ã€ŠMistakes Were Made [Remorseful Demon King Reincarnation]ã€‹


 B1CH00.1 - Prologue, Part 1: An End...

    Submit yourself to the Twelve, be faithful, in prayer and in action. Oppose Nu¡¯s agents at every opportunity, as the First Emperor, Chosen of the Twelve, opposed the evil Dragon Demon King, Son of Nu.

    ¡ªHigh Priest Lomon, 1256 AK.

    -¨C

    Future year 0 AK of the imperial calendar, Plains of Twelve Heavens¡­

    Pitch-black fire roared as far as the eye could see. The dark, hungry flames devoured the land, like writhing gaps in reality, and reached up to lick the heavens with a thousand serrated black tongues, belching out clouds of smoke so thick it obscured the sun and turned day into night. Yet, divine light rained relentlessly from high above, lancing down through the smog. Droplets of pure radiance fell in multitude, and the cursed fire hissed and recoiled when they met. Each small strike from the blessed lightfall killed the flames¡¯ ravenous momentum and stilled their crazed anger a little more. They could rage, but they could not win.

    The once flat plains had become splintered and pockmarked with craters. Rivers of blood turned the hard ground into a gruesome marsh, and noxious fumes choked the air. The very aether of the world thrummed painfully, flayed raw by the grand and terrible spellwork that had been wrought in this place.

    Corpses, charred and deformed, enough to populate a country, piled high into macabre hills¡ªgrisly heaps slowly trickling down into bottomless chasms rent towards the entrails of the Earth. The dead were a mixture of humans, elves, dwarves, celestials, demis¡ªall the races of the Radiant Alliance¡ªand their mortal enemies: armoured skeletons and hordes of zombies, motionless and drained of their necromantic energy, ghouls and vampires shrivelled into husks, corrupted elves and dwarves shredded to pieces, twisted wolfmen and all manners of abominations, nightmarish monsters, and horrors of mutated flesh that defied sane description.

    At the heart of this hellish scene, the ground dipped into a sinkhole. The giant crater spanned many miles, bereft of cursed fire, heavenly rain, or corpses. All had been blasted away by the forces that clashed here. The two main protagonists of this age¡¯s most destructive conflict faced one another in this eye of the storm: the Hero, Chosen of the Gods, and the Dragon Demon King, the God Killer. The decades-long war between them had brought the continent to ruin. Now, it was coming to an end.

    The Chosen Hero had fallen to one knee.

    The hallowed Shield of the People was bathed in a dimming solar glow. Once unbowed and undefeated, the paladin now leaned heavily on a fractured greatsword¡ªMercy, the Holy Blade, forged of divine light, reduced to a shiny, broken cane. His helmet had been lost in battle. Sweat and gore slicked greying golden hair to his scalp. His aged face was bloodied, bruised and swollen, his lips busted, his nose broken, and his left eye viciously gouged out, a jagged wound mangling that side from forehead to chin. His remaining eye, pale citrine, stared numbly ahead as he took laborious, gargling breaths.

    Blood and grime crusted his once immaculate armour. The shining alabaster metal had turned dull and fissured. Four huge, vertical claw marks sliced through his breastplate, exposing a mess of torn flesh, crushed bones, and twitching organs. The wounds haemorrhaged like a great waterfall in rhythm with the knight¡¯s heartbeat. By all reason, the man should have been long dead. Yet his lungs still weakly drew breath, as if Death herself would not touch him.

    Behind him, four giant lacerations in the ground mirrored his injuries, each as broad, long, and deep as a great lake.

    Across the crater, his opponent lay bisected at the waist.

    However, even in this state, the colossus far out-bulked the paladin and his armour. The once-man whom people called the Dragon Demon King was like a living mountain, an immense, abominable mass of pulsing, putrid flesh in human shape, bloated with tumorous muscles that coiled and uncoiled underneath a too-thin layer of papery ashen skin¡ª like too-many maggots feasting inside a desiccated cocoon. Dense tattoos snaked across his tearing skin in a tangled, undulating, phantasmal tapestry, grotesque and nauseating as it waved around scattered black scales that burst from his massive body like festering boils. Magic that should have stayed buried still swirled about the broken giant, threatening to flay the mind of any who might get close.

    Standing, the titan would have towered over his foe like a grown man loomed over a child. Instead, he lay in pieces in the reddened mud.

    The Hero¡¯s final strike had cut through the scales of the beast, sundered the earth and carved a ravine straight to the horizon, where it disappeared out of sight. The chasm¡¯s lowest depths glowed with the eerie amber of death magic, and the space above it quaked achingly from the spell¡¯s aftershocks. This here was a power that transcended the mortal realm and approached that of the gods, a might unseen since the Cataclysm wiped out the Ancients.

    Yet the Dragon Demon King still moved. Death had come for him, yet he refused to die.

    Like a haunting vision from a nightmare, his upper half crawled away from its severed legs and towards his enemy, leaving behind bits of gangrened entrails and half-congealed purplish blood. Clawed fingers dug deep into the gory mud for purchase. Ruby reptilian eyes gleamed through the soiled curtain of wild raven hair that obscured his face, burning with unhinged hatred for the world and the man before him. A savage snarl peeled back his cracked, blackened lips, and it revealed no human teeth but a clutter of obsidian fangs planted awkwardly in swollen black gums.

    ¡°KAYDENNNNN!!¡±

    The titan¡¯s roar thundered over the ruined battlefield. The earth rumbled as if in pain. Even the raging elements seemed to hush down in fear.

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    The holy knight, Kayden, shook his head and sighed. ¡°¡­Seifer. Even at Death¡¯s gates, your fire burns so fierce. Give it a rest, brother. It¡¯s over.¡± His faint voice still carried effortlessly, as if unaffected by distance. It held no gloat, not even relief. His remaining eye was like a pale golden gemstone, hard and emotionless. ¡°You¡¯ve lost.¡±

    The colossus howled in denial, spitting out phlegm, gore and teeth. ¡°IT IS NOT OVER!!¡± He dragged his huge, mutilated body a few more inches. ¡°THIS¡­ IS NOT¨Cugh!¡± Spasms seized him as he suddenly stiffened and vomited a stream of purple blood.

    ¡°It is.¡± Like funeral bells, Kayden¡¯s words tolled with finality. ¡°It has been for a long time. Look at you, Seifer. You¡¯re falling to pieces.¡±

    ¡°NO!!¡± Shaking, Seifer raised his head. Black veins as thick as a grown man¡¯s finger bulged along his throat. ¡°NOTHING WILL BE OVER UNTIL I BITE OFF THEIR HEADS!!¡± He resumed dragging himself forward. ¡°I will have them. And YOU, KAYDEN!! My armies will rise again and ravage all who stand in my way! I will burn EVERYTHING to the ground! I WILL PURGE THIS ROTTEN WORLD IN FLAMES, CONSUME ITS THIEVING KINGS, AND DEVOUR ITS FALSE GODS!!¡± Insanity was once more encroaching in the Dragon Demon King¡¯s crimson eyes, and something ancient and malevolent seemed to peer from deep within what was once a man.

    ¡°You¡¯re mad,¡± Kayden commented flatly. His numb gaze seemed to fly off to distant memories, gaining a flicker of emotion. ¡°You never knew when to give up. It¡¯s what I used to admire and loathe most about you.¡± The flicker froze over. ¡°But this has to stop. This¡­ madness has to stop. Seifer! Why can¡¯t you see what you¡¯ve become?!¡±

    ¡°What else?! YOU TOOK ALL OTHER CHOICES FROM ME!!¡±

    ¡°There is always another choice.¡±

    Hatred flared in Seifer¡¯s eyes. ¡°AND YOU¡¯VE MADE YOURS!!¡±

    ¡°I have.¡±

    ¡°YOU¨C!!¡± Seifer¡¯s broken body trembled. Black veins exploded through his grey skin, flailing like headless snakes, and purplish blood streamed between his cluttered fangs. ¡°YOU SHOULD HAVE JOINED ME, KAYDEN!! YOU CHOSE THEM!! FECKLESS!! OATHLESS!! TRAITOR!!¡±

    ¡°I did what had to be done,¡± Kayden said calmly.

    ¡°HAHAHAHA!!¡± the fallen titan laughed. It was a painful, joyless sound. ¡°Father would be soooo proud!!¡±

    Kayden¡¯s ravaged face twitched. His cold eye flickered with an even colder emotion. ¡°Don¡¯t mention¨C¡± His lips pinched, his eye closed, and he breathed in slowly, wincing when his splintered ribs pushed into his lungs. After a beat, he glared at Seifer. ¡°Is it not you he¡¯d be proud of?¡±

    ¡°Ah! Wouldn¡¯t that be funny!¡± The titan spat a mouthful of blood and scorn, but for the first time, a glint of something besides hatred and rage wormed its way onto his monstrous face.

    Silence stretched between the two enemy brothers, underscored by the dying flames¡¯ dull roar and the distant hammering of the glowing rain.

    The holy knight was the first to break the tension. ¡°I am sorry things came to this.¡±

    ¡°Curse you,¡± Seifer groaned, but a whisper from him still equalled a grown man¡¯s shouting voice. He tried again to pull his eviscerated torso forward, but his unnatural resilience was finally running out. Agony curled his bestial features, but his red snake eyes were clear as they accused his brother. ¡°How could you, Kayden? Did you forget?! Why sell your soul to them?!¡± Unbidden, foul black tears as thick as tar dripped down his grey face.

    The knight¡¯s eye widened a fraction. ¡°So you can still cry¡­ I thought we had both forgotten how to.¡± Hesitation, then resolve flashed in his gaze. With a grunt, the Hero forced his broken body to stand, leaning on Mercy for support. His gruesome wounds belched out another stream of blood. He stumbled, but he did not fall.

    ¡°What are you mumbling, you old fool?¡± Seifer growled. ¡°Have you finally gone senile? Or did you sell out your brain along with your honour?!¡±

    Kayden chuckled without humour. ¡°Always that sharp tongue. One thing you never lost.¡± Though his words seemed aimed at his brother, he appeared lost in his own thoughts. Slowly, he limped forth. Meanwhile, Seifer crawled his way forward at a snail¡¯s pace¡ªas more foul blood dripped between his fangs with each conquered inch.

    It was a sad sight, a sobering conclusion to this world-shaking battle of demigods.

    The two met at last, two brothers, the Chosen Hero of the Twelve Gods and the Dragon Demon King who hated them. Seifer tried to swipe at his hated enemy, but his inhuman life force failed him in the end. His arm swung limply and flopped to the ground. Seifer screamed, raged, and roared for his limb to move.

    It would not.

    Kayden collapsed to his knees in front of his younger brother writhing on the ground. ¡°I did not forget,¡± the knight mumbled faintly, as if trying to convince himself. ¡°I did what had to be done. It was the only way.¡± Fury ignited in his cold, dead eye, and for a heartbeat, the two did look like siblings once more. But Kayden¡¯s rage was a tight and controlled thing, a sharpened knife to Seifer¡¯s chaotic flail. ¡°I can never¡­ forget,¡± the words ground out between his clenched teeth. ¡°Nor can I forgive. But that¡¯s in the past. Seifer, can you guess my greatest regret at the moment?¡±

    Seifer only glared back hatefully.

    Kayden returned the faintest smile, little more than a pale echo, without any real joy behind it. He raised his left hand. Motes of coloured light started gathering over his palm, equally split between a loud yellow and a soft amber. Glowing runes formed around the lights, corralling them, condensing them, until a miniature sun coalesced above Kayden¡¯s palm¡ªthe newborn star trapped inside a cage of frighteningly complex and rapidly shifting glyphs. Even Seifer, who had studied relics of the Ancients, struggled to understand what he was looking at.

    Power kept building up within the construct¡ªso much so that the world¡¯s aether seemed to twist and fold around it as the laws of reality were forcibly rewritten. Skin flaked off Kayden¡¯s left hand like burnt paper. The flesh withered and flaked off his phalanges, and the bones themselves were rapidly cracking and turning to dust. ¡°I guess that¡¯s my limit with this,¡± he whispered idly.

    For the first time since the start of the battle, doubt and even fear wormed past the madness in Seifer¡¯s eyes. ¡°Kayden¡­ what are you¨C?¡±

    ¡°Seifer,¡± his brother interrupted, his voice strained. ¡°Let me tell you¡­ my greatest regret¡­ is¡­ I couldn¡¯t save you either.¡±

    ¡°LIAR!!¡±

    Seifer¡¯s insane fury re-ignited with a vengeance. He convulsed on the ground, snarling like a rabid animal and trying to force his dismembered torso up. His repulsive tattoos flared. Black flames erupted from him, consuming his flesh for a last dredge of power, and his skin churned like a tempestuous sea. Muscles swelled and exploded out of his skin, whipping the air like demented tentacles. New fangs grew chaotically out of his mouth, and black scales crawled over his face.

    His snake eyes sparked red with hatred, fixed on the holy knight. ¡°YOU DARE¨C?!?! I¡¯LL KILL YOU!! KAYDEN!! KILL ME NOW, OR I SWEAR I¡¯LL KILL YOU!!¡±

    ¡°You can¡¯t,¡± Kayden stated simply.

    Above his crumbling skeletal hand, the caged aether pulsed brighter with every passing moment, thrumming, quaking to be released, but wrung into obedience by the knight¡¯s indomitable will. Eventually, it became too blinding to look at, even for the two demigods.

    A lone tear rolled from Kayden¡¯s remaining eye as he closed it. ¡°Farewell, Brother.¡±

    ¡°KAAAAYYYYDENNNNN!!¡±

    The spell ignited. Light engulfed the wretched battlefield, and a new dawn rose under the blackened sky.

    * * * * *

 B1CH00.2 - Prologue, Part 2: ...and a Beginning

    Hearken Kalok¡¯s warning, woman by the turbulent tide, for the entity gestating within thine womb is a monster marked by the Blazing Abyss! Beware, but wail not. End births beginnings, and darkness lives not without radiance, akin to the eternal entwining of Whesi and Whekatsi. So shall slayer sprout saviour within soil suitably sown! So heed the word, woman! Sow the seed! Heed the seed! The Seed!! Hahahahaha! The Seeeed! YES!! THE SEE¨C Eh? Who are you?! What do you wan¨Cow! Ah! No! Stop hitting me! Stop! Ouch! I have rights! Sto¨C OW!! YOU [redacted]!!

    ¡ªtranscript from the arrest of Ditso the Mad Prophet, city of Greyport, 2482 AK, under charges of blasphemy, swindling, and indecent exposure.

    ¨C

    Shadows 21, 2488 AK, Radiant Empire, Cleft Isles, Greyport.

    Dusk had just fallen over ancient, windswept Greyport and the sheer cliffs it clung onto. The horizon bled red into an agitated ocean. Foaming waves threw themselves at the shore and storm clouds loomed low. The heavy weather carried gloom over the decrepit coastal city.

    Suddenly, the sky splintered. Lightning struck the rolling waters; a bleak flash blanched the landscape; thunder roared, and the heavens tore open to weep upon the world.

    Rain drummed its wet fingers on shingled roofs and flooded the paved streets. The wind howled through tortuous alleys like an angry wraith. Its icy breath rattled shutters, swept off chimney pots, and spun creaky old vanes. Cold, damp air snuck into dark homes¡ªmalicious wisps of winter chill that crawled around ill-fitted doors, cracked walls, and poorly sealed windows. Lightning cracked the weeping sky, and thunder rumbled like a divine chariot, scaring adults and children alike. Huddled by their home shrines, the frightened faithful prayed to the gods for mercy from the Elements¡¯ fury.

    In the deserted streets, one gangly youth braved the wrathful downpour. His hurried steps ascended the soaking, grass-grown cobblestones of Crescent Street. His clothes were drenched, and his battered oil lantern had died the moment he stepped outside, leaving only antiquated magic lampposts and sporadic lightning flashes to guide his path. Shivering and cursing the Void, the young man hugged the worn wooden fa?ades, seeking shelter under their overhangs. Yet the gale laughed at his efforts, throwing water in his face and yanking at his coat.

    Flynt was starting to fear for his health when his goal finally came into view. Beside a flickering street light, old Neela¡¯s house stood out from its neighbours by the many crooked ornaments nailed to its door and window frames¡ªsmall offerings from grateful townsfolk, all rattling eerily in the wind.

    Lightning flared, and the youth flinched. As thunder roared overhead, he drummed his fist into the door, keeping an uneasy eye on the clattering decorations. ¡°Nee¨C Neela!¡± he clamoured over the storm, out of breath from running all the way here. ¡°Neela, wa¨C! Wake up! Annet¨C! Annet is going to¨C!¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m awake!¡± croaked an old voice from inside. It was female, rough and creaking like ancient bark. ¡°I¡¯m already awake, you git! Forces and Elements! No need to knock the bloody house down!¡±

    Chains, locks, and bolts clinked and clanked open, and the door swung inwards. A bleak flash exposed a bony hand reaching out¡ªgnarly fingers curled around an even gnarlier staff¡ªfollowed moments later by deafening thunder and an old woman stepping through. A thick, oiled raincoat wrapped her willowy figure bowed with age. Another lightning glare revealed under her hood a crooked nose, sunken eyes, and more wrinkles than a dried old prune.

    The crone shoved a heavy bundle in Flynt¡¯s arms. ¡°Don¡¯t drop that!¡± she warned. ¡°Ah! What a time to pick! This one will be a wee pain in the arse, I tell you!¡± Neela glared at the storm as if it had personally offended her. She carefully locked her door and then, without warning, took off into the rain. ¡°Come on, boy! Don¡¯t just stand there like a brain-farted fencepost. You¡¯ll take root! And don¡¯t you dare let my bag get wet! Blasted, cursed weather! My old knees can¡¯t stand this horseshit no more. A troublemaker! Mark my words! This one will be for sure. ¡ªWell? Come on! Hurry up!¡±

    And hurry, they did. Though the crone hobbled and grumbled, she set a punishing pace, nearly leaving behind the side-stitched youth as they retraced his steps back to Cliffside, the poorest quarter of Greyport. They zigzagged through winding streets until, abruptly, the cobblestone ended. Before them, the city ceased to exist, and a deep, steep chasm opened in its stead. The canyon tore through Greyport in an unnaturally straight line, letting the ocean invade inland.

    Legends claimed it was Dragon Demon King Zeipheron who split the world, in a last-ditch effort to defeat Kayden, the Gods¡¯ Righteous Hero. Neela did not know whether to believe that old tale, but she knew this geographical aberration had earned the Cleft Isles their name.

    A narrow path snaked down along the rock face, no more than a three-pace-wide, all the way to the docks far below. Barely visible in the downpour, the sails of dozens of moored ships pitched left and right atop turbulent waters. Over two millennia ago, these cliffs served as a quarry for rebuilding the city wall. Now, the pockmarks in the stone housed the most destitute in Greyport.

    Across the chasm, in Greyport¡¯s southern half, the city¡¯s gentry and nobility clustered in opulence around the governor¡¯s castle. The dukes of the Cleft Isles had spent lavishly importing white sunstone from the mainland to build their fortress. Through the opaque rain, the edifice appeared like an immense pale ghost looming over the city, poised to devour it. Two giant statues of the first duke and duchess flanked the gates, seated on stone thrones, their white eyes glaring blindly into the storm.

    The storm had turned the Cliffside walkway into a slippery torrent, forcing Neela and Flynt to watch their step. Along the meandering path, they passed by many shoddy doors embedded into the cliff. Some dwellings only had a sorry piece of canvas blocking off the entrance. Halfway down, they spotted their destination. It was hard to miss.

    A sprawling abstract fresco had overtaken the dull grey stone around the doorway, its joyful colours striking even through the dark and gloom. A kaleidoscope of rainbows bounced across what seemed like a fractal meadow full of dancing lights. Those could have been fairies, but everyone knew nothing good came from associating with the Fae. Bold brush strokes evoked strange trees bowing to the ground, heavy with unrecognisable fruits that nevertheless felt as if you could taste them. Unnamable animals frolicked in floating ponds and glittering waterfalls. What might have been a palace hung in the background, overlooked by three moons and two suns. Besides the painting, wildflower arrangements also lined the foot of the wall and clutched valiantly to a tiny windowsill against the storm¡¯s onslaught.

    Amidst the thunder and hammering rain, muffled screams could be heard coming from inside.

    Neela barged in, slamming the door and pausing only to wipe her boots on an already-soaked straw mat. The cave-like interior comprised a single dark room with a bare stone floor and humble, worn furniture, lit by a lonely candle and embers from the cooking pit. Bright-patterned cloths hung from the walls, and overhead, a vertigo-inducing vortex of rainbow paint sprawled the curved ceiling.

    The old crone zeroed in on the bed occupied by a heavily pregnant girl. The expectant mother was petite and emaciated, with pasty white skin and sunken features. Her sickly pallor highlighted her freckles, and her impressive mane of hazelnut curls made a bird¡¯s nest for her head. In the grip of painful contractions, she bellowed like a goat to the slaughter while crushing the hand of the fair-skinned elf man kneeling by her bedside.

    ¡°There, there, Annet, sweetie. Settle down. I¡¯m here now.¡± When Annet did not stop screaming, Neela slapped the girl. ¡°Hey! None of that! Take deep breaths and get a grip, lassie! Mothers everywhere have been popping out brats for thousands of years. You¡¯ll be fine! You¡¯re no performer, so cut the dramatics and stop whining!¡± Somehow, this worked, Annet¡¯s breathing evening out.

    Unfortunately, it did little to pacify the disquiet that gripped Neela¡¯s own soul.

    For decades, she had acted as apothecary, healer and midwife to Greyport¡¯s poorest, and Annet¡¯s pregnancy was the most bizarre she had ever encountered. Sickness and pain struck the girl randomly; her temperature fluctuated wildly, and faintness took her without forewarning. Mood swings were to be expected, but Annet¡¯s extreme fits of rage and depression were as frightening to behold as out of place for a girl often seen as too carefree. Nightmares plagued her nights, and she often awoke screaming in tongues. Annet never spoke of her dreams, but Neela could see the haunted look dwelling in her brown eyes that darkened and receded deeper into her palling face with each passing day.

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    Had she not known better, Neela might have suspected a case of demonisation. But such things rarely affected anyone past the age of two, if ever, let alone grown adults. Nor did it ever afflict children in the womb. The lack of physical mutations discarded the possibility, anyway. When she nevertheless suggested calling in a priest, Annet had firmly objected. The girl always had a complicated relationship with her faith. Her late mother was surely to blame for that.

    Not dallying any more, Neela clutched her staff and summoned her meagre magical abilities to check her patient¡¯s health. A curse immediately slipped in the gaps between her teeth. Not good. Annet¡¯s life force was fading at an alarming rate. But where is it going? Is¨C Is the child draining her? How is that¨C Aah, never mind! There¡¯s no time!

    Her gaze snapped to the entrance, where a sodden Flynt still hovered. ¡°What are you doing, you daft boy?! Bring my bag over!¡± She snatched it from his hands, then pointed a bony finger at the fire pit. ¡°Add more wood, fetch that pot over there, and get water boiling! And find me some clean cloth, dammit!¡± The young man frightfully jumped to obey. Neela rolled her eyes. Flynt¡ªthe poor sod¡ªhad always been sweet on Annet, but he sure was a few wheat stalks short of a full sheaf.

    ¡°Lenril, can you stay, or must you go back to your son?¡± she asked in a softer voice to the elf silently suffering at Annet¡¯s bedside. In answer, Lenril pointed with his free hand to a dark corner of the room, where a tiny toddler played silently with wooden blocks. ¡°Oh.¡± Neela had missed Lenril¡¯s mix-raced son completely. Little Sarmin was always so quiet he blended with the background, seemingly oblivious to everything around him. Yet, his short, pointed ears twitched and swivelled to follow every noise, betraying his attentiveness.

    Lenril then pointed at the ground, and Neela acknowledged his intent to stay. ¡°Alright then.¡± Deaf-Mute as he might be, the stoic elf always found ways to understand and be understood. ¡°Keep holding her hand. She will need an anchor so her spirit doesn¡¯t go to Urabi too soon.¡± Lenril nodded seriously. Granted, he likely had no choice, considering Annet¡¯s death grip on his fingers. Bless him. The elf did not even seem to care that his digits were turning blue.

    ¡°AAAAAAAAAAAH!!¡± Annet suddenly screamed like a strangled seagull. Her back abruptly arched painfully, her eyes rolled back, and she started foaming at the mouth.

    ¡°Void!¡± cursed Neela. She threw off her coat onto a stool and rolled up her sleeves. One of her knotty hands clutched her staff, and the other pressed against the wailing mother¡¯s belly. ¡°You¡¯re not slipping away this easily, lassie! O Belhad, Force of Life, I beg of thee, protect this innocent soul.¡±

    Her chant was no proper spell, more of a hopeful prayer. Talentless mages like her did not get a full schooling, only enough to prevent issues from arising. However, the prayer sufficed for her purpose: focusing her mind on the correct occult glyphs. Already, azure lights were sluggishly coalescing between her bony fingers and seeping into the girl¡¯s body. Lenril¡¯s surprised eyes flickered to Neela before returning to Annet¡¯s blanching face.

    Moments stretched into hours as the storm outside raged on. Sweat was pearling on Neela¡¯s wrinkled forehead, and her twig-like limbs started trembling. Annet¡¯s state, too, was worsening, her cries weakening, her breathing faltering, and her entire body gradually shutting down.

    Suddenly, the crone jerked back. ¡°Heavens!¡± For a heartbeat, she stood, petrified and wide-eyed, before blinking rapidly and hurriedly checking on Annet, who now lay still and silent on the bed. Neela¡¯s shoulders slumped as tension flowed out of her. ¡°She¡¯s stable,¡± she breathed in relief, pale-faced, swaying on her feet and leaning on her staff for support.

    Without another word, she let Lenril take over wiping the sweat off Annet''s face and went to sit shakily on a stool. What in the Twelve¡¯s names was that? Just now, an unknown force had tried to devour her life force, using her Life magic as a bridge. Unable to shake herself free, Neela had fought back as best as a piddling adept mage like her could, by attempting to brute-force through whatever cursed affliction this was.

    Unfortunately, it had been a losing battle, her life disappearing too fast into what felt like an unquenchable abyss. She had been about to give up¡ªwhen she suddenly crossed a threshold she had not been aware existed. Something woke up. Her memory then blurred and fragmented. An infinite wall of black scales. Flames. A colossal crimson eye with a vertical pupil. Staring at her. She recalled the crushing fear, a realisation of her insignificance, akin to an ant facing a giant. Unable to comprehend, her mind had started breaking down.

    Then, a forlorn whisper had cast her out of that space.

    ¡°Enough.¡±

    When Neela had regained her composure, the drain on her life force had ceased. Annet and her child, too, had stabilised¡ªalive, if barely.

    She had no time to dwell on what happened, though. The worst might have passed, but the child had yet to be delivered. Squaring her hunched shoulders, the crone picked balms and potions from her bag, gathered the hot water and clean cloth Flynt had prepared, and readied herself for the hours of gruelling toil her experience told her to expect, given the difficult circumstances.

    Therefore, she was utterly baffled when the child slipped into the world easily, almost eagerly¡ªturning from the worst pregnancy Neela had experienced into a most effortless delivery. What a bloody weird day, she thought tiredly as she wiped down the newborn¡¯s wet and surprisingly dark skin. Such a peculiar, warm shade of bronze was exceedingly rare here in the Cleft Isles. It was less uncommon on the mainland, however, and no one knew for sure who the child¡¯s father was¡ªexcept Annet, hopefully. But the girl had a reputation for reckless behaviour. Maybe a passing sailor. That happened often enough around these parts.

    ¡°My baby¡­ Is my baby alright?¡± Annet¡¯s anxious murmurs rose feebly from the bed. ¡°It¡¯s not crying. Shouldn¡¯t it cry? Is something wrong?¡± The girl was barely holding onto consciousness. Always attentive, Lenril folded his cloak behind Annet¡¯s upper back to raise her.

    The question snapped the old woman out of her exhausted musings. ¡°It¡¯s not¨C¡± But before her worry could resurface, the silent babe opened two red eyes, bright and scarily intense. Neela started involuntarily, almost dropping the child. Luckily, the feeling of dread faded as soon as it came, along with the memory that caused it.

    Blinking confusedly, she looked back into the baby¡¯s ruby eyes. Two round pupils met hers, perfectly human. Neela shook her head. Senility¡¯s catching up to you, old bag. Still, the colour gave her pause. Since the Radiant Empire¡¯s inception, red eyes carried a strong meaning¡­ and it was not a positive one.

    Eyes of the Beast, people called them.

    Silence stretched as the newborn seemed to observe the elderly crone as much as the other way around. Eventually, Neela pushed down her lingering unease. She gave the baby a quick check and reassured the anxious mother. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, lassie. Your baby is all well.¡± All other oddities aside, nothing appeared physically wrong with the child.

    ¡°Congratulations. It¡¯s a beautiful baby girl.¡±

    Only then did Annet¡¯s daughter suddenly start wailing at the top of her lungs, startling almost everyone in the room. Not minding the baby¡¯s cries, the exhausted mother reached up weakly, and after one last brief hesitation, Neela passed the child to her.

    As soon as Annet held her daughter, a blissful grin bloomed on her sickly face, and small tears of joy dripped over her sunken cheeks. Her shaky fingers traced the contours of the child¡¯s crying face, her white hands a sharp contrast against the little one¡¯s warm, dusky skin. ¡°She¡¯s perfect,¡± she hiccupped, then added in breathless wonder, ¡°Did I make that¡­?¡±

    Neela sighed in relief, seeing Annet accept her child without question. Lenril stood to the side, smiling softly¡ªand discreetly rubbing his crushed hand behind his back. Meanwhile, Flynt took one look at the baby, blanched and signed against Evil. ¡°Eyes of the Beast!¡± he whispered fearfully.

    Neela threw a soiled rag at his face. ¡°Shut up and get out!¡± she hissed between what few teeth she had left. The youth didn¡¯t need to be told twice. After one last conflicted glance at the mother and child and a hateful glare for Lenril, he fled the scene as if the Dragon Demon King himself was at his heels. Superstitious git, Neela tutted angrily. She cast a worried look at Annet, but the young woman was lost in her own world, rocking her wailing child and unaware of anything happening around her. Thank the gods.

    Sadly, the young Flynt would not be alone in his bigoted beliefs. Within the empire, red eyes had always been associated with demons, monsters, and misfortune. Many believed the gods marked wicked souls with red eyes as a warning to honest, pious folk. The superstition traced back to the ancient days of the Dragon Demon King, whose evil eyes were said to overflow with the blood of the innocents he devoured.

    Annet heeded not such legends and was busy making silly faces at her surly daughter despite her tired eyes drooping heavily. This girl was always a free spirit. Neela smiled with fondness¡ªand a hint of exasperation. Meanwhile, Lenril¡¯s thoughts were as inscrutable as ever. At least the elf showed no overt negativity.

    Movement at the foot of the bed brought the adults¡¯ attention to the half-elf toddler waddling over. His forest-green eyes, too round for an elf, too slanted for a human, opened wide when they landed on the tiny human girl in Annet¡¯s embrace. The baby was still bawling loudly, her lungs¡¯ capacity seemingly inexhaustible.

    Annet smiled feebly at the little boy. ¡°Sarmin, do you want to see her?¡± At his awed nod, she angled her daughter to offer him a better view. ¡°You¡¯ll have to be good friends with her¡­ ¡®kay?¡± Again, the toddler nodded solemnly, making the adults smile fondly.

    Neela coughed lightly. ¡°Did you think of a name, dear?¡±

    Annet hummed pensively, her eyes fluttering shut. ¡°I think¡­¡± She smiled with quiet mischief and love. ¡°I think I¡¯ll name her¡­ Kaydence.¡±

    Outside, lightning flared.

    ¡°Kayden¡­ce?¡± Neela shook her head. This rascal is way too bold! Nobody in their right mind would dare name their child after the First Emperor. It edged on blasphemy. Not even the imperial family was this shameless. But the crone knew moving mountains would be easier than changing this stubborn girl¡¯s mind. And who knows, she thought, looking at the child¡¯s gleaming crimson eyes, a holy name might keep some rumours of evil influences at bay.

    Little Kaydence seemed to disagree, however, as her crying abruptly soared in volume.

    Outside, thunder rose loudly to her challenge.

    * * * * *

 B1CH01 - Meet the Family, Part 1: Enter Kaydence

    The Great Grey Ashes of the Cleft Isles, known for their peculiarly resilient grey wood, are the tallest tree species naturally occurring outside the elves¡¯ Sacred Forest. Yet nothing about the environment explains how this species came to be. The islands¡¯ soil is not especially rich nor favourable to this spectacular growth, nor is there anything fundamentally magical about these trees. They are simply a wonder of the world. But, of course, no one in this stupid country cares about plants. So¡­ fuck it.

    ¡ªCedar Cloverleaf, imperial botanist, shortly before he emigrated to the Sacred Forest in 2238 AK.

    ¨C

    Rest 29, 2497 AK, Radiant Empire, Cleft Isles, Grey Woods.

    In the Grey Woods of the Cleft Isles, a bronze-skinned nine-year-old girl sat on a tree branch, three hundred feet off the ground, with her hand on fire.

    Beneath her, the ordinarily thick forest had shed its leaves for winter. Yesterday¡¯s storm had cleared the sky and scattered snow amidst the enduring undergrowth. Discreet animal trails weaved in and out of these fluffy white patches in search of sustenance. A chill gale, biting and salty, blew from the nearby ocean, howling forlornly between the naked trees, shaving off snow.

    At the top of the giant tree, the wind¡¯s icy fingers caressed the girl¡¯s face; they pulled and tangled her long black hair and ruffled her clothes¡ªa loose tunic, thin pants, and old boots, unfit for this freezing weather. Yet the girl showed no reaction, neither to the cold, nor the distressing sway of her high perch¡ªone of the Great Ashes that gave these woods their name.

    She showed no care either for the long drop below. Her right foot swung above the void like a pendulum. Her other leg stood folded against her chest, her chin resting on her knee, her face curtained in messy raven locks. Through gaps between them, her blank stare stayed fixated on the black-purplish flames coating her fingers.

    It was a peculiar scene; no one would say otherwise.

    However, the people of Greyport would also tell you, in hushed, mean-spirited whispers, that this girl, Kaydence, was indeed a ¡°peculiar¡± child. But how could she not, when she harboured the memories of a long-dead monster who once sought to burn the world?

    Of course, the girl¡¯s gossipy neighbours were unaware of this tidbit. Otherwise, representatives of the Twelve Churches, specifically the Inquisition of Darkness, would already have come knocking, seeking her head detached from her neck. No, those people did not know. However, Kaydence¡¯s odd and often off-putting behaviour was motive enough to defame her.

    Not to mention, housing an ancient warring soul in this nine-year-old body caused more symptoms than an antisocial and belligerent attitude. Kaydence grew abnormally fast and tall¡ªoutpacing even boys her age. Strong and lithe muscles sharply chiselled themselves under her amber skin, and she moved with the uncanny grace of a lethal predator. Her face, which still retained traces of kiddish roundness, often darkened with a sombreness and anger incongruous for such a young child. That dichotomy disturbed and repulsed most people¡ªbesides those already too scared to look at her face lest her demonic red eyes cursed them.

    These eyes, shimmering with hues of freshly-spilt blood and an ember gleam, neither blinked nor moved from her palm where danced eldritch black flames accented in elusive purples.

    Selfish smoulder dyed in coal¡­ Longings of smoke¡­ Burning desires¡­ Hunger for ashes¡­

    Kaydence twisted her hand, and the dark fire snaked between her fingers. Where it crept, her skin charred and blistered. It hurt. It hurt so badly. Yet she welcomed the pain. She listened to the flames crackling and hissing in a tongue not meant for human ears, to its whispers promising power and solace. Lies, Kaydence knew. All lies. Fire could not create, nor give. It could only consume.

    This fire more so than others.

    The Dark Flame.

    She should not invoke it. No one should. Kaydence knew this intimately. She knew it better than anyone else.

    But when loneliness and guilt threatened to overwhelm her, the Flame¡¯s sweet burn and insidious seductions provided a welcome distraction from the screaming voices in her head.

    Even though the screams could never be fully smothered, only muffled¡ªfor a time. They clung to her like that absurd past she could not forget no matter how much she tried. Two thousand years. What¡¯s even the point? So much changed since then. In this age, Dragon Demon King Seifer was little more than a legend, a snippet of a religious sermon, a talking point in imperial propaganda, or a tale to frighten disobedient children.

    These people could not even recall his name right. Zeipheron? Who¡¯s that? Kaydence gritted her teeth. What a fucking joke. The air around her shimmered with heat, responding to her anger. Why was her soul brought back at this time, she wondered, so long after Seifer¡¯s death? Why? Why?! That question haunted her thoughts. Why did you do it, brother?

