, and our forces are growing. A major piece is now the elf, which has sped up my predicted timetable by a considerable amount. They cannot stop me from obtaining the catalyst once everything is in motion.”

Zafre sat in silence, watching as he continued to diligently study the grimoire. “Most get to this point and falter. Whether it be losing a fight, finding their humanity, or one of any other thousand possibilities.”

“I am not most. I am simply Gorifix, and I will not fail you.”

Zafre offered no response. She spun and stepped towards the door, turning her head before she left.

“Gorifix…how is Killian so powerful?” Her voice was somber, like a weak flame being licked by harsh winds. She seemed vulnerable, something Gorifix never thought he’d witness.

He turned in his seat, looking at the shape he knew was her in the darkness of the doorway. 

“I only have theories, but I have an idea of how to stop him.”

“Was the power he stole from Zalef fusing with his energy this entire time? He’s a fully transformed demon that is sustaining in the material plane. That is unheard of.”

He held a thought from reaching his lips, contemplating an idea he had been mulling over since he heard the news.

“Sadly, Zafre…” 

He paused a moment, as if the words he would speak next may only become true if they left his lips. “He has become what I strive for. What I desire. Voidborn energy mingling freely within a creature born of and living within the Material Plane. He took a piece of Zalef that day and held it within the same mindscape that makes creatures of the Material so special. Like an unborn child, it lay and grew, all this time. Killian didn’t achieve this alone, of course.”

Zafre turned fully, her glowing eyes locking with his. “So two layers of powerful enchantments and some energy from an almighty demon was all it took to replicate the results of the grimoire?”

Gorifix looked away from her, thinking deeply.

“No…no, it’s more than that. Something we aren’t fully understanding just yet. But that doesn’t mean you’re wrong. Those enchantments mattered greatly. One thing’s for certain for the next phase.” 

“And what’s that?” Zafre was calm now, curiosity deflating anger and frustration. Gorifix looked up at her once more.

“We need to lure him as planned and subdue him. Once he’s immobilized, we’ll have Arcane Torrent finally live up to their deal of the arrangement. If anyone in the world can pull what they need from that stubborn fool, it’s them.”

“Alright, so I go talk to them while you make the arrangements for the abduction. Are you still using the same methods to lure him?”

“If I’m wanting to finish this grimoire, then this plan will clear multiple objectives at once. I only have a handful of months to go, and then the final tasks will need completion; Subdue Killian, rid me of my final obstacle for my ascension, and show the world that the Demonviles are far from dead.”

Zafre was examining her wall of weapons, picking the ones she wanted most and strapping them to her back. “Alright then. I’ll see you in Kroniker when the time comes. I’m going to take care of some work in the Void.”

Gorifix nodded, though she was already gone. He turned again, staring quietly at the humming pages of the grimoire before whispering to himself.

“Killian…you bastard.”

Roman readied his spear, facing down his opponent. He could swear that somewhere, amid all those teeth and yellow scales, the Wentel was smiling. He rushed forward, reaching deep for the energy that lay dormant within him.

Nothing. Damn.

His spear felt alive, thrumming with its own energy as if to mock him. He didn’t think enchantments could give a weapon such life, but that wasn’t his area of expertise. He rushed forward, calling on the training he’d received in case any of their ranks fought a large or giant foe on the battlefield. There wasn’t much he’d learned, but what he did was valuable.

The Wentel leapt forward, a claw leading its attack with a wide swipe. Roman acted as though he was in a full sprint, but pulled his momentum the second he had seen his opponent brace its legs. He stopped suddenly, dodging the swipe and stabbing his spear upward and into the spot where the yellow’s arm met its torso.

Time to see how sharp this beauty really is. He shoved as hard as he could, piercing scales and reaching the soft flesh below them. An annoyed snarl sounded from the Wentel as it brought back its claw for a backhand. Roman barely dodged, the back of deadly talons brushing against him.

He tried to counter again, but met an open maw aimed for his skull. He angled his spear to jab it into the roof of the dragon’s mouth, failing to notice its claw digging into the ground in preparation. The yellow had baited him into assuming a stance he couldn’t dodge out of. It spun quickly, giving no time for a proper reaction. A thick tail slammed into Roman, breaking all the ribs on his right side as he launched into the wall some twenty feet away. His left side responded to his commands with nothing but agony. It was all he could do to keep from passing out. He glimpsed across the glasslike rocks to his spear; he’d dropped it when the tail slammed into him.

The Wentel began stomping towards him, wary of any tricks Roman might try to pull. He could only think of one. He raised his hand as if he was going to use energy. The dragon hesitated, looking unsure and bracing itself to dodge. Roman briefly glanced across the arena to see that Klu’s opponent had leapt onto her back and was clawing her wings apart as she held back her screeches of pain. 

He felt useless for the thousandth time today. He could sense how focused she was on keeping her pain from him, but he knew he couldn’t do the same. He had probably distracted her when he took that massive hit. Her situation was his fault. This next move had to work, or they were both finished.

Return!

His spear flipped up from the ground and shot towards him. He had focused too much on its location with his eyes, and the Wentel noticed. At the last second, the Wentel dodged, but not far enough for it to miss. The spear lodged itself in the back of the dragon’s hind-leg, barely piercing the scales and meeting skin. Blood oozed from the wound, but it had minimal effect. The Wentel’s jaw opened slightly in anticipation, knowing this was Roman’s last move.

He urged it towards him again and again, his vision dimming at the edges as sounds distorted. The spear obeyed, inching closer with each command, but lodging firmly in the dragon’s thigh once it met bone. The Wentel was irritated at best, looking back at its leg, contemplating something. Its eyes looked maddeningly sinister as it turned back to look at Roman. Its tongue lashed out with excitement, spilling saliva onto the rocks below.

What the fuck is that face for?

The Wentel turned to where Peraklu was still struggling to get the brown Wentel off her back. She had her foe’s arm in her jaws, but that didn’t slow it down. Its brown scales were tempered from decades of brutal labor, protecting from her bite enough to prevent damage to the deep tissue and bone. The Wentel’s free arm was dug deep into her back and drawing massive amounts of blood.

It’s going after her. It’s going to make me watch as they gang up on her. I can’t…I won’t…I—

The world went dark as he slipped into unconsciousness. His eyes opened to his mindscape. Darkness stretched into an infinite expanse as he took a moment to realize what was happening. He felt…cold? One shape of any color remained to stand against the bleak nothingness surrounding him. A girl, the one he saw here earlier. She was on her knees, arms holding herself as she hunched over in pain. Her back was bleeding, clothes torn and lilac hair matted against her soaking skin. This was important. He knew it was, but couldn’t quite place how.

He rushed across the expanse, reaching her with a speed he didn’t think he could manage. In here, his body remained whole and unbroken. Perception worked differently in this place, but it was still insanity. He didn’t know how to help her, but he had the same urge as when he first felt his link with Klu. He reached out and touched her shoulder, color exploding into existence around him instantaneously.

He was no longer in the mindscape. He saw the pit. The glasslike rocks and the fresh blood upon them. His vision swept left to the approaching yellow Wentel. Behind it was…him? That was his body. That means…

This is what Klu’s seeing? This is…her?

When Klu locked onto his crumpled body, adrenaline surged and her vision blurred. She quickly focused on the approaching Wentel, jaw still clamped onto the arm of the brown. She was acting occupied and scared, masking her bloodlust expertly. The yellow’s anticipation grew, as did its pace, despite the spear in its leg. When it reached her, it opened its jaw wide and went for her neck with a surprising burst of speed. She was waiting for this moment.

She let go of the arm in her grasp and head-butted the yellow’s open maw, the length of her head too long to be clamped down on from his smaller jaws. The top of her skull and the bottom of her snout collided with the fronts of his teeth and knocked him back. She wasted no time in rushing him, even with the opponent on her back now gripping her neck with both claws and trying to hold her still for a finishing bite. 

She resisted his efforts as she kicked her leg out to push the spear through the yellow’s leg-bone. It screeched as she dug her talons into it and flipped it onto its back, blood flowing freely down her neck. She quickly lunged, grasping its still-screeching jaw with both claws and using her talons to spread it apart even further with a sickening crack. She pulled her neck down towards him, raking the brown’s talons deeper into her but not giving a damn. Once she was close enough, she opened her own mouth and exhaled a torrent of frost into the yellow’s throat. Its screeches heightened briefly before its vulnerable throat froze over, that same effect extending deep within as its insides turned rigid and its limbs twitched. She managed a strong stomp onto its chest, a brief crunch and shatter sounding from within. Its movements ceased immediately. 

She was proud to end her link’s killer. That was the last emotion she’d ever feel, and she was content.

Klu fell, the brown having clamped his jaw around her neck as she used her frost. Too much blood. Too weak. The vision faded quickly and Roman was back in the mindscape, looking down at the crumpled form of the girl that he knew was Klu. Blood covered her mouth and her sapphire eyes stared into nothing, faded and distant.

 He turned delirious, resisting the urge to laugh at his own futile attempts to do literally anything. He had to wake up; he had to fight. He had to do something. He closed his eyes, hoping to die or wake. One of the two was all he needed in this moment.

His vision returned seamlessly. Blood from an injury on his head was leaking down across his eyelashes, making it difficult to realize he was awake and back in the pit. He raised his hand toward the brown Wentel, focusing on the stone conjuration he’d used to kill so many enemies before. The energy he’d grown up using endless amounts of times.

Please….please.

He focused on the cold aura of his link-mate. Her fading energy. Her lost thoughts. She was dying, her soon-to-be killer looming over her in a satisfied stance. The energy from her was faint, but he clung to their connection. He imagined his stone forming into a massive spike, but none came. He imagined it again, focusing on Klu and her fading energy to give him a final push, and then something clicked. She wasn’t a part of him, and he wasn’t a part of her. They were one being. Linked through body and mind. Swirling energies from two origins of creation, finding union in the Material.

Her energy flowed through him, dancing inside of his soul like a cheerful spirit. Her blood-soaked scales still looked so beautiful with their dauntless tips of blue. He focused on them, just like she’d asked him to in his time of need. Memories of home flooded through him. His sister. A time when he was blissfully ignorant and truly happy. Memories he now shared with Klu as if she had been there. That frosty energy within him evolved from a visitor to his. His memories of wielding stone and hers of frost became simultaneous until he felt the blockade within him shatter like a battered glacier.

A massive spike emerged from the air in front of his hand, but it wasn’t of stone. It was ice. Brilliantly blue and defiant of the simmering heat molesting the mountains. Steam hissed from it as it glistened with a deadly glint of energy. Roman’s hair shone more brightly than ever before, rising on its own. His hand enveloped in an almost blinding light as he unleashed a scream from his broken body.

Lumanasta stood up suddenly, as did every dragon in the viewing area. Vela’s eyes widened. Qavras stood and remained locked in place, stunned. Ice conjuration. The first sighting of it to ever exist, before their very eyes.

The ice rocketed across the pit and slammed into the brown, sending it flying into the wall in a bloody mess of destroyed bone and mutilated innards. The spike had replaced its torso, only a loosely hung head and limp limbs remaining amongst the glowing aftermath of Roman’s conjuration.

Silence reigned. Not even the twitch of a wing or an audible snort of a snout pierced the space around them. And then Lumanasta spoke, sounding surprised and nothing like the Roostmother they all feared.

“It’s…over. They survive and are freed of all punishments.”

A sudden blur of sage burst forward from the viewing area as Vela moved without hesitation. She rushed down into the pit and scooped up Roman’s shattered body mid-flight. He had passed out again, hanging loosely in her grip as she gently placed him next to the similarly unconscious Peraklu. Her horn immediately shone with energy, the effect spreading further to coat the tips of her scales. Even her tail was glowing slightly as she blew the breath of mending across their dying bodies.

The breath had barely mended their exterior cuts and bruises before a dragon three times her size landed before her, interrupting her and shaking the ground. No one had noticed Laxrus’s silent take-off before landing in front of Vela. 

His deep indigo scales absorbed the light, only allowing it to shine through at the tips, where they were thinnest. He was massive for a Zitrul, akin to a slim Ruzok. A strip from his chin to his stomach was dull grey in contrast to his scales, but looking no less deadly. The spiral-twisted horns upon his head were medium length, beginning just above his unrelenting glare and reaching straight back along his skull. His strong neck curved slightly, allowing his head to tilt downward.

“Laxrus, what are you doing?! Move!”

“Eighty-four years I’ve known you, Vela. I was there for your hatching. I sensed your potential before anyone else. Even your mother. I know how important you are to our kind.”

“What are you babbling about? Move!” She tried to maneuver around him, but he placed an arm thick as her torso in front of her path.

“My purpose in saying this isn’t for enjoyment. I’m saying this because I don’t wish to harm you, but let me be clear. If you continue to mend these abominations, I will kill you, Vela. That would be an unfortunate but necessary sacrifice.”

Vela bared her fangs and dug her talons into the ground. Laxrus didn’t react, simply staring down at her. He gave off the aura of a Vriska despite being lesser. Demanding, dominant, absolute–a statue of indigo-coated death in the face of a delicate, sage-colored scalemender.

Lumanasta was trembling with rage, energy emanating from her in waves as the talons of her claws shattered the rocks beneath her. “You dare deal absolutes in my roost?!” She hunched briefly, prepared to launch.

Qavras opened a wing in front of her, prompting a snarl from his link-mate. “No, my love, please! If the Roostmother of the roost he’s staying within attacks him for following the beliefs of his own roost, there will be an all-out war. Let me go instead. I will punish him for this insolence.”

“Qavras, you know his strength. He will kill you!” She dispersed her energy, but her body was still tense.

“He will try.”

As Qavras turned away from his mate with determination, Vela was becoming delirious as the time her friends had left continued to dwindle. She made another move to get around Laxrus, prompting another block from his movements. Her horn began to glow as she blew a concentrated breath between his legs in a desperate attempt to reach Roman and Peraklu.

“Enough! I warned you, remember that.”

Qavras leapt up and began his dive into the arena. He knew he would not make it in time. He gathered his energy for his most powerful roar, hoping to buy even the smallest amount of time.

Laxrus’s tail was a blur of death, whipping around to slam into the tiny Vela from below with full force. Qavras unleashed all he could muster into his roar, but Laxrus was unaffected, already making his next move. 

Vela was midair, stunned from the blow, helpless and barely able to keep her eyes open from the pain, but she managed–enough to see Laxrus shoot forward and clamp his wicked fangs through her torso. She felt her insides compress as her bones cracked and gave in to the pressure. 

Her eyes closed slowly in recognition. She knew what came next.

Laxrus bit down hard to assure the wounds would be fatal before throwing her aside like a picked-through carrion. Qavras slammed into him with all his might, just a second too late to save her life.

The pit itself trembled from the melee, the spectators unsure of whether to flee or spectate. Qavras held nothing back, coating himself in both their blood. He was making marks, but they weren’t deep enough. For a Zitrul, Laxrus was massive. He was just barely smaller than Qavras, but less bulky, moving faster and avoiding anything close to fatal. 

Laxrus was gaining ground on Qavras, wounding him more deeply than Qavras could manage in reciprocation. Finally, an opening showed itself as Laxrus dodged a massive bite. Qavras lost his balance in the attempt, leaving his chest exposed as he spread his legs to catch himself. Laxrus primed his tail and stabbed deep into Qavras’s chest with his blade-shaped tail-tip.

Vela slowly opened her eyes, close to death but pooling her remaining resolve. Energy expended itself in an attempt to manage her wounds and expedite healing, but it was hopeless. Her body was fading fast. Breaths came in ragged whimpers. Just existing was excruciating. She could move her front legs, barely, but her others weren’t responding. She began dragging herself agonizing inches at a time to close the gap between herself and her friends. Each pull felt like swallowing a cavern-full of glass as her broken body pulled across the unforgiving stone. This was the only moment she didn’t regret being so small and weightless. 

She was finally close enough, inhaling through the pain and releasing her final bits of energy into a sputtering flow of weak breath. It sealed more wounds and returned some color to their bodies, but she knew it wouldn’t be enough. Her final thoughts before it all fell away would be of her late mother, her friends, and her Mithusis. And how she failed them all.

Mithusis felt a wide gash in his existence whenever he was apart from Vela. He liked to sit amongst all her plants on the slow days, for which each one had a name, but he could never remember them. A lot of their hunters and active workers were at the pits, so he had nobody to mend today.

Vela gave this cavern more life than any amount of nature. All forty years of his existence had been spent admiring her, and she was many things to him over the course of those years. A close friend. A stellar teacher. And the best damn Scalemender on any of the four Barren Isles. It was a rare occasion for her to be away like this.

If he was being honest with himself, she had nothing left to teach him. In simple terms, he was just not as good as her. Never would be and never wanted to be. A dragon like her was only born every five decades or so. A Zitrul of high potency, said to claim their latent power from once-dormant traits of origin dragons somewhere deep within bloodlines. Each roost had its own prodigy, ironically enough, but he’d only ever interacted with two of them–his very own Vela and Laxrus, the Black Flame Enforcer. Laxrus is one of the few dragons that migrate from roost to roost, acting as some form of authority for their culture as a species. He’d spent a lot of time in their roost during the past century, but his true allegiance was to the Vriska named Temerrozz, and the roost said Vriska commanded.

Mithusis thought of the twenty years spent in this cavern. All the memories. The same boring routine that made boring seem like bliss. Then Roman showed up and turned everything upside down for a couple of days. It was astounding, really. He hadn’t seen her this excited since the birth of Peraklu. She was always a sucker for the colored tips on Peraklu’s scales. Not to mention the rarity of colored scale tips, let alone a frost Zitrul.

If he weren’t so loyal to his small master, he’d probably sneak out to visit the Pit. He wasn’t as invested in Roman as the other two, but Peraklu was his friend, and sitting here thinking about Vela had kept him distracted. Here he was working himself up about the whole thing. 

Maybe if—

Massive waves of energy suddenly washed over him. Energy he had felt before, but never this strong. Not even close.

By Xentilus…Lumanasta is releasing her energy.

If their Roostmother was preparing to fight, then something horrible must have happened. He gave a final glance towards the entrance to make sure no injured had appeared. 

Nothing. 

He turned and flew out the back entrance at top speed. 

My duty can wait. Vela might be in danger.

As the fight continued, Lumanasta watched helplessly, knowing intervention would shame her, start a war, and lose respect among her roost in one damning moment. Her body felt like a prison, holding her soul in place as it bashed against her chest in an attempt to escape and help her mate.

Qavras was slowing, with Laxrus showing minimal signs of exhaustion. The latter spent most of the fight dodging massive blows as he wore down the furious Ruzok with agility and prowess. They were a decent distance from the crumpled forms of the other three sharing the arena with them, but the ground still shook their bodies with every clash.

A mahogany-colored shape formed in the sky, barreling toward them with unusual speed, wings tucked and body pointed. Mithusis was closing in fast, barely sensing Vela’s fading energy as the pit came into clear view. Fear overtook him. He knew she was dying and confirmed it further when he laid eyes upon her blood-soaked scales and decimated body. He reached out to her as he closed in. He needed to keep her awake. Keep her here with him. Keep her alive.

She gave a glancing response, brushing against the edge of his mind as she tried to reach out. He was closer now, just seconds away from her as he pushed forward with his energy, connecting it to hers. He felt something strange. Something new. A question hanging in the air like a hook with his favorite bait attached, luring his mind in a way he couldn’t resist. It was Vela, using what was left of herself to ask him for something. To ask him to link with her. To become what he had always wanted to be, but for the worst of reasons–a final goodbye.

He landed before her without slowing, damaging the joints in his legs from the impact and dipping down to touch his head against hers without pausing. Her eyelids twitched as the link formed, Vela’s life flashing through his mind as his did in hers. Every memory and action was so clear up until this very moment. He saw himself in her memories from just seconds ago, flying towards her with a worried expression he now knew she had always found adorable. He heard her final thought, saved for him like a flower from a burning field. The thought she’d been repeating again and again for assurance that he’d hear it in this moment. 

You were the wind under my wings, but I never had the courage to tell you. I’m sorry, Mithusis.

He quickly grasped onto the fading connection with his new link-mate, using every ounce of strength he had to stop her from leaving him. He focused on the fading glow of her once-vivid spirit and poured his energy into it. Everything he’d ever known. All the lessons he’d been taught, the people he’d helped, the bonds he’d formed. It was all for this moment. He could finally help his master. His friend. His Vela.

His body lit with a light so luminous that darkness could not find a deep enough crack or corner to escape it. His scales were glowing embers of energy, touched against her head in a moment immune to time.

“Mithusis, no!”

He knew it was working once she could speak again, but he wasn’t finished yet. Her energy was spent entirely, so much so that even if he managed to mend her, she’d die from energy exhaustion soon after. He focused on those memories she’d given to him. The happiness he now knew they both had shared in those cherished moments together that helped him sleep all these years. He pushed everything he was into her. His energy, his love, his hopes and dreams, his very life. All went to the tiny bundle of sage-colored scales that made living worth it for as long as he could remember.

And then he was gone. A faded corpse with its head still resting against hers. No chance for final goodbyes or contemplation. She had lost him, but she was alive again, and she wouldn’t waste his efforts. As she stood, Lumanasta screeched into her head with skull-splitting pressure.

“SAVE QAVRAS!”

Vela turned a horror-struck stare upon the center of the pit. It was a mess of blood and flayed scales, most of which were red in both color and coating. Qavras was still fighting, but losing quickly as Laxrus dissected him bit by bit with tail and claw.

“I…can’t.” Nothing but defeat came in response from her Roostmother, and she’d never been so worried in her entire existence. If Mithusis wasn’t pushing her forward, she’d have panicked to see Lumanasta in such a state. But she had a mission to complete.

She turned her head towards Roman and Peraklu, gathering energy in her chest that she knew wasn’t hers. Mithusis had given her everything he had, and it was more than enough. She waited the extra second, though she knew she shouldn’t, the warmth of his energy within her too perfect to let go of without regret. And then she released it in a moment that carried equal parts sorrow and relief as Roman and Peraklu fully recovered under the stream of mending. It was done, but the toll on her body was still too great. She was spent again, panting desperately as she craned her neck in hesitation to see her friend’s fate unfold.

I’m so sorry, Qavras.

Laxrus took another swipe at Qavras, knocking him to the ground before turning to notice the newly healed Roman and Peraklu. He snarled and moved to approach them, but Qavras recovered quickly and took advantage of the distraction. He bit into Laxrus’s tail with his massive maw and pulled hard, forcing Laxrus to the ground.

“You dare?! I’ve had enough of you, pet of Lumanasta.”

Qavras refused to let go, speaking back to him with a laugh in his tone. “Comical how one such as you is having trouble with one such as me.”

“Trouble?”

Laxrus twisted the tip of his tail and jammed the blade tip into Qavras’s neck. Before it was too deep, Qavras quickly pulled back, his injured body failing him and causing him to stumble.

Laxrus wasted no time, closing the gap and shouldering Qavras to flip him onto his back before holding him down by his neck.

“Trouble no more.”

Laxrus inhaled, energy gathering in his chest as flames began to form in his throat and lick at the sides of his open mouth. The flames became more volatile almost instantly, turning black as pitch with a white glow on the outer edges. The same flames that earned him the name ‘Black Flame Enforcer’ amongst his kind. A flame so potent that it could burn even dragons into nothing.

Lumanasta took flight, hovering above the pit and commanding Laxrus to cease his actions, but his energy continued to build.

“My love, remember me. Protect our egg. Goodbye.” Qavras said his final words through their link as the flames reached up from Laxrus’s chest. Lumanasta almost whimpered, but quickly shelved her turmoil for pure hatred and uncontrolled anger.

“Respect and customs be damned! I’m not allowing this!” She built her own energy, lightning climbing across her scales and a dark cloud forming above her.

Laxrus cackled through his flames in challenge. “Do it and you all die, Roostmother.” He released his flames down on Qavras. The screeching that followed from the burning Ruzok was immense, shaking the pit and forcing the few remaining bystanders to fly off in every direction.

“A creature of fire feeling the pain of burning alive is oh so ironic, don’t you think, Lumanasta?” He taunted her as the flames slowly melted the scales from Qavras’s face.

She couldn’t watch any longer. She was supposed to be strong for her roost, but why have strength if she would let something so terrible happen to her own mate?

She released her lightning, a wicked bolt searing down from her like nature’s fury itself. The bolt struck Laxrus in the side, blasting his scales to nothing and charring the skin beneath. His flames paused briefly as he closed his eyes to absorb the pain. Qavras took his one chance to reach out with a claw and dig his talons into Laxrus’s face just as his eyes opened again. He raked them down, cutting across his eye and gouging a massive wound into his face. Laxrus responded with a furious roar, unleashing a new torrent of flames onto his foe that engulfed more than half his body.

Lumanasta shot off three more bolts, all hitting their target, but Laxrus was too enraged to care as blood gushed from his destroyed skin, each impact shaking him, but not enough to stop his assault. Once the resistance of Qavras’s scales vanished, his scales melted away instantly. His skin dissolved, and every part of him, even his bones, was swiftly broken down. Only his bottom half remained, everything above turning to a quickly dispersing pile of ash.

Laxrus turned, facing the stunned Lumanasta. “I would finish the human and his disgusting dragon slave if your lightning didn’t cause me so much damage. I doubt you’ll let me harm them on top of your pathetic mate, so I’ll have to retreat for now. You’re strong, so you really do deserve this roost. At least you did deserve it. Until you attacked me personally for an action any other roost would agree upon. Let me tell you why I’ve spent so much time in this specific roost.”

He winced, turning his head to examine the damage to his body and snorting in irritation. He looked back at her with simmering anger.

“I knew you’d crumble. I knew you’d rebel against our ways at the first convenient opportunity, just like Xentilus did all those years ago in The Old War. It seems female leadership is always the weakest.”

Lumanasta built her power again, landing in the pit between him and the unconscious ones he wished to slay. He ignored her showmanship and continued, even as white flames formed in her throat.

“It always was, once Xentilus betrayed her father and killed him because our purpose as a race wasn’t good enough for her. So here we are. I’ve played by the new rules, but in the process I’ve sworn to never allow them to bend or break any further, lest we become less than dragons and something else entirely. And before me now is a foolish Vriska, sheltering this human and this filth of a Zitrul as if they mean something important. I’m going to bring my own roost here and we are going to end each and every one of you, just like your pathetic Ruzok.”

He gave a quick and disrespectful slap with his tail against the remains of Qavras. Lumanasta held her ground, holding her energy within and staring him down. If she refrained from any further action, she might stand a chance of recruiting help from the further islands. But if the Enforcer dies in the midst of her roost, war would happen regardless.

But she didn’t care anymore.

She released the white flames of a Vriska, aiming to wipe everything he was from existence, just as he did to her mate. He shot back with his black flames, weaker than before, but still clashing evenly with hers.

A voice rang out over the clashing flames, full of malice and eagerness. “You killed Big Red and my link-mate’s father, harmed the sweetest being I’ve ever known, and now you threaten this entire roost. The only thing you’re the enforcer of is your own ego and bigotry.” 

A boulder of ice the size of Laxrus himself came crashing down on top of his head, ending his stream of fire and smashing him into the ground. He let out a feral screech of anger as he lifted the boulder with the strength of his neck alone and tossed it aside. 