    The enemies of Black Dragon General Seifer were all long dead. His armies, decimated. His followers¡­ Kaydence preferred not to think of them. Too much regret festered down that path. Even the septic rage that once sustained the monster she became had shrivelled into confused, aimless anger that gnawed at the mind of a pointless little girl.

    What am I supposed to do now?

    Every day, and every night, the horrors of her past life visited Kaydence¡¯s nightmares. The things he did, the things he killed, the things he made. Things I did, I killed, I made. All monstrous. It¡¯s me. I¡¯m the monster. Every morning, the girl woke drenched in sweat, a scream bubbling at the edge of her lips, the taste of bile on her tongue.

    What do you want from me?!

    Was this her divine retribution? Was her sentence to live through the proof of her failures, tormented endlessly by the moral conscience her past self had so readily discarded? Kaydence at least had to praise the gods¡¯ inventiveness. Bunch of arseholes, every single one of them. She hoped they at least were having a good laugh at her expense.

    Dragon Demon King Seifer never had to contend with morals. His remorse had burned along with the rest of his humanity, incinerated at the altar of his single-minded crusade. His quest for vengeance had left him a wild beast more than a man¡ªno, lesser than that. He became but a thing of cursed dead flesh puppeteered by the fragments of his deranged, broken mind.

    The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

    That bastard cursed himself to insanity rather than endure his own weakness, Kaydence mused darkly. I did. Fuck.

    She often wondered¡­ Did this vile power corrupt her past self? Or had it simply unveiled whatever wrongness already dwelled inside him? Inside me. Something had to be wrong with her. Was that monster still there? Deep within herself? Or lurking just beneath the surface, biding its time?

    Did the flames truly whisper in her ear? Or was she merely insane, a breath away from snapping and turning back into that vile creature?

    These questions kept Kaydence awake on the nights she fled the nightmares.

    The voices did, too.

    ¡°This madness has to stop! Seifer!¡±

    That man¡¯s implacable words echoed through her memories.

    Kaydence¡¯s forehead hit her knee, hard¡ªonce, twice. ¡°Shut up.¡± Three times. ¡°Shut up!¡±

    ¡°Why can¡¯t you see what you¡¯ve become?!¡±

    She could now. Four times.

    ¡°Shut up!¡±

    Five times.

    These memories that made her want to vomit, why could she not get rid of them?

    Her forehead was bleeding.

    ¡°You¡¯re mad.¡±

    ¡°Shut! Up!¡± Kaydence¡¯s fist slammed into the tree trunk, shattering the bark, denting the wood, and splitting her skin. ¡°I know. Fuck. I know¡­ Get out of my head, asshole.¡± She cursed, but her heart was not in it.

    Instead, she swallowed and took slow, deep breaths to calm her erratic heartbeat and fight her nausea, focusing again on the pain from the purplish-black flames scorching her knuckles.

    Blaze of Glory¡­ Inextinguishable Power¡­ Untamed Freedom¡­ Crackling Peace¡­ Hissing Quiet¡­ I eat memories¡­

    Let¡¯s burn forever¡­ dance in the ashes¡­

    Be mine.

    ¡°Kay! Kay, w-where are you?!¡±

    Kaydence inhaled sharply.

    ¡°Kay!¡± A small, pleading voice rose again from below. ¡°P-Please!¡±

    Dammit. Kaydence harshly banged her head back against the tree trunk. Get a grip, dumbass.

    ¡°C-C-Come on, Kay! Auntie will get m-m-mad at us if we¡¯re l-late!¡±

    Sighing, the girl extinguished the black flames with a thought¡ªalong with the other mundane small fires her outburst had ignited around her. A ripple of teal light fixed her burnt skin. Her red gaze dropped towards the ground, three hundred feet below. From up here, the boy looked as tiny as an ant while he made his way through the underbrush, searching behind every tree trunk, bush and large rock he encountered.

    ¡°Kay, p-p-please! C-Come out!¡±

    Kaydence glanced at the sun. Her high perch offered an unobstructed view over the forest¡ª leafless branches galore and the occasional evergreen pine¡ªall the way to the ocean that glittered under a rusting sky. Whesi¡¯s Palace had dropped low on the horizon. Should they dally any longer, the two kids would indeed be late for supper.

    She sighed. Her mother in this new life might be lax in many aspects, but mealtimes were not one of them. Missing supper was not an offence the girl cared to repeat.

    ¡°Kay!¡±

    The girl rolled her eyes. Alright, alright. Void¡­ I swear. That brat had a past life as a nagging wife, I¡¯m sure of it. With an umpteenth sigh, she let herself tumble off her perch and plummeted head-first towards the forest floor far below.

    About to crash into a low branch, she spun in mid-air, grabbed it and swung herself at the next one down, landing in a crouch without making a sound or disturbing the snow. Then she glided through the boughs, quiet and nimble as an elven assassin, imperceptible despite the lack of cover, swinging and hopping from tree to tree until she was right on top of the unsuspecting boy.

    An evil toothy grin split the girl¡¯s face. She let herself dangle by her hands, then dropped quietly behind her prey. She took a deep breath, and¡­

    ¡°GRAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!¡±

    ¡°EEEEEEEEEEEP!!¡± The boy squealed and leapt nearly two feet off the ground.

    ¡°Bwahahahahahahaha!¡± Kaydence guffawed, holding her sides. ¡°You even scream like a girl, Sara!¡±

    ¡°Kaaaaay!¡± the boy pouted reproachfully. ¡°That wasn¡¯t nice!¡±

    Kaydence¡¯s laughter faded. Her expression suddenly blank, she stared at her ¡°friend.¡±

    Even up close, he was a puny fellow¡ªmore so next to her¡ªall dainty and cute, and adorably bundled up in a big fluffy fur cloak. His short platinum blond hair barely peaked high enough to tickle her chin. And his fair skin only highlighted the embarrassed blush spreading from his round cheeks to the tips of his pointed ears¡ªor maybe the cold was to blame.

    Misty green eyes, slightly slanted, gazed up at Kaydence with the look of a kicked kitten. ¡°Why do you k-k-keep doing this?¡±

    ¡°Why else? Cause it¡¯s fun, Twig.¡± She flicked his nose and ruffled his hair, deaf to Sarmin¡¯s weak complaints¡ªthen she kept rubbing his head, a scowl settling on her face. ¡°¡­How is your hair so damn soft, Sara?! It¡¯s ridiculous!¡±

    ¡°S-S-Sorry?¡±

    ¡°You better be! You damn softie!¡± She punched his stomach.

    ¡°Guh!¡±

    People said Sarmin took after his mother, a petite and frail woman herself. She had passed away in childbirth almost two years before Kaydence re-joined the world of the living. However, no one would put Sarmin as the older one. Being a part elf, a race famous for their long lifespan, Sarmin grew slower than a human child. Of course, Kaydence¡¯s height and abnormal maturity did not help the comparison.

    Their personalities also clashed, and the boy¡¯s meekness consistently grated on Kaydence¡¯s nerves. She recalled elves as ruthless killers, invisible assassins capable of decimating an entire battalion of knights in the blink of an eye. Their night vision far surpassed humans¡¯, and nighttime ambushes were their speciality. Fighting them, it was impossible to know, when going to sleep, if you would wake again in the morning.

    The elves Kaydence remembered were the murderous ghosts of the forest.

    So, watching Sarmin jump at his own shadow felt almost like a personal insult. Your people were Seifer¡¯s mortal enemies! Show some fucking guts, Twig! Unfortunately, Sarmin¡¯s father and Kaydence¡¯s mother were friends and expected their children to be as well. Since Kaydence¡¯s birth, Sarmin had always been there, always hanging around her¡ªalways.

    For the reincarnated Dragon Demon King, trying to fend off an affectionate toddler while stuck in the helpless body of a newborn had been psychological torture. It defied sane description. Twice, she had nearly snapped and burned the house down. Luckily, she lived in a stone hole. All she had done was singe some furniture.

    Kaydence would be lying if she denied holding a bit of a petty grudge¡ªshe refused to call it trauma. She had enough of those.

    ¡°Alright, Twig. Did you gather all the herbs we needed?¡±

    ¡°Y-Yes. B-But¡­ you were s-supposed to help¨C¡±

    ¡°Uh?¡± Kaydence leaned to his level, a dangerous glint in her red eyes. ¡°You said something, Twig?¡±

    ¡°N-N-Nothing!¡±

    ¡°Thought so.¡± She straightened. ¡°Let¡¯s grab those bags and head back home. Hurry! I¡¯m leaving you behind if you can¡¯t keep up!¡± And she sprinted off without waiting for the short boy, her long legs eating up the distance.

    ¡°Ah!? K-K-K-Kay! W-Wait for me!¡±

    Their packs waited for them where Sarmin had left them, smartly camouflaged and coated in critter repellent. Greyport¡¯s magic wards might extend deep enough into the woods to keep the monsters and the bigger beasts at bay, but common pests remained a nuisance.

    Kaydence had just finished checking the content of the bags when Sarmin caught up, panting and holding his side. She promptly dumped the entire load into his arms.

    ¡°Humph!¡± he gasped. ¡°K-K-Kay?! Why a-am I¨C¡±

    ¡°It¡¯ll help build some muscles, Twig. Girls are all about the muscles! How will you find a half-decent wife when you look like a malnourished fawn, uh? I¡¯m doing you a favour here. A fa-vour.¡± Kaydence nodded at her own magnanimity and walked away, hands behind her neck and whistling off-key to an ancient military march.

    Grumbling under his breath¡ªthough not loud enough that the red-eyed tyrant might hear¡ªSarmin nevertheless slipped both backpacks on, one on his back, one in front. By now, he knew full well not to argue with the unreasonable girl¡¯s demands. Mumbling to himself, he soldiered on to where Kaydence had paused and stared back at him.

    ¡°What was that? You know, girls also won¡¯t like you if you keep muttering like a loon.¡± She cocked an eyebrow. ¡°Do I need to write you a list?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t c-c-care,¡± the little boy grimaced. ¡°Girls are icky.¡±

    ¡°Aww. ¡®s that so?¡± Kaydence smirked sarcastically and started jogging away again, but this time at a more sedate pace that let Sarmin keep up, if barely. ¡°Tell me that again in a few years, kiddo.¡±

    ¡°I-I¡¯m o-older than you!¡±

    Kaydence laughed meanly. ¡°I see no proof of that, shrimp.¡±

    ¡°W-Why are you always s-s-so m-mean?¡± the half-elf whimpered.

    ¡°Because you¡¯re such an easy target! Now stop asking so many dumb questions. Hah! Ungrateful wimp you are.¡± With a disdainful huff, the girl increased her speed, forcing the boy to hurry up and effectively stifling his ability to speak. ¡°Hurry up! If you don¡¯t keep up, I¡¯m leaving you here for the giant flesh-eating stoats.¡±

    ¡°What? Th-Th-Those¡­ Those d-d-don¡¯t exist, right?!¡±

    ¡°Meh.¡± She shrugged. ¡°Who knows? But I think I saw one over there.¡±

    ¡°W-What?!¡±

    ¡°See ya.¡±

    ¡°Nooo! Kaaaaaay! Nyoooooooo!¡±

    * * * * *

 B1CH02 - Meet the Family, Part 2: Bully at the Gate

    ¡°Some people¡­ just deserve a good kick to the nards.¡±

    ¡°Milady, a glass of water, perhaps?¡±

    ¡°Shu¡¯ up! I¡¯m perfectly shober!¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t think¨C¡±

    ¡°Seriously! I hope that guy trips face-first into¡­ into skunk droppings!¡±

    ¡°But talking this way about His Highness¨C¡±

    ¡°I said, SHhhhu¡¯UT UP!! Hey! Barkeep! Another bottle! An¡¯ none of that elven piss water, ¡®kay!¡±

    ¡°Milady¡­¡±

    ¡ªconversation between Lady Milisandia Tamsin, Captain in the Imperial Guard of the Radiant Empire, and one of her subordinates, allegedly talking about Prince Jasper Nezir, 2493 AK.

    ¨C

    Rest 29, 2497 AK, Radiant Empire, Cleft Isles, Greyport¡¯s outskirts.

    Some cities see their fortune ebb and flow on the volatile waters of history. At times prosperous, at times destitute, their rock bottoms could lay the foundations for a new golden age.

    Not Greyport.

    It had been two millennia since the city amounted to anything worthwhile, and as far as Kaydence could tell, this cesspit was quite satisfied with wallowing in its decay. The place barely deserved the title of ¡°city.¡± It lacked the stature. It lacked the population. It lacked the ambition.

    Greyport was a boil, a festering pustule, a gangrened beast clutching to life even though its entrails had long rotten. It huddled in fright behind thick walls as decrepit as it was. Generations of imperial dukes had neglected their fortifications, too confident in their enchanted wards, too far removed from the chastising arm of the Imperial Inspectorate, and all too happy to pocket the maintenance funds for themselves.

    Few people lived in Greyport, and fewer lived well.

    The Grey Woods crept to the town¡¯s doorstep, surrounding it. The city was once a pirate haven, and no ground was ever reclaimed for agriculture. Only the nearest great ashes were cut down to prevent damage from a freak fall. Any expansion would require a costly upgrade of the wards¡¯ range¡ªlest beasts and monsters destroy the crops and devour the farmers¡ªand nobody was eager to foot that bill.

    This lack of self-sufficiency left the common folk at the mercy of imports, suffering inflated rates that wounded the economy and suffocated the poor. To survive, many had to rely on hunting, gathering, or what little produce they could squeeze out of a tiny vegetable patch, a handful of underfed chickens, and a couple of mangy goats¡ªor perhaps an unlucky rat, cat, dog or seagull passing by.

    Thanks to Lenril¡¯s hunting, Kaydence¡¯s family was spared from eating vermin. However, she and Sarmin still had to scour the woods for herbs, roots, and berries. Some were to cook and some for Annet to sell at the marketplace.

    Well, Sarmin gathered herbs. Kaydence¡­ supervised.

    Returning after another successful day of foraging, the children trekked back across the cold, snowy forest as evening darkness slowly settled in. Eventually, the town¡¯s ramparts came into view¡ªtwenty feet of grey stone, cracked and overgrown with frosted vine. Shingled roofs and fuming chimney pots peeked above the crenellations. If, at first glance, the wall seemed like a poor defence against the monsters of the deep woods, it was because serving as a physical obstacle was not its primary purpose.

    Kaydence and Sarmin had made good time on the return trip¡ªmeaning they ran.

    ¡°Nothing beats a good hike in the woods to get refreshed! Ain¡¯t that right, Sara?¡± The tall girl set a brutal pace and would jog back to kick Sarmin¡¯s butt whenever he faltered. The tiny half-elf was on his last legs, stumbling on the verge of total breakdown, both physically and mentally.

    ¡°Please¡­ I¡¯m¡­ d¡­ dying¡­¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ll be fine. You¡¯re still conscious!¡±

    Reaching the dirt road, Kaydence abruptly snatched her bag back from him. Her yank nearly threw the exhausted boy to the ground. Unsteady, he hopped on one foot, arms paddling the air for balance. After recovering, he stood bent over, holding his side and mumbling unhappily, his breath short.

    ¡°Hmm, what¡¯s that?¡± Kaydence cupped her ear while shouldering her bag. ¡°Are you complaining about my kindness, Twig? I¡¯m trying to toughen you up, you know?¡±

    ¡°S-S-Sorry!¡±

    ¡°Better!¡± Kaydence¡¯s back-slap catapulted the boy forward, but she caught him by his pack before he could face-plant into the mud. ¡°And stop hunching! Girls don¡¯t like hunchbacks!¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s with you and girls?¡± Despite his grumbling, the half-elf straightened his posture reflexively.

    ¡°You¡¯ll understand when you¡¯re hairier.¡±

    ¡°What does that mean?¡±

    ¡°You ask a lot of questions for someone supposedly tired.¡± A predatory grimace uncovered Kaydence¡¯s white teeth, with canines slightly too sharp. Her red eyes gleamed dangerously. ¡°Maybe I¡¯m not pushing you hard enough?¡±

    The half-elf¡¯s fair face turned even whiter. ¡°N-n-no! I mean¨C p-please, Kay. I¡¯ll really d-d-die!¡±

    ¡°Hmmm¡­¡± The girl resumed walking. ¡°I wonder about that¡­¡±

    ¡°P-Please! M-M-Mercy!¡±

    Kaydence continued tormenting the pleading boy until they reached the city gates.

    A line had formed outside the gatehouse¡ªchiefly local hunters and gatherers returning home for the night, but also a group of travellers under escort by stern-looking mercenaries. Besides Greyport, the island possessed a handful of smaller towns and villages. However, a trip between them was never without risk. Ward stones lined the roads to keep monsters away, but they could not compare to Greyport¡¯s Grand Wards. Their magic was weaker and prone to failing¡ªhence the need for armed protection.

    Kaydence evaluated the queue and the sun¡¯s position. They would make it in time, unless the guards decided to raise a fuss. Her gaze lingered on the mercenaries, noting the distinctive one-eyed half-masks they wore. Members of the Eyes of Mahud¡­ That¡¯s a bad omen. The itinerant battle priests of the Deity of Chaos were unlikely to start trouble on their own, but their presence in an area usually meant turmoil was afoot anyway. Kaydence did not like that, not to mention her personal bias against any servant of the Twelve Gods.

    Unfortunately, there was little she could or should do about it. Putting the masked people out of her mind, she eyed the guards manning the gate¡ªand grimaced. Void. She recognised these two. The tallest one, especially, was more than likely to cause problems.

    In the corner of her sight, she spotted Sarmin pulling his hood up.

    She slapped it back down. ¡°Don¡¯t hide your ears. Your ancestors were the damn best assassins and guerrilla fighters on the continent. So act proud, and don¡¯t cower before those morons. Their kind smells weakness like sharks smell blood. Hasn¡¯t dealing with me taught you shit?¡±

    ¡°B-B-But¨C¡±

    ¡°No ¡®b-b-buts¡¯.¡± Kaydence rolled her eyes. ¡°They¡¯re not going to kill you.¡±

    ¡°W-What about e-e-everything else they m-might do?¡±

    This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    ¡°Worry more about what I¡¯ll do to you if you keep whining like a little bitch.¡±

    Sarmin¡¯s reddened ears dropped down. ¡°¡­s-so mean¡­¡±

    Kaydence ignored his anxious mumbles as they joined the queue. Dour looks fleeted to them, lingering disapprovingly on Sarmin¡¯s pointed ears and Kaydence¡¯s dark skin and red eyes. One murderous glare from her had these people quickly averting their gazes, turning instead to whispering among themselves.

    I can hear you, fools. But Kaydence disregarded their hushed insults. If these superstitious yokels wanted to freak out over a half-baked elf sprout and a preteen girl with weird eyes, she had no breath to waste educating them. They know nothing of true monsters. Nothing. A haunted look ghosted through her eyes.

    For a heartbeat, she was elsewhere. Fiery behemoths swooped down from the sky. Entire forests rose as living wooden titans. Serrated maws opened in the ground to swallow armies whole. Mountains disappeared in a blinding flash and the roar of thunder.

    Kaydence exhaled shakily and balled her quivering hands into fists.

    They know nothing at all.

    For all its lethargy, decay and corruption, this era was one of peace. And as much as it gutted Kaydence to admit, things were probably better this way.

    Seeking a distraction, she looked up at the vine-swathed wall, shaded by the low angle of the westward-sinking sun. The outer stone layer was cracked, mortar chipped and blocks missing. In places, the rampant vegetation seemed to be all that held the rampart together. However, there was decent runework under the decrepitude¡ªold letters etched into the stone, each channelling a rivulet of arcane power. These enchantments added invisible structural support and defences to the wall. Without them, things would have been much worse.

    Kaydence had misgivings about modern runescript. She found it stiff, constricting, and overly simplistic. Yet she had to concede it lent itself well to large-scale, repetitive works. Back in Seifer¡¯s days, if someone had suggested engraving the entire rampart of a city with runic enchantments, they would have been laughed out of the room. It was much easier and more effective to cast a grand warding spell and hook it onto an adequate power source.

    Greyport had both. Despite being such a shithole, Kaydence huffed, though she was begrudgingly impressed. It fanned her curiosity for the rest of the Empire¡ªa feeling she was quick to quash. Fellate a donkey, Kayden. I don¡¯t care about your little vanity project. Thinking about it, she would not put it past the vain bastard to bring her back to life only to gloat about his accomplishments. ¡°Hey, look, little brother, I made a prosperous empire. How many good things did you accomplish with your life? Oh, right¡­ None.¡±

    Kaydence was almost glad when the moving queue brought them to the sneering gatekeepers. Almost. The pair had very punchable mugs, and the urge to beat up these fools was far more manageable than the pit of aimless rage and guilt festering in her soul.

    ¡°Well, well. Carl, look who it is. The demon and her long-eared pet.¡± The tallest guard laughed at what he must have thought was an excellent joke. His partner, a broad, dull-eyed man, echoed his chuckles.

    Kaydence flatly met his scornful gaze. Her memories of her own birth were vague. Small blessings. But she clearly remembered the young dolt who insulted her eyes¡ªand had since continued buzzing around her mother like an insufferable, lusty mosquito. ¡°Haha. Yes. Very funny, Flynt. Can we go in?¡± Without waiting for an answer, she made to walk through the open gates.

    The man¡¯s raised hand stopped her.

    ¡°Empty your bags.¡±

    Kaydence counted slowly to three before turning to him. ¡°Come on, Flynt. It¡¯s only some herbs.¡± Her answer only deepened the man¡¯s sadistic smirk. He straightened to his full height¡ªno doubt seeking to intimidate her.

    Flynt¡¯s once gangly frame had filled out with muscles after he outgrew his awkward adolescence and joined the city guard. Yet for all his new brawn, his weaselly face remained, and the guard uniform somehow failed to add any gravitas to his character. The chainmail tunic and grey-black tabard bearing the province¡¯s symbol¡ªa stylised ash tree¡ªonly made him look like a common thug playing dress-up.

    Admittedly, that held true for most of Greyport¡¯s guards.

    ¡°Yeah, well,¡± Flynt drawled sarcastically. He winked at his partner and rested a hand on the pommel of his scimitar, hanging at his waist. ¡°Can¡¯t be too careful with tricky long ears and demons of your sort. Ain¡¯t I right, Carl?¡±

    ¡°Sure thing, Flynt.¡± The other nodded dumbly. ¡°Just doing our job.¡±

    Sarmin whimpered and pulled his hood up. Kaydence quietly seethed. Keep your mouth shut, she told herself and took a discrete calming breath. They¡¯re not worth it.

    Flynt sneered smugly. ¡°See? Like he said. Nothing personal. Be glad already I don¡¯t nick your ass for resisting inspection, demon. But I wouldn¡¯t want to cause Miss Annet any more bother. Poor gal. Shame such a pretty little sweetling like her was cursed with a monster like you. Ruined her as a woman, it did. Ain¡¯t I right, Carl?¡±

    ¡°Sure thing, Flynt.¡±

    A vein bulged on Kaydence¡¯s forehead, and her mouth opened before she could stop herself. ¡°Cute comedy routine, Flunk. Are you and your boyfriend planning a double-act skit at the festival, with the other jesters?¡± She regretted her words instantly, even though it was pleasant to see Flynt¡¯s stupid smirk crumple and his face redden with humiliation.

    ¡°Watch your word, demon. Or else¨C¡±

    ¡°Or else what?¡± Kaydence interrupted. She took one step forward. Her unusual appearance and sheer presence were enough to make people around her retreat¡ªFlynt included. Despite knowing this was a bad idea, Kaydence struggled to contain her anger now that it had found an outlet. ¡°Why so crabby, Flunk? Did Grizelda catch you harassing the serving girls at the Bear again? Or did you finally realise most women want more in life than a man with bad breath who can¡¯t keep it up?¡±

    Flynt¡¯s red cheeks darkened further. His bloodshot eyes whipped around, trying to catch who in the queue had noticed his moment of weakness. His embarrassment quickly turned to anger. Like a cornered rat baring its fangs, he pulled his curved sword half out of his scabbard.

    ¡°Oooh? Is the demon threatening me, Carl? I feel pretty threatened right now. I probably should defend myself.¡± He fixed Kaydence, unblinking, his pupils narrowed to pinpricks. His thumb nervously rubbed his weapon¡¯s handle, and the tip of his tongue licked his chapped lips. He suddenly seemed eager for her to try something, his desire for violence almost palpable. Even the dull Carl stiffened, ready to back his colleague.

    Cursing her short fuse, Kaydence took another calming breath. Great. Who¡¯s the dullard now? She stomped her anger down. While burning these two to a crisp would have been cathartic, the fallout was not worth it. At least, that was what she told herself repeatedly. Outwardly, her face turned back to a blank mask. She unshouldered her bag and unbuttoned the top flap, showing off the content. ¡°See? Just some herbs.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know¡­¡± Flynt suddenly snatched the bag from Kaydence¡¯s grip. She could have resisted. She was stronger than him. But a tug-of-war would have ripped the seams of the cheap backpack. ¡°I should make sure there¡¯s no illegal substances in there. Right, Carl?¡±

    For once, the other stayed quiet, content with acting silently threatening.

    Then Flynt emptied the bag on the ground. All the plants Sarmin had carefully sorted and packed away tumbled out and splattered into the mud. Kaydence watched it happen as if time had slowed down. Humming and ostensibly focused on his ¡°search,¡± Flynt started shuffling through their harvest with his dirty boot, dragging the herbs across the muck. Bastard. Kaydence shivered wrathfully. Unbidden, visions of flames, burning cities, and charred corpses crept into her crimson eyes.

    It¡¯d be so easy¡­

    Hisses and crackles whispered at the back of her mind. Her fingers jerked, tiny sparks dancing hidden in the palm of her hand.

    A weak tug at her shirt snapped her out of it. Kaydence blinked down to discover Sarmin¡¯s small, trembling hand clutching her clothes. The boy¡¯s pleading eyes met hers. Kaydence frowned back, her anger still smouldering. After a tense moment, she sighed, suddenly feeling exhausted. ¡°Don¡¯t touch me,¡± she hissed and snatched her shirt back from the whimpering half-elf.

    She gazed past him. More people had joined the queue behind them, and they were starting to grumble at the delay. Raising her voice, Kaydence shouted, ¡°Wow! Is it the city guard¡¯s new hobby to harass little kids who can¡¯t even fight back?¡± The discontent mumbles immediately rose louder, condemning the guards¡¯ actions and making Flynt finally look up from his trashing of their belongings.

    Oh, sure. Now the dunces are reacting. Kaydence rolled her eyes, exasperated. It was okay to spit on her and Sarmin usually. But as soon as it caused them the slightest inconvenience, these people suddenly turned into protectors of the weak and defenceless. Don¡¯t make me laugh.

    ¡°That¡¯s not¨C¡± Flynt¡¯s flushed face contorted, and his bloodshot eyes gained another notch of crazy. ¡°You ingrates! Someone has to protect you innocent folk from cursed monsters like her!¡± he shrieked, pointing at Kaydence, his spit flying abundantly in her face.

    ¡°Right, sorry.¡± She wiped a wet glob off her cheek. ¡°I¡¯ll be sure to burst into flames the next time I go to church for school. Holy ground and all that.¡± Her retort, again, came out despite her better judgement, and she watched, frustrated, as Flynt¡¯s face reddened further, edging dangerously close to purple.

    ¡°Impertinent little whore!¡± He slapped her.

    His backhand was clumsy; Kaydence could have easily dodged it, or caught it. She chose not to. He could not hurt her with his measly human strength. He would have to use his sword to even stand a chance.

    Children were not supposed to have magic¡ªnot the young ones, at least. It was a talent that naturally only manifested in humans as they reached their teens. Prior to that, overexposure to arcane powers in one¡¯s early childhood could easily lead to physical deformities, sickness, mental ailments, and death. Kaydence was a prime example of the first. Among the powers that had followed her soul in this life, the rampant Life magic inside her had unevenly accelerated her growth and strengthened her body beyond the reasonable. Only the former Demon King¡¯s arcane mastery had spared her from coming out as a misshapen horror¡­ again.

    Flynt¡¯s slap reached her, and she leaned away, accompanying the movement of his hand¡ªnot to spare herself pain, but to prevent the idiot breaking his knuckles on her face. Barely.

    Flynt gasped in pain when his hand connected. Shaking his fingers, he looked around, ashamed and confused. The increasingly discontent crowd glared back, and Kaydence could not resist mockingly raising her eyebrow. Furious, the guard spat on the ground and threw Kaydence¡¯s empty bag at her feet. ¡°Take your crap and get out of my sight!¡±

    Without another word, Kaydence stiffly gathered as much of their soiled harvest as she could salvage and shoved it inside her bag in a rough pile. Then she ducked past the two gatekeepers, under the raised portcullis, and through the open gates, pausing just long enough to confirm Sarmin followed without incident. Flynt¡¯s mad, bloodshot glare trailed them until he turned to his colleague.

    ¡°Elves, dwarves, demons¡­ Pah! We should just rid the city of that filth.¡±

    ¡°Sure thing, Flynt.¡±

    They were whispering, but Kaydence¡¯s sharp ears caught his words all the same. Sarmin¡¯s did as well, judging how the half-elf flinched and curled upon himself.

    Before the small boy caught up, Kaydence spun around and walked off. ¡°Hurry up. We¡¯ve wasted enough time as it is.¡±

    ¡°S-S-Sorry,¡± Sarmin hiccupped sadly.

    ¡°Why are you apologising again?¡± She growled. ¡°Grow a fucking spine.¡±

    ¡°S-Sorry.¡±

    Void, I want to burn something. Looking up at the darkening sky, Kaydence stomped into the city of Greyport.

    * * * * *

 B1CH03 - Meet the Family, Part 3: Sunset Streets

    The Founder¡¯s Festival celebrates not only the inception of our glorious empire by Kayden the Bright, but also the First Emperor¡¯s victory over the heinous Dragon Demon King. As for the underlying implications, such as the fact both events occurred within a fortnight of one another or that Zeipheron¡¯s demise coincided perfectly with the end of the month of Rest¡ªthe month of Death¡­ Well, it¡¯s all wacky nonsense, obviously. But folklore doesn¡¯t sweat the small details. As for what History¡ªveracious and verifiable¡ªsays of it, that¡¯s what we¡¯re here to discuss. Now, if you would open your books to page sixty-three¡­

    ¡ªa lesson introduction from Bartholomew Mewson, lich and Professor of Magic History at the Imperial University for Applied Thaumaturgy, 2168 AK.

    ¨C

    Rest 29, 2497 AK, Radiant Empire, Cleft Isles, Greyport.

    As soon as Kaydence and Sarmin crossed into town, night swallowed them.

    Beyond the wall, the sun had yet to set. But within its confines, darkness already filled the narrow streets. Over their heads, oppressive overhangs jutted out of the fa?ades, connected by empty clotheslines like thick spiderwebs. Daylight rarely penetrated these dark urban tunnels unless the sun was at its zenith; now, at the outset of twilight, only the tallest roofs and chimneys still collected some final rays of sunshine.

    The winter cold cut only more sharply in this gloom. Freezing gusts ripped stalactites off leaky guttering and blew frost over the weeds that still clung desperately to the street edges. Sarmin started shivering despite his thick coat, and he pulled his fur-lined hood tighter. The two children hastily walked down Greyport¡¯s Main Street, clutching their full packs and eyeing the dark surroundings for anyone who might try to cause them more trouble. Both were eager to get home.

    Around them, the wind wailed forlornly; the city¡¯s old bones creaked. A nearby door slammed. Drunk voices shouted somewhere behind. Far to the left, an angry dog barked; a cat viciously yowled back, followed by noises of a violent scuffle, hisses and pained yaps. Something metallic collapsed loudly. A woman yelled curses at the strays. A child was bawling. Laughing seagulls took off, defecating on hapless passers-by.

    Home sweet home, Kaydence reflected sarcastically. Indifferent to the cold, she stomped ahead, striding over missing cobblestones, animal dung, litter, and frozen patches of melted snow. Her tiny half-elf shadow had to carefully circumvent these obstacles to sneak into the gap she ploughed through the crowd¡ªunusually dense for the late hour.

    Most of Greyport¡¯s inhabitants had retired for the night. Yet dozens still braved the freezing darkness, their bodies swathed in fur coats, knitted scarves, and fingerless gloves. They stalked around in the uncertain blue glow of the old magic streetlamps, their steps stiff with cold yet animated by a rare sense of purpose as they ran, hollered, lugged equipment¡ªaltogether rushing to finish their preparations for the Founder¡¯s Festival, which began in two days. Bottles of cheap spirits were passed around to warm the bodies and the minds, adding to the overall rowdiness. Here and there, inebriated arguments devolved into brawls.

    The festival¡­ Kaydence sighed, absent-mindedly dodging a speeding cart¡ªyet still receiving a dirty look from its owner. She ignored him, lost in thoughts. Is it already that time again? Hard to believe it¡¯s been nine years. Every winter, this fortnight-long revelry took place when the month of Rest transitioned into that of Remembrance¡ªwhen the patron god changed from Urabi to Kalok, from Death to Time. It symbolised a shift in mindset, from the fear of cold and starvation to new hope for the coming months.

    In a sense, it was also the anniversary of Seifer¡¯s brutal passing.

    Everybody sure loves dancing on my grave. A wry smile fleeted over Kaydence¡¯s lips. Two and a half millennia, and they¡¯re still not bored¡­ Her smile fell.

    It¡¯s nothing I don¡¯t deserve.

    Most everyone else in the empire¡ªor at least in Greyport¡ªseemed intensely eager for this event. On the first evening of Remembrance, the stalls erected all along Main Street would be stacked with foods and beverages, surely countless snacks and homebrewed liquors, jewellery, pottery, clothing, scented and carved candles, ointments and perfumes, art pieces, toys, and all other manners of small goods crafted during the slow months of Shadows and Rest, as well as supposed exotic products from around the empire and beyond. Reed lanterns would light the dark streets. People would eat, drink, laugh with friends and family, buy each other gifts, applaud the street performers, and waste their meagre savings playing simple, likely rigged games. All would merrily celebrate that the harshest of winter was behind them and that life endured for another year.

    Kaydence cared for none of it.

    The crowd, the noise, the sweeping merriment¡­ they suffocated her, like hands on her throat. Every year, this was when her night terrors were at their worst. Even awake, her stomach sometimes throbbed achingly along the cut that ended her past self¡ªa phantom pain haunting her beyond the grave. Kaydence could not wait to leave this loud, blitheful farce behind and return to the numbing boredom of her existence.

    In contrast to her sour mood, Sarmin¡¯s head was on an eager swivel. His earlier worries seemed to have evaporated, and it was as if the half-elf could already picture the festival in full swing around them. ¡°D-Do you think there¡¯ll be m-magic p-performers this year?¡± he asked, his voice full of wonder.

    Magic performers? Kaydence¡¯s scowl darkened further. Her lips peeled back, baring gritted teeth. ¡°Magic is not¡­ entertainment,¡± she growled. Screaming faces flashed in her sight: people set aflame, hair blazing, eyes popping out, skin burning, blackening, boiling, melting off their grinning skulls.

    Sarmin¡¯s ears dropped sadly. ¡°It¡¯s p-pretty, though¡­¡±

    Pretty? The word echoed restlessly in the girl¡¯s mind. Is magic pretty? No¡­ Magic¨C Magic is¡­ Her breathing hiked up. The screams in her ears were growing louder. Her chest tightened; her heart raced.

    The surrounding crowd blurred into charging soldiers. The muddy snow became blood under her feet, and the hammers of the stall builders morphed into a disorienting cacophony of deadly spells going off around her. The taste of ash and flesh smeared her tongue. The shrieks of her victims blended into wet gargles as their insides blistered and liquefied between her fingers. Her nose filled with the stench of their scorched flesh and boiling blood. Bodies gangrened and fell to ashes in her grasp. To the wails of the dying added those of the survivors, enemies and allies alike, pleading, begging for her to sto¨C

    ¡°Kay? W- What¡¯s wrong?¡±

    Kaydence blinked. The battlefield around her faded to the cold, dark, depressing street. She shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. Did I¡­? Again. Damn it. She stood in the middle of the road. Beads of sweat coated her forehead, already starting to freeze; her breathing was short and erratic; her heart banged against her ribs like a mad prisoner attacking the walls of his cell.

    If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    People were staring, but they always did. She glared back; they moved on.

    ¡°Kay?¡±

    You¡¯d think I¡¯d get better at keeping this crap on lockdown after nine years. Today had been an especially bad day. A trickle of pain brought her attention to her fists, clenched too tightly, with her sharp nails biting into her palms. She forced them open and wiped the blood on her thigh. The wounds would heal soon enough.

    ¡°K-Kay?¡±

    ¡°Nothing.¡± With an effort of will¡ªand a smidge of Life magic¡ªKaydence reasserted control over her rebelling body. Unfortunately, her Life magic could do nothing to heal her mind. ¡°Nothing¡¯s wrong, Twig.¡± She aggressively walked herself forward, her scowl locked back in place and her shoulders squared. ¡°Mind your own damn business, and stop babbling about magic jugglers or whatnot. I¡¯m not setting foot in that stupid carnival anyway.¡±

    This is so stupid. You should have just let me die, brother. What¡¯s the point of any of this?

    At the nearest opportunity, she veered off Main Street, away from the already all too festive and nauseating atmosphere. Her path cut sharply in front of a man precariously carrying a pile of wooden posts, causing him to stumble and drop his load. Again, she failed to react to his vociferous insults. It was unclear whether she even noticed him.

    Sarmin nearly missed her abrupt turn into a narrow alleyway. He stumbled in his haste to follow, falling briefly behind, then carefully dodged the irate posts-carrier, whispering an apology that was only met with contempt, and finally caught up with his friend.

    ¡°B-B-But why?¡± Sarmin picked up the conversation. ¡°It¡¯s the m-most f-fun time of the year. And we get off s-s-school for a whole f-fortnight!¡±

    ¡°Well, sorry if I don¡¯t feel like partying because two mass-murdering nutjobs punched each other to death!¡±

    ¡°The F-First Emperor used a s-s-sword, though? And he d-didn¡¯t¡­ die¡­ err¡­ I-I-I mean¡­ not back¡­ then¡­¡± The small boy progressively quieted as the tall girl levelled a murderous glare against him. ¡°¡­sorry.¡±

    Kaydence let out a deep, tired sigh. ¡°Just¡­ shut up.¡± She picked up the pace, hurrying into the alley¡¯s darkness as if fleeing accusing gazes only she could see.

    So stupid.

    * * *

    Greyport was an old city, ancient even. Whole sections had been rebuilt many times over, though obviously without much care for city planning. The result was a maze of tortuous, dank, dark, and smelly back alleys that often confused outsiders. The pair of childhood friends had grown up in this mess, however, and they jogged through the winding streets with familiarity, heading fast towards Cliffside.

    Eventually, a curtain of orange light appeared around a bend in an alley, announcing their destination. They burst out of the darkness, emerging into a sunny street, between a brothel and a dingy barbershop. Steps away, a low guardrail marked the edge of a vertiginous precipice.

    The Split.

    Unlike anywhere else in Greyport, the massive chasm cutting the city open allowed a torrent of setting sunlight to flood in¡ªalthough what it revealed were mostly pleasure houses, cheap taverns, and other establishments catering to broke sailors. To the kids¡¯ left, a man was throwing up over the railing, while on their right, another let himself be ushered into a gaudy building by a shivering girl wearing too little clothing and too much rust-hued makeup.

    ¡°Hurry up.¡± Unwilling to linger here, Kaydence grabbed Sarmin by the front of his coat and dragged him towards the entrance of Cliffside proper. Between her abnormally tall height and a skin tone similar to the face powder favoured by prostitutes in the area, Kaydence had been propositioned one too many times by drunkards, and in her current state, she might actually kill the fool who tried this time.

    The V-shaped crevasse of the Split ran straight through Greyport from West to East, opening onto the ocean. Kaydence frowned¡­ more. Only a slice of amber sun subsisted on the horizon, painting the sky in fiery colours over ink-black waters. They had wasted too much time at the city gates. She picked up the pace, deaf to Sarmin¡¯s pleas, as his feet struggled to keep up.

    Across the rift, the ducal castle towered over the city as usual, planted in the centre of the gentry¡¯s quarter. The white monolithic edifice, built in the style of the imperial capital, clashed with everything around it with its flat roofs, ostentatiously large doorways, and colonnades aplenty. Painted scenes to the glory of the dukes, the First Emperor, and the Twelve Gods adorned the enormous, square stone blocks making up its lofty walls. Two monumental statues sat outside the main gate, depicting the couple who first ruled the archipelago after its annexation by the Radiant Empire. Their empty gazes seemed to judge the people on the commoner¡¯s side of the Split.

    As always, the narrow walkway snaking down the pockmarked cliff was a hazard to navigate. Every other week, there were rumours of someone falling to their death. The impending festival had only made things worse; the path had become congested with sailors, travellers, and other locals¡ªall taking advantage of the last slivers of daylight to climb up from the docks below.

    Unlike Main Street, however, only the poorest of the poor walked here. Anyone who could afford the fee rode the aetheric elevators up to the city instead. Those huge enchanted platforms were embedded into the stone deeper inland, further east, and the rumble of their slow trudge up and down the cliff reverberated off the Split¡¯s walls, filling Cliffside with a constant, migraine-inducing background noise¡ªrivalled only by the ear-splitting squawking of the hundreds of seagulls nesting in the porous rock.

    The racket and the stench of unwashed bodies assaulted Kaydence¡¯s sharp senses as she shouldered against the flow of people like a grumpy salmon. She was used to ignoring them, but it was still unpleasant. Once again, the urge to burn everything and be done with it all reared its ugly head; she resolutely shoved it down.

    So focused was she on not murdering everyone in sight, that Kaydence missed the haggard vagrant stumbling towards her until the two of them collided. She barely felt the shock, but the man bounced back and ended with his ass on the ground. ¡°Oww¡­ dang it,¡± he groaned, sounding more weary than hurt.

    Despite having no coin to steal, Kaydence reflexively checked her pockets before glaring tensely at the beggarly man. He looked to be his early forties, slender, tall, but stooped, with a pasty complexion, sunken cheeks, and deep, purplish bags under his eyes. Faded scars ran across his nose and left eye, and unkempt, greying black hair and a bushy beard ate up most of his face. He reeked of tobacco, but strangely, not one of the cheap kinds sailors and vagrants smoked around here. Kaydence thought it smelled familiar, though she failed to place it.

    Belatedly, she recognised his worn cloak as a priestly travel robe in a truly pitiful state: many times patched, crusted with dirt, and soiled with mud. The small antelope pendant around his neck symbolised Fen, the Wind God, patron of commerce and travel, among other things¡ªlike thieves, gambling and prostitution. That at least explained the man¡¯s state a little. Many priests of Fen spent their lives on the road, relying on people¡¯s charity.

    This one visibly had not received much of it.

    The sickly priest blinked blearily as if just waking up. Sighing deeply, he eventually climbed to his feet and dusted his worn travel cloak. ¡°Apologies, young lady,¡± he spoke with a strange, breathy accent¡ªdefinitely not local. ¡°I wasn¡¯t watching¡­ my¡­ step.¡± His voice trailed off as he met Kaydence¡¯s crimson glare. An odd emotion fleeted in his striking rose-amber eyes.

    It was gone before Kaydence could identify it, replaced by a tired smile. ¡°Anyway. I¡¯ll get out of your air, young miss. Good evening.¡± He tipped an imaginary hat and tottered away unsteadily, each step seeming it might be his last.

    Kaydence¡¯s suspicious gaze followed him.

    ¡°D-Do you th-think he¡¯s alright?¡± Sarmin inquired.

    ¡°¡­who cares?¡± the girl scoffed. But when she looked up again to search for the man in the crowd, he had vanished. Her eyes narrowed. Dammit.

    ¡°Kay?¡±

    ¡°Never mind.¡± Kaydence spun and resumed her way down. Turning her mind inwards, she checked if her grip on her power remained tight and none of it was leaking out. Dumbass, she berated herself. That was too close. She had really grown sloppy if she could no longer detect a mage before he literally crashed into her. He was¡­ Water? No. Air. She was out of practice. Hopefully, the sleepy, potentially drugged-up priest had not realised what she was. She would have to catch his tail later to make sure. Perhaps the cliff would gain one more rumour.

    ¡°Come on, Twig. If we¡¯re late, I¡¯ll tell Annet it¡¯s your fault.¡±

    ¡°Wha¨C?! K-K-K-Kay! Wait for m-me!?¡±

    Annet and Kaydence¡¯s little nook in the wall sat squarely in the middle of Cliffside. So, despite the packed walkway, it was a relatively quick trip down to the troglodyte abode. Soon, Kaydence spotted a short, thin figure in a white dress and topped with a bushy chestnut mane, standing outside their home. From afar, Annet always looked somewhat like a frizzy mop¡ªwhich made it ironic how she held a bucket right now. Unconsciously, Kaydence¡¯s expression softened at the sight of her mother.

    Then, the crowd parted, freeing the girl¡¯s line of sight.

    All hints of softness vanished then, replaced by a burning, murderous fury.

    ¡°Who did this?!¡±

    * * * * *

 B1CH04 - Meet the Family, Part 4: A Mothers Touch

    Accounts of First Emperor Kayden¡¯s life prior to his ascension to the throne of the Radiant Kingdom¡ªpredating the establishment of the empire¡ªare notably scarce. The historical upheaval instigated by the War of Burning Heavens resulted in the unfortunate destruction of a considerable portion of the antiquarian records, and more yet was eradicated during the reign of Sekhma, nicknamed the Mad Emperor, who governed over the turn of the millennium (948-1007 AK), as expounded upon in chapter 12, section 3.

    Historians have discerned that Kayden occupied the position of a general within the military of the Radiant Kingdom, whose territories bordered the Sacred Forest to the north. The geopolitical landscape in that era suggests a deeply hostile relationship between the two nations, and a young Kayden had to have engaged the elven warriors in battle on a regular basis. It might not be a stretch to call them mortal enemies. As such, Kayden¡¯s subsequent success in securing an alliance with the elves during the Great War underscores the remarkable diplomatic acumen of our esteemed founder and the magnitude of the threat posed by the nefarious Zeipheron, the Dragon Demon King.

    Regarding the formative years of the First Emperor, available insights are derived primarily from salvaged fragments of administrative scrolls belonging to the Radiant Kingdom. Kayden was sired by one Baron Abner Nisim. Initially a mage of modest renown, Abner achieved prominence late in life through a series of noteworthy contributions to the kingdom. Kayden¡¯s mother, Abner¡¯s legal wife, hailed from a financially challenged noble lineage with a history of excellent mages. However, surviving evidence suggests she lacked personal proficiency in the mystical arts, which might have contributed to the decline of her house.

    Regrettably, next to nothing else of substance can be gleaned from the records at our disposal, save for Abner and his wife¡¯s tragic demise at the hands of the Dragon Demon King. Persistent inquiries into the existence of potential siblings of the First Emperor have been repeatedly disproven.

    ¡ªexcerpt from ¡°An Extensive In-Depth Study of the Nezir Imperial Line Throughout the Ages¡± by Dulliver Drowsi, archaeologist, historian, and imperial archivist, published in 1346 AK.

    ¨C

    Rest 29, 2497 AK, Radiant Empire, Cleft Isles, Greyport.

    A lean, petite woman stood outside a keyhole-shaped doorway carved into the rocky cliffside, a bucket in one hand and a wet rag soaked in red in the other. Her white dress was old and patched up; stiff hazelnut curls exploded from her head in every direction, reined in only loosely by a yellow ribbon; freckles covered her whole face like mud splatters. Yet none of this could mar her beauty. Oh, her appearance was certainly plain, but she possessed the kind of glow that only came with perfect health, unshackled optimism, and a quiet serenity that could mesmerise the eyes.

    Even so, when people slowed their steps along Cliffside¡¯s winding path to stare at the freckled woman, it was not admiration in their eyes¡ªbut scorn. Some passersby even jeered openly as she vigorously scrubbed the blood-like stains defacing the front of her home. Old fishwives wrapped in shawls to ward off the biting cold whispered hushedly between them. The woman¡¯s fate was surely well-deserved, they said. She had sinned against gods and decency, they said. They looked sanctimoniously down their noses at her, enjoying their schadenfreude while confident in their own virtue.

    Unfazed, Kaydence¡¯s mother kept working, wearing a soft smile and humming a strange tune to herself, seemingly oblivious to the contempt aimed at her.

    Suddenly, the onlookers scattered like sheep sensing a wolf, as their target¡¯s daughter came charging with bloody murder in her eyes. Shivering with rage, Kaydence slid to a halt at her mother¡¯s side. Her hateful glare sifted through the surroundings for anyone still foolish enough to sneer their way. Finding none, she turned back to her vandalised home.

    The grey rock around the entrance had not borne any fantastical paintings since shortly after Kaydence¡¯s birth, back when the harassment started. For a while, Annet had painstakingly restored her work after each defacement¡ªuntil they grew too frequent. Now, the wall remained empty, and the blank stone seemed to present a less tempting target for the neighbourhood kids. Months had passed since the last incident. Kaydence had even begun hoping they might have stopped altogether.

    Her hope had obviously been misplaced.

    Up close, the obscene graffiti looked even worse. Vulgar drawings and poorly-spelt insults were scrawled across the wall in dripping red paint. Right by the door, one especially foul doodle depicted a demonic stick figure¡ªhalf-man, half-beast, horned, winged, and sporting oversized male genitalia¡ªbending over a woman with unmistakable bushy hair. As if the offensive sketch was not explicit enough, an arrow pointed at the woman from words painted in big, bold, brutish strokes.

    FILFY DAMON HORE

    ¡°Who did this?¡± Kaydence¡¯s voice resembled a bestial growl. Her lips peeled back as if she were about to bite someone¡¯s head off¡ªliterally. I¡¯ll kill them. I¡¯ll fucking kill them!

    The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    ¡°Sweetie! You¡¯re back!¡± In sharp contrast, Annet acted completely unbothered. Dropping her rag and bucket, the petite woman wrapped her tall daughter in a surprise hug. ¡°Haha! Caught you! Welcome home.¡±

    Receiving an unexpected mouthful of hazelnut curls had quite the disruptive effect on Kaydence¡¯s bloodthirst. After a few more sputtering roars, her anger begrudgingly retreated under the assault of Annet¡¯s motherly embrace. Kaydence¡¯s fried nerves eventually settled. Delicately¡ªalmost frightfully¡ªshe gripped the short woman¡¯s shoulders and pushed her away. ¡°Annet, what did I tell you about unsolicited physical contact?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, who¡¯s this Annet person?¡± asked Annet, fluttering her eyelashes innocently.

    Kaydence grimaced¡ªnot sulked. The reincarnation of the Dragon Demon King did not sulk. She pursed her lips as if she had bitten something sour. ¡°¡­mother.¡±

    ¡°There we go.¡± Annet patted her daughter¡¯s arm. ¡°And, as you should know, it is a mother¡¯s right to hug her cute daughter whenever she so desires! It is very essential for replenishing my Love mana,¡± she claimed with a straight face.

    ¡°That¡¯s not a thing.¡±

    Mana was this era¡¯s word for aether, the fundamental energy that powered all magic. Mana permeated everything in this world¡ªunderpinning Creation, all of existence itself¡ªand those who could tap into that power to bend reality to their will were called mages. Kaydence¡¯s mother, however, was not a mage. She was about as mundane as a person could be. Moreover, there was no such thing as Love magic. Mind magic came close, but its implications differed vastly.

    ¡°Oh, Sweetie. Of course, it is a thing.¡± Annet cupped her daughter¡¯s cheek and spoke softly, ¡°Only true love can inspire someone to become not only stronger, but also a better version of themselves. If that¡¯s not magic, I don¡¯t know what is.¡±

    Feeling suddenly uneasy under her mother¡¯s gentle gaze, Kaydence leaned away from Annet¡¯s touch and averted her red eyes. ¡°People do terrible things in the name of love all the time.¡±

    ¡°The sun always casts some shadows. That doesn¡¯t mean we should live in the dark.¡± Annet let her hand fall to her hip with an indulgent smile. ¡°And speaking of dark, it¡¯s getting late! Ahhh¡­ I thought I¡¯d have time to clean this nonsense up before dinner.¡± She gestured vaguely for the horrible drawings. ¡°But I guess I let time slip away. Hahaha! Silly me.¡± Her carefree laughter pinched at Kaydence¡¯s heartstrings.

    ¡°I¡¯ll find who¡¯s responsible,¡± she promised, her tone solemn. However, in her mind, she already knew who was to blame. If I wasn¡¯t here, none of this¨C

    ¡°Don¡¯t be daft, sweetie.¡± Annet waved dismissively. ¡°It¡¯s just a childish prank. No harm done. Though I do wonder where those kids might have learned such awful things. So vulgar, too! Haha,¡± she chuckled merrily. ¡°Oh, my. Was I this precocious at their age, I wonder?¡±

    Kaydence sighed. ¡°Dammit, woman¡­¡±

    But Annet was not listening anymore. ¡°I should have a word with Lector Burtin tomorrow after class. Some of your schoolmates have obviously not been paying attention in their language lessons. That¡¯s not how you write¨C Well, anyhoo.¡± She cut herself with a little cough. She twirled, all smiles, toward the tiny half-elf, who was staring pensively at the vandalised wall. ¡°Sarmin, love. Welcome home as well! Did you have a good day?¡±

    ¡°Eh?!¡± Sarmin jumped, startled out of his thoughts. ¡°Ah, y-yes? It¡­ It was f-f-fine, Auntie. Are you okay?¡± he asked with a cute frown.

    ¡°Awww.¡± Annet melted. ¡°Yes, love, all good. It¡¯s sweet of you to ask.¡± She pinched the little kid¡¯s cheek. ¡°Did you gather everything without issue?¡±

    His green eyes flickered to Kaydence. ¡°Y-yes, Auntie.¡±

    ¡°And did Kay help this time, or did she slack off again?¡± Annet¡¯s smile twinkled with mischief.

    Kaydence¡¯s stance suddenly straightened. Her red eyes cast warning looks at the tiny boy over her mother¡¯s shoulder, and Sarmin¡¯s pale face quickly drained from all remaining colours. ¡°I¨C I¨C N-N-No-No¨C I m-mean, y-y-ye-YES!! She-She helped! Sh-She-She-She helped lo-lots!¡± Not only his voice, but his entire body was shaking.

    ¡°Oh, lots? I see. I see.¡± Annet nodded blithely. ¡°It¡¯s good that she did.¡± Sarmin slumped in relief. She patted his head indulgently. ¡°Now, love, your father is inside helping with the meal. Why don¡¯t you give him a hand while I have a quick word with my big, sweet goofball, hm?¡±

    The boy needed not to be told twice. Kaydence scowled at his back as he disappeared through the door.

    ¡°Sweetie¡­¡±

    The girl¡¯s expression faded. Again, she could not meet her mother¡¯s eyes.

    A cold, wet hand brushed aside the black locks that hid her sullen face. Kaydence snatched it and glared at Annet¡¯s fingers. The digits were pruney, pallid and stiff. She instinctively sensed the narrowed blood flow and knew how numb and tingling they felt. ¡°You¡¯re freezing,¡± she reproached. ¡°How long have you been out here? You should have let Lenril take care of this. He¡¯s mute and deaf, not infirm. Plus, he¡¯s an elf. They¡¯re tougher than they look.¡±

    ¡°Is that why you¡¯ve been making Sarmin do all your chores?¡± There was no rebuke in Annet¡¯s voice. She shifted her hand in her daughter¡¯s grasp to intertwine their fingers. ¡°Sweetie, I know you are¡­ not like the other kids. You¡¯re smart, strong, and more capable than I can ever hope to be¨C¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m no¨C¡±

    ¡°Let me finish.¡± Annet pressed a cold finger over Kaydence¡¯s lips. ¡°I understand being different can make it¡­ difficult to connect with others. Many are not ready to see the beauty in uniqueness, and I would never force you to befriend those who cannot appreciate yours. But surely you can ease up on Sarmin a little? You know how much that boy looks up to you.¡±

    ¡°I never wanted him to,¡± Kaydence grumbled. ¡°And he needs to toughen up. The world¡¯s not a kind place to weaklings.¡±

    ¡°Is that what you think? That he¡¯s weak?¡± That got the girl to cast a questioning glance at her mother. Annet only answered with one of her mysterious smiles that continually frustrated Kaydence. ¡°But you don¡¯t get to decide what people think of you¡ªnor should you feel owed to conform to their views. Regardless, it¡¯s no skin off your back, so don¡¯t be so harsh with him, will you? Can I trust you with that?¡± Kaydence¡¯s eyes were shifting away again, so Annet gently pulled her daughter¡¯s head back towards her. ¡°Please, sweetie? For me?¡±

    Eventually, Kaydence dipped her head. ¡°¡­I¡¯ll try.¡±

    The petite woman caught her big daughter in another hug, to Kaydence¡¯s awkward dismay.

    ¡°I love you, Kay. Never doubt that¡­ ¡®kay?¡±

    Kaydence groaned. ¡°Let¡¯s just get inside before you freeze over.¡±

    Annet simply laughed at her daughter¡¯s embarrassment. She ended the hug but kept Kaydence¡¯s hand in hers, picking her bucket up with the other. ¡°I¡¯ll finish this later.¡±

    ¡°No, you won¡¯t.¡±

    Annet ignored her. ¡°Come on. Dinner should be ready.¡± She pulled Kaydence inside, and the tall girl could only let herself be dragged along. One last time, her uneasy gaze fleeted over the vulgar drawings on the wall before falling on their entwined fingers¡ªher bronze digits with her mother¡¯s pure white, frostbitten and dripping blood-red.

    * * * * *

 B1CH05 - Meet the Family, Part 5: Family Time, Quality Time

    ¡°Gather ¡®round, ye fine folk, the wee ones too, and lend an ear to this old bard¡¯s tale. Let me tell you a story from the Age of Gods and Magic, the story of Shanmu and Pama, and their love that changed the world. You see, there once was a tree so big, they say it could be seen from all corners of the land, and its roots were what held the world together. That¡¯s why they called it Shanmu, the World Tree.

    ¡°But Shanmu, he was not like the other trees. For you see, he could think, just like you and me, and he¡¯d fallen in love, with an enchanting and kind Jaldehim woman named Pama. Alas, their love seemed doomed. For all his majesty and power, Shanmu was yet a tree¡ªall bark and no bite. Hehehe¡­ Ahem.

    ¡°So the wooden god beseeched Belhad, begging for freedom from his vegetal body. The Force of Life granted his wish, but she warned Shanmu he would always remain tied to his original form. The next day, the god split from his tree and embraced his wife, and although he could never stray far from the World Tree he once and still was, the two lovers lived happily in the Sacred Forest.

    ¡°And here, my little friends, we find the origin of the elves and dryads, born of a love transcending the boundaries of wood and flesh. But the story doesn¡¯t end here. When the¨C¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s a dryad?¡±

    ¡°Well, they¡¯re not around anymore, little one. For you see, when the Dragon Demon K¨C¡±

    ¡°Daddy says elves are duck-worshipping weirdos.¡±

    ¡°Ahem. Morbeak isn¡¯t an actual duck. He¡¯s a powerful elemental spirit that¨C¡±

    ¡°Well, if it looks like a duck¡­¡±

    ¡°Listen here, you little shit¨C¡±

    ¡ªconversation between Wit Warbler, travelling bard, and a group of children, 252 AK.

    ¨C

    Rest 29, 2497 AK, Radiant Empire, Cleft Isles, Greyport, Cliffside.

    The cramped abode welcomed Kaydence and her mother out of the cold and into a riot of warmth and bright, garish colours. Annet might have had to forsake decorating her fa?ade, but she had instead doubled down on transforming the inside of her home into a chaotic eruption of rainbow colours, halfway between a strange indoor garden and the cave lair of some insane witch.

    Mismatched rugs of all shades hid the grey stone walls and floor; old furniture and chipped utensils vaunted cheerful coats of paint; dyed arrangements of dried flowers, leaves and branches occupied more space than the dwelling could reasonably spare; pinned butterflies dotted the room like as many motionless fairies; and as always, an iridescent whirlpool overlaid the low, curved ceiling, inexplicably making it seem higher.

    The many rugs also helped trap the heat inside, and Kaydence hurriedly closed the door behind them, barring entry to the outside chill.

    Annet released her daughter¡¯s hand to put away her water bucket and fetch the few wooden plates they owned¡ªmulti-coloured, obviously, and stashed on a wonky, sunflower-yellow shelf. Kaydence went to empty her backpack onto a small grass-green drying rack. She quickly selected the herbs that could be salvaged from Flynt¡¯s trashing and dumped the rest into a strawberry-red waste basket. Then she joined Sarmin by the fire pit, sitting cross-legged on a cornflower-blue carpet, threadbare and faintly singed.

    The tiny half-elf was animatedly talking to his father, who listened mutely to his ramblings about their uneventful day. A patient smile floated on Lenril¡¯s lips; he nodded at the appropriate parts, sometimes gestured for clarifications, but never interrupted his kid. All the while, he slowly stirred the content of a soot-black pot hung by a chain and a metal bar in the air vent at the centre of the rainbow swirl. The simmering stew filled the dwelling with a delicious, spicy smell. Annet had a knack for conjuring miracles out of the simplest ingredients.

    Lenril had barely changed in the past decade: tall, slender, and almost too pretty for a man, with the pale white skin, eerily symmetrical features, and long, pointed ears characteristic of elven kind. His clear blond hair weaved a lengthy braid down his back, one that shined faintly green under the shifting light of the fire.

    He wore his habitual hunting garb, consisting of a plain green tunic, dusty brown pants, and simple but sturdy boots. Kaydence seldom saw him wear anything else. His worn leather chest piece hung on a hook by the door, but a battery of knives remained sheathed at his belt, and his short bow and a full quiver leaned on the wall behind him¡ªset aside but within reach. Despite her ambivalence towards the elf, Kaydence could not fault his readiness.

    The two of them greeted each other with polite, shallow nods when Kaydence sat by the fire. Lenril let go of the ladle to move his fingers in her direction, in a series of gestures that roughly translated to: ¡°How was your day? Did Sarmin cause you any trouble?¡±

    Masters at stealth, elves had long ago developed special hand signs for silent communication. During his time in the Radiant Kingdom army, Seifer had learned quite a few¡ªby interrogating captured elven spies. But that had been over two thousand and five hundred years ago. It seemed the elves¡¯ secret sign language was not so secret anymore in this era. Lenril had readily taught it to every member of their little extended family. Or perhaps he simply did not care.

    Kaydence shrugged and signed back, ¡°He¡¯s weak and annoying. He doesn¡¯t know when to quit.¡±

    Like many things elven, the signs had not evolved much with time. Of course, Kaydence had feigned ignorance when Lenril taught them, but she was unsure how much the elf bought her act. His milky jade-green eyes rarely betrayed his thoughts. However, she could feel his ponderous gaze on her when he thought she was not paying attention.

    ¡°Was that a compliment?¡±

    ¡°¡­he¡¯s going to get himself hurt someday. That¡¯s all I¡¯m saying.¡±

    Hawkish pale green eyes considered her.

    Kaydence thought she and the elf had an unspoken understanding. Though she doubted Lenril had any concrete evidence, he seemed adequately wary of her. His sharp elven instincts and her poor acting skills were likely to blame for that. In turn, she was suspicious of his reasons for being here, exiled from his people. The closest elven settlement was weeks away by sea, and none lived in this city besides Lenril. Nor were elves known for their wanderlust. People in Greyport would be lucky to meet more than a handful of pointy-eared folk in their lifetime.

    Moreover, the man himself matched the strangeness of his circumstances. Even without poking, Kaydence could feel the potent Earth magic he was trying to conceal. Not that it was entirely surprising. Because they descended from a literal god, magic dwelled in the elves¡¯ blood much more strongly than in humans. Lenril also looked oddly old for his kind. An ignorant human might estimate his age in the late thirties, which for an elf should mean closer to a millennium. His blond hair was streaked with white, and the streaks seemed more numerous every passing winter. Lastly, birth defects were unheard of for elves, making his disabilities highly conspicuous to someone in the know¡ªsomeone like a master at Life magic who had spent decades studying the elven genome prior to her death and reincarnation.

    The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    However, Kaydence never intended to confront Lenril.

    If nothing else, she was convinced of his affection and protectiveness towards Annet, and that¡¯s all she truly needed from him. She had an inkling he held a similar opinion of her.

    That did not mean she enjoyed being stared at.

    ¡°What?¡± she gestured defensively. ¡°He¡¯s not hurt right now.¡±

    Lenril bowed his head slowly. ¡°Thank you. For watching over him.¡±

    With a click of her tongue, Kaydence grabbed the metal poker and used it to stir the embers in the fire pit. ¡°I¡¯m not doing any of that,¡± she grumbled out loud. Lenril snorted discreetly, having read her lips. Irritated, the girl retaliated, ¡°Have you finally started courting my mother properly?¡±

    The elf choked, startling Sarmin, who rushed to offer his father a cup of water. It was Kaydence¡¯s turn to snort¡ªloudly in her case. Father and son looked very alike when they blushed. Unexpectedly, she found the spectacle very entertaining.

    Through the steam over the cooking pot, Kaydence watched Lenril interact with his half-human son, appeasing a fretting Sarmin. In her past life, she never could have imagined a meeting with an elf not ending in bloodshed. Seifer would have killed both of them on the spot, without hesitation¡ªone for being the enemy, one for being an abomination.

    Interracial relationships had not been tolerated in the old days. In those times of constant warfare, fraternising with the enemy was treason, and the fruit of that treason was condemned as monstrous.

    Yet, here she was, tolerating the presence of a half-breed, willing to entrust her mother to an elf. Times have sure changed, Kaydence thought idly. Her gaze lingered on the embarrassed little half-elf fending off his father¡¯s head pats.

    Her expression darkened.

    There¡¯s only one monster here.

    However, she planned to remedy that soon.

    Soon, she swore to herself for what felt like the ten-thousandth time. She hugged her knees to her chest and rested her chin on them. I¡¯ll be gone soon.

    The reincarnated Dragon Demon King could not afford to dally much more. For too long already, she had indulged in her selfish desire for normalcy. But every day she stayed was a risk to everyone around her.

    Her grip on her temper was precarious at best. She could never trust herself. Her mere existence gathered hate, tainting anyone she held dear. Everyone could see the evil beast within her. It was not as if she hid it well. Kaydence was certain it was only a matter of time before the monster resurfaced.

    Then all would die.

    Annet, Sarmin, old Neela, even Lenril¡­ Visions of their charred corpses haunted Kaydence¡¯s dreams, during those nights when she was spared reliving her bygone memories.

    There was no good end with her in it, no Hero Kayden left to stop her. She was alone. She alone could do it, had to do it, somehow. She needed to take care of the problem, remove the threat¡ªpermanently. Maybe that was the reason she received this stupid name: to take her brother¡¯s place and save the world from herself.

    Once again, she promised herself she would leave¡ªsoon¡ªas soon as she could guarantee Annet¡¯s safety. Another year, maybe¡­ She had a plan, kind of. Planning had always been more her brother¡¯s thing. She was a much blunter tool. But she could do it. She just needed to work out a last few kinks and stop putting it off. It¡¯s just another year. Her hands tensed into fists, nails digging into her palms. Another year, to make sure everything will work out. But no more. No more. Her pulse was picking up again. No more. I can¡¯t risk more. Can¡¯t risk them. I can¡¯t¨C Her breath was shortening, chest tightening, sight narrowing, shakes spreading through her limbs¡­ I can¡¯t¨C Not¨C Not again¨C I don¡¯t want¨C

    SLAM!!

    The door banged against the wall, snapping Kaydence to attention. She jumped to her feet, muscles tense, ready to strike, magic at her fingertips¡ªbut quickly relaxed at the sight of a huffing and swearing old woman hobbling in along a freezing gust of wind. ¡°Aaargh! Uat¡¯s milky tits! Annet! You wouldn¡¯t put a cat out in this cold, but you¡¯ll have me drag my old bones all the way over?! Goodness gracious, you silly girl! Ain¡¯t you getting sillier every day?¡±

    Neela¡¯s temper had not improved over the years.

    ¡°Gran! I¡¯m so glad you could make it!¡± A smiling Annet skipped over, deaf to the old woman¡¯s verbal abuse. In passing, she dropped the plates in Kaydence¡¯s lap. ¡°Hand them around, will you, Sweetie?¡± she whispered, then took Neela¡¯s coat off while soothing the grumpy crone, who continued to complain loudly.

    ¡°Crazy lass, when did I become your grandmother, eh?! And what¡¯s that nonsense out there? Are you redecorating? How tacky. In my days, ruffians at least knew how to spell! Why, I¡¯d give them a good¨C¡±

    ¡°Oh! Just shut it, old bag,¡± Kaydence called out as she offloaded the plates onto Sarmin. ¡°If chilly weather could end you, you¡¯d have croaked with the last ice age.¡±

    The old herbalist turned her way. Sunken eyes framed in wrinkles met red ones curtained in black hair, and the two shared a moment of familiarity and mutual annoyance.

    ¡°Bah!¡± Neela hobbled further inside, stopping by the fire to glare down at Kaydence. ¡°Careful, demon brat.¡± Off her sharp tongue, the insult nevertheless lacked the mean edge others would have put into it. ¡°I walloped your buttcheeks before, and I¡¯ll do it again!¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t you have some poor children to frighten somewhere else?¡±

    ¡°As if you¡¯d leave me any. Heard you made Burtin¡¯s boy cry the other day, and that little cur might as well be half-troll, body and brain.¡±

    ¡°At least I¡¯m not a dusty old bag full of cranky bones.¡±

    ¡°Nah. Instead, you¡¯re a little overgrown shithead she-orc.¡±

    ¡°I take that as a compliment, hag.¡±

    ¡°That just shows how daft you are, brat.¡±

    ¡°Al~righty!¡± A crisp handclap halted both grumps in their tracks. Two sets of eyes shifted to Annet. ¡°Everyone, I¡¯m glad to see how well you¡¯re getting along, but don¡¯t let the dinner get overcooked.¡±

    With matching huffs, Neela and Kaydence leaned away from each other. The old woman lowered herself onto a cushion Annet had provided, Kaydence mutely helping her sit down, neither acknowledging the act.

    ¡°Overcooking might actually give that grub some flavour. I don¡¯t see how your insipid cooking could get any worse anyway,¡± Neela grumbled, even as she held out the empty plate Sarmin had just given her.

    ¡°No one¡¯s forcing you to eat,¡± Kaydence retorted, serving her a healthy portion of fuming stew.

    ¡°Bah! Show me the fool who turns down free food? And you wipe that silly grin off your face, lassie.¡± Neela pointed a bony finger at Annet. ¡°I¡¯m warning you. I don¡¯t care how poor you are. If you invite me over, I¡¯ll eat my fill. Got it?¡±

    ¡°Of course, Gran,¡± Annet replied cheerfully.

    ¡°I don¡¯t remember having a silly granddaughter like you. Bah! Why do I bother coming here?¡±

    Kaydence chipped in, ¡°Because no one else can stomach your insufferable personality?¡±

    ¡°Pot, meet kettle,¡± the herbalist grumbled and stared into her plate. A brief sadness in her cloudy eyes betrayed that the girl¡¯s words had struck a nerve this time. Kaydence¡¯s gaze lingered on the elder¡¯s deeply etched wrinkles, resembling ravines on her dry parchment-like skin stained by old age. She noted the faint tremors in Neela¡¯s limbs and how her thin grey hair had become scarce in places.

    She clicked her tongue. ¡°Well, at least your presence spares me from delivering those herbs to your home later, so you might as well keep coming. Annet won¡¯t stop inviting you anyway. Silly woman indeed.¡± Having said her piece, the girl focused on her food to escape her mother¡¯s warm gaze.

    Annet locked the door and came to sit between Lenril and Neela¡ªever-so-slightly closer to the elf. The fire was now the only light source in the room. Its dim, dancing orange glow cast shifting shadows on the carpeted walls, tightening the cosy space further around its occupants. For a little while, the only sounds were the crackles of the logs, the whistle of the wind outside, and the ladle lightly hitting the pot as people filled their plates. Once everyone was served, Lenril, Sarmin and Neela recited a prayer to both human and elven gods. Annet joined them quietly, though she seemed to be mouthing entirely different words than everyone else. Kaydence stayed silent.

    The prayer concluded; they all dug in. The food should have tasted bland, with sparse vegetables and common forest herbs as the only spices, but instead, the warm stew was inexplicably delicious.

    The meal was lively, as usual. Finding nothing better to do, Kaydence had started nicking pieces of meat from Sarmin¡¯s plate, much to the half-elf¡¯s dismay. This went on until Annette noticed and started to scold her. Sarmin then had the nerve to smirk at her predicament, which earned him a murderous glare from Kaydence. The fair boy instantly turned whiter than the snow outside.

    It all culminated in Kaydence chasing the half-elf boy around the room, armed with the ladle. Annet was shouting at them to sit down between bursts of giggles. Meanwhile, Neela emptied the pot without anyone noticing, and Lenril tranquilly finished his small serving of food, unruffled by the chaos around him.

    Life was good.

    And nothing could terrify Kaydence more.