As he hazily recovered his bearings, Lumanasta was already upon him, shouldering him to the ground just as he had done to Qavras. She placed a claw on his neck and brought her other to his face.

“This won’t kill you, but there’s no mending damage from my most potent venom. Not unless you have Vela to heal you, but I’d say you’re not receiving her help for reasons you may be aware of.”

Laxrus growled, his teeth bared as he struggled against the livid Roostmother, but to no avail. He was strong, but he was no Vriska. 

She leaned closer to him, her eyes matching his in equal fury. “Trouble no more.”

She slowly dragged her talons down his face, spreading them further apart to trace the same path as Qavras’s larger talons. Laxrus felt a pain he’d never known in his almost millennia of life. He writhed upon the ground when she let go of him, desperately rubbing his face into the rocks for any kind of relief.

“Now you’ll never forget the mark my mate left upon your face. Leave, and come back only if you wish to die.”

“You know, somehow I think he actually looks better this way. Guess when ugly gets uglier, it somehow becomes a positive.” Roman laughed. Despite the sorrow and anger within him, he laughed. If it meant further hurting the pride of this trash, then he’d do anything.

Laxrus recovered enough to stand and look at them, his face twitching and oozing black venom. “You…insignificant piles of dung. You do not know the wrath you just brought upon this roost. It was clever to mask his energy with yours and block my sight of him. Then you hid the temperature change above me by goading me into a duel of flames. But no amount of cleverness will save you from what comes next. I’ll be seeing you all soon enough, and I won’t be the one leaving this life.”

He gave one last look in Roman’s direction before taking off and flying east. Even injured, his speed was incredible for his size.

“What are we going to do next, Luma?”

Lumanasta craned her head towards the small human, equal parts frustrated and sorrowful. “Firstly, do not refer to me in such a disrespectful manner. Second, mask your pain however you’d like, but now is not the time for humor. My mate is dead, so my focus now will be to protect, hatch, and raise our spawn. The egg sits behind my throne, nurtured by lava. The child within that cavern is the only reason I didn’t completely obliterate both you and Peraklu that day.”

Roman’s smile faded as he caught the ground with his stare. He turned his head to see his unconscious link, and the completely exhausted Vela. He tried to avoid looking again, but a quick glance told him that Mithusis was indeed never rising again.

Tears pricked his eyes. No more pretending. She was right. 

“I see. Makes sense. But know, whatever you need from me is absolute. I am part of this roost now, you said so yourself. I couldn’t save Big Red a second time, and we lost Mithusis. My only purpose now is to protect Peraklu, Vela, and any other I can within this roost. So give me an order.”

Lumanasta was staring down at Qavras’s remains now, her tail curled around her as she took shallow breaths. She looked to the sky, a moment of silence following close behind before she spoke again.

“I have a command, and it’s to be followed immediately.”

Roman nodded, looking back at Klu and Vela’s sleeping bodies for motivation before turning back to her. “Understood. What is it?”

“It will take time for the roosts to decide upon the eradication of another roost. During that time, we will prepare for the worst. There’s a powerful mage in Kroniker, known as the Dragon Slayer. You’re going to train with your link, and then you’re going to recruit her.”

Four months passed in a vivid blur. Almost every day within those months was limit-testing for Vivien. The demon attack on Krile. The conversation with her mother. The friends she had made during her stay here, and the city she’d grown to love. These were just a few of the things pushing her forward through each barrier. 

She endured sixteen to twenty-hour days of training, with only small breaks in between. She spent ten hours practicing manipulation and conjuration under several instructors, whether through combat application, endurance training, or general practice. The rest of her time was spent with Caliste after the blonde beauty finished guard duty for the day. She spent six to eight hours on rapier work and battle scenarios. Mock battles, strength training, the list went on. The hour or two left in her day remained reserved for breaks and quick meals before retiring for a usual maximum of four hours of sleep.

It took the entire first month for the requested Dwarven Forgemaster to make his way to Kroniker from the southwestern border of Matrudia. He left his people in the Dwarven Lands long ago for reasons only he knows, but his skills came with him and proved to be highly sought after. 

Vivien, Caliste, and Luria would often make bets on how much the process ended up costing the academy. They’d grown close over these months, once Luria finally warmed up to Vivien. Caliste enjoyed comparing Luria to a cat with how closed off she could be, much to Luria’s dismay. She hated cats. In fact, she hated a lot of things, but she loved her friends. She’d deny it if asked, but few were more loyal than her.

Once a week, they allowed themselves a day of relaxation, while they all took the time to heal and find some form of merriment. They liked to head into town and drink together. Luria would dance when she was drunk enough, actually smiling and even laughing if she’d had two or three too many. Caliste liked to pull Vivien aside for the live dances at the tavern, sometimes for quick and fun songs, and other times a bit slower and more caring. 

Last week she’d kissed Vivien after they’d both had a bit too much and their favorite song had ended. It embarrassed Caliste to no end, so Vivien would pretend as though she couldn’t remember, but she did. She thought about that kiss every night—another motivation to get stronger.

After the weapon was forged, Vladus himself laid the three permanent enchantments upon it. Temporary enchantments were made stronger and longer lasting with the expenditure of more energy. Permanent enchantments, however, behaved differently. They weren’t coating or enhancing an item, but changing its composition entirely. The energy for a process like this was a static amount lost forever to the one applying it, but the strength of the enchantment itself was determined by the prowess of that same individual.

It took Vladus four days to apply each enchantment, with two weeks in between to recover enough to begin the next one. The total process had taken three months, leaving Vladus bedridden and weak for the fourth. But it was done. Vivien had been training with her own weapon for a month now, and it was going exceptionally well.

She hadn’t spoken to Mother for the entirety of her training, and neither had any requests been sent asking for such. 

She assumed her mother was content with her efforts to get stronger. That is all she seemed to care about anyway, to an almost selfish extent. Vivien wouldn’t let it bother her, though. She knew Mother was right. There’s more at stake than she had realized, but she would just have to get strong enough to protect herself and others to an equal degree.

She’d finished her first training segment for the day. It was the sixth day of the week, the final before her resting day. There was a festival in town tomorrow that she and the girls were going to see, so she was working with extra vigor today. 

Unfortunately, she’d used a bit too much energy while testing a new conjuration technique, so Caliste had convinced her to take a long break before they got started.

Vivien had seen Caliste’s room maybe a dozen times, and only stepped foot in Luria’s a single time, for a massive total of five minutes. Of those dozen visits, she’d never noticed the tiny cloth banner strung above Caliste’s bed.

“What does that symbol mean, Caliste?”

She pointed at the banner. It looked like a dragon amongst the clouds, looming over a village. It didn’t seem like a menacing message, but was ominous to her.

Caliste had just finished setting her training gear on the bed for after her shower. One mage per section of the school would enchant their bathrooms weekly to supply them with enough water to last that week. If she spent too long in the shower, it would run out of energy by the end of the week and she would have to wait for the next charging cycle. This was practiced in many of the higher societies throughout Matrudia.

“Oh, that? My mother gave it to me when I was accepted into the academy.”

She ran a slender hand through her curls, stripping them of their toughest knots.

“I finally hung it up just yesterday. Apparently, our ancestors were amongst the first humans to live on the Barren Isles alongside the dragons. Not long after that deal was first made, so she says.”

Vivien shot her a quizzical look and tilted her head with an awkward smile. Caliste gave her one right back.

“Why are you looking at me like that, you dork?” Caliste playfully shoved Vivien, who promptly shoved her back with a small fit of laughter.

“No reason. I just didn’t think it was possible for those families to migrate away from the Barren Isles. Thought maybe you were trying to trick me.” Vivien retreated to the bed, sitting down to relax her exhausted legs.

“Ohhh, no no. I’m not Luria. I wouldn’t make someone feel stupid for fun, you know that!” They both laughed a bit, simultaneously wondering what the grumpy water conjurer was up to right about now.

“On rare occasions, dragons will grant favors to humans who earn it. There are those among them who actually like our kind, I suppose.”

She paused a moment, looking towards the bathroom and back again at Vivien.

“Hey, we don’t have a lot of time, and I don’t want to waste your break making you wait for me to bathe just to bathe after me and then have no time to eat or whatever. How about we…take it together? Save water and time. And…yeah.” 

Caliste was looking down with a deep blush on her cheeks. She twirled her finger through the curls of her golden hair, gently biting her bottom lip. Her lashes hung bashfully, as if to hide her gaze.

Vivien suffered no small amount of shock, replaying Caliste’s words in her head to make sure she wasn’t missing something. Before she could think deeper into it, she opened her mouth to speak.

“Yes. I’d like that. Very…efficient.” Her emerald eyes locked onto Caliste, searching for any sign that she was misreading this.

Caliste looked up at her, eyes shimmering in the midday light filling the room. “Okay, cool. I, uh…I’ll jump in first. Join whenever you’re ready.” She smiled shyly, but it still had her infamous twinkle behind it.

Caliste left Vivien alone, the sounds of her undressing from the other side of the bathroom door somehow making Vivien even more nervous before the sounds of running water dominated the room. She stood and glanced at the front door, making sure it was locked. 

She dropped the specialty robes that were made just for her to the floor, the streaks of custom embroidered lightning crumpling together with the rest of the opalescent fabric. She peeled off her upper layer and carefully released the wraps around her chest. Her bottoms came next, causing her to shiver as the surprisingly cool air touched her more sensitive areas.

Vivien walked to the bathroom door, her bare feet making light impressions on the soft fabric that covered the floor. She’d done nothing like this before, but trusted Caliste with every fiber of her being. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes for a moment before turning the handle and stepping inside.

The water was hot enough to make steam fill the room, probably at a custom request from Caliste to soothe her body after a long day of standing guard turning into a long day of training with her. Caliste had her back turned, rubbing a cloth along her curves, her wet hair looking oddly alluring without its curls and draped across her soaking back. 

Caliste turned slowly and locked eyes with Vivien before dragging her gaze downward. Her breath hitched as she took in the sight of Vivien’s naked form. The sight of her full breasts stopped her from blinking. She’d seen Vivien without her wraps on only once, for a brief period before training, and she certainly wasn’t nude at the time. She went nowhere without them on, and now she knew why.

They were large, curving perfectly downward to rest against her wet skin. Despite the heat, her nipples perked with excitement, water dripping off the tips of her breasts to land near her perfectly small feet as she stepped into the water.

“Closer...” she exhaled with more desire than intended. Vivien obeyed, eyes exploring Caliste’s body now. Her breasts were definitely not as large, but shapely all the same. They pressed up against Vivien’s, the warmth and soft push of them together causing both to tense briefly before melting into one another.

They wrapped their arms around each other and brought their lips together in a deep kiss that seemed to last much too long and not long enough. They hesitantly pulled apart, gently placing their foreheads against one another. Vivien smiled and Caliste returned it.

“You know…I lied to you, Caliste.” Vivien’s voice was playful, hinting at something mysterious.

“Oh yeah?”

“I do remember that kiss, and I think about it more often than I’d like to admit.”

Heads still pressed together, Vivien looked up to see her reaction. She smiled that cute way she always does when hearing good news.

“Naughty girl…lying to your girlfriend like that.” Caliste looked up as well, meeting her gaze with something deeper.

“Girlfriend, huh? Quite presumptuous.” Vivien gave a sly smirk, reaching down to feel Caliste’s perfect curves as they gently explored each other’s bodies. She kissed her again, getting used to the flow of it. To the way their lips felt made for each other. The supple pull of it after each separation, begging her to return as if empty without it.

“Girlfriend or not, I have a punishment for you.” Caliste pulled back, looking proud of herself.

“Do tell. Is it another lesson?” She waited for the answer, catching Caliste leveling another stare at her breasts. “If you like them that much, they’re yours.”

“I do like them, maybe a tad too much. But we can’t let them distract us from your punishment. Tell you what, how about a little test? If you can pass this trial without making a sound, then you won’t have to do the two hundred thrusts tonight.”

Vivien raised an eyebrow, curiosity dominating her expression. “Deal. What’s this trial you speak of?”

Caliste’s lips parted slightly as her eyes filled with lust, looking downward with a mischievous glint. She threw the cloth aside and fell to her knees, reaching her hands around to grasp onto the ass she’d daydreamed about time and time again during training. She slid her hands back along Vivien’s smooth skin to grip her hips and guide her to the wall. “For what comes next, my raven-haired beauty…make not a sound.”

Caliste reached between Vivien’s legs with both arms, spreading them slightly and looking up as she braced her hands against the base of her ass.

“Legs on my shoulders. Then we’ll begin the trial.”

Vivien didn’t hesitate, knowing Caliste was more than strong enough to hold her up against the wall. She draped her legs over her shoulders, blushing at her full display, so close to Caliste’s flushed face.

A predatory look radiated from Caliste with a notable aura of lust. She never knew Caliste to have a side like this, but she definitely didn’t mind it. The usually bright and energetic girl she knew was looking at her like a piece of freshly cooked meat, but it only served to excite her further. She was ready to be devoured whole.

“Good girl. Now remember…no sound.” Her grip tightened on the bottom of Vivien’s ass as she lifted her a couple of inches higher.

She leaned her head forward as if bringing her mouth to a favorite dessert. She let her breath caress the soft, pink skin in front of her for agonizing seconds of dripping anticipation. Caliste’s small, pink tongue extended to slowly explore Vivien’s most sensitive area. Her back arched, pushing her hips closer to Caliste for easier access. She gasped, but quickly caught herself before she could moan.