    * * * * *

 B1CH06 - Meet the Family, Part 6: Best Knit Schemes

    Debates persist ceaselessly on whether the Burning Heavens eradicated several lesser sapient races. Nevertheless, the dearth of reliable historical records renders any definitive stance arduous to substantiate (more details in Pr. Goldworth¡¯s treatise: ¡°Dragon Dragoff, the vanishing lizard conspiracy¡±). It cannot be argued, however, that the conflict birthed three among the most repugnant breeds of beings ever to tread upon this Earth.

    Foremost among these grotesque entities are the storm elves, sometimes labelled ¡®chaos¡¯ or ¡®dark¡¯ elves. Volatile, belligerent, and sadistic, they are born killers fashioned in mockery of the refined denizens of the Sacred Forest. Second are the werebeasts: deranged changelings that desecrate human perfection by amalgamating their forms with wild animals, with whom they also share their savagery and lack of morals.

    Last, and assuredly most abhorrent, are the vampires! These undead monstrosities defile nature¡¯s order by walking among the living, masquerading as more than mere fetid corpses. They subsist solely on the blood of the innocents, of pure maidens and newborn infants. Their sacrilegious essence bans them from hallowed grounds and Whesi¡¯s divine radiance. Their cursed gaze gleams red like the lifeblood they consume and, with one look, can ensnare the mind. Even more nefarious, their bite spreads their disease and steals the soul of their victims!

    Rue the day! O Gods! Rue the day any denizen of our most holy Radiant Empire shall associate in any way with these wicked, blasphemous, repulsive vermin!

    ¡ªexcerpt from the controversial pamphlet ¡°On the Subject of Pesticide,¡± by Watana Sowl, published 573 AK.

    ¨C

    Rest 29, 2497 AK, Radiant Empire, Cleft Isles, Greyport.

    Few took note of the solitary vagrant wandering through the cold, dark, slush-filled streets of Greyport after sunset. Those who did notice him quickly turned away, hurrying along, unnerved by his sickly complexion and unkempt appearance: his dishevelled black beard, edged in grey, that looked like an old animal had curled up on his face and died; his long, greasy hair stuck to his hollow cheeks; the purple rings that bruised the bottom of his weary eyes; his tattered cloak, tormented by the wind, which barely resembled a clerical robe anymore.

    It was hardly a wonder why others treated him like a leper.

    Their disdain, however, gave him free rein to observe them in return. His furtive glances captured people¡¯s countenance and the layout of his surroundings, of the festival grounds taking shape, the half-erect stalls, and the crates piled in the molten snow. If anyone seemed about to accost him regardless, a flash of his pronghorn pendant was enough to justify his beggarly state and deter their curiosity. Imperial citizens were naturally disinclined to question the clergy¡ªor anyone crazy enough to impersonate a servant of the Twelve.

    His tired feet carried him through the cold mud to the city square. The gallows at its centre had been disassembled and replaced by a monolithic construct, five-man-tall, wrapped tightly in waterproof canvas. He gazed at it momentarily before reorienting himself and walking away. Soon, he reached a narrow back alley, weed-grown, full of cracked and dislocated cobblestones.

    Streets like this abounded in tortuous old Greyport, but this area of town was especially deserted and dilapidated. The inhabitants clustered most readily around the harbour, the central church, or Main Street¡ªless so in this quarter of industry. Here lodged the blacksmiths, the butchers, the tanners, and others, whose smelly or noisy craft made them unappealing neighbours. An old windmill towered over the district, abandoned and decayed, its broken sails creaking mournfully.

    The man¡¯s steps eventually stopped before a tiny, unremarkable house, little more than a shack stuck between two stocky workshops. After a furtive look around, he approached the door. Before he could knock, a panel slid open at face level, revealing two brown eyes and little else, just enough to hint at a tanned, rough-skinned older man¡ªa sailor, maybe a trapper, or someone else used to the harshness of the outdoors.

    ¡°Who goes there?¡± asked a voice like gargled gravel.

    ¡°A weary truth seeker,¡± the man answered.

    ¡°What has brought you here?¡±

    ¡°Only the whispers on the breeze.¡±

    The peephole slid shut, a key turned, and a bolt opened. No footsteps moved away, but the presence inside vanished. With a sigh, the man pushed forward into a dim, cool room. He quickly shut the door behind him, cutting off the glow of the streetlamps and the howls of the wind, and leaving only a faint, irregular metallic tapping to occupy the silence. To the side, a fireplace gave off barely any light or warmth. Across from the entrance, the room¡¯s sole occupant sat in a plush armchair, swathed in shadows.

    This person did not match the face at the door.

    ¡°You¡¯re late,¡± she said in a monotone, velvety voice.

    ¡°Glad to see you too, Hawthorn.¡±

    Looking the furthest thing from a rough trapper, she had a noblewoman¡¯s soft skin, her body slender yet curvaceous, and jet-black hair up in a plain bun with long side bangs. Her outfit resembled a farmer¡¯s wife¡¯s mourning dress: black, unadorned, snugly fitted, with long sleeves and a high neck, leaving only her head and hands uncovered. Yet she was no mere peasant. The weak firelight rippled across her face, unveiling a bone-white complexion and inhuman flawlessness. Gleaming like rubies in the dark, two blood-red eyes stared back at the man without ever blinking.

    ¡°You were supposed to arrive before sundown,¡± the vampiress again commented flatly.

    Not a hint of emotion moved her features. Her body lacked any of the unconscious twitches and involuntary motions of the living. Even casually seated, she reminded the man of an ambush predator ready to strike¡ªlike a slender snake, or a spider perhaps. And as if to substantiate the latter metaphor, the clicking needles in her hands continuously pulled string out of a pink wool bundle, slowly adding to the incongruous knitted mass in her lap.

    The man rapidly decided some questions were better left unanswered. ¡°Not my call,¡± he finally replied, shrugging off his coat and folding it neatly over the backrest of a rickety chair. ¡°I could hardly command the winds to push the ship faster. I might as well have shouted my presence, then.¡±

    He glanced around. Humidity and mould crept up the wooden walls. Cracks ran through the timber. The chair, a worn table, and the woman¡¯s seat made up almost all the furniture. The table also had a broken leg, haphazardly nailed back on. At the very least, the floor looked recently swept. ¡°Nice place. Very homey.¡±

    ¡°Thank you? I found it as is.¡± The woman tilted her head, perplexed, his sarcasm sailing completely over her head. ¡°This house is at the midpoint between the biggest tannery and smithy. The stench is bearable here.¡±

    The man sniffed the air. He could smell nothing, but he guessed that was the point.

    He dragged the chair closer to the hearth. ¡°Thank you for the fire. I know you don¡¯t need it.¡±

    ¡°I had a donor over an hour ago.¡±

    ¡°Locally sourced?¡±

    ¡°No one who will raise suspicion. I made sure of it.¡±

    ¡°I trust you did.¡± A log was added to the failing embers. She must not have drunk her fill, the man thought.

    Vampires needed to feed on human blood to sustain their unlife, although contrary to popular belief, they did not prey exclusively on newborns and maidens. The sacrifice¡¯s virginity certainly held no relevance. Instead, the potency of one¡¯s life force was what vampires sought after. Life mages, especially, were seen by them as rare delicacies.

    The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

    Consuming fresh blood rejuvenated the vampires¡¯ bodies and rekindled their emotions. When satiated, they seemed to shed their undeath, almost resurrecting, and might pass for regular humans if they tried. A full meal also brought them to the pinnacle of their power, physically and magically. Yet, many preferred to linger on the peckish side of hunger, wallowing in the emotional numbness it offered.

    The man could sympathise. He too had demons he would rather run away from.

    The sounds of the knitting needles abruptly stopped.

    ¡°Why are you here, Gale?¡±

    Gale looked up from the fire he was trying to revive. ¡°Why? You almost sound unhappy to see my handsome face.¡± He stroked his chin with a crooked smile, only to be reminded of the shaggy beard growing there. His smile fell. ¡°Right. I might need a shave.¡±

    ¡°And a bath.¡±

    Somehow, her absolute lack of inflexion only made it worse.

    Gale released a resigned sigh and stood from where he knelt by the hearth. ¡°You people are going to be so sorry when I collapse from overwork.¡± He cautiously checked the chair¡¯s solidity before settling into it. ¡°You think I enjoy looking like I crawled out of a sewer?¡±

    From within his dirty tunic, he produced a battered bamboo pipe and, from another pocket, a small satchel of herbs. He meticulously filled the bowl, tamping the mix down with practised fingers¡ªdisregarding the impatient red eyes boring into him. ¡°I always wished I was born a Fire mage, you know?¡± he rambled. ¡°It must be nice to never have to fear the cold.¡± With the pipe securely between his teeth, he retrieved a small engraved stone from the satchel, coaxed a flame out of it with his mana, and lit the herbs. ¡°Plus, these little tools might be convenient, but gods, are they expensive.¡± He carefully stored the tiny artefact.

    Soon, a fragrant smoke wafted around him, earthy and pungent.

    Gale drew a slow, contemplative drag of his pipe. ¡°Ahhh. This is nice¡­¡± The stimulants were rapidly bringing sensations back to his chilled extremities and sharpening his drowsy mind. ¡°People always call elves pretentious snobs, but they sure know their drugs. Nothing like a puff of sylvan emberleaf to keep you going after three or four days without sleep. Hahaha¡­¡± His chuckle then sounded a little unhinged. He took another long drag, blew out a perfect smoke ring, and watched it slowly dissipate, floating toward the ceiling.

    ¡°The higher-ups are getting impatient about your lack of progress, Hawthorn.¡±

    Unblinking red eyes narrowed imperceptibly. ¡°I¡¯m working as fast as I can. Master knows this.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sure you are.¡± Gale dipped ash from his pipe into the fireplace. ¡°But events transpired in the capital that will¡­ precipitate things. So, Typhoon sent me to assist.¡±

    A wholly inhuman hiss seeped from Hawthorn¡¯s mouth. ¡°I don¡¯t need help.¡±

    ¡°Results suggest otherwise.¡±

    The hiss intensified. The vampiress¡¯s lips peeled back, revealing the tip of viper-like fangs unfolding behind her human teeth. Gale decided to forestall any assault on his jugular.

    ¡°The prince is making a move.¡±

    Hawthorn¡¯s mouth abruptly shut. Her entire body went deadly still. Gale found it particularly unnerving, though he hid it well. ¡°Is he coming here?¡± she asked.

    ¡°In all likelihood. The Emperor revealed his hand. Now, the prince¡¯s minions are abuzz like a kicked wasp nest. It¡¯s made tracking his activities bothersome, but we¡¯re reasonably confident he¡¯s planning to flee the capital within the next six to eighteen months. That gives us an opportunity to act. But we need things ready on this end before the targets arrive.¡± Once the prince settled in Greyport, the security would tighten by several orders of magnitude, rendering any covert activity bothersome to execute.

    ¡°Typhoon wants to avoid creating a ruckus,¡± Gale added pointedly, staring at the stiff vampiress. ¡°We hurry, but we don¡¯t rush. Understood, Hawthorn? I don¡¯t want to have to deal with a member of the imperial family dead in the middle of the harbour.¡±

    The undead woman hissed still but settled down gradually and reclined in her seat. ¡°I won¡¯t mess up. Not this time.¡±

    ¡°See that you don¡¯t,¡± Gale warned evenly, earning himself a sharp look, which he ignored. He nibbled on the end of his pipe pensively. ¡°Listen. I¡¯m not here to play commander. Frankly, I don¡¯t even want to be here. I¡¯m not undead, woman. I need my sleep, of which I clearly haven¡¯t had enough lately, and I actually feel this damn weather. I swear, I¡¯m catching a cold as we speak.¡± He coughed dramatically. ¡°Just being in this gloomy town is giving me eczema. See?¡± He scratched his arm and showed it off.

    ¡°That¡¯s probably just poor hygiene.¡±

    ¡°You try being stuck in a tiny ship with sweaty sailors for a week.¡±

    ¡°But I don¡¯t sweat?¡± The vampiress tilted her head.

    ¡°That¡¯s not the point, woman!¡± Gale threw his hand up. ¡°Ahhh¡­ I get it. I¡¯ll pay a visit to the bathhouse first thing tomorrow morning. Why couldn¡¯t I have been born a Water mage? Life would be so much simpler. I hope the House of Uat is at least well maintained. Seriously, this town is falling to pieces. This is supposed to be a provincial capital? What is the Imperial Inspectorate doing? The Emperor needs to hurry up and finish beheading all those corrupt officials. Less hassle for me. Did you hear they had to appoint more executioners after the last purge? That¡¯s what I should have done. Executioner. It¡¯s a cushy job these days. But no. Here I am instead, freezing my ass off when I could be¡­¡±

    The vampiress let him rant for a while, having resumed her knitting.

    ¡°¡­and then I ran into a girl earlier. I literally bumped into her. Sure, I¡¯m exhausted because Typhoon is a heartless slave driver who does not believe in downtime, but her presence completely slipped by me. Like¡­ an eel! That kind of natural stealth at that age? Young people these days sure are scary.¡± He let out an umpteenth sigh. ¡°I should retire. I¡¯m getting too old for this.¡±

    ¡°Thirty is still young for a human,¡± Hawthorn commented, seeming to take pity on him. However, her focus was still mainly on weaving her needles through every pink loop she conjured.

    ¡°Exactly!¡± Gale pointed at her. ¡°I should retire before I¡¯m too old. And I¡¯m twenty-nine. Twenty-nine! Not thirty. And I already have grey hair! Next, they¡¯ll fall off. I don¡¯t want to be bald before thirty!¡± He continued to rant briefly before running out of even the energy to be upset. ¡°By the way, that girl I ran into had red eyes. Could she be¨C¡±

    The needles stopped.

    ¡°No.¡±

    ¡°Are you su¨C¡±

    ¡°We do not turn children!¡± The vampire''s seat loudly tumbled back and crashed into the wall as she suddenly jumped to her feet, her fangs fully out and her red eyes shining with fury.

    ¡°Alright, alright!¡± Gale waved the irate vampiress down. He silently berated himself for forgetting who he was talking to. ¡°I¡¯m not accusing you of anything. If you say the girl¡¯s unrelated, that¡¯s that. I trust your judgement. You¡¯re the vampire expert here. It¡¯s just a fluke of birth, then. Poor kid¡­ Well, she looked like she could handle herself.¡±

    Gradually, Hawthorn¡¯s face returned to its usual listless expression. She picked up the overturned armchair one-handed and casually flipped it upright. But Gale only allowed himself to relax when she had sat back down and returned to her knitting. He took a drag of his pipe to settle his nerves. Gods. This is bad for my health. Vampires were almost too dangerous for their worth. I¡¯m definitely talking to Typhoon about that early retirement. With a subtle twist of his fingers behind his back, he unravelled the deadly spell he had been about to cast. He would rather avoid slicing anyone to ribbons if he could help it.

    Otherwise, there would be paperwork.

    Still, there was something about that girl¡­ The air mage could not put his finger on what bothered him, but he resolved to investigate on the side. Bronze skin¡­ But it couldn¡¯t be¡­ He shook his head. Better not make hasty conclusions. He needed to gather information first. His network in the Split Isles was not as extensive as he would prefer, but he had a few contacts he could visit. A certain information broker came to mind. Surely, he would not have forgotten his old pal Gale, would he?

    The clicking of Hawthorn¡¯s needles distracted him from his musings.

    Despite his better judgement, Gale could no longer resist his curiosity. ¡°I need to ask. Why are you doing¡­ that?¡± Puzzled, blood-red eyes looked up at him, and he nodded toward the pink needlework.

    ¡°Oh¡­ Master said I should find a hobby. Something about eternity being boring. I don¡¯t quite get it. She does not look bored, and I have not had time to be.¡±

    ¡°And so you chose¡­ knitting?¡±

    ¡°Yes?¡± She tilted her head. ¡°Is that weird?¡±

    A familiar headache settled between Gale¡¯s brows. ¡°No, of course not,¡± he lied smoothly. ¡°It¡¯s a very nice-looking, err, glove.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s a sweater.¡±

    Gale¡¯s eye twitched. ¡°¡­Is it now?¡±

    Hawthorn lifted the formless pink mass. ¡°I heard these are common in the south. The dye is made from a flower called glory-of-the-snow, which blooms high in the Shmavahal mountains when the first spring warmth comes. Southerners use the blue petals to dye young boys¡¯ clothes and the pink ones for girls. It¡¯s a curious custom.¡±

    ¡°¡­¡­You sound well-informed.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s my hobby?¡±

    ¡°So you said.¡± Gale nodded awkwardly, already regretting succumbing to his curiosity. ¡°Is the size not a bit, err, small?¡±

    A thin, sad smile lifted the woman¡¯s lips as she looked down at her work.

    ¡°No. It¡¯s perfect.¡±

    ¡°¡­¡­¡±

    And that¡¯s my cue to leave. Gale stood up. ¡°I¡¯ll get out of your air. We both have a lot to do.¡±

    ¡°You can stay. There is a spare bed.¡± Hawthorn pointed at a paper-thin mattress, leaking straw over a mouldy wood plank. ¡°I have no need for it.¡±

    Gale offered a strained smile. ¡°Thank you, but it would be unbecoming of me to intrude on a lady¡¯s privacy any longer than necessary.¡± He hastily threw his coat on.

    ¡°But I¡¯m not a noble?¡±

    ¡°Hahaha. No, I mean¡­ Even so. It would be inappropriate.¡± He edged towards the door.

    ¡°You smell stressed,¡± the vampiress said quietly and turned to the side, producing a small bag. ¡°Do you want a honey candy?¡±

    ¡°¡­No, but thank you.¡± Gale¡¯s hand was on the door handle. ¡°Let¡¯s reconvene in two days. After the first night of the festival?¡±

    ¡°Very well.¡± She nodded, putting the bag of sweets away. ¡°May your blood flow with life.¡±

    ¡°¡­¡­Good evening to you, too,¡± Gale said with another strained smile. May it stay in my veins, more like. But the vampiress had already returned to her knitwork, dismissing him from her mind. The tired man hurriedly left the dilapidated house, telling himself he was not running away. He was merely eager to finish his work for the day and go to bed. Gods, this is way too much anxiety for one man. But this could be my last job. After a big operation like this, surely Typhoon will let me retire.

    ¡­Surely?

    * * * * *

 B1CH07 - Meet the Family, Part 7: Blood & Shadows (Goreshadowing, if you will)

    Azahur the Unifier ruled the Radiant Empire between the years 206 and 289. He was the son of Shamsi the Builder and grandson of Kayden the Bright, and compared to his predecessors, he can certainly seem like an underachiever. Many people more clever than wise had taken to calling him ¡°The Third One,¡± as if Azahur never accomplished anything worth mentioning. Nonsense! It was Azahur¡¯s cunning as a diplomat that allowed him to complete the empire¡¯s expansion throughout the Central Plains. By forging tightly binding alliances with the remaining independent states, he peacefully absorbed their territories without once declaring war. To Azahur, we owe the division of the empire into the twelve provinces that remain largely unchanged today. ¡°The Third One.¡± Ah. How ridiculous.

    In today¡¯s lesson, we will study the consequences that the end of the empire¡¯s Expansionist Period had on the development of modern magic. Please refer to your textbook, page one-hundred and nine.

    ¡ªexcerpt from a lesson by Bartholomew Mewson, lich and Professor of Magic History at the Imperial University for Applied Thaumaturgy, 2273 AK.

    ¨C

    Rest 29, 2497 AK, Radiant Empire, Cleft Isles, Greyport, Cliffside.

    Dinner had concluded. Calm had returned to the small home carved in the rock, and Annet was seeing Lenril and Sarmin off at the door. The father-son pair lived a few holes up on the Cliffside path.

    Kaydence lay on the stone floor, staring up without blinking at the swirling rainbow patterns painted on the ceiling, trying to lose herself in the whirlpool of colours, trying¡ªand failing¡ªto block out the sounds of her mother¡¯s shameless flirting with the elf. This must be another of the gods¡¯ cruel and unusual punishments. Who could have guessed going through childhood again with an adult¡¯s mind could be such a subtle and constant psychological torture? As an old celibate, these flipping youngsters¡¯ courtship rituals were seriously getting on her nerves.

    The fact one of the youngsters in question was her biological mother only compounded the unpleasantness. As for Lenril; the elf might have been older than Kaydence¡¯s two combined lifetimes, have already married, and produced a kid, but he still reacted to Annet¡¯s forward teasing like an awkward teenager. Please kill me now¡­ Kaydence hit her head against the hard stone floor after another one of Annet¡¯s giggles. She did not even need to look to picture the elf¡¯s blushing face¡ªso like his son¡¯s.

    Unfortunately, Kaydence did not feel she had the right to impede Annet¡¯s fun. Therefore, she could only cringe in uncomfortable silence.

    Neela had no such compunction, however. ¡°Enough! Will you two lovebirds quit your incessant twitterpating?! Shack up or shut up! I¡¯m too old to endure listening to all this billing and cooing!¡±

    ¡°Aw, Gran. I¡¯m sure you were no better at my age,¡± Annet laughed while Kaydence groaned. She had not needed that mental image.

    ¡°Bah! In my days, there was none of this senseless galivanting. My betrothal with my Benjamin was decided by our fathers, and he was a fine gentleman, my Benjamin! He was! We only saw each other with a chaperone until our wedding day. Kids these days have no shame.¡±

    Kaydence hated that she agreed with the old hag.

    Annet smirked mischievously. ¡°Yes, Gran. I am sure you were a perfectly sensible and demure young woman, who did everything her parents told her to. Not one step out of line, forsooth.¡±

    ¡°Oh, sod off.¡± A gnarled middle finger flipped in the brunette¡¯s direction. ¡°Don¡¯t get smart with me now, silly girl. And you¡¯re no granddaughter of mine!¡±

    Rather than be caught between the two women, Lenril wisely decided discretion was the better part of valour. He quickly bid his goodbyes before absconding into the night with his son in tow. Annet watched them go, then closed the door and pouted in Neela¡¯s direction. The old woman ignored her, aloofly smoothing over the wrinkles in her dress.

    With an eye-roll, Kaydence¡¯s mother crossed the room to a lily-white wardrobe tucked behind a hanging magenta curtain and a potted branch decorated with multi-coloured ribbons. She proceeded to change out of her patched white dress, trading it for a shoulderless white linen shift, an ankle-length burgundy skirt, and a front-laced bodice that gave her lean body the illusion of curves.

    Kaydence sat up once her mother was decent. She frowned at her outfit. ¡°You don¡¯t have to keep working there. I could¨C¡±

    ¡°Nuh-uh,¡± Annet interrupted. ¡°We¡¯re not having this conversation again, sweetheart. Grizelda was kind enough to offer me a job, and the Bear is not a bad place to work at. She doesn¡¯t make us provide extra service to the patrons, and I still make more coin serving alcohol to lonely men in one night than I do selling herbs on the marketplace for a week. Can¡¯t say I dislike the attention either.¡± She fanned herself coquettishly with her hand.

    ¡°But I could¨C¡±

    ¡°Nope.¡± Annet pinched her daughter¡¯s cheek. ¡°No child of mine will be working for their grub while I¡¯m able-bodied.¡±

    ¡°Listen to your mom, kid. Brats should be brats. You¡¯ll have plenty of time to grow into a piece-of-shit adult later,¡± Neela grumbled morosely.

    ¡°Your crotchety great-gran is right¨C¡±

    ¡°Not your grandmother!¡±

    ¡°You and Sarmin already help a lot by gathering herbs in the forest. Well¡­ Sarmin helps. I¡¯m not so sure about my cute goofball here, hmm?¡±

    Kaydence averted her gaze with a scowl.

    ¡°Glad we agree!¡± The brunette giggled and skipped to the door, pulled a cloak off a hook, and draped it over her bare, freckled shoulders. ¡°Now, are you going to escort me to work, or will you leave your poor mother to walk the cold, dark streets alone?¡± She batted her eyelashes, her downturned lips trembling in fake sadness.

    ¡°Don¡¯t be silly, woman.¡± Kaydence was already joining her by the door.

    ¡°That¡¯s my line!¡± Neela hobbled along. ¡°Don¡¯t think you¡¯ll ditch me here, brats.¡±

    ¡°Of course, Gran. We¡¯ll drop you off at your house. Isn¡¯t that right, sweetheart?

    ¡°Sure.¡±

    Outside, the wind had died down. The winter chill had settled in for the night. Dark clouds loomed low in the sky, allowing only scant rays of moonshine to pierce down. The aetheric elevators had stopped, leaving blissful silence behind. Now, the only sounds were the rare cries of sleepy seagulls, the dull crash of the waves below, and the muffled noises of bawdy merriment and music drifting down from the brothels high atop the cliff.

    Kaydence glanced over the path¡¯s edge into the Split. Down below, lanterns drifted about the moored ships like a ballet of fireflies. Further below still, deep, deep under the inky waves, a ghastly amber gleam lit the bottom of the unnatural crevasse.

    ¡°Argh.¡± A sudden phantom pain throbbed in Kaydence¡¯s stomach. Her hand gripped the front of her shirt, almost ripping the cloth, and she averted her gaze. Why do you always look? She berated herself. You know what happens when you look. Although the memories of that final day blurred together in her head, the agony of her brother¡¯s enspelled blade slicing through her gut remained sharply branded in her soul.

    Death magic did not simply go away. Death was ending, stillness. Death-attuned mana behaved like a stagnant, fetid pool, seeping back into the natural aether flow at an exceptionally sluggish pace, over years, decades even, after the initial spellcasting¡ªunless forcefully cleansed. Until then, it created an area of desolation, lethal to small organisms and debilitating to bigger lifeforms. It was a testament to the Chosen One¡¯s power that the aftermath of Kayden¡¯s last strike lingered in the land, even two thousand five hundred years later, even as a dimming glow deep underwater.

    Luckily, the inherent stillness of Death mana limited its ability to spread or attach itself to living organisms. Otherwise, the population of Greyport would have been decimated long ago from consuming the scarce fish from the bay. Small blessings, Kaydence mused as the ache slowly retreated to the background¡ªnever fully going away.

    ¡°Sweetie?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s nothing.¡± Kaydence waved her mother away and stepped off the edge. ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡±

    The trio of women slowly climbed the path out of the Cliffside chasm. They walked past the cheap whorehouses and dingy bars at the top, avoiding drunkards and frostbitten prostitutes. The One-Eyed Bear tavern, owned and run by one Grizelda Southey, lay further into the city, adjacent to Main Street, where it catered to locals more than passing sailors and travellers. Kaydence would not call the establishment classy, but it lacked the aura of despair and sickness felt at the Split¡¯s edge. She would not have let her mother work in those, even if she had to fight her for it.

    Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

    Greyport at night was not any more welcoming than in the daylight, but at least the obscurity camouflaged some of the city¡¯s most depressing aspects. Yet, it also hid things more sinister, things that lurked in the dark, just out of sight. Disappearances were frequent and could not all be attributed to drunk people falling off the cliff. Ahead of the trio, the magic lampposts dotted the street with spaced-out, isolated patches of light, each like a tiny isle separated from the next by impenetrable darkness.

    Impenetrable to most, at least.

    Many things about Kaydence diverged from the human norm. Her eyesight was no exception. Nor was she limited to vision to appraise her surroundings. She followed one step behind her mother and Neela, who were engrossed in a conversation about Annet¡¯s love life that Kaydence studiously avoided eavesdropping on. Instead, her gaze roamed the deep shadows, sniffing out potential danger in every recess, listening for footsteps. It was barely a conscious choice on her part. A lifetime of warfare had conditioned her to always keep her guard up and expect the worst.

    ¡°Expect the worst. Hope for the best!¡± one of her dearest friends used to say. However, that had been a lifetime ago. Kaydence was not too keen on hope these days.

    The three women were passing under a failing, flickering streetlight and about to veer into an unlit alley towards Neela¡¯s home, when Kaydence¡¯s steps faltered. Her nostrils flared. Blood. Lots of it. The dark alleyway before them overflowed with its sweet, metallic stench, in quantities such it could only lead to a gruesome source. Underneath it wafted the acrid scents of urine, faeces, and old terror¡ªthe scents of violent, painful death.

    The darkness ahead was too dense for even Kaydence¡¯s eyes to pierce, so she risked spreading her mana out into the obscurity, extending her awareness past her physical senses. Her accuracy was lacking as she wanted to avoid shouting her presence to every magic user a mile around, but it was enough.

    Her surreptitious probe rapidly brought back results.

    There was nothing alive in that alley. Whatever had happened had already passed, leaving behind enough blood that Kaydence was convinced someone had died there. She swiftly pulled her mana back, unwilling to tempt fate. There was no telling when another mage disguised as a beggar might stumble around the corner and detect her aura. Even Neela presented a risk, weak as the old crone¡¯s magic might be.

    Her inspection had taken less than a heartbeat. Kaydence¡¯s hand shot out and grabbed Annet¡¯s arm before her mother could step out of the lampost¡¯s sputtering glow. ¡°Let¡¯s take another route. There¡¯s¡­ The lights are broken there¡­ and I saw some huge rats earlier.¡±

    ¡°Big rats?¡± Neela piped up. ¡°Brat, are you scared of some unusually sized rodents? Why, I didn¡¯t pick you for such a scaredy-cat.¡±

    ¡°Would you be more scared if I¡¯d mentioned a pack of rabid stray dogs, you old bag of bones?!¡± Kaydence snapped back.

    ¡°Now, now. We¡¯re not in any rush. If Kay feels safer taking a detour, we¡¯ll take a detour. Don¡¯t be such a grump, Gran. We¡¯ll go with your suggestion, sweetie. Don¡¯t worry.¡± Annet put a soothing hand atop her daughter¡¯s, and Kaydence realised too late how hard she was squeezing her mother¡¯s thin arm. She hurriedly let go, guilt gnawing at her.

    ¡°I¡¯m not worried,¡± she rebuked gruffly. ¡°It¡¯s just common sense. How have you two survived so long in this place?¡±

    Neela cackled somberly. ¡°I wonder that every damn day.¡±

    ¡°Aw, stop it, you two. It¡¯s not that bad here,¡± Annet laughed. ¡°We have a home, friends, food, and a wonderful ocean view. What more could we want?¡±

    ¡°Says the wee lass who used to try and steal a ship to run away at sea every other week.¡±

    Annet blushed. ¡°That was a long time ago¡­¡±

    ¡°Bah! Hardly. And you¡¯ve only grown sillier still. Listen, brat, your preachy mum here might try to sound all wise now, but she was the worst little rapscalli¨C hmm hmm hmmm!!¡± Neela¡¯s speech abruptly cut off into indignant, muffled noises when Annet wrapped her hand over the elder¡¯s mouth.

    ¡°I¡¯m sure Kay doesn¡¯t want to hear what her boring old mother got up to when she was young and reckless.¡±

    Neela managed to yank the hand off her face. ¡°You dare call yourself old in front of me? I know unmarried girls older than you! Just you wait. I¡¯ll tell her about the time you almost got yourself kidnapped by fairies.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t you dare!¡± Annet playfully slapped her shoulder. ¡°It really was nothing that crazy.¡±

    Kaydence let them continue to bicker as they walked, only half listening. She harboured some curiosity about Annet¡¯s early youth, which her mother rarely discussed. Yet, her primary focus was to create as much distance as possible between them and that ominous alley. Something was wrong there, beyond the obvious.

    The vague impressions she had gleaned from her quick inspection set off her instincts in the worst ways, and she wanted her new family nowhere near it.

    * * *

    Despite Kaydence¡¯s worries, the rest of the trip to Neela¡¯s house passed without incident. They bid their goodbyes to the old woman¡ªwell, Annet did¡ªand then their steps switched toward Grizelda¡¯s tavern.

    They walked in silence. Kaydence remained on edge. Her war-honed instincts kept her tense. Every loud noise made her flinch. Her eyes darted about, scouring roof edges, shuttered windows, recessed doorways, and dark street corners. Even the narrow strip of oppressive, cloudy night sky above them between the looming overhangs was not off-limits. People were too used to the relative safety of warded towns, where the only predators were other humans rather than wild beasts. They never expected death from above. Kaydence knew better. She knew too much, perhaps, and her imagination filled every blotch of shadows with ambushers and increasingly improbable monsters, things with too many eyes and too many gaping mouths, every reflection of silver moonshine a knife or a claw coming for her mother¡¯s throat.

    She nearly lashed out when thin, cold fingers slipped between her own, but she managed to hold back at the last second, meeting a pair of patient brown eyes.

    ¡°What¡¯s on your mind, sweetheart?¡± Annet asked softly. She swung their linked hand between them, skipping lightly to keep up with Kaydence¡¯s long, nervous steps.

    The girl tried to pull her hand back, but her mother¡¯s grip tightened, and she could find no way to force the issue without hurting the fragile woman. She gave up with a sigh. ¡°Nothing.¡± A weird noise snapped her attention to a rooftop, only to lock eyes with a startled, malnourished calico cat. The scraggy feline hissed at her and leapt away, vanishing beyond sight. Animals never liked Kaydence, even though they often flocked to Sarmin. Must be an elf thing, she mused with a frown. She turned back to her mother. ¡°Do you still think about moving away?¡±

    Annet hummed pensively. She could tell her daughter was deflecting, but she allowed it, for now. ¡°I used to, yes, when I was little. My mother¡­¡± Her gaze drifted back in time for a little while. ¡°Well, I often prayed that a handsome nobleman would come for me and take me away on his gilded ship. He would be the man of my dreams, of course. We¡¯d go on all sorts of adventures and see the world together.

    ¡°We¡¯d travel to each of the twelve provinces, see Shamsi¡¯s Wall, the eternal snows of the Shmavahal Mountains, Phoenix Rise atop the Overpass, sail around the whirlpools in the Sea of Serenity, visit the Celestials¡¯ floating island¨C Or is it a temple? I don¡¯t quite remember. I think I saw it in the distance once. It could have been a big, weirdly-shaped cloud¡­ Oh! The Ashen Glade, too. Maybe we¡¯d even travel to the Black Sun Union and meet some vampires!¡± She giggled. ¡°Can you imagine? Me? Meeting vampires?¡±

    Kaydence could imagine. She did not like what she pictured.

    Annet continued, ¡°Then once we had travelled to our hearts¡¯ content, we would marry in the middle of a vast flower field and have a big, happy family together, living in his fancy mansion. Ahhh¡­¡± She sighed wistfully, then paused and rolled her eyes. ¡°I¡¯ve learned since that handsome men are full of hot air more than nobility, and that they¡¯re more likely to vanish into the night than carry you off on even a leaky rowboat.¡± Her voice oozed an uncharacteristic amount of venom for a woman usually overflowing with endless benevolence, earning a startled look from her daughter.

    Kaydence wondered if this might be about her elusive genitor, whose name she didn¡¯t even know. She had never broached the subject since she frankly did not care. But now, hearing her overly kindhearted mother come close to openly badmouthing someone for maybe the first time in Kaydence¡¯s life, she was feeling the barest hint of curiosity for what sort of man could anger Annet to this extent.

    If she ever learned her sire had hurt her mother in any way, Kaydence had the will and experience to come up with several suitably horrifying repayments.

    ¡°Boop.¡± A startling finger poked Kaydence in the nose. Blinking, she frowned down at her mother, who smiled back mischievously. ¡°You were making a scary face, sweetie. It¡¯s bad for your skin. You¡¯ll end up like your great-gran.¡± Annet again reached up, forcefully smoothing over the annoyed wrinkles on her daughter¡¯s forehead.

    ¡°Neela¡¯s not really my great-grandmother, though, is she?¡± All this back and forth between the two could make one wonder.

    ¡°You don¡¯t need blood ties to be family, silly.¡± Annet squeezed her hand softly. ¡°Gran is just too stubborn for her own good. That¡¯s why we need to be patient with her.¡±

    ¡°Not sure how much longer we can afford to be patient¡­¡±

    ¡°Aw, Kay! Don¡¯t say that.¡± Annet laughed and playfully shoved her daughter, only succeeding in making herself stumble.

    Kaydence sighed. She had planned an entirely different conversation, but the mood did not seem right anymore. Her mother had the strange ability to make Kaydence feel almost silly for constantly worrying¡ªeven as she thought the cheerful brunette did not worry nearly enough.

    She sighed again. ¡°You say you¡¯ve moved past handsome men, but Lenril isn¡¯t exactly hard to look at.¡±

    ¡°Aw, shush you. Aren¡¯t you ashamed to be teasing your old mother like that? You can¡¯t blame a woman for wanting some eye candy.¡± She winked. ¡°What about you and Sarmin?¡±

    Kaydence¡¯s face had never shifted faster into a disturbed grimace, and Annet was suddenly too busy choking with laughter to continue this horrifying line of questioning.

    The rest of the walk to the tavern passed in a more relaxed, companionable silence. Kaydence had not dropped her guard, but she was no longer jumping at shadows. Annet was still refusing to release her daughter¡¯s hand, so the girl took the opportunity to send discrete feelers of Life magic through their point of contact.