Caliste was relentless, easing into it at first, but quickly learning what her student reacted to the most from the twitch in her thighs and the heave of her chest. She found the perfect rhythm, Vivien’s breaths exhaling in heavy waves as her thighs trembled and gently squeezed around her. Vivien’s hands came down to run through her hair and grip tightly in refusal to give in. She was doing her absolute best to pass her master’s trial, despite the overwhelming pleasure. Stubborn as always, just the way Caliste liked it.

But this wasn’t a trial she meant for her student to pass. This was going to be a lesson in failing with dignity. She kept at it, her thumbs reaching further inward to push gently against her entrance as her smooth tongue swirled circles around the spot that melted Vivien into her grip.

The pleasure streaked through Vivien like strikes of lightning, the stars behind her eyelids brighter than any she’d ever seen. She couldn’t find time to take a full breath before the next wave hit and stole it from her. It was building as her hair began to glow and rise against the water. Vivien focused on the feeling, letting it consume her as she desperately tried to quell the energy building within her.

She was going to lose, and she didn’t fucking care anymore. She needed this release. She needed to give in to Caliste. She could handle the loss. She thirsted for this orgasm more than her lungs longed for oxygen. She moved her hips slightly against her will, suddenly terrified of interrupting the sensation with her movements.

Caliste would not let that happen, speeding her efforts and applying just a little more pressure until the water around them stopped midair. The wind from outside pulled open the window and spun around the room in a tiny tempest as Vivien unwillingly manipulated the surrounding energies. Vivien let out a desperate moan of relief, her orgasm exploding from within her in sync with her energy. The wind continued to swirl as the water exploded outward from them to crash against the walls.

Seconds later, Vivien was utterly spent. It had taken all of her control not to release lightning on top of the unintended manipulation. She looked around as Caliste gently set her on the floor with a smile on her face before standing. 

“Seems I’ve made a mess.” Vivien ushered the words from her satisfied body, inhaling and exhaling as if she’d forgotten how breathing works.

“Seems you failed the trial, more like it. Looks like you’ll be doing those thrusts after all.” She smirked down at Vivien, whose head rested back against the wall.

“You suck.” She smiled and opened one eye, aiming it at the proud warrior.

“Ooo, maybe next time, if you’re lucky.”

“Bold of you to assume there will be a next time.” Vivien said the words, but they both very much intended for there to be a next time.

“You know, for a second there, I was afraid you might fry us to death with lightning.”

“Trust me, it was tempting, but I’d rather like to keep this going. I can’t char you to a crisp just yet.” She stood, quickly feeling shy again considering their situation. The water ceased, and the steam dissipated. She felt exposed, as if the wall would disappear at any moment, revealing them to the courtyard below.

Caliste picked up on her growing discomfort and quickly shifted the mood. “Alright, cutie, let’s get dressed and put in some work. We’re starting with those two hundred thrusts, by the way.”

Vivien groaned at the thought as they dressed to prepare for another night of hard work.

The festival was nothing like their walks through the city and visits to the tavern. When she asked about the occasion, nobody really had a straight answer, though the consensus was always similar–a celebration of just being alive in a world full of danger and death. 

Dragons, creatures she’d never seen before, and even demons all made an appearance as anything from outfits to cutouts to drawings on a held sign. Some even painted their naked bodies. 

People flooded the streets from every direction, all wearing outfits hidden away until this very day. They were extravagant, as were the music and food. Different cooks and specialists offered their own unique dishes in both the promotion of their establishments and celebration of the festival.

“Holy fuck, Luria! Look at those mages go!” Caliste had her hands on Luria’s shoulders, shaking the straight-faced mage as she rolled her eyes. Four mages stood upon a stage erected in the middle of the market area. They were in perfect unison, weaving water, fire, and stone in a beautifully rehearsed display of color and controlled destruction. Vivien watched the spectacle as she smiled at her two companions.

Luria was wearing all-black garb with swirls of luminescent blue. How the blue glowed in such a way, Vivien had no idea. She’d ask later. Caliste was wearing a sky-blue garb with rainbows painted across it.

“It’s not really that impressive. Their water conjurer has low energy output and sloppy control.” Luria crossed her arms and pursed her lips, as if fun itself was a deadly poison.

“Oh, come on, you’d love to be a part of that, don’t lie.” Caliste continued to shake her, prompting a heavy sigh from the victim of her harassment.

Vivien had thought the rowdy tavern nights would be the most chaos she’d ever witness in a stable society, but the more she looked around, the more that proved to be false. “Well, girls. What do we do first?”

A bright-eyed Caliste turned, the curls of her hair bouncing with the hop in her step as she walked over to Vivien. She opened her mouth to speak, but her gaze darted to something behind Vivien. She gingerly raised her hand waist level to warn Vivien with a pointing motion.

Vivien turned on her heel in one swift motion, wondering if she should be alarmed or curious. She quickly discovered it was neither, amused being the more accurate word. 

It was one of the few other lightning conjurers at the academy approaching her, wearing the usual scowl that accompanied her presence. Jeraline was her name, if she recalled correctly. She’d made it clear to others how much she despised Vivien, but never approached her directly. Until now.

“Well, well. Finally, I get to catch you in a sober state, without the protection of the academy to save you. Now you won’t have any excuse.” 

She was wearing a cocky grin, her three usual lackeys snickering behind her. To be fair, she had a right to be cocky. She was a purple robe, same as Luria, and Luria was pretty powerful. It had humbled Vivien to see Luria in more than a few mock battles, reminding her that the difference between purple and higher robes may not always be that vast.

Caliste stepped forward. “Save her? Excuse? Come on now, Jeraline. We get you’re jealous of her ranking, but you coming here like…this,” she gestured vaguely towards her with upturned hands, “isn’t doing you any favors.”

“Yeah, I’d stop now if you want to keep that pride as high as it is.” Luria was unamused, but she was actually stepping in, which made Vivien feel a special kind of warmth in her chest. Like when a cat finally approaches you for pets.

Why are we always comparing her to a cat?

Her thoughts derailed as Jeraline raised her voice over Caliste and Luria’s warnings.

“Say whatever you fools want. Lightning strikes suddenly and can take an opponent off-guard, so surely this dragon had a moment of folly and paid dearly for it. You may be some kind of strong, Vivien, but you’re not specialty strong. You don’t deserve those robes. I do.” She crossed her arms, and Vivien could tell she’d recited this before. She almost felt bad at the level of passion this woman she barely knew was displaying over something so trivial.

In all honesty, she probably did look pompous wearing her robes outside of the academy. She honestly just found them so beautiful that she thought it a fitting attire for the occasion.

“You’re not wrong. The dragon was off-guard, else I might not be here speaking to you right now.”

Jeraline raised a brow in obvious suspicion. “Right…my point exactly. So what do you say we have a contest to see who is more adept at their craft?”

Vivien felt Caliste move to speak, but she answered without waiting. She needed to settle this. Delusion and divide would only weaken them as a whole, and everyone needed to focus on the real threats, not some rivalry that didn’t matter. She’d end this, right here, right now.

“I accept. State the terms and let’s bring this to an end. I’m tired of causing you distress. You need to be focused on getting stronger, as should we all.” Her statement was resolute, her cut stare slicing into Jeraline’s resolve enough to wound.

“Wow, you really believe what they say. You let them brainwash you. Some dumb girl living on the outskirts of town her entire life thinks four months at the academy have turned her into a goddess. Fine, follow me.”

As they walked a short way into a copse of trees between sections of the city, she explained the rules. This event was often used to determine a tie-breaker between two conjurers of the same element when attempting to rank them for official purposes. 

They would face each other from twenty meters apart and release a steady stream of minimal conjuration at one another until their outputs were matching. At the end of a third-party countdown from three, they would amp up their conjuration to overpower the other. This would determine both control and power. Increasing output swiftly came from control, while total power dictated just how high that output could go. The one that mastered both to an even degree would most likely win the bout. The stream must remain steady and orderly, else lack of control was evident.

They stepped into their positions, arms extended and hair already glowing from their preparation. Vivien’s black hair turned onyx in contrast to Jeraline’s white hair turned silver. Luria, having judged these for her classmates in the past, remained in the center and well off to the side. A gentle breeze blew through the open area between the trees, the sounds of the festival dancing upon the leaves and mixing with the wind to break the silence.

“Hands up, energy prepped?” Luria’s voice could become surprisingly loud as she settled into her authoritative profile.

Both participants nodded, Jeraline wearing a smirk as Vivien simply sighed. She was tired and just wanted to enjoy the festival. Her thoughts receded briefly to her night with Caliste. She glanced over at a smiling blonde with way too much energy, giving Vivien a thumbs up.

Those two hundred thrusts were definitely a fair price to pay.

She turned back to Jeraline as Luria began her countdown, each number having a stage of progression until the real clash.

Three. They released their streams of lightning, colliding between them with a sizzling pop.

Two. Both individuals adjusted their streams, quickly matching one another for a seamless connection.

One. Hands began glowing brighter as they gathered energy.

Conjure! Jeraline was quick to release her gathered energy, a sizable amount of power flowing through the stream and bolstering her lightning into a thick beam of cackling death.

Vivien witnessed her efforts as if in slow motion. She matched her output, raising her own by a small amount so it would seem she’d barely won by the end. 

As her energy pulled itself along her stream, she couldn’t help but recall her fight against the dragon. This quickly led to thoughts about the banner in Caliste’s room, which reminded her why she was here. Why she was becoming stronger. What she had to prove. Caliste, Killian, Luria, Nylus, Vladus and Mother. Kroniker…no, Matrudia itself. The entire world. She wouldn’t fail them. She would kill her enemies. No…she would slaughter them.

Vivien’s hair whipped up and ripped itself from the band that was holding it in a neat ponytail. It flowed through the air like the spread wings of a black gryphon diving for its prey, as a massive bolt of lightning struck through her stream and snuffed Jeraline’s oncoming burst in an instant. It feasted upon the length of the stream like a ravenous hound until it reached the shocked Jeraline, exploding on contact and throwing her back into the nearest tree. She grunted with the impact before falling unconscious, barely breathing, electricity coating her skin and sparking off her singed clothes.

Oh…oops.

Jeraline’s friends ran over to her, one of them being a healer, as luck would have it. She immediately went to work, her hands glowing as she healed her friend with tears in her eyes.

The old Vivien would have felt remorse. She would have felt guilty. But to her surprise, she was…frustrated? Irritated even. She walked towards them, Luria and Caliste speechless at Vivien’s sudden loss of control. They knew she had that kind of power, but also knew she could hold back. They sensed something was up, but chose to trust her as she closed the final gap between herself and Jeraline’s still unconscious body.

“When she wakes up, make sure she remembers what happened. Don’t let her forget that she’s not strong enough yet to act the way she does. If she continues on with that attitude, she will put herself in a situation that ends in death. It’s on you three now to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

The three slowly nodded, unsure of how to react. Though nodding with them, the healer had hatred in her eyes as she looked at Vivien. Understandable, but at least she was compliant.

Vivien turned and walked to her friends, both of which were eyeing her with questions, but they didn’t yet speak.

“Let’s go enjoy the festival. She’ll be fine.” She kept walking, Luria and Caliste following close behind.

“Good job, Vivien. About time someone put her onto her ass.” Luria seemed proud, and Vivien couldn’t ignore the swell in her chest as a result.

Caliste hurried to her side once they were nearing the heart of the market once more. She tapped Vivien’s shoulder, snapping her from deep thoughts.

“Talk about this later? You seem…angry. I want to help you.” Caliste gave a concerned smile as Vivien turned her head.

“I’m sorry…I don’t know what’s wrong with me tonight. Guess I’m just wound up. You’re the best, Caliste. Thanks.” She smiled back with an apologetic look in her eyes and a weary drag across her face.

Caliste gave her a kiss on the cheek and a quick nod.

“Oh, Gods. You two are fucking. I knew it.” Luria didn’t sound surprised, but more accusatory than anything.

Caliste turned back to look at her. “Oh, I forgot to tell you! Sorry, Luria. Yeah, we had some fun in the—”

“Stop. Details not needed, thanks.” Caliste laughed at Luria’s exclamation. Once she finished snickering, Luria gave a stern look to grab her attention. “I’m happy for you. Truly.”

Vivien turned now, stopping her steps. “Is that sincere Luria looming on our horizon? Like the sky streaked with blue flames, this is truly a sight to behold.” She laughed along with Caliste as Luria’s face reddened.

“You two are obnoxious. Let’s find some alcohol.” She shoved her hands into her pockets and put her head down as she trudged on.

They made their way back to the festival, enjoying the food and festivities, making sure to grab a jug of alcohol to share between them. Luria finally loosened up, telling them again how happy she was for them. A rosy-cheeked Caliste kissed the top of Luria’s head and called her a sweetheart, to which Luria returned with a pouting gesture. Vivien couldn’t stop laughing after seeing Luria’s expression, finding it difficult to breathe.

It was a long night, ending at the tavern, to none of their surprise. They found their way back to the academy in the early morning, deciding a late start the next day was justifiable for the occasion.

Deep within the academy, far beneath Vivien’s room, enchanted stones hummed with growing energy. They waited patiently in their secluded spot, their energy waiting to rise with the growing light of morning.

“That was our last showing, right?” Bridgette stepped off the stage, stretching her arms and looking toward the other three. She was one of the two fire conjurers for the festival show. She made the fire rings, while Garret handled the plumes.

Stefia nodded, sitting on the ground and sighing loudly. “Sure was. Think I conjured so much water that I never wanna see the stuff again.”

“Can’t say I relate. My fire does the opposite.” Bridgette laughed at her grumbling friend and grabbed her pack from behind the stage. “Going to grab the props and take them to storage. You three all good?” She slung the pack over her shoulder, surprised by the weight of it.

They all nodded simultaneously, each preparing to head back to their rooms.

“Awesome. You all did great. See you in class next week.”