    Her eager mana was quick to hunt through the young woman¡¯s body for any ache and tear it could fix, starting with the cold damage Annet¡¯s fingers had sustained this afternoon and the bruise about to form from Kaydence grabbing her arm earlier. A fresh wave of guilt flooded the girl, but she hid it better than her anxiety.

    Kaydence had to stop before Annet¡¯s fast recovery became suspicious, but when she retracted her power, all that remained were superficial injuries that would fade harmlessly over the next few days. This was something she often did when she and her mother found themselves alone together, away from any crone or elf who might sniff out Kaydence¡¯s use of magic. Such basic healing could hardly even be called a spell, but it was the least she could do¡­ Even though Kaydence worried her regular recovery sessions might contribute to Annet¡¯s reckless attitude. I swear, that woman has no self-preservation instincts. It was nerve-wracking.

    Kaydence had managed to work herself back into her usual taciturn pessimism by the time they reached the street of the One-Eyed Bear. They veered off Main Street and, a few houses down, spotted a sign dangling off the face of a building, etched with the likeness of a bear wearing an eyepatch and drinking out of a foaming tankard.

    ¡°There we go! One mum delivered in one piece!¡± Annet pumped her fists in the air. ¡°Another victory for the best daughter in the world!¡±

    Kaydence could not roll her eyes hard enough.

    She was opening her mouth for a scathing retort when, suddenly, a loud crash echoed in the night, and a body came flying out through the tavern entrance to land in a crumpled pile on the cobblestone. A tall figure followed out, nonchalantly walking over the debris of the wooden door and sneering down at the whimpering heap on the ground.

    ¡°I fucking warned you, you filthy animal. Now, don¡¯t blame me for what happens next.¡±

    * * * * *

 B1CH08 - Meet the Family, Part 8: Everything Will Be Just Right

    Venturing into the Darkspore Swamp, the discerning traveller should know to seek the hospitality of the Sporeguard clan. I cannot think of a more kindly or welcoming folk than these gentle dwarves, quite an oddity among their surly kind. But beware: steer clear of their shroom beers! Brewed from bizarre swamp fungi, these mighty potent concoctions can leave even the sturdiest bastards swaying on their legs, upchucking their meal, seeing things, and forgetting more. I have witnessed more than one companion succumb after half a tankard!

    I can now see that the popular convention painting the stoutfolk as rampant alcoholics is wacky nonsense! Their resilience merely surpasses ours when it comes to potent libations, which would likely prove fatal to most other races. Moreover, I have been led to believe other clans possess their own secret recipes they guard jealously, but brewed from deep cave mushrooms instead! How wonderful! I absolutely must sample such delectables. Sanity be voided! Many dwarven holds are notoriously hostile to foreigners, but nevertheless, I shall persevere.

    ¡ªexcerpt from the famous book series, ¡°The Gourmet Globetrotter¡± by Michaela Altyre, ongoing since 2483 AK

    ¨C

    Rest 29, 2497 AK, Radiant Empire, Cleft Isles, Greyport, The One-Eyed Bear.

    Tall boots clacked on the cobblestone outside the One-Eyed Bear. Long legs wrapped in tight leather carried them through nonchalant strides over the debris of the door. A slack white blouse was tucked in the high-waisted pants, rolled-up sleeves baring pale, toned forearms, a couple of gold bangles, and manicured fingers wrapped around a large wooden club. The broad neckline revealed hints of a modest, freckled chest and three metal claws on a thin silver chain. Denser freckles speckled a strong chin then wrapped around shapely red lips, pronounced eyebrows, and cherry-coloured eyes that beheld the whimpering man on the ground as one might a cockroach. Topping it all was lush auburn hair woven in a loose braid.

    The young woman strode confidently across the street outside the tavern. ¡°I warned you, Rick,¡± she said in a lazy drawl. ¡°The girls are there for looking, not touching.¡± Approaching the fallen man, she swung the heavy cudgel onto her shoulder and smiled menacingly.

    Visibly drunk, Rick needed a moment to figure out his surroundings before looking up. His bloodshot eyes widened in terror, and he tried to stand and run away, only to trip on his own feet, sprawl in the mud, and re-introduce his face to the ground.

    ¡°Come on, pal,¡± the woman snickered. ¡°How did you expect to keep it up if you can¡¯t even stay up? Now. Which do you prefer? Arm or leg?¡±

    ¡°W-What?¡± Rick gasped fearfully, curling on himself. His shaky hands weakly rose in defence and supplication.

    Long legs squatted beside him. Reddish brown eyes met his terrified gaze, the woman¡¯s red lips hooked up in a mean smile. ¡°Which one do you want me to break, you piece of filth?¡±

    ¡°Erza, that¡¯s enough.¡± A hand fell on the woman¡¯s shoulder. A third person had come out of the tavern, a young man. His freckles and red hair tied in a ponytail made the family resemblance obvious, though he was much larger, brawnier, and more rugged than his sister. His eyes were blue, and dimples lent his face an air of mischief. However, he was not laughing right now. ¡°The bastard¡¯s already about to piss himself.¡±

    ¡°¡­not about,¡± Erza replied, scrunching her nose as a dark, odorous patch spread over Rick¡¯s crotch. She shrugged off her brother¡¯s hand and stood to face him. ¡°Stay out of this, Bernt. Shitheads like him never learn until you give them a good reason to. I¡¯m thinking a couple of broken limbs should do it.¡± She smirked down at the fallen man, who whimpered and tried to crawl away. He was stopped when she stepped on his ankle, eliciting a pained cry.

    ¡°You just like hitting people,¡± Bernt retorted.

    ¡°Only those who deserve it.¡± Erza rolled her eyes, twirling her cudgel. ¡°Stop being such a worrywart.¡±

    ¡°We can¡¯t afford another incident right now!¡± Anger was creeping into the brother¡¯s voice. ¡°You¡¯re always too bloody reckless. Why can¡¯t you just¨C¡± His rant cut off as his gaze drifted over his sister¡¯s shoulder, spotting the pair of onlookers. ¡°Oh, hi, Annet. Kay too.¡±

    Kaydence returned a level gaze. Having stumbled upon this scene, she wanted nothing more than to grab her mother and turn around. But before she had a chance, Erza spun towards them, her expression smoothly transitioning from her vicious smirk to an easy, charming grin.

    ¡°Freckles!¡± she called affectionately and stepped over the cowering Rick to meet them. She bowed suavely before Annet and waited for the brunette to offer her hand before brushing her lips against its back. ¡°What a pleasant surprise. I hadn¡¯t realised it was time for your shift yet. Witnessing your beauty is always the highlight of my night.¡± She shot Kaydence a side glance. ¡°And you brought Grumpy Face with you, too.¡±

    ¡°Go jump into the Split, Erza.¡±

    ¡°Aw, she barks. It¡¯s adorable.¡±

    Kaydence rolled her eyes. She would have reacted more aggressively if not for Annet¡¯s presence or knowing that the other woman was only trying to goad her into a fight.

    ¡°Stop teasing her, Red,¡± Annet gently chastised. ¡°Kay was kind enough to escort me here. Hi, Bernt.¡± She waved at the young man, who returned the wave with a faint blush. ¡°So, what¡¯s going on here?¡± Annet pushed past the redhead and, frowning, knelt beside the drunk man, making her daughter tense up. ¡°Is that Richard? What happened to him?¡±

    ¡°Erza did, mostly.¡± Bernt shrugged.

    His sister spat on the ground. ¡°He pulled Lucia on his lap and tried to rip her bodice. He¡¯d already groped another girl tonight, so I merely¡­ escorted him out,¡± she spoke with equal amounts of anger and eagerness.

    Annet shot her a confused look. ¡°Richard did? No way! I know he leers a lot, but he¡¯s a sweetheart. He wouldn¡¯t hurt a fly. I¡¯m sure there¡¯s more to it¡­¡± She turned back to the man, who had started muttering to himself. ¡°Richard? Rick? Talk to me. Did something happen?¡± She reached out to touch his shoulder, prompting Kaydence to step forward.

    ¡°Annet, I don¡¯t think¨C¡±

    ¡°RAAAH!!¡± Suddenly, Rick screamed, spun, and roughly shoved Annet away. Having seemingly regained his motor skills, he scampered to his feet and unsteadily ran away into the night, stumbling every other step yet still moving surprisingly fast. Swearing loudly, Erza started to give chase but quickly changed her mind when he vanished into a side street.

    Her brother came up beside her. ¡°Do you want me to¨C¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t bother.¡± She grumbled, ¡°I knew I should have broken his legs.¡±

    Kaydence was by her mother¡¯s side the next second, helping her up and anxiously checking her over. Annet¡¯s cloak had shielded her clothes from most of the mud. Her palms had scratches from catching herself on the cobblestone, and she might have a few light bruises tomorrow but nothing worse. Kaydence sighed in relief. She wished she could use magic to fix the damage, but the siblings¡¯ presence stopped her.

    Bernt, in particular, concerned her. While not a mage, he definitely possessed a form of magic. Woven into every part of his being was an intricate Life-Darkness construct, so inextricably merged with him that Kaydence doubted anyone else would have sensed it¡ªthe bodies of sapient creatures always obfuscating foreign magic. It might have eluded even her notice had the spell not felt so familiar, yet oddly off as well. In spite of herself, this oddity kindled her scientific curiosity, that minuscule part of her mind that still fondly recalled her years of magical research, regardless of the horrors they produced.

    Kaydence shot the young man an annoyed look, which only seemed to confuse him.

    Meanwhile, Annet was trying to dismiss her daughter¡¯s worry. ¡°I¡¯m fine, Sweetie. Really, I am¡­¡± She trailed off and looked in the direction Rick had disappeared. ¡°I hope he doesn¡¯t hurt himself.¡±

    ¡°You hope¨C Hrmmm!¡± Kaydence swallowed an exasperated scream. ¡°Void! Worry about yourself, woman! What possessed you to get close to him like that?!¡±

    ¡°He looked like he was in pain¡­¡± That sounded less like an answer to Kaydence¡¯s question and more like Annet was still worrying for the molesting drunkard.

    ¡°Not in enough pain, obviously.¡± Erza returned, looking frustrated. ¡°You okay, Freckles? You got to stop treating every dangerous person you meet like they¡¯re a sick puppy in need of cuddles. You¡¯ll get your ass bitten one of these days, and not in a fun way.¡± The redhead appeared to miss the irony of her statement. Unlike her brother, Erza might lack any worrying magical peculiarities that Kaydence could detect, but the sadistic flirt certainly presented her own set of issues. ¡°Come on. Let¡¯s get you inside before you catch death.¡± She wrapped her arm around Annet¡¯s shoulders and ushered her towards the tavern entrance.

    Kaydence watched them go with a frown but hung back to talk to Bernt. The large ginger man was picking up the pieces of the broken door. ¡°What incidents?¡± she asked.

    ¡°Hm?¡± He glanced her way. ¡°Oh, that. I was mainly trying to get Erza to back off. But it¡¯s true the guards have been a pain lately. I mean, they¡¯re always a pain, ¡®cause we won¡¯t let them get away with harassing the girls, they don¡¯t like some of our regulars, and ¡®cause Ma¡¯s not from around here. Over two decades in this stinking town, and they still treat her¨C treat us like foreigners. What more do they want?¡± He threw a splintered plank to the side with too much force, scattering wood bits about. Bernt had never made a secret of his disdain for Greyport or his longing for adventure overseas.

    ¡°It¡¯s always worse near the Festival, with everything so messy ¡®round town. I guess even assholes get stressed from overwork. But they feel extra edgy this year. Wonder what¡¯s gotten into them.¡± He pushed the last of the debris out of the way. ¡°Anyway, I¡¯d rather Erza didn¡¯t give them an opportunity by maiming some guy in the middle of the street. That bastard Flynt would love to see her dangling from a rope,¡± he growled, his friendly face tight with anger. Kaydence could sense the magical construct react to his emotions, like stirring awake.

    She eyed him warily. ¡°Flynt thinks that of everyone he can¡¯t boss around or suck up to. I¡¯m told it¡¯s a manhood thing. Not my place to understand, but you can probably relate.¡±

    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

    Bernt snorted and shot her an annoyed look, but his anger subsided. ¡°I swear, you and Erza are like peas in a pod. If I didn¡¯t know better, I¡¯d think she was your sister, not mine.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t go around hitting people for fun.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s true,¡± he conceded, then smirked. ¡°That would require you to have fun. We can¡¯t have that.¡±

    Kaydence hit him.

    Bernt laughed it off, even though he briefly rubbed his large arm where she punched him. ¡°Yeah, that¡¯s not helping your case¡­ You should go in. I¡¯ll be out a little longer. I need to go out back fetching another door.¡±

    ¡°¡­you have spare doors in storage?¡±

    ¡°And windows, chairs and tables. Alcohol makes shit happen, especially around Sis. The door probably had been patched one too many times already.¡± His broad shoulders slumped. ¡°I just know Ma will yell at me for not replacing it sooner¡­ Oh, right. She wants to talk to you. She¡¯s in¨C¡±

    ¡°In the kitchen, I know.¡±

    ¡°Yep. Good luck.¡± He waved and jogged around the building.

    Left alone in the dark street, Kaydence stared at the tavern¡¯s gaping entrance. Through it streamed light and the buzz of inebriated conversations. She looked to the side, down the quiet, empty street, contemplating leaving, then sighed and stepped inside.

    The interior of the One-Eyed Bear was not anything special: stonework walls decorated with beast skulls and pelts, floors covered in rushes, a roaring fireplace, wooden furniture bearing earthenware pitchers and trenchers, flickering grease lamps, a young woman weaving between the tables with two handfuls of full tankards. However, the warm atmosphere lacked the gloom that infected the rest of the town. The patrons here, almost all regulars, were chatting merrily, loudly and without urgency¡ªdespite someone recently being thrown through the front door. In this place, this likely counted as entertainment.

    Gazes shifted to Kaydence as she entered. A few looked uncomfortable, but most quickly dismissed her to return to their meals, drinks, and company. Annet was nowhere to be seen, probably taken out back by Erza to clean up. Kaydence quickly crossed the room, eyeing the patrons as she did.

    In a corner, an old bearded sailor snored with his head against the wall and an empty mug in his hand. A trio of trappers loudly boasted about their biggest catches, each trying to one-up the others. An elderly couple shared a quiet meal on the table closest to the fire. A scarred man sat playing dice opposite a short, stout humanoid with pale, squamous skin and shaggy white hair. His bushy beard was decorated with shellfish, and his large fingers fiddled idly with barnacles growing on his forehead as he took long swigs from a bottle labelled with a mushroom and a skull. On the furthest opposite end of the room, an even shorter creature with green skin, a disproportionately large head, and wide, pointed ears was messily and noisily shovelling food inside a big mouth lined with sharp teeth. People kept their distances and shot annoyed glances his way, but none seemed bothered enough to interrupt.

    The noise drastically faded away when Kaydence walked through the heavy door barring access to the kitchen. This room was much like the previous one, but filled with barrels and victuals instead of people. The lights were dimmer here, utensils lined the walls instead of trophies, and cauldrons hung over the fireplace, their vapours having long since blackened the mantel.

    Inside, a lone woman was cleaning fish with her back turned to the entrance. Grizelda Southey was a stocky woman, middling in height but broad in frame. Her hair was the same bright red as her children, though kept shorter than either of them.

    ¡°What do you want?¡± asked Kaydence in place of greeting. She did her best to keep the tension from her voice. The tavern owner had never shown an ounce of hostility towards her, but Kaydence could not ignore the magic thrumming within the woman. It was the exact same construct of Life and Darkness mana embedded in her son, but stronger, wilder, and even more thoroughly suffused into her being. If it was hard to tell where Bernt¡¯s natural mana ended and where the spellwork started, in Grizelda, there was no such border. Moreover, though the magic felt more savage, Grizelda¡¯s control of it was absolute.

    In her current state, Kaydence was unsure she could escape unscathed if the woman ever decided to attack her¡ªnot without resorting to drastic measures.

    ¡°You good, child?¡± Grizelda asked in harsh, broken Imperial. She never turned around. Her knife swung, and fish guts were thrown nonchalantly into a waste bowl. Unlike her son and daughter, Grizelda had made no effort to shed her foreign accent. Even though she had lived in Greyport longer than Annet had been alive, her overly stressed consonants and guttural articulation gave the impression she suffered from constant sore throat.

    ¡°This again?¡± Kaydence clicked her tongue. Ever since her mother started working at the Bear four years ago, Grizelda had asked Kaydence the same question at least once a month.

    Kaydence actually had an inkling as to why, and she might even have found it amusing if the gruff woman and her well-meaning but misguided attentions did not make her so uncomfortable. Unfortunately, dispelling the misunderstanding seemed impossible without creating more problems for everyone involved, so the girl decided to humour her mother¡¯s employer. ¡°Why wouldn¡¯t I be fine? You know, if you keep asking the same question, I¡¯ll keep giving the same answer.¡±

    TSHACK!!

    Grizelda¡¯s knife stabbed loudly into her cutting board, and she halfway turned around. Her sharp blue eye pierced through Kaydence like a pick through ice. The stare lasted long enough for the silence to become awkward. Finally, the broad woman must have decided she did not like what she saw. She huffed.

    ¡°You no look good. Sit.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t ha¨C¡±

    ¡°Sit.¡±

    Kaydence reluctantly complied, and Grizelda fully turned around, revealing the ravage done to her left side. A long asymmetric fringe covered most of it, and an eyepatch hid what might remain of her left eye, but both failed to completely mask the horrific caustic burns. Over half her face, the skin looked like it had started melting and then instantly cooked solid. Her ear was a mishappen mass flattened into the side of her skull. Kaydence could almost taste the acid tang of Death magic still infecting the wound, locked in a stalemate against the power woven in Grizelda¡¯s flesh.

    A large plate of herring landed on the table in front of her.

    ¡°You eat.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve already eaten,¡± Kaydence countered.

    ¡°You eat more. Good for you. Good in stomach, good in the head.¡± She accompanied her words with gestures as if talking to a two-year-old.

    ¡°I don¡¯t¨C¡±

    ¡°Eat. Or I feed you.¡±

    Kaydence sighed but dug in. It was true she could always use more food. Her body¡¯s metabolism was all over the place, always clamouring for more nutrients. But she usually compensated for her deficiencies with Life magic, as she did to keep sleep at bay and avoid the nightmares. Some might call it unhealthy, but she saw it as an outlet for the wild power that otherwise churned inside her with nowhere to go.

    Grizelda sat across from her. She produced a small metal flask from her apron, labelled with the same mushroom and skull Kaydence saw earlier, and took a swig from it. ¡°You not get into fights soon?¡± she asked in her defective, accented Imperial.

    ¡°What are you, my mother? Go tell that to your own daughter.¡±

    ¡°Not same.¡± She did not elaborate further. ¡°You move well?¡±

    ¡°Do I what?¡± Kaydence shot her an exasperated look, which Grizelda returned.

    ¡°Move. Run. Labour. Tire yourself out. Spending excess¡­ power? Not the right word.¡±

    ¡°Energy?¡±

    ¡°Jar. Excess energy. Not good. Too much pile-up, then burst in wrong place. Physical labour help clear your head. You get?¡±

    ¡°Yeah, yeah. I understand.¡± It was actually uncanny how well Grizelda¡¯s words echoed her thoughts just now.

    ¡°¡­good. Now, end fish.¡±

    ¡°¡­¡­right.¡± Kaydence looked into the dead eye of the herring. She wondered which of them looked more awkward right now.

    Just then, the door to the kitchen opened, and Erza¡¯s head poked in. ¡°Ma, I will carry Lucia back to her dwelling,¡± she said, not in common Imperial, but in a throaty, raspy tongue that matched her mother¡¯s accent. ¡°She needs rest after that fist-calling-face ****** her.¡±

    Some words eluded Kaydence. She was familiar with the language, but it had obviously evolved in two millennia. As she often did, she pretended obliviousness and focused on her staring contest with the dead fish.

    ¡°Don¡¯t take her to bed,¡± Grizelda warned gruffly in the same tongue.

    ¡°I have better head than that!¡± Erza huffed indignantly. ¡°I know when time is right-or-wrong to ********!¡±

    Kaydence could infer that one from context.

    ¡°Good. On your way, tell your brother to **** the *********.¡±

    ¡°Will do.¡±

    The redhead vanished, leaving Grizelda and Kaydence in uncomfortable silence. Kaydence finally decided to continue eating, if only to give herself something to do and not think too much about the conversation she overheard. It was not the first time she heard Grizelda and her children speak in their native language, but it always unsettled her.

    After all, only two places on the continent used Orcish.

    One was Peyghor, the orcs¡¯ ancestral country.

    The other was a nation founded by the remnants of the so-called demon army¡­ Seifer¡¯s army¡­ the Dragon Demon King¡¯s army¡­

    Her army.

    Since Grizelda and her children were visibly not orcs, it was not difficult to infer their origin. Evidently, none of them had been alive during the War of Burning Heavens. However, some of Kaydence¡¯s old subordinates might still be.

    Such was the nature of the curses they had unleashed upon themselves.

    The mere thought of meeting any of them again made her queasy. What could she say to them? Sorry for turning you into monsters and leading you to your doom? Yes, she could see that going over very well. As if.

    Kaydence clutched her cutlery to stop herself from shaking and devoured her second meal of the evening with renewed focus. Eating under Grizelda¡¯s hawkish one-eyed gaze was deeply uncomfortable, but the stubborn woman only allowed Kaydence to leave when she had finished the entire massive fish.

    ¡°You stay off trouble,¡± she warned in place of farewell.

    ¡°Yeah, yeah¡­¡± Kaydence could not get out of that kitchen fast enough.

    Outside the door, she took a moment to settle her nerves before crossing the clamorous tavern. Every noise sounded more deafening than they had previously. The sounds, smells, gazes, and warmth felt like walls closing in on her. Walking through the room should take less than a minute, but the exit suddenly seemed so very far.

    She had only made it halfway across when her mother intercepted her.

    Annet looked no worse for wear. A lively flush coloured her freckled cheeks, and bandages wrapped her scratched hands. The sight of them brought a frown to Kaydence¡¯s face.

    ¡°Boop.¡± Annet¡¯s finger poked her daughter in the nose. ¡°What did I say about scary faces? I¡¯m fine, silly. It¡¯s barely a flesh wound. Erza overdid it with the bandages,¡± she said, hiding her hands behind her back and bouncing on the balls of her feet. ¡°Look, before you go¡­ Well, first, how dare you leave without saying goodbye?¡± She pouted. ¡°Second, I wanted to quickly talk about your earlier question, on whether I still wanted to leave the island. I realised I never gave a proper answer.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s alright. You don¡¯t have t¨C¡±

    ¡°Boop!¡± Annet poked her more forcefully. ¡°You got to start listening when people want to talk about their feelings. Actually listen, and try to understand. And who knows? You might even learn something you never knew you never knew.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t¨C¡±

    ¡°Get it,¡± Annet interrupted. ¡°I know. You don¡¯t need to understand everything right away. If you just listen attentively, some of it will make sense, eventually. Now, come on. It¡¯s too noisy in here.¡± She grabbed her daughter¡¯s hand and pulled her towards the door Bernt had already replaced.

    ¡°Don¡¯t you have to work?¡±

    ¡°Oh, don¡¯t worry. It¡¯ll only take a moment. And Grizelda is a kind woman. She¡¯ll understand.¡±

    Kaydence recalled the gruff matron who threatened to force-feed her a whole fish. ¡°...is she?¡±

    Once they were outside, Kaydence took a deep breath of cold, fresh air. The silence wrapped around her like a blanket, and she could feel her breathing evened out. She had not even realised it had become unsteady.

    Annet released her hand and walked in the middle of the street, spreading her arms as if about to do a twirl, but instead, she looked up at the cloudy sky. She let out a deep breath, a tranquil expression on her face. ¡°You know, Kay, people always wonder if there is a place out there where they could be happier. Maybe it¡¯s human nature to always chase something better, never stopping to consider what we already have.¡±

    Her gaze turned towards the ocean, even though it was not visible from here. ¡°When I was a little girl, I hated this place. My mother¡­ She was not a kind woman, let¡¯s leave it at that. I used to dream of love, of adventure, anything to take me away from here and her. Then she died. Just like that, I was alone, wondering what exactly I had been running away from. I felt very lost for a very long time¡­ It feels like it was a long time, anyway.¡±

    Kaydence stood frozen, unsure what to say or if she should even say something.

    ¡°Then, nine years ago, I found my answer. It was not what I expected, but it surpassed even my most wonderful dreams.¡± Annet skipped over to her daughter and interlaced their fingers, holding their hands up between them. Gentle brown eyes locked with unquiet red ones. ¡°To answer your question, I don¡¯t need to go anywhere anymore, because my greatest adventure is right here. And I wouldn¡¯t change it for anything in the world.¡±

    She kissed her daughter¡¯s cheek, squeezed her hands, and then slipped back into the tavern, leaving a stunned Kaydence staring into the distance.

    She stood there for a long time¡ªwhat felt like a long time, anyway¡ªbefore shaking her head. Her usual frown returned, and she looked back at the One-Eyed Bear, then out into the dark street, her gaze retracing the steps they had taken from their home to the tavern.

    She took a step away from the building. Shadows suddenly seemed to come alive and pool around her. The next instant, the street was empty.

    * * * * *

 B1CH09 - Meet the Family, Part 9: The Broker & The Wraith

    Destiny? There¡¯s no such thing as destiny. Not even the gods believe in fate. Only the ignorant do. When we send a man to the gallows, is it his destiny to die? Or is it merely a consequence of his actions and ours? Information, my friend. That is the only power that truly matters. Information, the knowledge to apply it judiciously, and the ability to question your own ignorance. The previous emperor, good ol¡¯ Neftertum, believed Destiny appointed him the greatest ruler since Kayden the Bright. He knew he was invincible. That¡¯s why, of course, he did a terrible job and died a pathetic death. Never forget, there¡¯s always someone who knows something you don¡¯t.

    ¡ªJasper Nezir, Imperial Prince of the Radiant Empire, 2492 AK

    -

    Rest 29, 2497 AK, Radiant Empire, Cleft Isles, Greyport.

    The stench in the alleyway remained exactly as Kaydence remembered it: a foul blend of blood, terror, and human waste. She could almost hear echoes of screams and silenced pleas for mercy, feel the pressure of phantom hands on her throat, the tension in her limbs trying to break free from a stronger assailant.

    Mana was ubiquitous in this world. It bridged the material and the immaterial and reacted to powerful emotions. As such, impactful events always left their mark in the ambient aether, discernable to those who knew to seek them. It was not exclusive to mages either. Even mundane folk often felt discomfort in places where the unspeakable had happened.

    This was magic in its most ancient form, one that existed since the Old World, before people mastered mana, created spells and called themselves mages, back when the inhabitants of the world would gather and wish together for their desires to come true, hoping the world would listen. Some saw in it the origin of prayer. Some even said there lay the genesis of the gods, birthed from people¡¯s expectations and sustained by their collective beliefs.

    Right now, Kaydence wished she could avoid this blood-soaked alleyway and the memories it evoked. Sadly, the world seemed deaf to her pleas.

    Not that she had anyone to blame but her own stubbornness. She cared not what evils the people of Greyport visited upon each other¡ªso long as they stayed away from her and hers. However, ignoring these matters entirely would be irresponsible. Any suspicious death could turn out to be the work of a criminal mage, and letting heretics go unchecked was begging for the Imperial Inquisition to intervene.

    Kaydence wanted to prevent that at all costs. As confident as she was in her stealth, she was loath to play hide-and-seek with mages trained in hunting their own kind. Any Inquisitor worth their salt would take one look at her and at least investigate, and who knew what tools they had at their disposal or what they might find? Getting caught would spell disaster. Laws had certainly changed in two millennia, but back in Seifer¡¯s days, the norm had been to erase the entire family of any proven necromancer. She doubted the modern imperial authorities were any more clement. After all, magic was too dangerous to take its practitioners lightly.

    Ironically, this worked in her favour as well. Because no one wanted murder-happy wizards around, the City Guard actually did a semi-decent job tracking them down. Anonymous tips usually sufficed for the duke¡¯s men to move swiftly, and Kaydence only had to intervene personally a couple of times.

    She found the girl¡¯s body behind a pile of rotting crates.

    The blood pool around the corpse had long since frozen in the winter night cold. Yet, the smell lingered, and so did the stench of all the other fluids. Death was a messy business, especially a violent one. The human body was a horrific work of art, operating on a delicate balance, and when that balance broke, things fell apart fast.

    Kaydence never understood the appeal of watching public executions. Was it boredom, sadism, or a desire to reaffirm their own righteousness that drove a person to watch another dangle at the end of a rope until their bowels voided? She had seen and caused too much death to understand the mind of a regular civilian. Morbid curiosity, maybe? Humans did have a formidable ability to detach their emotions from anything that did not affect them directly.

    Her awareness spread throughout the alley, performing a more thorough inspection than the superficial one before. However, she found no trace of residual mana, whether from a spell or a magical presence¡ªonly painful echoes that she forcefully shut out. This crossed out some of her worst-case scenarios. There were many ways to hide one¡¯s mana, but few were foolproof against an attentive opponent or a dedicated investigator. Then again¡­ Kaydence wondered, pulling back her own aura and doing her best to cover her metaphysical tracks. My expertise isn¡¯t exactly up to date. Greyport¡¯s defensive wards alone told her humanity¡¯s magic had kept progressing while she was busy being dead.

    Careful to avoid leaving any footprint, she crouched beside the corpse. Scarce rivulets of moonlight trickled through the clouds, and fewer still reached inside the narrow alley, but they sufficed for her to inspect the dead girl. ¡°¡­she¡¯s just a kid,¡± Kaydence muttered, quashing an unwelcome swell of anger. The girl was young, not yet in her twenties. Her cheeks were bruised, her teeth chipped, her nose broken. Her slack expression reflected the abject fear, pain and confusion she had felt in her last moments. Lifeless blue eyes stared up at the thin band of sky above the alley, as if seeking an escape. She might have prayed for help at the end, only to receive none.

    Her face jogged Kaydence¡¯s memory, but recognition did not click until she noticed traces of badly wiped rust-coloured makeup on the girl¡¯s forehead. Her mind flashed back to a young prostitute, wearing too much face paint and too little clothing, shivering as she dragged a man into a brothel by the Split. Kaydence could not recall what the man looked like. It had been less than three hours ago, and she had been well alive back then.

    So much could happen in such a short span of time.

    A struggling light so easy to snuff out. The cause of death was obvious. A chunk of flesh was missing from the girl¡¯s throat, as if bitten off by a wild animal. The blood from the wound had soaked her ripped collar, turning the white dress brownish red. However, the shape of the bite was wrong for a beast, and while the girl¡¯s clothes had been torn, her body lacked any claw marks. A person did this¡­ At least a monster in the guise of one.

    Kaydence knew those better than anyone else.

    ¡°Who did this to you?¡± She reached out to close the girl¡¯s eyes but stopped herself at the last moment. ¡°Maybe I should just ask.¡± Even with their soul gone, corpses often had a lot to say. People remembered things with more than just their minds, and recent murder victims were always among the chattiest.

    However, before Kaydence could decide whether this was even worth dusting her old necromancy skills, noises from the alley¡¯s entrance caught her attention: footsteps and the clinking of chainmail.

    ¡°Who¡¯s there?!¡± called out an unpleasantly familiar voice. A group of guards bearing torches walked into the dark alley. Leading them was Flynt¡¯s weasely mug, followed by a greying older man in a fancier uniform holding a staff. The taciturn Carl brought up the rear along with three others. ¡°Show yourself!¡± Raising his torch, Flynt squinted suspiciously down the alley.

    The firelight revealed nothing but the pile of rotting crates and the dead body.

    ¡°I¡¯d swear I saw¡­¡± Flynt¡¯s voice trailed off. Still scrutinising the obscurity, he gestured at the rear group, who split into two pairs to cover both ends of the street. ¡°Something¡¯s not right.¡±

    ¡°You mean, besides the obvious?¡± the older guard commented sarcastically, eyeing the corpse. ¡°Allow me.¡± Ignoring Flynt¡¯s mean glare, he raised his staff and started chanting an incantation. Lights gathered at the tip of his staff in a circle of odd geometric shapes.

    Looking down from a rooftop, hidden in a chimney¡¯s shade, Kaydence recognised the first glyphs of a detection spell and decided she had snooped enough. With a discreet magic cast of her own, darkness swelled around her, and she faded away into the shadows.

    * * *

    The faint scratching of a quill on paper was the loudest noise inside the cramped, dimly lit office. No window allowed the stuffy air in or out. Rows upon rows of tightly packed shelves lined the walls, heaving and creaking under the weight of countless unlabelled notebooks. Hunched over a small desk, a corpulent man was penning oddly mundane anecdotes, records of Greyport¡¯s weather and its impact on the migration patterns of the imperial trout over the fishing season. To anyone else, it would read like pure nonsense.

    The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

    Edon leaned back with a groan, set the notebook aside to dry, and put down his quill. He checked the mana charge of the magic lamp sitting on his desk. Finding it low, he pushed some power into the engraved crystal. He was no mage, but even he could do this much.

    A mage. Me. Now that¡¯s a laugh. A chuckle escaped Edon as he pictured his lardy ass throwing lightning bolts across some faraway battlefield. Those silly childhood dreams of his had been thoroughly doused on his Appraisal Day. As a wee twelve-year-old, he had been devastated to hear of his lacking magical affinities. As a grown adult, however, he had since come to terms with his place in the world and had carved a comfortable niche for himself.

    The bluish light brightened, and a smile lifted Edon¡¯s round cheeks. Lacking the ability to conjure up firestorms did not stop him from enjoying using these simple luxuries. The small artefact had been expensive, and it barely lit more than a much cheaper candle, but this was a price he was willing to pay to keep fire hazards out of his study.

    He picked up an open scroll lying to his right, looked over the content one last time, and rolled it up. ¡°Talin!¡± he shouted.

    Soon, the door creaked loudly open, admitting a stick-thin youth with messy wheat-blond hair and a pockmarked face. ¡°Yes, Master Edon?¡±

    ¡°Seal this and bring it to the captain of the Flying Crab. Pontoon six.¡±

    Talin raised an eyebrow. ¡°The Flying Crab?¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re not paid to give lip to our clients¡¯ naming sense, boy,¡± Edon warned playfully.

    ¡°Yes, Master Edon. My bad. I¡¯ll be going then.¡± The lad picked up the scroll and was off, the door whining shut behind him. Edon winced at the noise. He needed to get those hinges fixed.

    Letting out another amused chuckle, Edon picked up the notebook that had finished drying. He closed and tied it shut with a leather strap, then stood with a huff and walked to one of the shelves, hesitating only an instant before slotting the booklet in a spot that only made sense to his peculiar sorting strategy.

    He took a step back and a moment to admire his collection. Rows upon rows of carefully catalogued gossip, statistics, all sorts of information, lists of contacts, clients and targets, all recorded using a code only he knew the secret of. The life of an underworld information broker was undoubtedly not what Edon¡¯s baker father had hoped for him. But the portly man was proud of what he had built: becoming maybe not the most prominent informer in the city, but one with a solid reputation for reliability.

    The Cleft Isles might have been an unimportant territory within the Radiant Empire, ignored by the mainland despite the Greyport nobility¡¯s desperate attempts to emulate the capital¡¯s lifestyle. However, it sat at the midpoint of the trade route that sailed along the Empire¡¯s east coast. Wise captains knew to avoid the Abyssal Trench and detour by the archipelago, and so all manners of goods, people, and stories transited through Greyport every day. Competition was cut-throat in this information business¡ªoften literally¡ªand it was an undeniable accomplishment that Edon could today consider his situation relatively secure.

    A sudden cold shiver ran down the man¡¯s spine.

    Brought out of his musings, Edon noticed his breath fogging up. Before he realised, the stuffy warmth had leached out of the room, and the feeble glow of the magic lamp had dwindled to almost nothing. He gulped nervously, rubbing his shoulder against the abnormal cold, and slowly turned around.

    A shadow stood in the middle of his darkened office, clad in a long black cowl. It floated in the obscurity, towering to the ceiling and dissolving into smoke at the fringes, looking like a reaper of Urabi, the Death Goddess. Edon did not dare look into the cloak¡¯s hood, for he knew it held nothing but impenetrable pitch-blackness.

    ¡°W-Wraith!¡± Edon caught his breath, and a professional smile crawled onto his pear-shaped face. He was pleased that his voice shook only a little. ¡°S-So lovely of you to drop by.¡± He returned to his desk, eager to put even a symbolic barrier between him and his visitor. Once seated, it was easier to fake assurance. ¡°What do you have for me?¡±

    A dull noise accompanied a leather-bound ledger dropping on the desk. It seemed to materialise out of thin air, and the figure certainly had not visibly moved. A slow, deep voice wheezed out from underneath the hood, like hoarse wind hissing out of a deep well. ¡°Accounts of Viscount Darien¡¯s criminal activities.¡±

    ¡°Oh? Oh! Excellent!¡± The broker cheered up, as always at the prospect of profit. He leaned over and skimmed through the rather thick volume, squinting to read in the oppressive darkness. It appeared authentic. Coins danced in Edon¡¯s eyes. ¡°You work miracles, my friend.¡± He retrieved a heavy purse from a drawer and pushed it across the desk. ¡°Here¡¯s the usual fee. With a bonus. No, no. I insist.¡± A wave of Wraith¡¯s ample sleeve made the bag vanish.