Garret strapped his pack to his back, leveling a curious look at her. “You taking time to visit your sister for the break?”

The rest of the week after the festival was a time for the students to go see their families or just have time to relax. Classes would be paused as professors traveled to do the same.

“Sure am! Leaving first thing in the morning. Best she’s been since mom and pop passed, but she still needs my company every once in a while.”

“Understandable. It’s only been a couple months. Are you holding up alright?”

Bridgette paused, blinking slowly as she thought it over. Was she really okay, or was she going to lie again? To herself more than them, as she found herself doing time and time again.

“Yeah, I’m doing alright. Thanks, Garret. I’ll see you all later.” She was tired, even more so from this conversation.

“Alright, Bridg. See ya.”

The other two said their goodbyes as she turned to leave. Now that the festivities were over, a sudden loneliness clung to the air like a specter. The clouds parted for the light of night, a serene blue coating the streets as she walked back to the academy.

She waved to the night guards and made her way to the entrance. Once through, she walked straight back, under the curving staircase above and through a set of double doors. Halfway down the hallway was the door she needed. She took out the key to unlock it and reached for the handle, suddenly perplexed. The door was already slightly ajar.

Well, that’s strange. Nobody else should be here this late, and I should have the only key for tonight.

She opened the door a few inches more, peering inside to mostly darkness. Her eyes were drawn to a faint glow in the middle of the room, somewhere between the shelves. She ducked her head slightly to get a better angle.

A gloved hand clamped over her nose and mouth, pulling her through the door as it shut behind her. She screamed against it as a small but powerful fist punched into her gut. She crumpled to the floor, coughing as tears blurred her vision.

Before she could act, a boot slammed down onto her head, her face colliding with the floor and blacking her vision. It came down again, harder, the sound of her cracking skull ringing like a dull roar in her broken eardrums. 

A vision of her sister, alone and scared, flooded into her mind. She couldn’t let this happen. She wouldn’t.

She wanted to fight back, but her body wasn’t responding. The boot came down once more, caving in her skull. Blood seeped freely from her broken mess of a head as her body twitched a final time.

Bridgette’s corpse was dragged across the room and stuffed into a corner. The props she’d dropped were quickly thrown aside before the attacker left the room, locking it behind them with her key.

The enchanted stones continued to glow as they gathered energy, swelling and pulsing as they prepared.

Vivien and Caliste had spent most of the night together, taking time that would usually be absent to learn the deeper parts of one another. Dreams, experiences, true thoughts on ideas both whimsical and serious. Caliste couldn’t recall everything they spoke of, but she damn well remembered the kiss they shared before bed. The lingering passion that begged to blossom into something more, cut short by duty and responsibility.

A lot of the higher staff and students were on leave right now for their break, so she was required to be at the gate for longer hours the next morning. Life of a high-guard, but it’s what she signed up for. 

She rubbed her weary eyes, careful to use the soft underside of her gauntlets, since using the metal armor on the back probably wouldn’t be the most helpful.

She wore an elegant, black armored robe adorned with intricate golden trimmings, her shoulders guarded by gilded pauldrons. A sheathed rapier hung at her side, with a medium-sized kite shield on her other.

“Wouldn’t be so tired if you’d been properly responsible.” Luria side-eyed Caliste, half a smile out of sight upon the portion of her face hidden from Caliste’s view.

“Luria…I love you and all, but please don’t remind me. I’m trying to convince my dumb body that I didn’t miss a wink.” She moved from one eye to rubbing the other, making her best attempts to refrain from feeling irritation towards her best friend.

“Mhm, I wish you the best on that one.” 

A shape formed on the horizon, following the road that led to their gate. Luria straightened, lifting her hands from the pockets in her robes. Her attention was forward as she surveyed a man approaching the gate with confident steps.

“This one doesn’t seem to be in any hurry. Are you expecting visitors for your station? He’s certainly not a mage.” Luria continued to drill a stare into the man, speaking quiet enough so only Caliste could hear her query. 

The closer he came, the more she realized just how gargantuan he really was. At least six feet five inches tall, with enough mass on him to weigh the same as three of her. A holstered hammer the length of her body poked over his shoulder, effortlessly carried along the back of his stride. His bald head and tight tunic only served to enhance the confident smirk and wide-open eyes above his cut jawline.

“Hello there, guards of the academy! Beautiful morning! My name is Slog!” the man yelled across the distance. Soon, he wouldn’t need to, his long legs and brisk pace carrying him forward with ease.

Caliste lowered her voice as well, tilting her head in Luria’s direction. “No. Not a single mention of anyone like this or by that name. Anybody in the city who would be interested in the academy knows the festival brings us to scarce numbers and lacking authority, so he can’t be…wait.”

Caliste drew her shield and rapier, locking eyes with the man. He refused to look away, or even blink. He simply continued to smile and match her stare.

“Luria, this man is dangerous. Stay alert and prepare your energy.”

“Already done.” Her hands were back in her pockets to mask the glow of the energy building within. The hood of her robe was always up, keeping the glowing tips of her hair from immediate view.

Caliste took note that Slog’s pace had quickened, as if he had suddenly realized he was late for…something. His steps began to favor his right side as his shoulder lowered from his tall stance ever so slightly. She could only assume he was preparing to either draw his weapon or attack directly. She hunched slightly, bringing her shield and rapier in for a closer defense. He was maybe twenty feet away now. Caliste opened her mouth to speak.

“State your-”

A massive explosion shook the ground, resonating from behind the gate, somewhere in the center of the academy. Caliste reacted on instinct, turning to glance at the location and intensity of the explosion.

Her attention was only turned away for a single full second, but that was enough to realize her mistake as quickened steps stomped from her front.

“Caliste!” Luria screeched from her side, her voice quivering from the simultaneous motion of her raising her hands as quickly as her body allowed.

Caliste felt looming death before she was even aware of it. Luria never panicked. She never yelled in desperation. She was always a step ahead and well-maintained.

Until now. 

Her name upon Luria’s lips in such a way was the most terrifying thing she’d ever heard, because she knew what it meant. It meant she was about to die.

It took a fraction of a second for Caliste to process this, and another half a second to bring her shield closer to the center of her torso as her head whipped back to face the danger.

Slog was fast, so much so that he had closed nearly twenty feet in the time it took her to briefly inspect the blast. It had to be enchanted boots, most likely speed-step, a burst forward from a massive amount of pressure applied to a single push. Something that would severely damage most people’s legs—but this man did not fit into that category. Matched together with his massive weight and strength, closing this kind of gap was nothing.

He slammed into Caliste’s shield with a punch that would have shattered her entire rib cage if not for Luria’s warning. Her body was suddenly weightless, picked up and thrown by the force of the punch as the world around her blurred. She knew immediately that this speed and lift would cause immense damage to her when she landed, especially in almost full armor. This meant he wielded enchanted gloves and boots, and he hadn’t even used his hammer.

Luria reacted instantly, right arm still trained on the man as her left shot back to aim at Caliste. With superb control and accuracy, she conjured a bubble of water around Caliste to stop her momentum as her right hand shot pressurized pellets of water into Slog’s torso. Caliste was successfully slowed, but Slog was barely phased by her assault, his damaged skin having no effect on his demeanor.

He pushed into melee range, closing the gap and landing a punch straight into her face as she evaded backwards. Her momentum saved her from a majority of the impact, but it wasn’t enough. Her nose was broken and blood gushed across her lips. The wind left her lungs as her back slammed against the ground.

Luria’s vision darkened around the edges as she managed enough focus to lift Slog in another bubble. No matter his strength or efforts, if she maintained her focus, she could hold him until he drowned. A continuous stream of water poured forth from her hand to feed into the bubble surrounding him as he attempted to disperse the makeshift cage with his massive arms. It parted from the power of his swipes, but was too quickly replaced by more for his efforts to be effective. Her hair was glowing, freed from her hood as she poured every ounce of energy she could through her hands.

He smiled down at her, glancing briefly to his right to see Caliste dashing towards them. She’d been sent over a hundred feet back, but would be on him before long. He reached behind his back, but instead of his hammer, he quickly pulled a hand-sized crossbow. Luria could not move from her position, locked in place on her back as she supplied the bubble with more water. She wouldn’t have been fast enough, even if she was able to dodge. The bolt shot through the water and into Luria’s chest, simultaneously piercing her lung and ending her conjuration.

“So scared you had to send me away?! For someone so big, you’re a coward!” Caliste gave her best attempt at a hasty taunt as she screamed at him, hoping he’d be prideful enough to turn her way. She wouldn’t be able to close the gap in time if not. She looked down at Luria as her water dissipated.

Please have missed her heart…

Slog ignored her entirely, his smile widening into a mad grin of clenched teeth as his feet touched the ground upon the bubble’s release. He leapt forward, planting his massive form on top of Luria as she struggled to push him off. He grabbed both her arms in his large hands before snapping them backwards at the elbows.

Her scream was traumatizing, rolling Caliste’s stomach. She pushed towards the unfolding nightmare as if her body was weighed down with a thousand mountains. The world moved too slowly, the piece of shit on top of her friend seemingly unaffected by the sudden sluggishness surrounding her. She screamed Luria’s name on impulse, at the very least wanting her to know she’s close. Close enough to see the quickly forming tears on her friend’s face. The same face that had been with her for years. For every meal, every trial, every moment that had mattered until Vivien’s arrival and beyond.

Slog leaned in closer, his warm breath barely noticeable above the agonizing pain in her arms and face. “Shame I have to break such a pretty toy.”

Luria’s scream turned to a cry of rage as her hands continued to glow despite the damage to her arms. He wasted no time letting go of her arms and reaching down to her face. He planted his thumbs into the innards of her eyes, pushing down and popping them from her skull as he laughed hysterically, his booming voice drowning out the sound of suctioned squelching. Her eyes hung loosely on the ends of her optic nerves as they dangled against her blood-soaked face. Her voice ceased as she convulsed. 

Slog stood proudly, turning towards his only remaining foe. He licked the blood from his hand as he stared her down.

Caliste couldn’t see anything but red. Everything around the edges of her world blurred as the center of her vision became tunnels with one destination–the man she needed to kill. There was no time to mourn or think. No existence where she didn’t either die alongside her friend or kill this maniac.

Slog drew his hammer and raised it high with astonishing ease, slamming it down to meet her advance as he stepped forward. She leapt into a front-flip, keeping her momentum and exiting the flip with her rapier held back and aimed downward for a thrust.

A fleeting memory of her thrust training with Vivien surfaced, but she shoved it down in favor of focus.

There was no way he was recovering in time with a hammer that large. But he had let go of it the moment she jumped. He was looking up at her, hand already closing around her shield arm.

Her eyes widened, processing the predicament she was in. She had to brace and prepare, or she’d lose consciousness. She closed her eyes and braced as he tightened his grip around her wrist and used her momentum to swing her over him in an arc, slamming her into the ground with shuddering force.

She vastly regretted pushing down the memory that would give her strength, but she couldn’t summon it past the pain now racking her body.

She tried to get up, her armor feeling as if it encased her in the heaviest of alloys, even despite the temporary enchantments to lighten its weight. Her breath left her as she gasped to recover it, her face being lifted from the ground as his grip found new purchase among her golden curls. She never wore her helmet, and was quickly learning to regret it as he lifted her from the ground like a doll. 

She strained her eyes against their limits to look down at her only hope lying useless on the dented ground where he had slammed her, the gleaming metal of her armaments taunting her as they remained out of reach. 

His other hand closed firmly around her neck, drawing all attention from anything but her need to breathe.

I hope all those days of training do more for you than they did me, Vivien…my sweet, raven-haired love. Don’t forget about us.

A violent shaking woke Vivien from her nightmare. A burning landscape full of demons and their minions was rapidly replaced with the comforting atmosphere of Caliste’s room. They had only kissed, but they slept together last night after Caliste convinced her it would help them both to fall asleep. She wasn’t wrong, since her words were the last thing Vivien remembered. She couldn’t tell if the explosion she’d heard was in the nightmare, or real. She didn’t have to wait long for confirmation.

Screams and the stomping rush of panicked footsteps filled the hallways. Vivien leapt out of bed and rushed to the window facing the other side of the academy. The second living quarters were partially destroyed, smoke rising from the section subjected to the explosion. It seemed like a fairly concentrated blast, most likely caused by a form of energy. 

She could see writhing forms through the windows, students on fire as they helplessly flailed about. Others leapt from their rooms to avoid the spreading flames blocking their doors. She watched as the boy who gave her water during training last week leapt from the highest floor, his head exploding like a melon upon impact with the ground.

She brought her hand to her mouth with a gasp. This had to be a nightmare. Just a continuation of the endless torment her mind liked to feed her nightly. But no matter how much she tried to believe it, she knew this was real. She looked closer, swiftly realizing the explosion had decimated the exact section her room was in.

Don’t tell me…there’s no way this was meant to kill me? Surely…Arcane Torrent? No, they want me alive. Demonvile. It must be.

The academy had never been attacked in this manner, not to her knowledge. Arcane Torrent, Demonvile, Barren Isles…any number of them may be bold enough to attack her here. But why not just approach her in her sleep, rather than make all this unnecessary chaos? Unless…they had more than one goal. Guilt washed over her in waves, but she had to keep her head. Assassination attempt or no, she had to focus. There was no time for guilt. Not yet.

She glanced toward the end of the flaming living quarters. Thankfully, Mother’s room had been unaffected by the blast. She knew her mother would be in the courtyard at this hour regardless, sitting amongst the carefully maintained flowers that a few select mages maintained daily.

Vivien threw on her gear as quickly as possible. Her shimmering opalescent robe slipped on effortlessly, green lightning streaks crackling across the fabric as if real. Her long raven hair flowed like a dark river, framing her piercing emerald eyes with escaped strands fallen across her face. In her hand, her stark white rapier gleamed, its dragonbone hilt and casing glowing faintly as she tested her energy through it out of pure habit. Once she was set, she opened her door to a manic catastrophe.

Torrents of panicked students and colored robes still dashed through the hallways with terror fueling their movements. Some were covered in a mixture of blood and debris. Others had mangled or missing limbs, fluids dripping from loosely flapping sleeves as they ran for their lives.

She pushed past them, making her way to the staircase and down to the double doors that led to the center area of the academy. Between the two sections of the academy was the secluded courtyard.

The area was empty. Nobody would be trying to head deeper into the academy, except for Vivien. Being closer to the entrance, she figured Mother had already evacuated, but she had to be sure.

Through the double doors and fifty feet later, the inner wall of the pathways turned to pillars that lined the open courtyard where the roof gave way to an open sky. Trimmed bushes lined the sections between the pillars, acting as a makeshift wall of pleasing aesthetics while annoyingly blocking her view as she moved quickly towards the one section that allowed entry to the center. 

Finally, the bushes and pillars gave way to the break that led into the heart of the open area. She quickly turned the corner and stepped onto the soft grass. She looked toward the far end of the courtyard, where Mother’s favored bench awaited near the imported nightdrangas.

She was there, but two others in hooded robes obscured Vivien’s line of sight. They stood in front of her mother’s seated form, talking in hushed voices. 

She considered briefly that maybe it was Vladus, Luria, or both. That couldn’t be. Their robes were black, Luria was at the front gate with Caliste, and Vladus would still be resting in his office.

Two students on evacuation duty? No, they’re too calm and…wait. What?

Mother was crying. She could hear the sobs. 

Vivien was being cautious now, stepping lightly and approaching as quickly as she dared. Mother hadn’t cried like that in a very long time. Not since Malus was taken.

Are they telling her I’m most likely dead? Nobody except Luria and Caliste herself knew I was staying in Caliste’s room last night, so that might make sense.

And then the second one stepped forward, arm a blur. He stepped to the side just after, blood running across Mother’s throat like a cruel joke. Vivien could finally see her. So clearly…too clearly. It was slit. So open, pouring forth as if the blood had been beckoned to the ground by fate itself. Her tears dripped down her jawline to mix with the free-flowing liquid of life. She’s gone. Crumpled and lifeless now. Gone.

Vivien couldn’t believe it. She wouldn’t. This was insanity. It made no sense. They were trying to kill her, right? So why Mother? Why now?

Words wafted from the forms as they turned to see Vivien, their hoods hanging low, bloodied dagger in the hand of one, with an open book filling his other.

“Slog is entering through the front, while Demi is already in place. It seems we have one missing piece of the puzzle, in dire need of slotting to the correct space. Zafre, kill her, for failing to do so with the stones.”

Vivien’s mind turned to static scratches upon a black landscape of blanketed emotion. She wanted to cry. She wanted to yell. But she didn’t deserve any of that. She had a duty; she had to fight; she had to kill.

‘Entering through the front gate.’ Those words echoed through her, and she contemplated their meaning.

The Vivien that had existed until now shut down, replaced by a shell filled only with training and logic. She was in shock, she knew, but this didn’t change a thing.

Caliste and Luria in danger. Mother dead. Save the living. Kill these two. Find whoever Demi is. In that order. Move, Vivien. Move!

Her thoughts were pure, but her sense of self was fragmented, turning her into something mechanical. She felt no sense of dread or mourning. Panic swelled within her behind a steel wall, expanding like a bloated enigma, pushing against the relentless barrier she raised against her will. Her tattered soul writhed in hastily made chains, screaming for help as her body moved on its own, absent of who she’d known for the entirety of her life.

She ripped the gusts from above as if reclaiming a stolen heirloom; the sky resigning the winds to her as if her pet. She shot upwards and sustained her altitude once above the height of the academy. A quick scan showed her a disabled Luria and grappled Caliste, lifted by her hair by an ape of a man.

Something changed deep within her. A part of her that had hidden away was now lost to the churning darkness boiling within.

She took aim at the giant man assaulting the one she needed to protect. The only one who could break these walls within her once this was all over. She tried to focus, hatred quickly consuming her. Anger that burned hotter than her fast overflowing energy, supplying enough adrenaline to shake her limbs.

Her hair began to shine like a dying star, the ends burning as they attempted to contain the overwhelming energy. Her hand became the conduit, the flesh flaying from the pressure within it, peeling away like tattered cloth in an inferno. She would use it all to achieve her goals. She would win. She would destroy.

A concentrated bolt of neon green lightning shot from her palm as something rammed into her at high speed, jarring her aim and sending the bolt into a mountain miles away. The side of the mountain exploded into hundreds of chunks that rained down into the surrounding forest.

You would have killed those you’re trying to save! Regain control! STOP!

Her own voice crept from deep within, crawling through her skin and into her skull, rattling around in a desperate attempt to pull the reins back against herself. 

Within, turmoil. Without, wrath.

She turned to spot her attacker, whose robe had shed itself from the tall and slender demon. She wore a sleek black leather coat with crimson accents, and thigh-high boots. In her hands, she gripped a finely crafted two-handed axe. She had rammed the end into Vivien with her charge upwards, the two tips of the axe blades leaving bleeding marks in her robes. 

Vivien ignored the sudden pain, examining the more interesting features of her foe. Slightly reddened skin, small horns protruding from the forehead, and webbed wings with subtle strength that kept her afloat effortlessly. A full-fledged demon with the aura of a human. Vivien didn’t have the time or care to fully process what she was seeing before the figure spoke.

“Vivien, your power is phenomenal. I can see why Gorifix made you a priority.” The demon turned to look at the mountain, currently obscured by a massive cloud of dust. “But your speed is still only human, regardless of your strength. You face the first demon capable of living within the Material. The first human to finish the corrupted Relic of Alfira known as The Grimoire. You fight Zafre, weapons-master of the Demonvile.”

Vivien remained expressionless. Her emerald eyes were like hollow stones, the shine stolen from them by the darkness growing rapidly within. She locked those eyes onto her prey.

“I’m not fighting you, Zafre.” 

The demon raised an eyebrow in amusement.

“I’m killing you, and that’s a promise.”

Vivien drew her rapier and trained her free hand upon Zafre. The wind around the demon whipped and turned, pulling at her wings to destabilize her as energy built within Vivien’s hand.

Zafre laughed at the manipulation as she shrugged off Vivien’s efforts with a flex of her wings and dashed towards her, axe raised.

“It won’t be that easy, girl!”

Lightning shot from Vivien’s palm, swiftly dodged by Zafre as she tucked her wings for a spin before bringing her axe around to cleave into Vivien’s side. Vivien coated her rapier in lightning, moving her arm to deflect the axe. The steel head of the axe split on impact with the rapier and the hilt snapped halfway down, rendering it useless.

“That’s quite the weapon you have there. I’ll be elated to take it off your corpse.”

Zafre promptly dropped it, letting the axe clang and ricochet off the rooftops below. She reached for a pouch on her hip, a shimmering energy dancing above it as she pulled a sword from thin air.

A reclamation pouch. The same as…

“Ah, I see you eyeing my new toy. I suppose I have your brother to thank for such a trinket. I’m not ungrateful, I assure you.” Zafre smiled as she twirled the bag slightly, showing off the crudely carved ‘K’ cut deeply into the leather.

The gorging panic swelled. The chains tightened. The screaming within threatened to deafen her. Her soul obtained a new crack, one that seeped dread, begging to open further. She clenched her jaw, focusing over the panic.

Zafre was trying to hurt her. Trying to break her down and take everything she cared for. It’s time she returned the favor. The one who killed Mother had to be important to her. Vivien aimed her hand at the robed figure below, who was enthralled with his now-glowing book.

She released a fury-fueled bolt of lightning, the glint in her emerald eyes shining enough to light them from within once again. She met Zafre’s gaze with a smile of her own, splitting her face as she saw how terrified the demon looked. Zafre couldn’t stop this, no matter how fast she was.

Her target noticed just before impact, raising his hand and erecting some sort of barrier. The lightning slammed against it and danced along the surface, sparking and twitching with excitement as it looked for a way through. Vivien looked toward him with the full extent of her newfound malice, energy pouring forth from her as her skin sizzled further. The lightning took on a green hue once more, burning the air around it and doubling in size.

Zafre seemed to hesitate, as if it would shame her ally to step in uninvited. A voice could barely be heard over the sounds of electric death meeting a quickly dwindling defense. “Zafre, assist!”

He dare ask for help? He attempts to kill me, kills my defenseless mother, attacks my Caliste.

“YOU DESERVE DEATH!” Vivien screeched above the roar of her energy.

Zafre rushed her, sword held back for a powerful thrust as she dashed forward. Vivien quickly turned her attention back to the rushing demon, deflecting her blow with her rapier. She suffered no recoil thanks to the weapon’s enchantments, allowing her to maintain her stream of lightning. 

Her final gift from Vladus, and she would use it to rid the Material of this trash.

Zafre furiously struck at her, slashing, thrusting, striking at every angle she could muster. Vivien blocked it all, her arm a blur of movement as she called upon her recent flood of training and mock battle experience. She had angered Zafre by attacking her ally, and it made her moves predictable.

Zafre moved even faster, drawing a second sword from the pouch and slowly overwhelming Vivien. 

Her arm was going numb from her flow of energy as she sustained her stream. She had to break it, else she risked too much damage and exhaustion to continue fighting. The energy dissipated and her arm hung loosely at her side, smoke rising from her palm as blood dripped freely from the exposed muscles.

The blows continued from Zafre, some getting through and cutting shallow into Vivien’s skin as she dodged. The pocket of air that sustained her was becoming difficult to manage. She needed to kill Zafre before she could avenge her mother and finish the one below. She needed to trust that Caliste and Luria found a way to victory.

Caliste’s blonde curls being used to lift her from the ground flashed through her mind and her arm faltered, letting through another blow that cut deep into her abdomen. That wound would bleed ferociously. Her timer had lessened. Her breaths were becoming labored. Her mind was slowing.

She released the wind below her, needing solid ground for what she had planned next. As she fell, Zafre continued her assault, screaming with all the fury she could muster as she slammed into Vivien’s rapier again and again. Though it wasn’t enough.

Vivien slowed her fall at the final moment, needing to sustain her speedy descent as long as possible. She landed on the grass, her knees buckling slightly and straining from the impact. She straightened instantly, rapier held level to Zafre, who had landed ten feet away. 

She turned her head slightly, confirming the other’s unwillingness to fight. He was on the last page of his grimoire, which was glowing a deep crimson as the words seemed to bulge from the page. Energy swelled from within the relic. She had to stop whatever was happening.

Zafre’s last assault on Vivien had broken both swords upon her lightning-wreathed rapier. She threw them aside and pulled two curved daggers from the pouch.

“Your energy must be close to dwindling. You’re bleeding at an alarming rate, your breaths are heavy, and you aren’t fast enough to contend with these.” She brandished her daggers, admiring the edges and flipping them over. She was buying time, most likely for whatever was happening with her partner.

Wait…she mentioned finishing a grimoire, which I can deduce is what granted her this demonic form. That means…if I don’t kill her and stop her friend, this world will be dealing with another material demon. But why do this here and now?

Vivien turned towards the figure hunched over the glowing grimoire.

“Eyes on me, Vivien!” Zafre was upon her before she could turn back around. Her speed seemed to have doubled, but Vivien knew it was just a mix between her own settling exhaustion and Zafre’s switch to much lighter weapons. She was struggling to block and evade, losing ground quickly as little cuts continued to mince her robe and slice her flesh. She only had one option left, and it would most definitely drain her already worn body. But she was running out of options, and she planned to finish it with this, regardless.

She gathered her energy, still maintaining enough focus to block as she felt her lightning pool within. She changed the polarity of it, rendering it harmless, but retaining the enhancing properties of the energy and speed within it. She willed it through her body, letting it course along her bones and stimulate her nervous system. It pained her greatly, tripling the strain to her overworked muscles.

Her reaction time multiplied, as did her speed. With the featherweight and enhancement enchantments on her weapon, moving the rapier this quickly didn’t add any extra fatigue, and it could contend with blows at any pace without hindering her own. Vladus truly was an amazing mage for managing such astonishing enchantments at a permanent level.

Vivien matched Zafre blow for blow, her rapier against Zafre’s twin daggers. Zafre’s eyes widened in disbelief before Vivien pushed her new advantage. In one swift motion, she knocked a dagger from Zafre’s grip and grabbed the other with her bare hand before stabbing her rapier clean through Zafre’s chest. She ignored the bite of the dagger against her hand as the other sank tip-down into the grass below.

“This is for my family, you disgusting bitch.”

Zafre opened her mouth to speak, anger lining her features as her fangs protruded, but she stopped short as her muscles seized and blood cascaded from her silenced face.

Vivien funneled the energy coursing through her into her weapon, changing back the polarity and sending it through the rapier like a lightning rod. Zafre convulsed, her wings twitching as her skin glowed unnaturally. Her eyes bulged from the building pressure, popping from her skull as if trying to escape. Just before Vivien let the energy dissipate, Zafre’s body went rigid. She was dead well before the rapier withdrew from her chest, her smoking corpse falling to the ground with a satisfying thud.

Vladus had woken early. Another dream about his late wife had him in high spirits. A grand woman, taken much too early. She was an oracle, some of whom say the Gods speak through. Others believe they hear whispers on the wind, spoken by Old God Alfira herself.

Vladus never believed any of that. In fact, he hadn’t fully believed until five months ago. Despite his wife first meeting him in a secluded forest glade he spent countless hours in, saying her dreams guided her to the spot. Despite all the predictions she made correctly. Despite the prediction that their child would be stillborn. He never fully bought into it. Maybe he just wanted to believe that she was truly his, rather than an object of the gods.