    One thing Edon appreciated about Wraith, besides scary competence, was how business always happened swiftly. The dark mage never haggled or even counted the money. Not that the broker would ever dare short-change the frightening personage. He still sharply remembered the night, half a decade ago, when this ¡°Wraith¡± first appeared inside his office. He nearly had a heart attack, persuaded an agent of Urabi had come to claim his muddied soul.

    Edon had since figured out Wraith as a mage with dual affinities for ice and darkness¡ªand a flair for the dramatic.

    At least, that was what he told himself in the warmth and safety of his office, long after his guest¡¯s chilling and predatory presence had cleared the room. In those five years of collaboration, he had made the mistake of upsetting Wraith exactly once. The broker had been too curious and had men follow the mysterious stranger. Never again. Edon had certainly learned that lesson.

    At least his men were returned alive. Barely. Of the three, one recovered but retired, one still spent his days staring at a wall and randomly screaming in terror, and the last one had thrown himself off a cliff a year later.

    ¡°Any new requests?¡± Wraith wheezed out, startling Edon out of his dark recollection.

    ¡°Ah, err¡­¡± Edon pulled a notebook from a pile, opening it at a marked page. ¡°Cheating spouse?¡± The answering silence was deafening. Edon pulled at his collar nervously. ¡°Right, well, can¡¯t blame me for trying to expedite some easy contracts. Hehe, he, ehhh¡­ Ahem.¡± He flipped through the pages. ¡°I¡¯ve got rumours of another shipment of Ruby Dust coming into town, using the festival as cover.¡±

    Wraith¡¯s hood twitched at the mention of the dangerous drug. ¡°That filth again?¡±

    Endon shared the mage¡¯s disdain. Inhaled, the red dust gave a feeling of euphoria and invulnerability, enhanced one¡¯s strength, and removed all sense of pain. It might have been helpful for therapeutic purposes, except the dust also provoked intense murderous impulses, a thirst for blood, skin discolouration, and hypersensitivity to light. Regular consumption also caused a rapid deterioration of the addicts¡¯ physical and mental state, eventually reducing them to shambling, corpse-like, raving lunatics attacking anyone on sight. Another name for the drug was ¡°Vampire Dust,¡± although whether it was made of actual dried vampire blood like hearsays claimed was left to prove.

    ¡°Is any already in circulation in the city?¡± asked Wraith. The mage sounded pensive.

    ¡°Not to my knowledge.¡± Edon left unsaid that his knowledge of the city underworld was quite extensive. ¡°Though if you wish to investigate, I¡¯ll gladly buy any new information from you.¡± He flipped through his notebook. ¡°Besides that¡­ Someone is asking for information on ancient tunnels underneath the duke¡¯s castle. There¡¯s a request for dirt on the head of the Gold Leaf shipping company. Then one about a¨C ahem¨C about a suspicious figure spotted lurking in the¡­ noble district¡­¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not me.¡±

    ¡°Of course.¡± Edon smiled politely but neglected to comment more. He set the booklet down. ¡°Nothing else worth your time, my friend, except the usual ongoing criminal bounties.¡± He hesitated. ¡°Also, people have gone missing.¡±

    ¡°¡­people vanish all the time,¡± the dark mage noted slowly, though not quite dismissively.

    ¡°It¡¯s been happening more, recently. Mostly people nobody would care about, urchins, vagrants, whores. Because of that, it appears the Guard isn¡¯t alarmed yet. But I like keeping to the pulse of the street, so to speak.¡±

    ¡°Why do you care?¡±

    Edon linked his fingers over his rotund belly. ¡°Some of my competitors might disagree, but I believe that insecurity is bad for business. I¡¯m a civic man, you see. Also, if there¡¯s some serial murderer on the loose¡­¡±

    ¡°A hefty bounty for their identity. I understand.¡±

    Was that sarcasm Edon heard in the mage¡¯s ghastly voice? He preferred not to question it. He leaned down and retrieved a slip of paper from a drawer. ¡°Here¡¯s a list of the potential victims.¡± He pushed the paper over, and a sweep of Wraith¡¯s sleeve made it vanish. ¡°I identified seventeen suspicious cases so far¨C¡±

    ¡°Eighteen.¡±

    ¡°I beg your pardon?¡±

    ¡°Eighteen cases. A girl working at the Bronze Palace was murdered tonight. Throat ripped out, teeth marks around the wounds, and left to bleed out in an alley.¡±

    ¡°Dear me¡­ Poor girl. Teeth marks, you said? Oh¡­ I think I understand your question better now.¡± Edon picked up his quill. ¡°Could you give me more details about¨C¡±

    ¡°The guards have her corpse. Ask your moles there.¡±

    ¡°Ah¡­ I understand.¡± Edon tried to hide his disappointment.

    ¡°I will check for the drugs and the tunnels¡­ and keep an eye out for¡­ suspicious characters.¡±

    ¡°Much appreciated, friend.¡± The broker smiled nervously, then leaned over his notebook to scribble that the requests were being handled. ¡°Are you sure I cannot interest you in a cup of tea?¡± he asked out of politeness rather than a genuine desire to keep the mage around.

    But when Edon looked up from his writing, the space before his desk was empty. The temperature was back to normal, and the unnatural darkness had lifted. He scratched his head. ¡°¡­how does he keep doing that?¡±

    Edon sighed and shook his head. He hoped these assignments would occupy the scary mage for some time. As much as he liked working with competent people, too many of them turned out to be unnerving weirdos¡ªthough Wraith sure took the cake. Too many visits from such people would be bad for his heart.

    Heaving yet another sigh, he got back to work.

    Not much later, a knock on the door interrupted him.

    ¡°Yes?¡± he called without looking up.

    The door creaked open loudly, making Edon frown, and Talin¡¯s unfortunate face poked through. ¡°Master Edon.¡± The boy looked annoyed.

    ¡°Did everything go well with the client?¡±

    ¡°What? Oh, that. Yes, yes. But, err, there¡¯s a goodman Gale at the door, asking to meet you.¡±

    Edon¡¯s quill stilled. ¡°Thirty-ish, grey hair, looks like he hasn¡¯t slept in a year?¡±

    ¡°Uh-uh.¡± Talin nodded, nose scrunching. ¡°Or had a bath, if I may say.¡±

    ¡°¡­send him in.¡±

    ¡°Yes, master.¡±

    The door closed. Edon slowly set his quill down and leaned back, fighting a sudden headache.

    * * * * *

 B1CH10 - Meet the Family, Part 10: The (Good) Old Days

    [¡­] acquisition of basic education in the subjects of Language, Numbers, Nature Studies, and Society is free and compulsory for all children who attained eight years of age at the start of the school year, signifying the first of Enliven of a given year, for a period of four years or until their Day of Appraisal. In all matters, the empire must endeavour to uphold and safeguard this inalienable right, as such is the unerring path to the continuous uplift of humanity¡¯s great civilisation.

    ¡ªImperial Prosperity Laws, article 7, section 1, as ratified by Emperor Kayden Nezir in 2 AK.

    -

    Rest 30, 2497 AK, Radiant Empire, Cleft Isles, Greyport, Northern Sanctuary of the Faith.

    ¡°Today, my children, as we bask in the Twelve¡¯s glory on the eve of the Founder¡¯s Festival, let us remind ourselves of the illustrious figure we celebrate this fortnight, our glorious First Emperor, Kayden the Bright.¡±

    Rows upon rows of wooden benches and tables stretched across the length of the classroom, intended to accommodate up to fifty children comfortably. However, this last morning of the month of Rest saw at least twice that number crammed inside. All nine to ten-year-olds in their second year of schooling, who would typically be distributed across multiple classes, were brought together, not for a regular lesson, but for a sermon before the festival school break. Similar lectures were happening in three other rooms within Greyport North¡¯s Sanctuary of the Faith, each addressing a different year group.

    ¡°Two and a half millennia ago, our Radiant Empire was but a dream in the mind of the noble Kayden, Knight General of the Radiance Kingdom. It was a dark era, full of sadness, war, misfortune, and despair. From all that wickedness emerged Zeipheron, the Dragon Demon King, the Son of the Void¡ªa malevolent entity embodying pure Evil and Destruction. With hate for all of Creation in his blackened heart, Zeipheron sought to shatter the divine works of the Twelve, to unleash slaughter upon humanity, and to burn our world to the ground with his sinister flames! A dire fate loomed large, threatening to plunge all into the Abyss!¡±

    The booming voice of the lector priest, one Basil Burtin, echoed through the classroom from his raised platform at the head of it. The corpulent man was working himself into a fervour, the sun pendant around his girthy throat bouncing back and forth atop his rotund belly with every impassionate sweep of his arms.

    ¡°However! Amidst the despair, a beacon of hope appeared: the great First Emperor! In the face of overwhelming Evil, Kayden stood tall, a paragon of courage, chosen by gods and destiny to become the saviour of humanity! With valour in his heart, he united the scattered realms, forging our Radiant Empire under the benevolent light of his rule. And with the combined might of humankind at his back, the blessing of the Twelve, and his sword in hand, Kayden faced the Dragon Demon King head-on, leading our courageous armies with unwavering resolve!¡±

    Transported by his own words, Lector Burtin leaned heavily on his lectern, clutching the edges of it, his knuckles turning white. His belly pressed painfully into the creaking wood, and perspiration glistened across his bald head. Devout ardour shook his shouted words, showering in spittle the kids of the first row who listened with rapt attention.

    ¡°Picture with me, children! The clash of swords and magic, the armies of Good marching down on the demonic swarms to save us all, as our valiant First Emperor struck down the Enemy, banishing this Great Evil from our lands! That is why! Every year! We seek to rekindle that righteous fervour by gathering in joyous celebration to honour Kayden¡¯s radiant victory and the founding of humanity¡¯s greatest civilisa¨C¡±

    A loud yawn cut through the lector¡¯s speech. Burtin choked on his preaching as all heads turned to the back of the packed classroom. Despite the number of students, an open space had formed around an isolated desk against the rear wall and its occupant.

    Kaydence stuck out like a sore thumb in the crowd of pre-teens, with her tall height, abnormal morphology, and unique dark skin colour. She sat on a chair precariously balanced on two legs, her head dipped backwards over the backrest, and her eyes closed. As if unaware the whole room¡¯s attention had shifted to her, she let loose another loud, jaw-dislocating yawn.

    Kaydence had spent the last night running around the city, avoiding the guards while looking for clues about that prostitute¡¯s death¡ªfrustratingly, in vain. With morning nearing, she had rushed back to the One-Eyed Bear to secretly shadow Annette, whom Bernt escorted home. She had had to climb down the Split¡¯s cliff to overtake the pair and sneak inside her dwelling to pretend to be asleep. All in all, she had slept less than an hour between her mother¡¯s return and being woken up by nightmares, too close to dawn to bother going back to bed.

    This was only the latest in a series of sleepless nights. In theory, Kaydence¡¯s boundless Life magic could allow her body to function indefinitely at peak efficiency without ever needing to rest. Such was the point of the undead, after all. However, unlike revived corpses, a living human mind could only stay active for so long before it started to wear down. Even the body required sleep to conduct hormonal regulation, detoxification, and many essential biological processes that Kaydence was instead consciously managing, adding to her mental burden.

    A third uncontrollable yawn crawled out from the depths of her throat.

    ¡°You little pest!¡± A vein bulged on Lector Burtin¡¯s humid forehead. ¡°Is the founding tale of our glorious empire boring you, Student Templeton?¡±

    Kaydence did not react right away. People so rarely used her surname that she often forgot about it. In Seifer¡¯s days, only nobles carried ancestral names, but sometime in the past two millennia, the imperial bureaucracy decided for the sanity of its administrators to assign surnames to everyone. Still, it was a concern for tax collectors more than common folk, and everyday usage was scarce, even in school. Burtin simply could not stomach speaking Kaydence¡¯s given name, calling it blasphemous on several occasions.

    ¡°Oh, me?¡± Kaydence raised her head and picked at her teeth with a sharp nail. ¡°Yeah. No, not bored at all.¡± She yawned conspicuously. ¡°Just wondering why the First Emperor was such a coward that he had to have all of mankind and a dozen gods backing him up before he dared to have a go at this Zeipheron guy.¡±

    Burtin¡¯s apoplectic sputters rained more spittle on the first-row students. ¡°How dare you desecra¨C¡±

    This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

    ¡°Ah, but wait,¡± Kaydence interrupted, inspecting a piece of vegetable she had extracted from between her teeth. ¡°Didn¡¯t Kayden become king of Radiance and start the empire after he defeated the D.D.K.? So maybe he wasn¡¯t a coward after all, and you¡¯re just a shit History teacher. You might want to revise your basics, Reverend. I¡¯m sure you wouldn¡¯t want to sound unpatriotic or blasphemous¡­ I heard there¡¯s no worse things you could be.¡±

    ¡°Get out.¡± Burtin¡¯s double chins were trembling in contained rage.

    ¡°You said it. Not me.¡± Kaydence let her chair fall on its feet, stood, and headed straight for the door to the courtyard. Students parted in her way, squeezing themselves between the desks.

    ¡°No. Not that way.¡± The lector called her back. He pointed at a door in the front corner of the room. ¡°Go sit in the temple and reflect on your blasphemous insults against the holy man who, in his mercy, allowed even foul demons such as you to receive an education that the barbarians of old reserved for only their rulers.¡±

    ¡°Ah, yes. I¡¯m sure every child in here is very grateful for that.¡± She rolled her eyes but complied, making her way back across the room. ¡°And wasn¡¯t your precious First Emperor one of those ¡®barbarians of old¡¯?¡±

    ¡°GET OUT!!¡±

    ¡°Alright, alright. No need to give yourself an aneurysm. I¡¯m leaving.¡±

    Privately, she did hope those brats were grateful for the opportunity to learn as they did. She found it endlessly frustrating that many intelligent soldiers she had encountered in the military in her past life could have become scholars and contributed to the kingdom¡¯s progress if they only had had access to a better education. Instead, they died pointless deaths in senseless conflicts, not even able to write letters to their loved ones, who would have been unable to read them anyway.

    Kayden and she used to endlessly debate this subject, and others, often arguing for different solutions. He and Seifer rarely saw eye to eye, but Seifer had cherished those moments when his brother actually seemed to listen to him.

    Kaydence¡¯s throat tightened as she exited the room. Stupid. Her teeth grinded together. She slammed the door harder than she intended, cutting off Burtin¡¯s retort. What¡¯s even the point of reminiscing about the good old days? They weren¡¯t even that good to begin with.

    The silent temple greeted her. Access to the classrooms was through a shaded alcove in the eastern aisle. Kaydence wandered to the nave, her steps echoing loudly in the empty temple, as they tended to do in such places.

    Morning sunlight streamed in oblique beams from high windows near the vaulted ceiling. The Sanctuary of the Faith was the vastest complex in old Greyport, and the main temple was the tallest structure on this side of the chasm. Kaydence¡¯s eyes fleeted without seeing over the mosaic floors, the rows of pews, and the tall collonades carved in representation of each of the twelve high gods of the imperial orthodoxy. Small offerings of incense were burning at the foot of each statue, filling the air with a pungent, spicy-sweet fragrance.

    Kaydence disliked the scent. Being in here always made her uneasy, unwelcome. She imagined the impassive stone deities glaring down at her when she was not looking. Their gazes would be judgemental and reproachful. They would ask, ¡°How dare you stand before us?¡± in resounding voices made of storm and thunder, full of anger and contempt. They had the right to judge her guilty. Although, Kaydence too had quite a few complaints to levy towards them.

    Her steps halted before the altar, a rectangular block of solid sunstone, the pale sandy rock emitting a feeble natural luminescence. The throne of the king of Radiance had been made of that same material. Kaydence remembered well. She had knelt many times before that throne.

    She had shattered it.

    Beyond the altar, at the back of the circular apse, a large symbol adorned the wall between two tall burning braziers: thick golden threads interlaced in concentric circles set with twelve coloured gemstones. At the centre, a thirteenth stood for Arakhan, the Sea of Possibilities, the Original Being, Antithesis of the Void, and Source of Everything, from which even the first gods emerged. Unlike the others, Arakhan¡¯s stone was a managem, created from the crystallisation of aether, and it glowed faintly with the power it contained.

    The Hierogram of the Dodecatheon was the most holy symbol of the Imperial Orthodox Faith. It represented at once the hierarchy of the Twelve Heavenly Gods and the interconnection of the twelve primary magical affinities as humans understood them¡ªtwo sides of the same coin. A ray of sunlight shone straight on the symbol, as if the world acknowledged its holiness, although it was more likely the cleverness of the architects.

    Kaydence¡¯s gaze inexorably drifted upwards from the hierogram to the painted domed ceiling of the apse.

    On the far side, facing the congregation, was a depiction of Kayden the Hero, Kayden the Chosen, Kayden the Bright, immaculate in his full armoured regalia and enclosed in a halo of radiant light. His blue eyes, vivid and detailed, stared straight at the pews, so that anyone attending mass could only meet his implacable gaze. In his hand, he brandished the holy sword, Mercy, towards the painted hierogram at the dome¡¯s apex and, by extension, towards the creature across the fresco.

    Six people flanked the hero, painted in fanned-out valiant profiles as if jumping out into battle to defend their leader: a tanned woman with burning hair, a robed man holding a staff, a dwarf wielding a gilded war hammer, a dove-winged Celestial brandishing a spear, a white-haired man cradling a wooden marionette, and a brawny elf pulling back the string of his bow. From behind these hallowed figures rushed the armies of the humans, the elves, and the dwarves, with Celestials and phoenixes occupying the skies, facing off at the fresco¡¯s halfway point against an opposing tide of vampires, werewolves, dark elves, corrupted dwarves, orcs, and all matters of the undead and abominations of the flesh.

    Commanding the enemy hordes from across the vaulted ceiling were six other sideway figures, but painted with a far more ominous intent: a deathly pale woman with sharp teeth dripping streams of blood, a hideous wolf-man holding a human corpse in his maw, a red-robed skeleton casting black lightning from its phalanxes, a dark elf clad in a patchwork of human skins, a massive green orc wielding gory battle axes, and a grinning woman holding a giant scythe and pointing imperiously at the forces of the Radiant Alliance.

    The last character of the scene stood between these six, depicted where it would loom over the audience during celebrations. It was a humanoid creature, covered in obsidian scales, exuding a threatening red aura. Misshapen black wings sprouted from his back, stretching across the battlefield as if to smother it. Mangled bodies overflowed from its clawed grasp. Twisted horns protruded from its reptilian head; a too-small crown hung askew from one of them as if in mockery. Its mouth was a serrated hole, spewing flames and inhaling souls, looking like a hellish gateway. Its ruby eyes seemed to gleam with hateful malevolence even in painting.

    Kaydence had to compliment the talent of the artist.

    Giving Mirage a scythe was an interesting creative license. Such an impractical weapon would have suited the unpredictable woman, if only just for show. In reality, she had never wielded anything bigger than a dagger and always stayed as far from the frontlines as possible. Even though, as Seifer¡¯s chief strategist, she had likely caused more indirect death among the common soldiery than any of his other lieutenants. So perhaps making her a reaper of lives was more inspired than Kaydence initially gave it credit for.

    The girl did not linger inside much longer. Too much in here unsettled her, and she was glad Annette was such an unorthodox woman that their family never attended any of the celebrations that formed the pattern of Greyport¡¯s social life.

    Not that they would have been welcome there.

    Kaydence turned her back to the altar, the symbol, and the painting and hurried down the central aisle. A sweeper she had not noticed gave her a disgusted look as she passed by him. She replied by growling and showing her teeth menacingly, causing the man to retreat in fright. She paused, shook her head, and walked away, her hand briefly clutching her stomach.

    At the temple¡¯s main door, she shot a last glance backwards at the fresco, briefly meeting the unwavering stare of Kayden the Bright.

    What good old days?

    The door slammed behind her harder than she intended.

    * * * * *

 B1CH11 - Meet the Family, Part 11: Food Chain

    Magic. Oh, Magic. Wondrous and terrible. Mimicry of godly might. You free the mind from its mortal shackles and ensnare the heart in your corruption. As the sinful forget the fatal lessons of their forefathers, you lead more astray with your magnificent allure.

    In the last days of the Jaldehim, the hearts of the Ancients became consumed by your delusions of godliness. You made them lovers of power, boastful, arrogant, abusive, ungrateful, unholy, unfeeling, uncooperative, slanderous, degenerate, brutal, hateful of what is good, traitors, reckless, conceited, and lovers of themselves rather than lovers of the divine.

    Too great to shun is indeed the potential within the arcane arts, yet wielders must guard themselves against the pride and decadence that felled the Progenitors. Unchecked power leads to the irreparable distortion of the soul. Let not the pursuit of magic blind one to the perils it conceals; for in the certainty of corruption lies the call for discipline, humility, and a vigilant heart.

    ¡ªverses from the Custodian Order¡¯s Scripture.

    -

    Rest 30, 2497 AK, Radiant Empire, Cleft Isles, Greyport, Northern Sanctuary of the Faith.

    The smooth temple walls were never intended for climbing. Doing so in broad daylight was not the wisest either. But Kaydence was in no mood to be wise. She was exhausted, in pain and angry¡ªat nothing in particular. She was just¡­ angry. The unpleasant feelings acquired inside, looking at the murals, clung to her like tar, poisoning her thoughts.

    Her fingernails wedged into the thin seams between the stone blocks, pulling her ever upwards, ripping in the process. Blood trickled slowly down her hands, one droplet at a time. Her injuries healed too fast to allow more bleeding, and the hurt of her ripping nails felt fresh every time. She could have stopped it, silenced her frazzled nerve endings, but she cherished the pain. It reminded her of those parts of her that were still human¡ªor human once more.

    She was terrified to lose them again.

    Seagulls scattered frightfully when Kaydence vaulted over the roof¡¯s edge. A scarcely used walkway ran around the central dome, and she followed it to one of the corner turrets. Above and beside her, the sky was clear, free of yesterday¡¯s choking fog. The weather always seemed unnaturally clement at the start of the Founder¡¯s Festival. Many saw in it divine providence. The occasional lone cloud sped by, carried by the strong ocean winds that dishevelled Kaydence¡¯s hair, tugged at her clothes and scattered the smoke of the town¡¯s chimneys.

    The morning sun was still rising. Kaydence had made sure to climb the shaded western side at an angle where she would be difficult to spot. She might act recklessly, sometimes, perhaps too often, but she tried not to be overly stupid when she could help it.

    The half-day of schooling was already close to ending when Burtin had expelled her. Soon, Annet would come to fetch her and Sarmin. Kaydence had no time to wander around town. Thus, she decided to try to catch a nap where no one would bother her.

    Hence, the roof.

    Short, square, pointed towers marked the corners of the temple roof. Though they might look like defensive structures, Kaydence doubted they had any purpose other than decoration. Access to them was too unprotected, and their windows were too wide. However, they did make for good secluded nap spots and offered an unobstructed view of the sanctuary below.

    The modern complex spanned several housing blocks. The Sanctuary of the Faith was the nerve centre for the citizens¡¯ social lives. It encompassed not only the main temple and the school halls, but several chapels dedicated to minor gods, the clergy¡¯s quarters, and the northern Greyport¡¯s columbarium and library¡ªwhat it amounted to. A significant part of the whole was taken by the House of Uat, over a quarter, to accommodate its public baths and hospice. The House also technically served as a separate temple for the Goddess of Water, whose faith was naturally prominent on an isolated archipelago.

    The entire area was built in a style Kaydence considered distinctively imperial: high walls made of large stone bricks, horseshoe arches and doorways, colonnades aplenty, domed roofs with cupolas, pyramidal spires, and statues at every corner. It contrasted sharply with the half-timbered architecture of the houses just across the street, like pieces from two different paintings stitched together.

    From her perch, Kaydence watched the people go about their business, tiny as ants. Everything looked so mundane and peaceful from up here.

    Staring straight down, she could barely see into one of the classrooms, where the third years were receiving the same long-winded lecture she had been booted from. The angle only showed her the seat closest to the window, at the back of the room, coincidentally occupied by her half-elf childhood¡­ friend? acquaintance? cohabitant? They did not even truly live under the same roof. Lenril only dumped his kid with Annet whenever he went out hunting, which was most of the time. Not that Kaydence had any parenting lessons to give.

    Sarmin probably got relegated to that seat because it was the coldest spot in the room. It had been far too long since the windows had been resealed, and during the cold months, the draught was constant¡ªnot a pleasant place to sit still for hours. Kaydence had heard rumours he was being picked on, which frankly did not surprise her. Even as a full-blooded human, the meek boy would have been bullied, and his pointy ears, fair skin, and slanted green eyes helped none. Children could often be more openly cruel than adults.

    ¡°¡­not my problem,¡± Kaydence muttered, turning away. It was not like the kid looked unhappy, listening captivated as the lecturer surely rambled on about the First Emperor¡¯s heroic feats, his pointed ears twitching in attention, only shivering occasionally. Kaydence slid to the stone floor, reclined against the wall, hands behind her head, and tried to find some elusive sleep.

    No time seemed to have passed at all when the temple horns bellowed midday, startling Kaydence out of her somnolence. ¡°Void,¡± she groaned, her head ringing from the noise. As much as she longed to dawdle the rest of the day alone up here, she started contemplating how to climb down undetected, when a commotion from below caught her sensitive ears.

    ¡°What now?¡± Sighing, she leaned over the roof¡¯s edge, and her expression quickly soured.

    * * *

    Life for Sarmin Mercer was a confusing and stressful experience. He had long ago realised everyone around him was bigger and stronger than him, and whether he liked it or not, those people got to decide the rules, even when they made no sense. He knew his father loved him, yet Lenril was often absent when his son needed him most. Auntie Annet was kind but weird in a way that confused and scared Sarmin a little. Kay was mean and scary, an uncaring force of nature like the storms that sometimes hit the coast, and she seemed to hate him. Yet she was always there when Sarmin needed help¡ªunless she was the source of his torment.

    Sarmin did not understand.

    Everything in his life felt like puzzle pieces that kept changing shape whenever he tried to figure them out. Why were others mean towards him and his father when they never did anything to them? Why was Annet hated when she was so nice to everyone? Why did only the big, strong people get to do what they wanted? Could he ever be like them and not be afraid of what others might say or do to him? Could he be strong like Kay told him he should be? Strong like her? Strong like the First Emperor, who protected everyone from the bad guys?

    Without answers to these questions, Sarmin could only observe the world around him, racking his nervous mind to puzzle why people never acted how he expected them to and hoping things would one day start making sense.

    And yet, observing his surroundings was precisely what Sarmin had failed to do today at the end of class. Instead, he had been daydreaming, wondering if he could ever be even a fraction as awesome, fearless and noble as the First Emperor, and he had missed the group of teenagers converging on him from the fourth-year classroom.

    ¡°Well, well¡­ Where¡¯s your rabid guard dog, tree licker? Did you finally put her down?¡±

    When he heard the sneering voice, it was too late.

    The group counted six older kids, four boys and two girls, aged eleven and twelve. Before Sarmin could react, they had him surrounded. As they dragged him to a secluded corner of the courtyard, he caught the gaze of the priestess who had just been teaching his class. But she quickly averted her eyes and walked away.

    Why¡­?

    Sarmin did not understand.

    The leader of the teen gang was a large, heavyset boy with a round face and short-cropped blond hair. Thomas Burtin had the mean, beady eyes of his father. A fading black eye circled the left one, a souvenir of his last encounter with Kaydence. Smirking, he cracked his knuckles while stepping forward, his imposing figure casting a shadow over the tiny half-elf. ¡°Did you think I would just say nothing, hey, Sarmin?¡±

    ¡°Wha¨C What?¡± Sarmin¡¯s heart pounded rapidly in his chest. He fearfully looked for an escape route, but the other kids had closed in a half-circle around him, with the temple wall at his back. He was trapped. ¡°W-What do you want, T-Thomas?¡± he stammered, his voice barely a whisper. He hunched to make himself less of a target¡ªtoo late as it might be.

    Thomas shoved him harshly against the wall. ¡°Lyra told me you sent her presents!?¡± His smirk was gone, replaced by an angry grimace. ¡°You think you can steal my girl, eh?!¡±

    ¡°Wha¨C¡± Sarmin¡¯s eyes widened in shock and flickered to one of the girls, who grinned behind her boyfriend¡¯s back. ¡°N-No! I-I d-didn¡¯t¨C¡±

    Why would she say something like that?

    Sarmin did not understand.

    ¡°Don¡¯t lie to me!¡± Thomas shoved him even harder. ¡°You think a pretty girl like Lyra would ever like a creepy little goblin like you?!¡± Behind him, the girl puffed out with pride.

    The half-elf shook his head frantically, green eyes pleading. ¡°No, I s-s-swear, I d-didn¡¯t do a-anything! I-I wouldn¡¯t d-do that.¡±

    A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

    But Thomas was not listening to him, only to his friends egging him on with jeers and taunts. ¡°You¡¯re a pathetic worm,¡± he spat, towering over the smaller boy. ¡°You think you can hide behind that demon freak and get away with anything you want?! Well, you can¡¯t! And I¡¯ll show you why.¡± The large twelve-year-old raised a hand before Sarmin¡¯s face and seemed to focus intensely.

    For a moment, nothing happened, and then Sarmin felt something he could not describe pour sluggishly out of Thomas¡¯s palm. A small fire burst into existence, somewhat bigger than a candle flame, hovering above Thomas¡¯s fingers. The half-elf stared at it, fascinated.

    ¡°See!¡± The older boy preened. ¡°I¡¯ll have my Appraisal this year, and I already know I¡¯ll be one of the chosen! My dad says my talent is super great because I can already do this much without formal training. Maybe even as great as the First Emperor!¡± A sadistic smirk split his face. ¡°I can¡¯t wait to see how that ugly freak reacts when I throw a fireball at her stupid face,¡± he snickered, his friends laughing along.

    ¡°¡­nowhere near¡­¡±

    Thomas¡¯s eyebrows twitched. ¡°What did you say?!¡±

    Sarmin gulped, his breaths coming in shallow gasps. He thought he should keep quiet and apologise. Instead, he looked up at Thomas, his eyes brimming with tears but unflinching. ¡°I s-said you¡¯re nowhere near as strong as the F-First Emperor, or Kay!¡±

    The boy¡¯s face turned crimson red. ¡°You leaf ear bastard! You¡¯re nothing but a subhuman! Know your place!¡± His punch caught Sarmin off guard. Kay would have scolded him for not expecting it.

    Pain exploded in Sarmin¡¯s nose; he was on the ground. He tried to crawl away, but Thomas dragged him back, lifted him by the collar, and painfully slammed him into the wall. ¡°Maybe I should practice on your face first!¡± He brought his flickering magical flame close to Sarmin, who whimpered and closed his eyes in terror.

    Why¡­?

    ¡°Please¡­ Kay¡­ Hel¨C¡±

    A deafening thud startled all the children.

    The group¡¯s attention snapped to the side. From a cloud of dust, a tall, broad figure stepped out, black hair wild, breath fogging in the cold, and the midday sun shining off her bronze skin. ¡°Kay¡­¡± Sarmin choked in relief.

    But his feelings of elation died when he noticed the look in Kaydence¡¯s crimson eyes.

    Two years ago, Sarmin had wandered beyond the edge of the defensive wards while gathering herbs in the woods. By the time he realised his mistake, one of the deep forest¡¯s monsters had found him. The beast had the rough shape of a bear, only twice as big, and bloated and deformed. Suppurating growths protruded over its body, parting its shaggy black fur. Its giant claws pawed at the dirt, and too many fangs jutted from its maw, dripping sizzling saliva. Its warm, rotten breath had enveloped Sarmin as the beast closed in.

    However, what the boy recalled most intensely, what haunted his nightmares and lurked in his waking fears, were the monster¡¯s eyes: red orbs that did not belong to any sane animal, but gleamed with madness, hatred, and insatiable violent impulses.

    At this moment, Kaydence¡¯s eyes were the same¡ªthe same as that monster she had beaten to death with her bare hands before threatening Sarmin against ever speaking of the incident. Needless to say, the half-elf knew whom to fear most, and he could not fathom why Thomas and his gang were not already running away.

    ¡°What do you think you¡¯re doing?¡± Kaydence¡¯s words were void of any emotion. She stalked towards them, her steps silent even to Sarmin¡¯s sharp ears. However, her eyes were not on any of the children, but on the flames in Thomas¡¯s hands.

    Perhaps mistaking her focus for fear, Thomas dropped his victim and turned to wave his fire at the incoming monster, a confident smirk on his face. Sarmin thought the boy had lost his mind. ¡°Get back, demon! See that? My dad says my talent is one in a million. When Appraisal Day comes this year, I¡¯m sure to be admitted into the Imperial Academy. So you better beg for forgiveness on your knees while you can, or I¡¯ll burn you and your little elf pet¨C argh!¡±

    Sarmin must have blinked for too long.

    One instant, Kaydence was five steps away. The next, her fist plunged deep into Thomas¡¯s stomach. The boy bent in two with pain. Bile flew from his mouth. He started to collapse, but Kaydence did not let him. Her fingers overlapped his and forced his hand close around the flame he still held. Thomas cried out when the fire burnt his skin before dissipating. He tried to punch Kaydence, but she caught his fist without looking. She twisted his wrist. There was an ominous crack. The boy fell to his knees, screaming.

    The red eyes were pitiless. ¡°Magic¡­ is not a toy.¡± The slow, uncaring voice sent shivers down Sarmin¡¯s spine. ¡°Play carelessly with fire, and you¡¯ll get burned.¡±

    ¡°Let go of me!¡± Riding his anger through the pain, Thomas tried to free himself, but the grip around his hand did not budge. ¡°Release me, bitch! My father will¨C¡± Expressionless, the girl tightened her grasp. There were more cracks. ¡°AAAH!!¡±

    ¡°Never use magic if you¡¯re not ready for the consequences. Do you hear me?¡± Though the red eyes fixated on the boy, Sarmin wondered if Kaydence was even talking to him anymore.

    Ominous cracking noises continued coming from Thomas¡¯s hand, and his cries soon turned to whimpers. The other kids had long fled the scene. Sarmin thought he should do the same but found his fingers grasping Kaydence¡¯s sleeve instead. ¡°K-Kay. You¡¯re hurting him.¡±

    The monster¡¯s eyes turned to him.

    Sarmin¡¯s heart missed several beats. For a terrifying instant, he was back in the forest, feeling helpless and terrified, imminent death breathing down his neck, fangs closing in on his throat.

    Then Kaydence was back.

    She blinked and glanced to the sides, a frown on her face, as if confused about her location. Her eyes met Sarmin¡¯s, and he briefly recalled another memory, of his father this time, of a night Lenril had spent staring out in the rain, when he thought Sarmin was asleep. Why did he look so sad?

    The moment did not last long before Kaydence turned away. Her attention shifted to the crying boy at her feet. She unclenched her fist, freeing Thomas¡¯s bent and bloodied fingers. The boy tried to curl protectively around his destroyed hand, but she snatched him by the front of his shirt and lifted his face to hers, just as he had done to Sarmin earlier. A menacing, evil grin twisted her features.

    Somehow, Sarmin found it less scary than her earlier lack of expression.

    The girl shook Thomas until his teary eyes focused on her. ¡°Listen here, boy¨C¡±

    He spit on her face.

    Kaydence¡¯s grin slipped along with the glob of saliva down her cheek. ¡°Alright. I see how it is¡­ A quick lesson about magic¨C any sort of combat, really. Know your limitations, kid. Otherwise, you¡¯ll get hurt. Just like this.¡±

    There was a loud crack when her fist met Thomas¡¯s face. Strangely, there was no trace of damage when his head bounced back up, leaving the boy looking shocked and groggy.