Before she passed, they talked at length as her strength left her. She’d been sick for a month, an incurable illness that drained one’s muscles until they were too weak to go on. If she had seen it in a prediction before it came to pass, she never made him aware. During their final conversation, she adamantly informed him that a girl would ask for his aid. She would ‘save many and ask for little.’ Her final request was to do what he could for her.

He knew this was Vivien the moment she slew the Zitrul. After which, he’d immediately made preparations for her arrival at the academy. He had done his part, honoring his wife’s final prediction and sacrificing all that remained of his potent energies to supply her as best he could.

His wife had given him a gift in her death, through means unknown to him. Energy manipulation. Only two had ever wielded these abilities, but said abilities were less useful in the fight against demonkind, since the demons don’t carry the energy of Old God Exva within them. 

So he began his work at the academy, quickly gaining prestige until deemed its head mage as soon as the former stepped down. His energy manipulation wasn’t commonly spoken of, but was very nearly banned by the city council for being ‘too gruesome.’ Considering Vladus only used it against ‘volatile’ individuals that would threaten society, they accepted its vile nature.

Vladus rose slowly from the makeshift bed behind his desk. He was happy to continually sacrifice his actual room for Vivien’s mother. He knew what that woman had been through. He knew who had chosen her.

He shuffled over to his desk and sat down, pulling back a drawer and lifting a heavy tome from its innards. Since finishing the enchantments on Vivien’s weapon, he was finally acting his age, catching up on all the reading he’d told himself he’d get to over the years.

Just as he turned to the desired page, an explosion rocked the very foundation of the academy. He pushed his chair back to stand, aware exactly of why this might be occurring. He had expected an attack, especially after finding Arcane Torrent within his own academy, but this was wildly brazen. Most likely a multi-layered plan.

As he stood, he noticed the open door to his office, a slim female standing within the frame. This was no student of his. He could feel the raw power radiating from her as the hairs on his arms and neck rose.

She wore a sleek, black leather corset that hugged her torso, its intricate silver embroidery resembling thorny vines that shimmered faintly in the dim light. A short skirt of darkened gray fell over her hips, leaving her thighs bare, save for thigh-high stockings that clung to her legs like a second skin. A long cape of charcoal fabric hung loosely behind her, its edges tattered and jagged, as if torn by the winds of a glass-filled storm. Armored bracers encircled her forearms. Her pointed Elven ears peeked through her blonde hair and tall-heeled boots clicked against the stone as she took a few steps closer. Her mouth was a thin line of regret, sitting quietly below her small nose and sanguine eyes.

“You’re meant to be the ascension material for my colleague, but this is all that remains? Surely, you are Vladus? I’m sure this is the right location. Either that, or I was lied to by my master, but master never lies. Do tell…am I being deceived, or have you truly fallen so far?” 

Her voice sounded so innocent, but it did nothing to hide her readiness to kill. Her stance left little openings. She had been trained well, that much was easy to see.

Vladus stood perfectly still, only his eyes moving slightly to meet hers. “Interesting. An Elven demon. They all perished long ago, so how were you snatched from Greenweave for corruption? I had thought that near impossible.”

“I’m sorry, I asked you first. I am really not a mean individual. I’d like to end this as quickly as possible. Please answer so I can kill you.” Her lips twitched as she closed her eyes and breathed deeply. She obviously didn’t think him a threat, and he couldn’t blame her. His aura must be pitiful at this moment.

“Alright then, how about this? You tell me what you mean by ascension, and I’ll tell you why I’m in this state.” He was aware that newly corrupted beings of their realm needed a sacrifice to unlock their demonic energy, but he had never heard it referred to as an ascension.

To his surprise, she didn’t hesitate. It seems she truly was upset about his weakened state.

“When we evolve into our demonic form, each individual gains a maximum potential, based on their base form and their method of corruption.” She squinted her eyes, considering how much to tell him. She shrugged, figuring he’d be dead soon, anyway. “Zalef himself corrupted me with his own blood. Afterwards, I consumed the fresh brain of a winter-blessed mage.” 

Her face saddened for a fraction of a second, Vladus was sure of it. She must be newly turned to still be fond of her old life in any capacity.

“So you betrayed someone you cared for to obtain power. Pitiful creature, you should be destroyed.”

Demi scowled, extending her claws and planting her foot forward. “Finish the deal and give me my answer so I can end you swiftly.”

“Hmm…right. I am the opposite of you, foul child. I gave my power away so another could become strong. And even if you kill me, she will put an end to you in my place.”

“The girl? Sorry to say, but she’s dead.” She was fidgeting with her hands, nervous about something, or maybe just. “She died in that explosion just now. We killed her while she slept, so she wouldn’t be a problem. It couldn’t be avoided.”

Vladus didn’t flinch. He was sure Vivien was alive. He was also sure that she’d spent elsewhere last night. He’d noticed how close she’d grown to a certain someone. He was old enough to see fresh love.

“That’s a shame. Oh well. Why not use her for ascension? She was much more powerful than I.”

“I don’t question orders, and I think virtually anybody is more powerful than you at this point, but I’ll follow my commands regardless.”

Her exaggerated insult did nothing to harm him emotionally. He was content with his choices. It was strange, like he was speaking to someone who wanted to be cruel, needed it even. Corruption often does so to both body and soul, but maybe her Elven blood had allowed her to keep a part of who she was.

“Well, I think it’s time we put an end to this. Shall we?” He extended his arm behind him and focused, removing several stones from the wall with stone manipulation. Demi watched with piqued curiosity.

A glass-like orb rolled forth from the hidden compartment. It was unremarkable, like any glass ball that would adorn the table of a random professor or collector. It fell into his upturned hand as he moved to face Demi. 

“You should be pleased. You’re going to get the experience you desired.”

“I’ll allow whatever trick you’re going to pull. It won’t make a difference.” Demi crossed her arms and held in place, her curious gaze scoping his actions.

“This orb contains all the energy of the people I’ve killed since my wife’s death. From the moment I was given the power that estranged me from my race. The power I received through her blessing. My reward for loving a woman nobody else would.” A single tear rolled down his cheek, a eulogy of finality.

The orb filled with light, illuminating the room for a brief second before the glass filmed over. Blackness akin to what lurked in the farthest corner of the deepest crevice coated the glass, snuffing the glow of pure energy. Demi’s eyes widened with equal parts interest and concern, her body tensing in anticipation. She uncrossed her arms in preparation, the hairs on her arm standing without her noticing.

“I wonder if your master told you how things came to be. If he even knows himself.” He stared into the orb, a glint of lost youth fading into the reflection, surfacing one last time.

Demi stood still, saying nothing as tension crept its way through her face.

“Surely, you know of Alfira?” Vladus gave a tired smile, eager to end this encounter.

“Everyone knows of Alfira. Stop wasting my time.” Her impatience was growing, the timid portion of her nature receding further.

“This is one of her relics. Wondrous things indeed. Some say each fulfilled a wish of our collective races. Others say that they were created and infused with Exva’s energy, and aren’t really part of Alfira at all. And more than either of the other two…they theorize the relics are meant to give humans the edge they lack as a hybrid race.”

He raised the orb to his chest, closing his eyes and bringing it just centimeters from the cloth of his weathered robes. The surface of the orb rippled before it began to spin just above his palm.

“Witness the potential from only a sliver of the true Old God. The sacrifice that hundreds of individuals unknowingly made to fuel your death.”

He pushed the orb into his chest, his knees almost buckling from the pressure threatening to implode with him. Only he could use this relic to its full potential. He manipulated the energy itself, spreading it throughout his body. An image of an inquisitor he once fought flashed through his mind, a memory he tried not to remember, and he had a thought. A thought so profound and terrifying that he wanted to vomit.

Was my love…an inquisitor? Is that the power I wield? Is that my gift? Some twisted version of a monster’s ability?

But it made little sense on a second thought. Inquisitors fueled themselves through cannibalism, and they can only expel energy, not manipulate it. In the end, that wouldn’t matter if he died here, so he pushed the thoughts away.

Demi dashed forward with sickening speed, stopping just short of Vladus as a whip of raw energy wrapped around her throat and effortlessly tossed her to the side, smashing her through the wall of the office and into the open sky. 

She unfurled her wings and hovered just outside the shattered wall, rubbing her neck with wide eyes held open by shock. She could feel the power within her building, begging to be released so it could crush what remained of her old self. 

A fleeting flash of the burning forest living within caused her to falter, enough for a massive spear of light to almost find its way through her chest. Her demonic-fueled reactions had her hands wrapped around the spear of light before she even realized it was there, the tip of it barely scraping against her chest. She squeezed, shattering the spear and looking towards the hole where Vladus was standing confidently, both hands raised.

She was readied to dash towards him once more, wary of his tricks. They hadn’t secured an Elven-enchanted weapon for her to use, so she had only her hands for now. Without the cultural enchantment, any weapon she used would shatter, and she couldn’t use the Sealing Sword until they finished dealing with Killian, wherever he may be. 

But there was an advantage corrupted Elves had over any other demons or hybrids. The reason it took the Old Gods themselves to stop the Elven hybrids wasn’t their enhanced speed or strength like any demon possessed, even if they were stronger and faster than the others. It wasn’t their long lifespans, resistance to disease, or link to the ancestral forests. 

It was their ability to wield the unique energy of The Void as any mage would with the elements of Material. A gift from their creator, Exva. So potent that it even carried over through their corruption. Same prowess, different source. And she was willing to bet nobody knew this fact in the current age, not even Vladus.

Dozens of daggers, gleaming with the energy they were crafted from, shot from the broken wall as she easily dodged them. Demi wondered why Vladus was crafting weapons of light, rather than shooting pure beams, quickly figuring it must be a limitation of his energy manipulation ability.

As she dodged the last of the daggers, she felt a sudden pain throughout her body. She examined herself, but could see no injury. She looked towards Vladus, his eyes closed in concentration, and she wondered if he had somehow found a way to manipulate the Void-fueled energy within her.

No…that’s impossible. Even if he was Elven, it wouldn’t be possible unless he was corrupted, so what is he up to?

The pain continued, as if a swarm of bugs were nipping and gnawing away at her insides. A hundred thoughts raced through her mind as she analyzed her situation. She thought back to the daggers. Had one hit her? Was it somehow poisoned? No…she would resist poison. And then she remembered the tiny sparks of light glinting between the daggers. She had thought it was the light refracting from the daggers themselves, but she realized now that it was something else entirely.

Needles.

Then the world exploded around her. Dozens of miniature explosions wreaked havoc within her as her body jerked around in a cryptic dance of agony. It felt as if her arms were going to pop off, like her blood was going to boil and seep through her skin, melting her from within. She screamed, enduring it all as her wings failed and she fell, the grass below doing little to reduce the impact. The explosions had ceased, but she found it difficult to move.

She had underestimated the old man. Maybe it was better if she died. Maybe she deserved it. Maybe…no. 

She remembered Winter, who eternally burned upon that tree, impaled by the spear her own mother died upon. She did not place her there; she just simply appeared once she woke, weeks after her encounter with Killian. Whenever she saw the forest, she saw Winter. She couldn’t tell if it was keeping her old self intact or trying to dismantle it.

Vladus lowered himself to the ground, using platforms of light to descend to her. He seemed tired, the bags under his eyes becoming more prominent as the light touched his face from above.

As she resigned to give in and let him finish her, an unknown force pulled a string within her. It was as if a single-string harp played within her mind, programmed to sing a melody once plucked by an unseen hand. 

The resonance sang through her, willing her to get up. Damning her to fight. Condemning her to obey. It became the hum of her blood and the beat of her pumping heart.

She lay there, not needing to pretend to be broken, for she was. Pretending that she had nothing left was the deception. 

Vladus approached her, a saddened look upon his face, eyes glowing with the energy that still surged through his veins. His hair flowed behind him, long and aged. His mouth opened, raspy words of weariness tumbling out in a saddened tone.

“This isn’t what I-”

Demi raised her hand, a darkened crystal of violet hues shooting forth from her palm. Strong as steel, and sharp as a honed blade, with a tip as deadly as any spear. The Void’s equivalent of stone.

The crystal pierced his neck, pushing through with ease and severing the head of the once great Vladus. His saddened look, filled with pity and empathy for her, was instilled upon his face like a drooping mask as his head slid down the crystal’s smooth surface and into her waiting hand. His eyes dimmed, but they did not close. She stared into them for a moment as blood spilled over her palm and onto the grass, wondering what this was all for. Why she cared. Why she couldn’t just kill herself.

His body fell to the ground, some of the excess energy he was carrying spilling from him with an unseen pressure. With energy like that, he could have leveled this entire area. He could have crushed her to a paste with inescapable slabs of light. But instead, he disabled her and approached. Possibly to reason. Also possibly to interrogate. But she tricked him, and none of that mattered any longer. Demi sighed deeply, closing her eyes in place of his.

“This isn’t what I wanted either.”

Caliste remembered the first time she met Vivien. Hair so dark that it battled the surrounding light, winning every time. Eyes so green and bright, they pitied that failed light. And power so deeply entrenched within that her potential was near limitless. But those weren’t the qualities that endeared her in Caliste’s eyes. It was her humble truth. Her state of being. A product of the world around her, priceless and of single quantity.

She thought back to those memories now, as the life faded from her through brutal asphyxiation. Her limbs screamed at her to let them go limp. To end her struggle as she beat relentlessly against an attacker she couldn’t hope to overpower. Dying would be so easy right now. All she had to do was relax and the pain would cease.

Caliste closed her bloodshot eyes and saw Vivien again for the first time, so vivid upon the canvas of her tightly shut eyelids. Sitting alone, eating quietly, hair draped over her small ear as she moved it from her face. Her spoon tapping lightly against the bottom of her bowl with each scoop. The small ‘Hey’ that drifted from her slightly parted lips in reply when Caliste worked up the courage to say hello on the third day.

She’d wept when Vivien left. Her lessons were over much too quickly, the council of Kroniker pushing her best friend to leave as if she was some plague-infested rat. Forbidding any requests of leave to go see her friend. Drilling their ideals so deeply into Caliste that she couldn’t find the courage to lie about her requests and say she wanted to visit family when she was actually visiting her. 

She’d never had such a deep regret. It had been the sole source of many sleepless nights, but leaving her now, just after they’ve connected once again through fate, was so much worse. Her new deepest regret right before the end. A fresh scar upon a soon-to-be corpse.

“Sleep, pretty thing. Keep your eyes closed and go to sleep forever. Maybe as a reward, I’ll have fun with your corpse.” His voice was full of life, his enjoyment and satisfaction oozing over every syllable. It was clear he’d made that offer to previous victims.

Her eyes opened in defiance, but she refused to look at him. Fear restrained her eyes from looking in Luria’s direction, the sight of her mutilated eyes and crumpled form would probably crush what resolve she had left. 

The pull of need forced her to look anyway as she strained her gaze downward, immediately pulling her eyes back up before Slog noticed what she did.

Her friend was still fighting. 

Luria’s battered arm had a hand extended towards them, slowly spreading a thin veil of water along the ground. She was searching for them as quietly as possible in her new blindness, her energy barely present. Luria was dying, this much Caliste knew.

A hazy mountain, blurred by unheld tears, rested in the center of Caliste’s vision. She was preparing herself for the opening Luria would provide when a flash of green struck the mountain dead center. Her brain couldn’t register what she just witnessed, even as a cracking bellow ripped through the air. The massive landmass shattered like brittle glass in an awe-inspiring display.

She knew it was Vivien, creating a distraction by pure chance. The green hue to the lightning made no sense, but she was sure it was Vivien. 

Slog looked to his left, head raised to witness the raining rocks pelting the unsuspecting forest below.

Luria’s water had reached Slog’s boots, and Caliste’s fallen weapon beside them. The water shot up in a mini plume, lifting her rapier just within reach. Caliste was prepared, her hand shooting out to grasp the handle. 

Slog turned his head back to her as he felt her move, locking eyes on her weapon. He looked innocently confused, like a child being told he could never have candy again. With no hesitation, she plunged her rapier clean through his eye and out the back of his skull.

Caliste fell to the ground, coughing violently and gripping her throat. There was no permanent damage, but it took a good minute before she could properly breathe again.

As her senses returned, she panicked, crawling over Slog’s massive corpse to where her friend lied.

“We did it, Luria! You saved us! That…”

Caliste crawled closer, touching a fear-frozen hand to the cold limb of her friend. The tears she did manage to hold back to deny Slog’s satisfaction flowed freely now. She rose without hesitation, unclasping her breastplate as she continued to stare, silently waiting, praying, for one last crude remark to escape her bloodied lips.

Nothing remained of Luria but an unmoving body. No snarky laugh of triumph, or oddly settling pessimism. Not even the sputters and spasms of someone barely clinging to life.

Caliste’s armor fell to the ground as she removed the rest of it, the final thud upon the dirt sealing a once open door in the core of her soul.

“Goodbye, my friend.”

Vivien secured Killian’s reclamation pouch and turned away from Zafre’s smoldering corpse, setting her sights upon the last remaining enemy. Her body was at its limit, her energy spent and her muscles twitching. Her knees buckled slightly again and again as she fought to stay standing, slowly making her way towards the hooded man. 

She was only twenty feet away, but he didn’t move. The grimoire remained open in his hand, runes still glowing as if they were alive, waiting for a command. She may be spent, but he didn’t appear as though he could fight as long as he held that grimoire. He was waiting for something, but she would stop him before he had the chance to finish his plan.

“You’ve grown strong, Vivien. I’m surprised, to be perfectly honest.” His voice was flat and unamused; as if he’d just been told a joke he’d heard a thousand times before.

“Don’t speak as if you know me,” she spat at him, the murderer of her mother. Glancing at Mother’s corpse, still sat upon that bench with blood-soaked robes, made her heart want to implode. “Why? Why her? What did my mother do to you people?”

“It’s more what she prevented, rather than what she did. I couldn’t finish this grimoire and ascend until her enchantments perished along with her. They were quite complex, something having to do with preventing intrusions and corruption.”

His tone was rising slightly, finally injecting emotion into his words. Vivien stopped moving, the effort of operating her weakened legs proving too much to handle while processing whatever point he was trying to make.

“What are you implying?” She was gasping for air, the exertion catching up with her. All that training and she was still unable to go all out without draining herself much too quickly.

“I’m implying that she was powerful and opposed our cause. Even if I didn’t personally need her dead, why would we leave her alive whilst she was so easy to kill?”

Vivien raised her hand, energy beginning to form as her fingers twitched. Her exposed muscles were numb to her now. The nerves in her hand would never be the same, even with immediate healing. Just as the energy formed, it dissipated, a sharp pain jolting through her as a warning from her body.

“Gorifix, it’s done.” A soft voice played through the courtyard, a slender figure emerging from the nearby pillars. She was holding something and using the hooded man’s name. Gorifix. When she walked into the light, bile raised from Vivien’s empty stomach.

Oh, Gods…no. I can’t do this. I can’t. I won’t. Mother…Killian…Vladus…

She could feel the shock strike her heart more viciously than any lightning she could conjure. The wall erected within herself was quickly crumbling, pieces of her that held it together falling alongside. Reality was digging through her, searching for something, but there was nothing left to find. Caliste was probably dead, Luria too. Her whole family was now gone, along with the only father figure she had ever cared about. She looked at Vladus’s head, still dripping crimson droplets onto the freshly cut grass, eyes empty as glass orbs, staring into nothingness. The same eyes that beamed with pride as she passed all his tests and asked much too many questions.

“Astonishing, the old man didn’t seem convinced for good reason. She is alive.” Demi handed the head to Gorifix before turning towards Vivien. Her body looked as if a massive creature had ravaged her. Blood everywhere, skin looking ruptured and torn, as if she was chewed from the inside out.

“He dealt more damage to you than I expected. Will you be able to finish Vivien while I complete the ritual?” 

Demi nodded grimly in response before he turned away. He raised the grimoire; the runes glowing brightly as they swelled from the pages. Thick lines of scarlet power pulsed and blurred as they changed shape. They turned to threads that writhed like angry insects before assaulting Gorifix and worming their way into his skull through the eye sockets. His body began twitching, his eyes glowing brightly before they returned to normal.

“Yes…yes! Finally, the enchantments are gone. Finally, I can claim my legacy!”

The book went dormant, the glowing runes settling back into the pages and losing all the color of before as they returned to normal ink upon dull parchment. He gently laid the book on the bench next to Sarah’s corpse. He turned to it, lifting its chin to stare into the lifeless face, still looking as tired as she was in life. 

Vivien flinched, but her body shot out another warning. Tears pricked her eyes as she struggled to understand what was happening.

“You should have stopped him. This is your fault.” If Vivien wasn’t deliriously exhausted, she’d have sworn he sounded almost sad. But anger laced his words. Something deep and personal. Something volatile and alive. She had never felt so perplexed by a mix of emotions. The way he spoke that first sentence, his once-hidden personality dripping from it like a smothered meal, it almost sounded like…

“Malus…is that you?”

Gorifix turned away from the bench and faced Vivien, pausing a moment before raising his arms and removing his hood. Slowly, the cloth fell away.

Vivien began to sob. She fell to her knees, arms hanging at her sides, the tip of her rapier digging into the dirt as she let it go. She had dropped it without knowing, refusing to fully believe the sight before her. Now she knew why Mother was crying before the end. Why she had offered no resistance whatsoever.

“Hello, Sister.” His eyes were the same as she remembered—only exhausted. As if they’d seen another universe, one far away and impossibly different from the one they stood in now, painted vermilion as the price of what had been laid upon them.

“Wha…what happened? How…?” Vivien was stammering, struggling to find the words she wanted to say. Needed to say.

This is too much. Too much. Too…much.

“You both failed. That’s the only explanation I’ll offer. Demi, end my sister’s failed existence. Cline will be displeased, but he will have to accept that we did what we must.” He picked up the head of the once great Vladus and smashed it upon the stone bench before dipping his head to it and beginning to feast. 

Demi stepped forward, a broken thing moving to destroy a more broken thing. A dying sun on course to collide with a sea of dormant stars. 

“For what it’s worth, your brother is alive,” she quietly murmured once she was further from Gorifix. “And trust me, this is a better alternative than being fed to a monster like Cline.”

Vivien looked up at her with distant eyes, her breathing shallow, hand dripping with fresh blood again from her subconscious clenching of it. She looked confused, glancing briefly at her brother, who had finished his meal and was holding his head with both hands and a low growl.

“Your other brother. Killian. But he’s not the man you knew.” Demi didn’t blink, as if it would disrespect the great mage before her; just before her death.

Vivien blinked slowly, barely registering her words. Gorifix was clawing at his skull now, snarling about tainted energy and shaking violently. She slowly raised a trembling hand in his direction, pure instinct urging her to help-wanting her to save her little brother from whatever was happening to him. Her body felt like a puppet with invisible strings she no longer pulled. They’d been burned away, cut, lost. Nothing would respond the way she wanted.

Demi looked back at him, fear coating her face as sweat beaded heavily on her forehead. She turned back to Vivien. “I’m afraid I made a mistake. But I can at least do this right.” She raised her arm, nails extending to claws and glowing slightly before swinging in an arc aimed at her target’s neck. 

Vivien closed her eyes, ready for this nightmare to end.

I’m sorry, Malus…

Demi’s claws collided, shredding through flesh. A pained scream filled Vivien’s senses, but it wasn’t her own. She turned her head slowly, eyes swimming through the black and white shades of the drained world around her. The color had been stolen, just the same as her will to live.

Emerald eyes fell upon Caliste, wearing a contorted face of anguish. So much beauty, in so much pain. She was in color, returning it to the world around them by simply existing. She was alive. And this demon had just raked her back open.

“I messed up…stripped the armor off…to run here faster.” Her breathing was labored from the dead sprint to arrive on time, and from the growing pain of her flayed flesh.

Demi kicked Caliste off of Vivien, sending her sprawling with little effort, accompanied by her now several broken ribs and loss of breath. She rolled in pain, struggling to get up again but only succeeding in clutching her chest. 

Demi raised her foot, ready to stomp on Vivien’s neck. Caliste’s cries for her to get up and fight back sounded like faint echoes, barely audible in her current state. 

Then Demi stopped her advance, placing her foot against the dirt as if commanded to do so. 

All three of them ceased moving simultaneously before turning towards a tornado of energy, swirling and striking at everything nearby with strands of raw energy. What once was Gorifix now stood a gaunt, humanoid shape with ashen, cracked skin. It pulsed with faint, sickly violet veins of tainted energy. His eyes were glowing an eerie, hollow light, wisps of shadowy mist trailing from his limbs as he inspected himself. Jagged, bone-like horns emerged from his forehead. He was flickering in and out of existence, to the Void and back to the Material again in half-second intervals until he finally stabilized.

“Hundreds of souls…rattling their cages and begging to be free of me…this will take time to control. Once I master this state of being, I will break this world down and rebuild it just as planned.” His voice rang out in a chilling, dual-toned resonance, as if two entities were speaking in unison: one a deep, guttural growl, the other a haunting, sibilant whisper that echos from The Void itself. The words carried an unnatural weight, applying pressure and dread like a weighted fog.

A heavy pause hung in the air as everyone processed what was about to begin-the absolute havoc that had just been unleashed and amplified. The power Vladus thought he was going to prevent it with would now be the catalyst for their destruction. But a rumbling voice answered a second later, pouring into the space around them like a rolling mist through a quiet valley.

“No, Brother. I think not.” The air rippled, light bending and twisting in a way that shouldn’t be possible. Reality itself looked fragile, like warped glass, ready to shatter while endlessly bending into itself. Two clawed hands reached through the space from somewhere unseen, tearing it like a thin fabric and revealing darkness from the other side. A peek into The Void. The figure pulled himself through with ease, pushing forward with crescent horns. 

Vivien didn’t know how it was possible, but she recognized the distorted voice of this demon. His stance as he faced Malus…or what used to be Malus. The way he raised his head slightly in disapproval as he exhaled steam. 

Her voice crackled nervously, escaping her like a startled spirit. She sounded eighteen again, the same timid voice reaching out towards her role model. The one person she never thought would let her down, even as he looked her in the eye and said he was leaving for good, all those years ago.

“…Killian?”

Cover Art - Leraynne S. @leraynne / Fiverr
Chapter Headers - Marisa Kyle @MKyleCreations / Instagram
Beta Readers/Content Assistance - Beca Martin, Marisa Kyle, Eve Beck

Thank you…
To my mother, for encouraging me to try.
To my second half, for dealing with my mental obsession and helping me bring it to life.
To my close friends, for helping me work through the rough patches of creating this book.
To a select few coworkers, for years of listening to me dream aloud.
To the Dabble team, for creating the writing platform I used to bring this book to life.

And to you, the reader, for taking the time to experience the start of a journey I’ve long wanted to create.

Greg Barker creates dark fantasy stories shaped by brutal worlds, flawed characters, and the cost of survival.

When not writing fantasy, he enjoys working on Sci-Fi Horror and dense short stories.

His plan now is to develop his custom worlds, while stepping further into the two genres he loves writing about the most.