    Kaydence nonchalantly thumbed the spit off her face. ¡°Now, where was I? Oh, right.¡± She pulled Thomas¡¯s face uncomfortably close. ¡°If I ever hear you used your magic to threaten or harm someone ever again, I will track you down, and I will do to you much, much worse than break a few fingers. You call me a demon? Boy, you¡¯ve seen nothing.¡± Her red eyes gleamed from deep within, making it clear to any who looked into them that this was no mere threat, but a promise. She shook the boy again. ¡°Do you understand?!¡±

    Thomas nodded fearfully, tears, snot, and anger oozing from his round face. Kaydence held him a moment longer, and Sarmin felt a strange prickle at the back of his neck, like when lightning was about to strike. Then, Kaydence dropped Thomas carelessly and suddenly snapped around at Sarmin. ¡°And you!¡±

    ¡°M-M-Me?!¡±

    ¡°How many times do I need to tell you before it sinks into your thick, thick skull?! Don¡¯t take abuse like a wet mop! Throw a punch! Kick! Bite! Spit in his eyes! Or at least call for help! You think I¡¯ll always magically appear to beat up idiots?! What if I¨C¡± Kaydence stopped talking abruptly. Her hands dragged over her face as she muffled a scream, which eventually turned into a deep, weary sigh. ¡°Don¡¯t rely on me, okay?¡±

    Sarmin¡¯s mouth opened. But before he could figure out what to say, heavy, hurried footsteps came rushing in their direction, preceded by a breathless shout.

    ¡°Void Spawn! Get¡­ away¡­ from¡­ my son!¡±

    Rivers of sweat were dripping down Lector Burtin¡¯s bald head. His bulbous red face was edging on purple. Each breath wheezed out of his throat like a wailing spectre. Accompanying him were Thomas¡¯s friends who had run away, followed closely by Kaydence¡¯s mother.

    Annet quickly overtook the rest and kneeled before Sarmin. ¡°Aw, love, what happened to you?¡± She produced a handkerchief from her robe and took it to his face, from which it came bloodied. Sarmin was startled. In the confusion, he had forgotten the punch he took to the face. However, now that things were calming down, his nose started throbbing painfully.

    ¡°Who cares about the half-breed?! Look at what your creature did to my son!¡± Burtin senior had raised Thomas to his feet and was screaming spitles at Annet. ¡°She probably brutalised the elf spawn as well. I¡¯ll have her banned from the school grounds this time!¡±

    Kaydence was now leaning on the wall, arms crossed, looking bored. She levelled the priest with an unimpressed glance. ¡°You should be glad I stopped your idiot spawn from burning the twig¡¯s face off. I¡¯m not sure what the legal sentence is for aggravated magical assault on a minor, but you¡¯re the teacher, so you tell me.¡±

    Burtin¡¯s face cycled through several unhealthy colours, from sickly green to bruised purple. It settled on a mix of white and red blotches that made him look like a very angry bulbous mushroom. Sarmin might have found it funny if not for his swelling, bleeding nose stealing most of his focus.

    ¡°You watch your mouth, you sordid little bi¨C¡±

    ¡°Lector Burtin!¡± Annet stood suddenly. ¡°Sarmin, hold this to your nose, love,¡± she handed him the bloodied handkerchief and marched at the priest, who took a step back despite being a head taller than the petite woman and over twice her body mass. ¡°My child has a bloody nose, and your son has a bloody fist. I don¡¯t think we need to involve the City Guard¡¯s investigators to figure out my daughter stopped a flagrant case of bullying.¡±

    Startled, Sarmin looked towards Thomas. The big boy was cradling his hand, but his fingers, which had looked like broken kindling before, now appeared completely unharmed. Thomas nervously glanced at Kaydence, who seemed only interested in the passing clouds.

    Lector Burtin¡¯s double chin trembled with rage. ¡°You dare accuse my son of¨C¡±

    ¡°The facts accuse your son, Reverend.¡±

    ¡°Keep your glib tongue for your suitors, harlot! These children came to me, scared for their well-being, after that unholy thing you call your daughter assaulted them!¡±

    Annet crossed her arms, chin raised. ¡°If you¡¯re so sure my daughter is lying, why don¡¯t we call for a competent mage to inspect the scene for traces of fire magic? The temple must have a couple on duty, right?¡±

    Burtin sputtered. ¡°Inconceivable! You want to bother¨C¡± Thomas pulled at his father¡¯s robes to get his attention, but the priest slapped his hand off. ¡°Don¡¯t interrupt adults, Tom. You¡¯ve already done enough as is.¡± He shooed the boy with a glare, then turned back to Annet. ¡°What you¡¯re suggesting is preposterous, Miss Templeton! I¡¯m not calling Brother Foher away from his duties for a children¡¯s quarrel.¡±

    Dismissed by his father, Thomas looked down at his feet, face red in humiliation. After a last glare at Kaydence, completely ignoring Sarmin, he stomped back to his little gang, where his girlfriend was quick to fawn over his inexplicably healed, yet still bloodied hand.

    Annet smiled innocently at the irate priest. ¡°So we agree to leave this at a children¡¯s quarrel?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not what I m¨C¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re right, of course. We wouldn¡¯t want to take precious time away from an illustrious clergy member like Reverend Foher, who I¡¯m sure is very busy with preparations for the festival and has no time to waste fussing about children being children.¡±

    ¡°You¨C¡±

    ¡°Although¡­ I do concur it is a bit far-fetched for my Kaydence to accuse your son of using magic against a schoolmate. Thomas might be twelve and a very talented, smart boy, but he has not yet gone through his Appraisal.¡± She giggled sweetly. ¡°Why, if my daughter learned to do magic on her own so young, I¡¯d be bragging to everyone I know. I couldn¡¯t help myself!¡±

    The priest was fuming but said nothing in return.

    Annet curtsied. ¡°Now, if you¡¯ll excuse me, I must take Sarmin to a healer. Have a wonderful day, Reverend.¡± Without waiting for an answer, she took the half-elf¡¯s hand and started walking away. Kaydence fell into step behind them without a word, looking deep in thought as she often did.

    Letting himself be led by the hand, Sarmin looked back to Thomas and his friends. The large boy was pushing away the girl, Lyra. ¡°This is all your fault, you stupid bitch,¡± Sarmin heard him grumble. ¡°Come on, guys. This place is lame. We¡¯re going to the secret hideout.¡±

    ¡°Can I come too?¡± the other girl asked.

    ¡°No. You know the hideout is for boys only,¡± Thomas huffed. ¡°No girls allowed. Let¡¯s g¨C¡±

    ¡°Thomas. We need to talk.¡± Burtin¡¯s threatening voice was the last thing Sarmin heard before their group walked out of earshot. Stepping out of the sanctuary, Annet took the path towards Neela¡¯s home instead of her own.

    ¡°Auntie¡­ I¡¯m fine.¡± Sarmin disliked being made a fuss over. ¡°We can go home.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sure, love,¡± the brunette smiled indulgently. ¡°I¡¯m just doing this for my own peace of mind. Don¡¯t sweat it. Oh, and Kaydence, you¡¯ll be doing Sarmin¡¯s chores for the duration of the festival.¡±

    Kaydence¡¯s head snapped up from her brooding. ¡°What?! But I¨C They did¨C How is this my fault?!¡±

    ¡°No buts, sweetheart. Listen to your mother.¡±

    The scary girl¡¯s mouth opened and closed several times like a fish out of water. Eventually, her shoulder slumped. ¡°¡­whatever¡­¡±

    Sarmin might not understand a lot in life. There were many things he could not make up his mind about. But he decided, there and then, that out of everyone he knew, Auntie Annet was undoubtedly the scariest.

    * * * * *

 B1CH12 - Meet the Family, Part 12: The Importance of Self-Care

    <sup>8 </sup>To prevent such a disaster from ever occurring again, the Order Primordial and the Chaos Primordial shaped Four Elements out of their mixed essences. <sup>9 </sup>Setik made the Solid Earth and named it ¡°Shu;¡± Mahud made the Free Air and named them ¡°Fen;¡± Setik made the Wise Water and named her ¡°Uat;¡± Mahud made the Wild Fire and named him ¡°Kol.¡± <sup>10 </sup>Each of the Children shaped two Elements and appointed them as watchers and protector over Creation and the Balance of Creation. <sup>11 </sup>Mahud and Setik gazed upon the new-born deities. For the first and only time, both agreed, these were good.

    ¡ªBook of Provenance 2:8-11, Revised Imperial Version

    -

    Black flames rose towards the moonless sky. Homes burned as the citizens of Greyport fled for their lives over bodies and rubble, their screams of terror and agony saturating the air. Kaydence ran through the carnage, panting, battling the scorching heat, blinded by smoke. The bloody mud tried to swallow her shoes. Her eyes surveyed the dead frantically, searching for familiar faces, dreading to find them.

    ¡°Annet!? Sarmin!? Lenril!?¡± she shouted. ¡°Neela?! Can you hear me?! Where are you?! Where¨C¡± A gust of wind threw smoke and ash in her face. She coughed, covered her mouth and nose, and ran in another direction. Through paths she failed to recognise, her distressed steps carried her to the central square, across the Sanctuary of the Faith, where the main temple loomed in the background. She stumbled to a stop, eyes wide and heart freezing.

    A mountain in the shape of a man, shirtless, black tattoos writhing across his bloated flesh, held Thomas by the throat. The arrogant teen cried and begged as he choked, grasping in vain at the giant¡¯s wrist. His tormentor laughed gleefully at the struggles of his prey, his smile baring rows of uneven black fangs, dripping corrupted, tar-like blood. And though he laughed, his blood-red snake eyes oozed nothing but hatred and fury.

    ¡°Rotten¡­¡± His voice was like the distant rumble of a storm. ¡°You¡¯re rotten¡­ Like this world¡­ You¡­ All of it¡­ Need to¡­ Burn.¡± The hand holding Thomas ignited. The flames greedily devoured the teen¡¯s flesh, and his agonising shrieks echoed through the night, stretching without end. Through it all, the monster laughed joylessly.

    Kaydence tried to avert her gaze, but a strong, undeniable hand gripped her jaw and forced her to look. A deep, familiar voice echoed in her ear, sounding at once close and far away.

    ¡°Why can¡¯t you see what you¡¯ve become?¡±

    No. No. Kaydence tried to speak in denial, to shake her head, but she was paralysed. Only her heart moved, drumming fearfully in her chest. Only then did she notice the giant stoop on a high pile of corpses. At its summit, Annet, Sarmin, Lenril and Neela stared back at her with dead, empty, yet accusing eyes.

    ¡°Why?¡± the corpses asked in unison. ¡°Why did you do this?¡±

    ¡°No¡­¡± Kaydence fell to her knees. ¡°It¡¯s not me.¡± Her voice trembled and broke. ¡°I didn¡¯t mean to! I didn¡¯t want this! I didn¡¯t want any of this!¡± She tried to stand and run, but Kayden¡¯s hands were like immovable objects, keeping her rooted in place.

    ¡°Look. See. This is what you¡¯ve become.¡±

    The laughing monster turned to meet her eyes.

    It had her face.

    ¡°NOOOOOOO!!¡± Kayden surged up in bed, eyes wild. ¡°Nonononono¡­¡± She swayed in place, hugging her knees, blind and deaf to her surroundings.

    Slender arms wrapped around her. ¡°No¡­¡± She briefly struggled before instinctively realising this was different from her brother¡¯s implacable grip. She settled down and started shaking. Tears streamed down her face as her cheek was brought against a warm, soft chest. ¡°It¡¯s not me,¡± she repeated, barely conscious. ¡°I didn¡¯t want this. It wasn¡¯t supposed to be like this.¡±

    Gentle hands rubbed her back as someone rocked her, and she kept sobbing. Eventually, Kaydence cried herself back to a dreamless sleep.

    * * *

    Remembrance 1, 2497 AK, Radiant Empire, Cleft Isles, Greyport.

    On this first day of the month of Remembrance, Greyport woke up to an unusual festive cheer. Founder¡¯s Day had come, and the festivities started at sundown. Already, a rare merriment had seized the inhabitants, prompting sudden house cleanings and street sweepings, as if the city itself was getting dressed to the nines. People dusted their fanciest winter clothes, shouted well-wishes to each other across open windows, and shared small gifts of traditional sun-shaped flatbreads on their doorsteps.

    Kaydence felt sick to her stomach. It had little to do with the surrounding mirth and more with the agonising phantom pain tearing at her guts. Moreover, Annet had last night off from the tavern, denying Kaydence her usual nocturnal escapades and confining her to bed. Not that her forced sleep was restful. The nightmares refused recollection, but she recognised the tension in her limbs and the weariness of her mind when she woke¡ªas well as the dried tears on her face, which she hoped her mother had not noticed.

    Her feet dragged slowly down the street. Flashes of houses aflame overlapped with her conscious vision, cheerful people replaced by lifeless, charred husks for the blink of an eye. She could almost smell it, taste it, the fragrance of crispy burnt flesh. Clutching her stomach, she distractedly dodged a bucketful of soiled water, thrown out of an open doorway. Her groggy brain misjudged the distance, and splashes drenched her shoes. Her vicious glare sent the careless culprit backing away fearfully into his home.

    ¡°Come on, Sweetie. I want to beat the midmorning rush!¡± Annet called out over her shoulder. Kaydence sighed but picked up the pace, effortlessly catching up to her mother and overtaking her. Annet just laughed, skipping to match her daughter¡¯s long strides. ¡°That¡¯s the spirit! A little sweat before bathtime is good for the body!¡±

    ¡°You know I¡¯m not fond of that place.¡±

    Annet tutted. ¡°Hygiene is important. I swear, you hate water more than alley cats.¡±

    ¡°Water¡¯s not really the problem,¡± Kaydence grumbled under her breath, somewhat dishonestly.

    Soon, they arrived at the central plaza, ominously dominated by a towering structure wrapped in obscuring waterproof canvas at the centre where the gallows once stood. All around, stalls were ready for the grand opening at twilight. In the back, the dodecatheon temple loftily overlooked everything with its austere fa?ade. Kaydence¡¯s steps faltered. ¡°Can¡¯t you see what you¡¯ve become?¡± The words echoed across her memory from beyond the grave. She shook her head, squared her shoulders, and stomped into the Sanctuary towards the House of Uat.

    Despite the early hour, people were already streaming in and out of the sprawling, one-storied complex¡ªthe outflow looking significantly less mucky. Two identical statues framed the gateway, depicting a voluptuous woman with a smiling hippopotamus head, welcoming the visitors to the bathhouse with open arms.

    Out of all the innovations the Radiant Empire brought, public baths were one Kaydence allowed herself to appreciate, though she had no use for them. A simple Fire spell sufficed to flash-burn the filth off her body, at the cost of a layer of epidermis¡ªtrivial to regrow. As a healer, however, she had to¡ªbegrudgingly¡ªsalute the cultural enforcement of personal hygiene the empire had going on. Even morons with no understanding of bacteria should realise they fell ill less often when bathing regularly.

    Of course, that was only because the House of Uat employed magic to constantly drain, clean, and recycle the bathwater. Kaydence did not want to envision the toxic sludge that would result from everyone soaking in the same pool for days on end like some grotesque broth.

    As it was, however, Kaydence¡¯s main issue with the place was how many representations of the goddess Uat it had. Surely, the bathhouse did not require this many statues of the same fat anthropomorphic hippo. And that was before counting all the depictions of minor deities such as Rapha, the goddess of medicine who became a snake, or Selma, the goddess of community and harmony, older than some of the Twelve. From Kaydence¡¯s perspective, the Imperials¡¯ obsession with depicting their gods on every available surface bordered on creepy.

    Granted, she was biased.

    Past the entrance statues, a vast hall with a domed ceiling echoed with chatter and the babbling of water. Light streamed down from the cupola, supplemented by glowing crystal fixtures along the engraved walls. Off to the sides, stone tables and benches let visitors enjoy cheap tea and cheaper conversations after bathing. Few people occupied those, as free time was a rare commodity for the average Greyport citizen. The only ones there were old people, gossiping and commenting on the passersby as the elderly tended to do, all the while sipping their hot leaf juice with deliberate, age-weary motions.

    At the heart of the room was an imposing fountain, which had for centrepiece¡ªyou guessed it¡ªa statue of Uat in all her motherly, hippopotamian glory. The goddess stood leaning forward, an amphora balanced over her shoulder, pouring water into the fountain basin. Staring at her, Kaydence randomly pondered on Uat¡¯s role as a symbol of motherhood and how neither woman she called ¡°mother¡± across two lifetimes showed the kind of temperamental fierceness Uat was known for. Though Annet came closer to it than the wilted flower Kaydence recalled scurrying away from her own sons in terror.

    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

    Her sombre recollection was interrupted by someone bumping into her¡ªhard. Kaydence did not budge, but the unfortunate stranger bounced back and ended up on his bum on the tiled floor. An intense sensation of d¨¦j¨¤ vu struck her when the man whined tiredly.

    ¡°Ow, ow, ow¡­ Why does this always happen to me? Is this town cursed or something?¡±

    Kaydence shot a glare downwards. ¡°You.¡±

    Compared to a couple of days ago, the man¡¯s outfit had graduated from a mud-caked curtain to a raggedy cloak. He himself looked weary as ever, but with his pale face cleaned, his greying black beard trimmed short, and his long hair tied in a loose bun, he had what Annet might have called a ¡°roguish charm¡±¡ªa term she usually reserved for travelling minstrels.

    The change shaved a decade off this vagabond priest, placing him in his mid-thirties instead of his late forties. Kaydence might not have recognised him save for the goat pendant around his neck, his peculiar rose-amber eyes, and the Air magic aura he almost perfectly concealed.

    ¡°Me? Oh! Me, indeed! And if it¡¯s not the young miss from before!¡± The mage chuckled as he stood, sounding instantly more awake. He dusted his worn travel cloak and spun his wrist with a flourish. ¡°A wonderful Founder¡¯s Day to you, milady. We''ve got to stop meeting like this.¡± He winked at her, causing Kaydence to experience a full-body shiver of disgust. Had she been alone, she would not have hesitated to turn heel right then and leave the suspicious mage behind.

    However, her mother was another story.

    Annet came up to her daughter¡¯s side and faintly elbowed her. Eyes sparkling with interest, she whispered, ¡°Sweetie, you¡¯ve been holding out on me! Who¡¯s this handsome fellow?¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t know him.¡± Kaydence did not bother lowering her voice. She started to turn around, trying to gently pull her mother along. ¡°Come on. Weren¡¯t we in a hurry?¡±

    ¡°Oh! A knife to my heart!¡± The stranger gripped his chest as if hurt. ¡°You wound me, milady. Surely, I left something of an impression! Albeit perhaps not a great one, I concur. In my defence, I had been on the road, and sea, for a bit of a while. I was far from my best.¡± He rubbed his head in a disarmingly sheepish way. ¡°Please allow me a chance to amend my reputation.¡±

    Annet peeled Kaydence¡¯s hand off her shoulder. ¡°There¡¯s always time for a fascinating stranger, Sweetie.¡± She stepped forward, hands behind her back and fluttering her eyelashes coquettishly. Kaydence thought she might feel sick¡­er. Annet beamed at the stranger. ¡°May I know how you¡¯re acquainted with my nine-year-old daughter, sir¡­?¡±

    ¡°Nine¨C!¡± The priest-mage choked. He quickly covered it with a cough, shelling out for a fancy bow. ¡°Ahem. Gabriel would be the name, madam. At your service. I am but a humble follower of Fen, wandering where the wind carries my steps. You said this is your daughter? Why, I would have thought you sisters,¡± he added with a playful wink.

    Kaydence only held back a loud gagging noise because she considered herself above such petty, childish behaviour. Annet, on the other hand, blushed pink and fanned herself. ¡°You flatterer, I know your type. But it¡¯s nice to hear regardless. I¡¯m Annet.¡± She reached out for a handshake.

    Instead, Gabriel gently lifted her hand and brushed his lips against its back.

    Annet¡¯s blush darkened. ¡°Oh. You¡¯re good at this.¡±

    ¡°A lifetime of practice,¡± he said with a self-deprecating chuckle. ¡°And this¡­ intense young lady would be?¡±

    Kaydence levelled an unimpressed glare at him. Annet rubbed her daughter¡¯s arm placatingly. ¡°Like I said, this is my daughter, Kaydence.¡±

    ¡°Kaydence?¡± The man¡¯s face twitched. ¡°That¡¯s a-err, very¡­ unique name, for sure. I see you¡¯re a bold woman, Miss Annet. I¡¯m impressed.¡±

    ¡°Nice recovery,¡± Annet snorted.

    ¡°Ah, well¡­ What can I say? You¡¯re a most discountenancing woman, Miss Annet.¡±

    ¡°Oh, no need to break out the fancy long words. We¡¯re but common city folk here, I say,¡± Annet joked in an exaggerated local accent. ¡°People might accuse you of trying too hard.¡±

    ¡°Was that too much? My sincerest apologies.¡± Gabriel¡¯s eyes twinkled with humour, making the dark rings under them almost disappear. ¡°Would you grant me the opportunity to further make amends? For bumping into your daughter as well¡­ err¡­ twice. Over a meal, perhaps? Of course, your daughter and husband are invited. Far from me the thought of impugning your virtue, madam.¡±

    Annet rolled her eyes. ¡°Here you go again with the excessive chivalry. Are you secretly a knight in disguise?¡± she asked with a raised eyebrow. ¡°No husband, however.¡±

    ¡°Ah,¡± the man sobered up. ¡°That was careless of me. My condolences.¡±

    ¡°Oh, no. You misunderstand. I¡¯m not married.¡±

    ¡°I see¡­ I didn¡¯t want to assume. I meant no offence.¡±

    ¡°None taken.¡±

    ¡°My. It seems I have committed yet another blunder. Please, I beseech you to let me treat you and your daughter. Despite what my travelworn appearance might suggest, I am not wholly destitute. I can easily afford a meal or three. Ah¨C Assuming the eatery is, err, reasonably priced. Haha.¡± The blush stood out on his pale skin.

    ¡°Of course,¡± Annet snickered. ¡°I¡¯m sure we can find an arrangement. I was recently told only fools turn down a free meal.¡±

    ¡°Wise words to live by.¡± The man laughed, shooting a conspicuous glance at his patched clothes. ¡°However, I¡¯m afraid I¡¯ll be pretty overwhelmed with clerical duties over the next few days. The Founder¡¯s Festival is always such a wonderful but unfortunately busy time for us men and women of the cloth.¡± He sighed dramatically. ¡°I am staying at the Blue Whale Inn, down Main Street. Feel free to leave a message with the innkeeper, and I¡¯ll contact you as soon as I¡¯m able. Please do it, I insist.¡±

    ¡°I think I might,¡± Annet replied with good humour. ¡°Now, if you¡¯ll excuse us. My daughter was right. We were in a bit of a rush.¡±

    ¡°I understand. Then don¡¯t let me keep you, miladies.¡± He took a blushing Annet¡¯s offered hand to kiss. ¡°It was a true pleasure. I hope to see you soon, Annet. Kaydence as well.¡± He patted the young girl¡¯s shoulder as he walked past her, earning himself a death glare that slid off him like water off a duck.

    Kaydence watched him go with narrowed, suspicious eyes, looking away only when her mother grabbed her hand. ¡°Come on, Sweetie. Weren¡¯t we in a hurry?¡± she asked teasingly. Her daughter shot her a glare full of exasperation, but she let herself be pulled along.

    * * *

    As soon as the two women were out of sight, Gale¡¯s flamboyant attitude dropped along with his shoulders with a long, weary sigh. ¡°Urghhh¡­This is exhausting. I don¡¯t know how that guy keeps it up all the time.¡± He sighed, again, for good measure.

    His tired eyes drifted back across the hall to the entrance of the women¡¯s section of the bathhouse. ¡°Well, it¡¯s efficient, at least,¡± he conceded, then spun and swiftly strode out, his old cloak billowing behind him. Annet. Kaydence. Nine years old. Not much to go by, but not bad for a first contact¡­ First intentional contact. He could hardly believe that girl was any less than fourteen at the youngest. But the freckled woman did not seem the kind to lie. If anything, she seemed the type to stick to honesty past the point of discomfort.

    In a sense, Gale should thank the god of overwork¡ªif such a deity existed. ¡°Maybe Kol,¡± he mumbled, swiftly making his way past merry townfolk, dishing out casual greetings as people called out to him. The Fire God was the patron of industrious souls, after all. ¡°Probably a child of Azor, though.¡± The progeny of the goddess of discord were the usual culprits for all the woes of mortals, ever since their shrewd mother tricked the other gods into inventing death. ¡°Did she ever have a child with Kol? I might have to revise¨C¡± Gale shook his head and dragged a hand over his face. ¡°What am I saying?¡±

    A bath and a shave were one thing, but what he truly needed was a full night¡¯s sleep.

    Regardless of divine intervention, had he visited the bathhouse the previous day as he originally intended instead of getting caught up in following leads from his broker contact, Gale would have missed his opportunity to manufacture an encounter with the suspicious girl. Then, he would have wasted his time investigating the wrong end of the decade.

    A decade ago... This can¡¯t be a coincidence. No clue about the father either. Gods, I hope I¡¯m overthinking it. Gale could already picture the looming shadow of a paperwork mountain should his hypotheses prove correct. He had dismissed his initial concerns because the girl lacked any discernible magic aura, but if she had not gone through her awakening yet, then he needed to reassess his preliminary conclusions.

    ¡°Aaaah!!¡± Stopping in the middle of the street, Gale suddenly shouted in frustration, furiously scratching his scalp with both hands. Passersby spread out to avoid the screaming madman. ¡°Forces and Elements! Why, oh why, does this always happen to me?! ¡­Is it me? Am I the one who¡¯s cursed?!¡±

    It did feel that way, sometimes.

    Back when he first started in this line of work, Gale had been sent to investigate a potential magic rat infestation in the sewers of a random city. It was supposed to be a simple job, almost a hazing for the new guy. Instead, he had unexpectedly stumbled onto the lair of a province-wide illegal Death cult plotting the execution of several major noble figures. The time after that, while digging dirt on a merchant suspected of tax evasion, he had uncovered a conspiracy to initiate a war with the Mettanean Polyarchy. Last in date, a routine check of a newly excavated ruin had him run straight into a nationwide smuggling ring specialised in ancient Jaldehim artefacts. The group had potential ties to the Custodian Order, meaning dire international ramifications and forcing Gale to spend the past six months deep undercover with small-time gangs in poorly managed backwater townships.

    And now, here he was, embroiled in high-stakes political manoeuvring and assassinations. He did not have time to investigate weird pre-teens who rubbed his instincts the wrong way. Yet, Gale could not help himself. He knew he would be unable to sleep well until his compulsive occupational curiosity was satisfied. ¡°Maybe Edrik was right. I should book an appointment with the Church of Darkness¡¯s counsellors. I might have a problem.¡±

    Finally realising his muttering in the middle of the street was attracting a crowd, Gale hurriedly walked off and ducked into a side alleyway.

    On top of all his problems, Gale was convinced that crafty bastard Edon was hiding something from him. The broker had always been a trusty source of information, but his efficiency as of late had shot up¡ªsuspiciously so. The report on Viscount Darien¡¯s illegal activities alone would save Gale months of work. But instead of feeling reassured, it only rang alarm bells all over his overworked spy brain. Where was that man getting his intel from? Gale was feeling itchy to investigate, but he literally, physically, had no time left to dedicate to anything else if he wanted to sleep enough to function as a human being, let alone do his job.

    Edrik always said Gale was too paranoid, but that well-meaning, loveable doofus did not seem to realise that paranoia was Gale¡¯s job! ¡­as was hanging out with notoriously unstable, bloodthirsty undead, apparently. That was a bit much, even for Gale. ¡°That¡¯s it. Next time I see Typhoon, I¡¯ll definitely tell him I qui¨C¡±

    The spy¡¯s steps faltered as he felt the tracking spell he had left on the girl¡¯s shoulder fade out of existence. His head snapped in the general direction of the bathhouse, a frown on his brows. Odd. Admittedly, that spell was structurally weak in return for ease of casting and discretion. It was prone to decay and vulnerable to sudden changes in atmospheric mana. ¡°But isn¡¯t it too soon?¡± he mumbled, stroking his chin pensively. The enchantments in the bathhouse should not have sufficed to disrupt it. ¡°Well, never mind.¡± The spell had never been his main objective, merely an act of opportunity and a decoy for whoever else might be watching the girl.

    I already have what I need. Gale reached into his cloak and produced a small leather satchel from his breast pocket, checking its contents. Inside were two strands of black hair, which he had picked off the girl¡¯s shoulder as he put the tracking spell on her. A slightly unhinged smirk graced his lips. He stored the satchel away and resumed his fast walk to his next destination.

    ¡°Who¡¯s paranoid now, eh? Eh?! Hehe. Hehehehehe¡­¡±

    * * * * *

 B1CH13 - Festival of Flames, Part 1: What About You?

    Kayden the Bright. Who was he? Soldier, mage, emperor, myth? It can be difficult to untangle the man from the legend. Over a thousand years later, we are no closer to restoring the full picture of what happened during the War of Burning Heavens. Too many records were destroyed. What remains are either accounts written by the victors or the testimonies of bitter immortals whose memory is not immune to the depredations of time.

    How can any real faith be put into those stories, then? I see it in your eyes. Doubt. You¡¯re full of it. You younglings have just embarked on the path of the arcane. You know only enough to start disbelieving the fantastical feats attributed to the Heroes and Demons of Old. Can an entire forest be made to walk with one word? Can the elements be given thoughts and bend to the will of mortal men? Can the living be warped into alien creatures of war? Can the soul become like dough, to be fragmented and shaped anew? Could one man, though wielding a blessed blade, truly cleave an entire continent in twain?

    It may sound impossible. I know. I was like you once, discovering how to crawl and believing I understood what it meant to run. In time, you too will know the length of the path you now tread on.

    However, younglings, if your disbelief, inquisitiveness, or impatience is too strong, I encourage you to make the journey west. Travel to the heart of the Spine, to the edge of the empire. Lay your eyes on Shamsi¡¯s Wall entombing the Eternal Gaol. Feel the wrongness in the air. Feel the inner workings of the world grind against one another like misaligned rusty gears. Feel the very fabric of reality tearing from the aftershocks of spells unleashed aeons ago by those at the terrible peak of mortal power. Talk to the retired Sentinels, those who lived and retained their minds, and those who lost their reason.

    Then, you¡¯ll know¡­ Then you¡¯ll know.

    ¡ªa lesson introduction from Bartholomew Mewson, lich and Professor of Magic History at the Imperial University for Applied Thaumaturgy, 1102 AK.

    -

    Remembrance 1, 2497 AK, Radiant Empire, Cleft Isles, Greyport.

    The setting sun bathed Greyport in flaming colours. Already, the inhabitants congested Main Street and the central square, crowding the wooden stalls which no longer sat empty. Echoes of the kindling festivities were spreading fast through the town. After twelve months of waiting, the Founder¡¯s Festival had come around, and the moods soared high and cheerful.

    In an offshoot of Main Street, however, just far enough that the sounds of merriment remained muffled for now, one person¡¯s emotions ran much dourer.

    ¡°How many times do I need to say this?! I. Don¡¯t. Want. To. Go!¡±

    Kaydence was throwing a tantrum.

    As a negotiation tactic, this was one she preferred to avoid because it made her feel like the child she hated to be. However, she was distraught and anguished, and the flimsy arguments she was willing to put forward were not swaying the woman in front of her.

    ¡°Sweetie¨C¡±

    ¡°No! This whole festival is absurd, stupid, and I want no part in it! In the first place, why should I have to waste my evening suffocating in the crowd to keep company to a mute dullard and that pissy wimp boy?!¡±

    ¡°Tha-That was one t-t-time!¡± Sarmin stuttered indignantly, cheeks red in embarrassment.

    ¡°Fuck off.¡± Kaydence snapped a glare at him, sending the Half-Elf retreating behind his father¡¯s back. Lenril shot Kaydence an unreadable look. ¡°What? Got something to say-¨C Oh¡­ Wait.¡±

    ¡°Kaydence. Enough. There¡¯s no need for that kind of behaviour.¡± Annet¡¯s tone was gentle as ever, but there was a rare tension in her face. She also addressed Kaydence directly by her actual name¡ªno Sweetheart, Sweetie, Treasure, or any other endeared goofiness. She only did so when genuinely upset, which happened scarcely enough to be notable. Kaydence hated to have brought out that part of her, but she kept her expression stubbornly unyielding.

    Annet met her red glare squarely. ¡°I know you don¡¯t like it, but you¡¯re going anyway because Lenril has trouble with crowds, and he needs an extra pair of eyes and ears on Sarmin.¡±

    ¡°That brat¡¯s older than me!¡±

    Her mother looked unimpressed. Both knew that argument was hardly relevant. ¡°I thought we agreed you¡¯d try and be nicer to him.¡±

    ¡°Being nicer is one thing.¡± Kaydence ground her teeth. ¡°I did not sign up to be a damn nanny!¡± In the corner of her eyes, she noticed Lenril stepping away with his son. They moved to a few houses down the street, leaving mother and daughter alone on the porch of the One-Eyed Bear.

    Ready for work, Annet was decked in her full waitress regalia, her bushy brown curls tied with a yellow bow and arms crossed authoritatively over her bodice. Kaydence, in the same pants and short-sleeved tunic she wore regardless of seasons, towered over her petite mother, her bared forearm muscles alarmingly tense. She was breathing heavily, and her red eyes gleamed dangerously through her wild raven hair. Anyone witnessing the scene would have feared for the brunette¡¯s safety, but Annet herself did not look worried, only annoyed and disappointed.

    Silence stretched uncomfortably between the two.

    After a moment contemplating her daughter¡¯s stiff posture, Annet¡¯s own expression softened. ¡°Sweetie¡­ I understand you¡¯re not fond of the festival,¡± she repeated, lifting a hand to cup Kaydence¡¯s cheek. ¡°But Sarmin loves it, and I¡¯m worried for his safety if it¡¯s just him and Ril. It would really ease my mind knowing you¡¯re with them.¡±

    Kaydence turned away from the touch, averting her gaze to glare at the tavern wall. ¡°That¡¯s not fair¡­¡±

    I¡¯m worried about your safety! She wanted to scream. But she held back. How could she properly express the mixture of fury and confusion¡ªthe sheer panic¡ªthat had seized her upon discovering that spying spell on her at the bathhouse? So many of her fears were intrinsically tied to things she could not afford to let come to light. She kept too many harmful secrets to offer any justification that made sense.

    When she tried to figure out the mysterious mage¡¯s motives or his potential affiliation, Kaydence only grew more confused. The Inquisition was her first guess, but the attempt felt too clumsy, too opportunistic for the notorious mage hunters of the empire. Somehow, that half-heartedness only amplified her anxiety. That bastard came at me when I was with my family! What did he want? What did he know? Was it meant as a warning? Her thoughts were tied in knots, looking for traps and misdirections from every angle.

    In all of Kaydence¡¯s brooding predictions about her secrets one day spilling like old festered wounds and infecting everyone around her, she had never expected someone might approach her casually in broad daylight and all but openly challenge her. Balancing her urge to retaliate, severely and violently, with the need to defend her mother, Kaydence felt like a wild animal running circles in a too-small cage: trapped, impotent, and questioning how things got to that point.

    Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

    ¡°I don¡¯t see why you have to work on the first night of the festival, anyway,¡± Kaydence threw out lamely, out of ideas. If at least Annet accompanied them, Kaydence would be far less reluctant to endure the sight of countless strangers drinking to her demise. Again, not that she disagreed with the general sentiment, but it was unpleasant nonetheless.

    ¡°It¡¯s because it¡¯s the first night, silly.¡± Annet patted her daughter¡¯s cheek with a smile. ¡°I already had last night off. Grizelda may be kind, but she has a business to run. Now go have fun with Sarmin and Lenril.¡± She produced a small pouch clinking with the sound of coins. ¡°Here¡¯s your allowance for tonight. Pick me something nice at one of the stalls.¡±

    Kaydence reflexively took the pouch. She spilt the handful of copper coins in her palm and glared at them, picturing the tired grin of the Air mage, Gabriel, in place of the stern glower of Makthar, the emperor before the current one¡¯s father.

    ¡°I don¡¯t¨C¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s still not gone?¡± A drawling voice joined the conversation as Erza dipped out of the tavern. The tall redhead casually draped her arm over Annet¡¯s shoulders and smirked at Kaydence. ¡°Don¡¯t you worry, cub. We¡¯ll be watching over this one. Very closely.¡± Her salacious grin was not the most reassuring, but some of Kaydence¡¯s worries reluctantly started to fade.

    If nothing else, Kaydence could at least take solace in the fact her mother would be in the safest place she could think of besides locking the woman in a vault and swallowing the key. The Southey family would rip any mage to shreds before letting him harm Annet, and then Griselda would serve him as ragout to the customers. Maybe not that last one, Kaydence mused. However, it was a fact some of the city¡¯s most notorious thugs had disappeared after messing with the tavern¡¯s waitresses.

    Unaware of Kaydence¡¯s thoughts, Erza waved her off nonchalantly. ¡°Come on. You kids go and have fun. You only get to be young once.¡±

    ¡°¡­¡± Kaydence stared back silently, never quite knowing how to react when people whom she saw as kids treated her as one. Scorn, she could handle. Playful patronising, she had more trouble with.

    ¡°Great idea, Sis! I¡¯ll bring you back some foreign liquors from the vendors.¡± Bernt suddenly tried to squeeze past the three women blocking the doorway, only to be caught by the back of his collar. ¡°Bleh!¡±

    ¡°Who said you, dumbass?¡± Erza yanked her younger brother back roughly. ¡°Mum needs you to do the washing-up.¡±

    ¡°Zaza, please¡­ I promised this girl I¡¯d meet her at the bonfire.¡±

    ¡°Well, too bad for her. If I can¡¯t go out, you sure as hell won¡¯t.¡± The older Southey sibling huffed. ¡°She can do better anyway.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t even know who she is!¡±

    ¡°I know you,¡± Erza snorted. ¡°Now get back to work!¡± She shoved Bernt back through the door and rolled her eyes affectionately. ¡°This guy¡­ This is why I never want kids.¡±

    ¡°Aw,¡± Annet giggled. ¡°It¡¯s not that bad.¡±

    ¡°Coming from you, Freckles, that¡¯s scary for several reasons,¡± Erza drawled, shooting Kaydence a side glance, which she returned with a glare.

    The two eyeballed each other for a moment before Kaydence sighed and pocketed the money her mother gave her. ¡°Fine¡­ I¡¯ll play nanny for the twig. But don¡¯t leave the tavern before I come to pick you up, especially not with that guy we met this morning.¡±

    Erza raised an intrigued eyebrow. ¡°Pointy got competition? And here I thought I was starting to win you over, Freckles.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t be silly. It¡¯s nothing like that.¡± Annet slapped the redhead¡¯s shoulder playfully. Then she pinched Kaydence¡¯s cheek. ¡°Is that why you¡¯re acting so weird? Oh, Sweetie. You¡¯ve got to give your old mother more credit. I¡¯m not so reckless as to go off into the night with any random stranger.¡± Her freckled grin turned mischievous. ¡°Even if they¡¯re handsome, polite, humble, witty, and I wouldn¡¯t mind knowing them better¡­ or more.¡±

    ¡°Mother!¡± Kaydence gasped.

    ¡°Oh, shush. You only call me mum at times like these,¡± Annet pouted while Erza cackled like a madwoman. ¡°Don¡¯t act so stuffy, Sweetie. You sound like Gran. Your mother is also a woman, you know?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s right, Red. Listen to your mum,¡± Erza snickered, using the shorter woman¡¯s head to rest her cheek. ¡°No shame in having some fun.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not what I¨C I didn¡¯t mean¨C Blasted, woman! How did the conversation turn to that?!¡± Kaydence repressed a blush.

    Erza shook her head. ¡°Seriously, Freckles, how did a girl like you raise a prude like that?¡±

    ¡°Who¡¯re you calling a prude, you loose wench?!¡± Kaydence was not in the mood to endure the redhead¡¯s usual aggressive taunting tonight.

    Likely sensing her daughter¡¯s temper flaring, Annet smiled up at the tall woman. ¡°Please don¡¯t antagonise her¡­ Zaza.¡±

    An unpleasant, full-body shiver ran up Erza¡¯s body, her grin dropping into a grimace. ¡°I wished you hadn¡¯t heard that¡­ Don¡¯t ever call me that again, and you got yourself a deal. I don¡¯t need another cheeky sibling.¡±

    ¡°...Putting the lustful brute aside,¡± Kaydence started, forcing her anger down.

    ¡°What!? You¡¯re one to talk, hypocritical little sh¨C¡±

    ¡°Zaza~¡± Annet singsonged.

    ¡°Ugh¡­ Fine. Whatever.¡± Erza pouted as if her favourite toy had just been taken away. ¡°But I want to hear about that mysterious man.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s nothing serious¨C¡±

    ¡°He accosted us this morning at the bathhouse and invited Annet to dine out within five sentences before even confirming she was unwed.¡± Kaydence was grossly simplifying the interaction, but she was not above using Erza¡¯s possessive protectiveness to her advantage. I guess I really am a hypocrite.

    ¡°Did he now?¡± Erza¡¯s eyes narrowed dangerously.

    ¡°He did.¡± Kaydence cut off her mother¡¯s protest, glad something was finally going her way, even if not in the manner she would have preferred.

    Her most preferred method had the mage dead at the bottom of the Split. But until she knew more about this ¡®Gabriel¡¯ and the people who might be behind him, straight-up murder seemed like an impulsive move. The old Seifer in her would have done it anyway, but Kaydence wanted to at least try to act more responsibly in this life. With that in mind, her initial plan had been to arrange a meeting with the mage, as he had himself offered, and see what he was about. In the meantime, she would stick to her mother¡¯s side like a barnacle on a ship¡¯s hull.

    Of course, now, the woman Kaydence was so anxious to protect seemed intent on sending her daughter away. Kaydence could not repress a frustrated sigh. But then, this has been the case since day one, hasn¡¯t it? The reincarnated warlock¡¯s original plan for his new life involved ditching his new unwanted family as soon as he took his bearings in this new era.

    Caring so much for this silly, reckless girl who became her new mother was never part of Kaydence¡¯s plan.

    Yet here she was, nearly a decade later, still putting off her departure and worrying about disregarding her mother¡¯s wishes, even for the woman¡¯s own safety¡ªfearing her stubborn attitude might arouse Annet¡¯s suspicion, leading her to secrets Kaydence was desperate to keep buried. The former Dragon Demon King cared not whether the whole world scorned her, but at some point, the possibility that Annet might start looking at her in fear had joined Kaydence¡¯s worst nightmares.

    ¡°I see¡­¡± Erza nodded to herself. ¡°I¡¯ll tell Mum and the oaf to be extra careful about suspicious characters for the time being.¡±

    ¡°You do that.¡±

    Again, Annet tried to protest. ¡°There¡¯s really no need to¨C¡±

    ¡°Come on, Freckles.¡± Ignoring her, the redhead started to turn around, her arm still around Annet¡¯s shoulders, ushering her inside. ¡°Your clingy demonling won¡¯t leave while she has you within eyesight.¡± She ignored Kaydence¡¯s glare just as much.

    The reincarnated warlord was getting annoyed at people brushing off her warning looks. A mere glance from Seifer used to send hardened warriors cowering, even before he went off the deep, genocidal end. However, as it turned out, silent glaring did not intimidate quite as well without an eight-foot-tall frame, a reputation for invincibility, and a known history of brutal slaughter. But do I want to be that person again? Kaydence¡¯s hand went to her aching stomach, machinally tracing the phantom wound that bisected her old body.

    Do I know how to be anything else?

    ¡°Gods, you two¡­¡± Annet sighed indulgently and let herself be led inside, glancing over her shoulder. ¡°See you later, Sweetie. Do try to have fun, alright?¡±

    ¡°Sure.¡± Kaydence blinked. ¡°Ah! No, wait¨C¡± The tavern door closed in her face. ¡°¡­dammit.¡± She groaned in frustration and looked down the road at the waiting one-and-a-half Elves.

    Impassive as ever, Lenril shifted his fingers in the approximation of, ¡°We good to go?¡±

    Kaydence sighed and ruffled her messy hair angrily. ¡°Argh! Fine¡­ Fine!¡± She started stomping her way to them.

    In fact, this might be an opportunity. Should I give the knife-ear the slip and go hunt down that bastard myself? Kaydence¡¯s eyes narrowed dangerously. Then the weight of the coins in her pocket reminded itself to her, and her feral bloodthirst deflated to a more middling murderous itch. I guess¡­ It couldn¡¯t hurt to check out the stalls. She clicked her tongue. That woman. Does she plan ahead, or just make it all up on the spot¡­?

    Kaydence walked past Lenril and Sarmin, barely slowing down while gesturing for them to get going. She still would need to find an excuse to leave on her own later. She had personal business to attend to tonight, and staying by Annet¡¯s side had been the only reason why she had given up on it. However, for the time being, she could spare a few hours to play nanny and suffer through this ridiculous farce of a festival¡­

    ¡­about just long enough to find a small gift for a silly, reckless woman.

    * * * * *

 B1CH14 - Festival of Flames, Part 2: Once There Were Dragons

    ¡°To those I could not save. To those I killed.¡±

    ¡ªwords etched inside the cover of the original manuscript of the Imperial Prosperity Laws.

    -

    Remembrance 1, 2497 AK, Radiant Empire, Cleft Isles, Greyport.

    Amongst the many traditions that came and went throughout the Radiant Empire¡¯s vast history, there was none more enduring or more dearly beloved by the people than the Founder¡¯s Festival¡ªthough it was named otherwise when it began some 2300-odd years ago.

    No other celebration received the same ubiquitous observance or possessed such identical practices across the whole expanse of the empire: from the austral snowy foothills of the Shmavahal Mountains to the shores of the River Lueh (that marked the northern border with the Elves¡¯ Sacred Forest), from the Gryphon Riders of the Spine Range to the sailors of the Leonine Ocean, and beyond, to the oft-overlooked Split Isles¡ªwhose inhabitants many mainlanders saw as barely imperial or civilised at all.

    The Festival was so deeply rooted in imperial blood that the so-called Mad Emperor, Sekhma Nezir (948-1007 AK), after reforming the state religion to crown himself King of the Heavens, still dared not alter its customs. It survived the Fall of the First Dynasty, the Dungeons War, the Golden Reformation, the Era of the Lost Emperors, and the Great Dearth, and every period that threatened to shatter the Radiant Empire.

    But what was it that commanded such dedication? What permitted the Founder¡¯s Festival to persist from the days of Azahur the Unifier (third to sit on the Holy Radiant Throne) to the reign of Rasmar the Tyrant (crowned 2486 AK)? Like many such things, big and small, which endure the test of time, the answer lies in a conjunction of happenstances and conscious, targeted efforts.

    It is no coincidence that the fortnight-long revelry was taken not out of the month of Shadows¡ªthe month of Darkness¡ªwhen the nights are long and Whesi¡¯s Light is at its dimmest, nor the month of Rest¡ªthe month of Death¡ªwhen the days lengthen but the biting cold lingers and deepens, claiming more lives than anytime else, but instead took place at the start of the month of Remembrance¡ªthe month of Time¡ªwhen the worst of the weathers faded past, allowing for merrymaking and honouring those who passed with hope for better days. The Festival was both a wake and a wake-up call, set when the people¡¯s spirits were primed to reminisce about bygone days yet eager to look forward, spiritually contemplative yet hungering for uplifting thoughts.

    And what more uplifting tale was there, than that of Kayden the Bright? He was a man who became a god, not through decrees of laws and oppression, but by climbing to heights of power unseen since the Cataclysm erased the ancient Jaldehim people¡ªthe ¡°Children (of the Gods)¡± in the divine tongue¡ªand using his arcane might as a bulwark to defend a divided Humanity against the Evil that sought to consume it.

    From defeating the Dragon Demon King, Kayden went on to unify and restore the fractured human nations lying south of the Sacred Forest, which had borne the worst of the fighting. However, peace was no easy feat. All those countries had prior enmity with the Radiant Kingdom and with one another, grievances and blood feuds accrued over aeons of warfare since the Cataclysm. Not to mention Humanity¡¯s poor relationship with the other free races of the continent: the Elves, the Dwarves, the Celestials, the Phoenixes, and smaller groups, who lacked even proper denominations in the human tongues and were broadly referred to as ¡°the Wild Folk.¡±

    Many times, the Alliance faltered, on the verge of breaking apart without a common enemy to unite them. But Kayden and his companions swiftly quelled any resurgence of hostilities and successfully forged new bonds of fellowship between the estranged races of Katenda.

    In a much-criticised move, Kayden granted pardon to the remnants of the Demon Army: the Vampires, the Werebeasts, the Orcs, the corrupted Elves who later took for themselves the name Anshins (after the first of their kind) but are still colloquially known as ¡°Dark Elves,¡± and the renegade Dwarves of the Rootbound Clan, who joined the Demon King¡¯s ranks for promises of power and became known as the Doomforged. The Goblins were in there as well, though nobody quite knew which side they were on.

    Kayden brokered a non-aggression pact with the surviving Demon Generals and allowed them the territories east of the Spine Range, where they retreated to establish the Black Sun Union. Many Orcs joined them, while some chose to return to the High Steppes their race called home, even though the welcome for the defeated warriors could not have been pleasant. Freed from their enslavement, the Anshins scattered, but several followed their former captors to the Union. Like the Orcs, they knew no other place would ever truly welcome them.

    At first, many of the Radiant Alliance saw Kayden¡¯s mercy as foolishness¡ªa betrayal even. The blood spilt was too fresh, and the dead not yet all buried. Wounded hearts screamed for vengeance and retributions upon those they had taken to call ¡°Demons.¡± But Kayden stood firm. Regardless of opposition, the Treaty of Ashes was signed.

    The peace that followed lasted uninterrupted for three centuries¡ªuntil the rule of Emperor Menkheprah, dubbed the Warmonger (289-358 AK). It granted the newborn Radiant Empire the time and stability it needed to rise from the ashes of the Fractured Era and usher in a glorious new Age of Rebirth.

    With victories in their hands, old enemies out of sight, and reconstruction well underway, Kayden¡¯s detractors and other naysayers gradually fell silent. Before long, all claimed proudly they had always believed in the emperor¡¯s vision, hailing his wisdom and kindness as great virtues indeed.

    In the second year of his reign, Kayden Nezir, now hailed the Bright, penned and ratified the Imperial Prosperity Laws. The preface read: ¡°Too often have I seen those who call themselves Greats build ivory towers on the backs of those they deemed Lesser. Too often have I seen those who call themselves Benevolent share less than table scraps with the very people who prepared their meals. Too often have I seen those who call themselves Talented hog the opportunities away from the more deserving. Too often have I seen unworthy kings, governors, soldiers, and fathers bleed dry the ones they had the duty to defend. Nevermore.¡±

    Later generations would worship the multi-tome manuscript as the sacrosanct, immutable pillar underpinning all of imperial society. However, many contemporaries of the First Emperor¡ªchiefly among the nobility¡ªdecried it as the madness of a warlord unfit to rule in times of peace. The text imposed massive reforms to all of the empire¡¯s integrated territories, outlining the rights and duties of both citizens and the state, with unprecedented severity towards the latter. Kayden¡¯s vision reached every aspect of society, from public health to taxation, justice to culture, international relationships, land ownership, military affairs, trade, education, agriculture, transportation, resource management, labour, science, magic¡­ No field was overlooked, and the majority of the changes aimed to dismantle the entrenched hierarchy that favoured the privileged few at the expense of the common folk.

    Land deeds were redistributed so that even the smallest farmer had a stake in the estate they toiled. Education became a right, not a privilege, opening doors of opportunity previously barred to the masses. Secrets of magic, until then passed down from rare ennobled masters to a select few disciples to be used at the discretion of kings, became accessible to all who possessed the gift. Spells became publically researched instead of jealously hoarded by those who would take their knowledge to their grave. Trade flourished as the empire abolished borders between once-isolated kingdoms.

    As the world¡¯s strongest mage, leader of the greatest army in existence, and Chosen of the Gods, Kayden the Bright had both power and clout to act as an unopposed tyrant. Yet he chose to dedicate his life to the people, working tirelessly and leaving no stone unturned in his quest for a fairer, more prosperous future for Humanity.

    The people of the empire never forgot it, and every year, they sang praises and raised their tankards in cheer at the memory of their Saviour.

    * * *

    ¡°What a load of horseshit.¡±

    Kaydence stood, arms crossed and scowling, at the back of a small crowd of children under a puppeteer¡¯s tent: one of the many entertainment acts present at the Festival. She had refused to sit next to Sarmin on the large rug before the stage¡ªto the boy¡¯s relief, she assumed. The parents beside her certainly did not seem thrilled by her presence¡ªor Lenril¡¯s. Several shushed Kaydence for her crude comment, but she ignored their glares, too busy directing her own at the wooden dolls awkwardly wobbling on stage.

    She did not know whether to be most offended by the performer¡¯s lack of skill or the content of this supposedly historical play.

    ¡°After the war,¡± the puppeteer narrated, ¡°Kayden returned to the Radiant Kingdom. King Rakham himself welcomed him like a brother and showered him with gifts and honours, shouting, ¡®Hurrah! Hurrah for the victorious Hero!¡¯¡± On stage, a smiling puppet sitting on a yellow throne and wearing a crown flapped its arms to hype the children. ¡°Call him with me, children! Kayden! Kayden! Kayden!¡±

    A few adults clapped politely in rhythm, but the younger audience members picked up the chant in earnest, Sarmin among them. And when a puppet in glittering white armour ambled stiffly on stage to resounding applauses, the Half-Elf¡¯s cheers were the loudest. Kaydence¡¯s gaze dipped to him dully before turning back forward.

    ¡°However, the Hero Kayden turned down the king¡¯s praises, saying, ¡®I only did my duty, to the Gods, to the kingdom, and to the people.¡± The glittering puppet faced the audience, raising his white wooden sword. ¡°And my duty to you, little children!¡±

    The kids were lapping it up.

    ¡°Stricken with awe, the king fell to his knees in front of Kayden.¡± The crowned puppet slipped off the throne. ¡°Truly, you are the greatest amongst humankind! And all kinds. If you declared yourself second, who dares claim to be first? Take my crown. You alone are worthy to sit on this throne.¡± The puppet turned to the audience. ¡°Isn¡¯t he worthy, children?!¡±

    The children cheered.

    Kaydence¡¯s nails dug into the skin of her arm. Her lips pinched into a thin, pale line.

    ¡°iSn¡¯t He wOrtHY, chiLDreN?¡± The puppeteer¡¯s silly voice echoed in her ears, sounding distorted, slowing and deepening into something old, cruel, and dripping with arrogance. The cloth walls of the tent suddenly seemed to close in. Before her eyes, the king¡¯s wooden head swivelled to stare straight at her with its beady, soulless black eyes. Its benign smile stretched into a jagged, monstrous grin. ¡°YOu aRE woRthLEss! Worthless, Seifer, you hear me!? What use is a rabid dog biting its master¡¯s hand? At least your brother knows his place. He is worthy.¡±

    Sweat pearled on Kaydence¡¯s forehead. Her heartbeat drummed in her ears, deafening, drowning out the festive noises from outside the tent and the audience¡¯s cheerful shouts.

    ¡°Step back, Brother. Lower your sword. Or I will make you.¡±

    A hand landed on Kaydence¡¯s shoulder. She jumped and moved to strike back at her assailant¡ªonly to recognise the pale green eyes looking down at her in question and concern.

    Reality rushed back at her, the noises of the Festival outside and the ongoing play audible once again. The two puppets were having comedic back-and-forths about who should wear the crown: the king kept trying to abdicate and the hero stubbornly refused each time. This is absurd, she thought bitterly. King Rakham would have slaughtered his entire kingdom before willingly stepping down, and Kayden was nothing if not ambitious.

    Her aborted strike awkwardly transitioned into a slap to remove Lenril¡¯s hand from her shoulder. ¡°This stupid show is making me sick,¡± she said, not caring whether the deaf Elf could read her lips in the dim lighting. ¡°I¡¯m going to get some fresh air.¡± Without waiting for a reply, she stormed off and ducked through the tent¡¯s flap. The crisp night air outside was an instant relief, appeasing her burning fever. She breathed out, and steam condensed before her lips, like the breath of an impotent dragon.

    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    The puppeteer¡¯s mobile theatre occupied a corner of a courtyard adjacent to Main Street, which it shared with several other performers and food stalls. Festoons of reed lanterns hung between a tall central pillar and the surrounding buildings, lighting up the yard with a twilight glow. Up above, stars dotted the black sky. The air was filled with the scent of grilled meats, fish, and spices, and people meandered around, chatting and laughing, while kids scampered between the many acts concurrently on display.

    For once, no one was paying Kaydence any mind, and she was thankful for it. Feeling suddenly parched, she approached a vendor for an overpriced serving of fresh water. The man cast her an unfriendly glare but took her coin all the same, though he kept a suspicious gaze on her the whole time she drank¡ªas if worried she might run away with his wooden mug.

    Kaydence considered her options. The play was likely to last a while longer, and she was loathe to witness another moment of it. None of the other performances interested her: not the man juggling knives and torches, not the jester on stilts navigating the treacherous cobblestones, not the contortionist making a knot of herself, nor anyone else. She recognised the feats were technically impressive for regular Humans, but to her, they all looked alarmingly clumsy. Watching them just made her uncomfortable, like looking at a bunch of toddlers playing with sharp objects¡ªalmost literally, in one case.

    Having returned the precious empty tankard, Kaydence wandered to the wide carriage doors leading out to Main Street, intent on checking nearby stalls. Sarmin had dragged them to various places around the Festival so far, but she had yet to find the gift her mother had requested. It needed to be something of decent worth, but also mundane enough that no robber would covet it¡ªand so Kaydence could plausibly deny putting any thought into it.

    The moment Kaydence stepped through the doorway, she was swallowed by a Human torrent¡ªa slow, plodding torrent, but a forceful current all the same. The crowd in the courtyard had been bearable, with it being somewhat out of the way, but it seemed all of Northern Greyport had gathered in its main avenue, along with visitors from around the province. She was instantly deeply uncomfortable. The claustrophobic press of bodies, the cacophony of voices, the cavalcade of feet, the music, the laughter, the shouts, the clashing smells of perfumes, incenses, tanned leather, herbs and dubious remedies, the foods being cooked, grilled and boiled, the dizzying lights of the lanterns and colourful canvas of the stalls, and, above all, the random burst of magic from the failed mages turned performers and weak artefacts on sale, all of it overwhelmed her senses and flayed her nerves raw. A mage could have stood close enough to stab her with his wand, and she might have been none the wiser.

    Someone did run into her. Kaydence suffered a flash of deja vu, but it was only a random child, a boy carelessly waving around a tiny white wooden sword: a cheap replica of Mercy, the First Emperor¡¯s Holy Blade. The boy looked up, probably startled at encountering what must have felt like a stone wall in his path, and met Kaydence¡¯s crimson gaze. He blanched¡­ but then immediately brandished his toy sword. ¡°D-Demon! B-By the gods, I-I¡¯ll slay you!¡±

    Kaydence¡¯s eyebrow climbed up. She was almost amused¡ªalmost. But what won out was a wave of tiredness. She suddenly felt ancient and out of place, alone despite people bumping into her left and right. She briefly considered leaving right then and there, disappearing in the crowd and never coming back. A moment later, an older woman appeared to snatch the miniature aspiring holy knight away, chastising him about running off and throwing worried glances at Kaydence while quickly retreating.

    Soon, the shifting crowd swallowed them both.

    Kaydence stood still for a bit, staring at where the anxious mother and her child had vanished.

    Eventually, she shook her head and roughly shouldered her way to the side of the road, ignoring the complaints in her path. Idly, she wondered about buying one of those Mercy replicas for Annet. The strange woman might appreciate such a bizarre gift and perhaps even hang the toy sword in their home like a trophy. Kaydence could then enjoy the sick, twisted joke of having on display a model of the weapon that killed her.

    The crowd spat her out in front of a neglected stall which sold ornaments carved from colourful seashells. The engravings were exquisite, yet no one appeared to be buying, and Kaydence quickly understood why after seeing the labelled prices.

    The vendor was a Dwarf, which explained the quality of the goods. The stoutfolk¡ªnicknamed so due to their squat, dense and muscular statures, averaging four-foot-six in adulthood¡ªwere better known for their grand masonry works and mastery of the forge. But they showed superlative talent in any craft they chose to specialise in. Legends claimed Kol, the God of Fire, Innovation and Craftsmanship, created the first Dwarves out of stones that he animated with his own fiery breath. The race was further divided into clans, which functioned as subraces in all but name for how greatly their appearances and cultures differed from one another.

    The shell carver was of the Brinerock Clan, who dug their holds inside vast salt caves along the coasts of Katenda. They were easily recognisable by their pale squamous skin, barnacled faces, and scruffy white beards decorated with seaweeds and the same marine ornaments the Dwarf was trying to sell. Kaydence thought she might have seen this one at the Bear before¡ªa quiet fellow, as were most of his kind, typically harmless if left alone. But she could hardly blame Human commoners for not wanting to buy what might seem like ridiculously priced pretty seashells from someone who looked like the drowned corpse of a stocky, grumpy old man. (The Dwarf could have been female, though. It was always hard to tell because the genders were almost identical in both morphology and pilosity.)

    The Dwarf huffed what might have been a greeting. Kaydence nodded back but moved on. Even she was reluctant to spend an entire gold coin on a single necklace, even though it met her conditions for a great but inconspicuous gift. For context, a single gold could feed a small family for several months if they ate frugally.

    The next few stalls were similar disappointments, offering either local products that failed to catch her eye or exotic goods beyond her budget: intricate Mettanean carpets, wines from the imperial capital, Elven teas, scented beeswax candles, various simple but practical artefacts providing light or heat, a set of paint brushes made of luxurious dark wood, and even a triptych depicting the birth, rise, and fall of the Jaldehim race, bearing the etched mark of the Custodians. Kaydence disliked how prominently it featured the Twelve Gods, but Annet would have loved the evident passion put into each of the three art pieces.

    She was about to give up when she happened upon a stall she had thus far missed: a narrow, cluttered thing wedged between a jeweller and a rack of salted fish.

    The vendor was from out of town¡ªout of the archipelago entirely, it seemed like. He had a strange accent and looked Kaydence straight in the eyes¡ªas best he could, anyway¡ªwithout as much as a flinch. His only reaction was a broad business smile that revealed more than three missing teeth. A thin elven pipe hung limply from one of the holes. His left eye was swollen, half-shut, and crooked. His ears stuck out, one missing a piece that looked bitten off. Wild white hair erupted from his head, and long, bushy sideburns gave his wrinkled, narrow face a mischievous simian look.

    ¡°Ooh! Welcome. Welcome, young missy.¡± He waved Kaydence over as soon as he spotted her. ¡°Old Dee¡¯s wares have many rare things, special things, for special people. Old Dee will help you find what you seek. Yes. Yes. He will.¡± He nodded jerkily, rubbing his fingers together, several of which were missing. With his bad eye, he gave her a twitchy wink. It looked painful.

    Confidence was not what the man inspired. Nevertheless, Kaydence approached to eye his wares, and indeed, the tiny stall overflowed with a mishmash of bizarre, mismatched items. Random books were strewn out haphazardly alongside strange ornaments crafted from scales and feathers, a small wooden statue of a cockatrice with stone for eyes, a collection of fangs and claws of many shapes and sizes, a bronze cup, a pair of woollen socks, a pair of wicker sandal, and a single engraved clog. A broken dagger made of green metal lay awkwardly on a heap of dried herbs and tea satchels, next to an amateurish painting of a rat in armour, a miniature model of gallows, a misshapen clay pitcher decorated with worshippers, a tin crown fitted with glass marbles, and an open case containing pinned dead bugs. One side had bottles filled with colourful fluids and bearing improbable labels such as ¡°Instant Breath Freshener,¡± ¡°Unicorn Tears,¡± or ¡°Liquid Misfortune.¡± One vial filled with glittering powder claimed to contain ¡°A Fairy¡¯s Goodwill.¡± A small rectangular piece of parchment paper sat alone on a corner of the table, held in place by a rock. The visible part read ¡°COUPON FOR A RANDOM ARTEFACT¡± from someone named Tim, with tiny text warning that every artefact was a prototype and that ¡°Tim¡± was not liable for any unintended side effects.

    All of it looked undeniably fishy.

    However, one item stood out to Kaydence. Composed of a delicate web of strings, woven onto a circular willow frame and adorned with beads and purple feathers, it looked like the kind of oddity Annet might like. ¡°What¡¯s this?¡± she asked. She had never seen anything quite like it.

    The vendor let out an excited hoot, picking up the woven ring delicately between his seven fingers. ¡°The young miss has a discerning eye! The Dahathri tribes of the Far South call it a Web of Nightmares. It catches bad dreams and stops them from manifesting in the waking world. It also shields your home from curses and bad karma. This one is of special quality. As you see, it is decorated with real Darkness Phoenix feathers that greatly improve its abilities!¡±

    ¡°Right¡­¡± Kaydence was quickly losing interest. For one, she sensed no magic from the supposed artefact. Secondly, as purely magical creatures, Phoenixes were more immaterial than physical. Anything that fell off their body simply dissolved back into pure mana.

    ¡°Ah-Ah. Not your thing, we see. Don¡¯t go yet! Old Dee has stuff for everyone. Yes, he does. Yes, he does¡­¡± The weird merchant ducked behind his stall and rummaged under the table.

    Kaydence was close to walking away, but then her eyes caught onto an unremarkable necklace. It was truly a simple thing: an unadorned leather strap, threaded through a steel hook that attached to a single, faintly ridged, oblong black scale, two inches in length. The strap was tangled with a pile of similar ornaments. It can¡¯t be. Carefully, almost gently, Kaydence extracted the necklace from its brethren and held it to her face. ¡°It is. How¡­?¡±

    ¡°Oh?¡± Old Dee peeked up from beneath his stall. ¡°Oh! Yes, yes, yes. These necklaces are all fashioned out of genuine Dragon scales! Quite legendary items, for sure. Very precious and rare. Yes. Antiques, even! No one has seen a Dragon since the War of Burning Heavens, not since the Demon King killed them all, at any rate. It was a grand adventure for this Old Dee to get his hands on these. Fingers were lost. They did,¡± he said, spreading his mangled hands.

    Kaydence did not bother looking at him or listening to his dishonest salesman pitch. Dragons were similar to Phoenixes, ancient magical creatures, originating from the Old World, as intelligent as any mortal race, if not more so. Unlike their ethereal avian counterparts, however, Dragons were closer to the material. They did lose and shed scales, and they left corpses when they died. And every part of their body was a precious and sought-after magical ingredient.

    However, Old Dee was lying through his gaping teeth. The necklaces on the table were all fashioned from regular lizard scales¡ªnot even coming from wyverns, the Dragons¡¯ lesser bestial cousins, but from mundane large reptiles. Every word out of the merchant¡¯s mouth only condemned him more as a scammer.

    And yet, was it providence or a cruel joke of fate, that an actual, genuine Dragon scale found its way among those pale imitations and into Kaydence¡¯s hand? A Darkness Dragon, too¡­

    The scale was small, its original owner probably just a juvenile, and it lacked any lingering magic. After 2500 years, that was to be expected. It explained how it was overlooked for so long, mistaken for that of an ordinary beast. But Kaydence could never make that mistake. No one had a more intimate understanding of Dragons than she did. For years, she had hunted them, killed them, dissected them, eaten their flesh, drank their blood.

    She had been them.

    People had not titled Seifer the ¡°Dragon Demon King¡± as a mere metaphor.

    But Kaydence¡¯s shapeshifting days were far behind her. The transformation ritual Seifer had designed required fresh blood from a live specimen, and in his madness, he had hunted his supplies to near extinction. Kaydence held hope that some Dragons survived, whether by fleeing the continent or hiding in seclusion, but for all intent and purpose, those magnificent creatures were gone.

    And it was all her fault.

    ¡°Young missy?¡±

    Kaydence blinked, realising she had lost herself in memories once again. She looked at the merchant. ¡°How much?¡±

    ¡°Ah, for such a valuable antique¡­¡± he said, rubbing his hands. ¡°Three silver.¡±

    Kaydence held back a snort. The man had no idea what treasure he had in stock. ¡°Eleven copper.¡± His ignorance did not mean Kaydence would let him fleece her, even in principle.

    ¡°Gah! You break this Old Dee¡¯s heart! Much blood and sweat went into recovering this rare¨C no¨C this unique Dragon scale! Fingers too. This Old Dee cannot go below two silvers.¡±

    ¡°One silver,¡± Kaydence countered. The merchant opened his mouth in protest. She cut him off. ¡°And I¡¯m not reporting you to the Guard for selling contraband fairy dust.¡±

    ¡°Deal!¡± Old Dee cackled with a crooked grin, though sweat coated his forehead despite the cold. ¡°The young missy¡¯s business acumen is as great as her impeccable taste. Your mother will love the gift.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, yeah.¡± Only half-listening to the empty flattery, Kaydence handed him all the copper coins her mother had given her and a few of her own, totalling one silver. She looked at the necklace one last time before depositing it carefully in her pocket. It had been something of an impulsive purchase, but Annet would probably like it, and no one but Kaydence would be able to tell it was not some random painted crocodile scale.

    Done with the annoying scammer, she started walking back towards the courtyard.

    Wait, how did he know¨C

    ¡°Way! Make way for the Guard!¡± Half a dozen armed men suddenly came jogging down the street, the crowd parting before their shouts and intimidating presence. Kaydence, too, stepped aside, only to watch them rush towards Old Dee¡¯s stall. ¡°By the duke¡¯s¨C Men! He¡¯s running! Catch the criminal!¡±

    As soon as the guards had shown up, the old merchant had swept most of his stock into a large sac and took off sprinting, showcasing stunning energy and agility for his age. ¡°You¡¯ll never catch me alive!¡±

    ¡°Surrender! By the duke¡¯s authority!¡±

    ¡°Never! Old Dee¡¯s not going back to prison! Hahahahahaha!¡±

    The pursuit quickly disappeared into a side street, the old man¡¯s mad cackles fading with the distance. After a brief moment of silence, the crowd started moving again, the cheerful din of the Founder¡¯s Festival reasserting itself. Kaydence was left in utter confusion.

    ¡°What in the Void?¡±

    * * * * *

 B1CH15 - Festival of Flames, Part 3: Let It Burn

    What comes after the End? Of course, the travels of the soul are familiar to us. Upon death, one¡¯s lev journeys to Urobos, the land of the dead, ferried on the wings of Pegasus, the divine steed. There, the soul fragment undergoes trials ordained by Urabi, the Death Force, Queen of the Underworld, in the hope of ascending to a preferable reincarnation. After a grace period, the half-soul passes before Nuakh, the Dreaming Gate, God of Sleep, Guardian of Pneuma, and Urabi¡¯s Consort, to be gifted a new rua and sent off to begin a fresh existence, unburdened by the weight of memories and past attachments.

    It is our divinely given task on this Earth to use this new chance, this clean slate, as a renewed opportunity for self-betterment and spiritual growth, in preparation for our next karmic trial in Urobos.

    But what of the somatic? Of the body? Indeed, what of it? Some proud kings of old had their spiritless mortal shells preserved and entombed behind arcane seals, hoping mayhap to return to rule their domain after their sojourn in the underworld. The People of the Waves, in the western ocean, entrust their dead to the dark waters on which they sail their entire lives. The Dahathri tribes encase theirs in ice and let them sink under the shifting glaciers of the far south. And yet, no amount of magical or physical defences can forever shield remains from the depredations of the necromancer vermin, who, above all, seek to desecrate any part of life that is holy.

    The solution, then? Fire. Kol¡¯s cleansing Breath purifies physical remnants and any spiritual echoes left behind, denying the sacrilegious their ill-coveted prize. Burning the bodies of the departed is the only way, so burn them we must. Burn them. Burn them all.

    ¡ªauthor unknown, text recovered from a temple of Whesi after its destruction by an army of undead, later cited in ¡°A History of Cremation,¡± by Notan Hecro, published 307 AK.

    -

    Remembrance 1, 2497 AK, Radiant Empire, Cleft Isles, Greyport.

    Kaydence brusquely shoved her way through the suffocating crowd, heading back towards the performers¡¯ courtyard. How did he know? How could he know? Echoes of the merchant¡¯s parting words reverberated in her mind. ¡°Your mother will love the gift,¡± he said.

    Or did he?

    Lately, Kaydence had begun to fear she might not be able to trust her senses anymore. She had been seeing and hearing things¡ªmore than was usual to her, at any rate. It was the whole reason she escaped the puppeteer¡¯s tent in the first place. Now, she questioned how far her sanity had slipped. She had almost struck Lenril. What if there was no ¡°almost¡± next time?

    What if she attacked Annet?

    Her treacherous mind whispered back it was only a matter of time.

    A woman¡¯s shrill laughter nearly made her jump out of her skin. Kaydence swore and stepped away. She needed to relax. She was far too tense. Her first instinct had been to run back to her mother¡¯s side, but in her current state, she was liable to cause problems rather than solve any¡ªreal or imaginary. A fistfight with Erza seemed inevitable, given how easily the abrasive, freckled redhead got on Kaydence¡¯s nerves, even on the best of days. Fundamentally, nothing had changed from when Kaydence chose to entrust Annet to the Southeys, a few hours ago.

    She found herself fiddling with the Dragon scale in her pocket. She considered throwing it away, severing any connection to that suspicious merchant, but could not bring herself to. The act would be too weighted in symbolism¡ªthe kind the world seemed to care about¡ªand Kaydence could hardly afford any more bad karma.

    Needless to say, her attempt to clear her mind with some fresh air was an utter failure, and she reentered the courtyard in an even fouler mood than she had left with. Escaping the viscous stream of humanity on Main Street was a minor relief, but one that got turned around the moment she spotted familiar faces roaming between the fair acts.

    Thomas Burtin and his cronies sauntered around as if they owned the place, moving about in a loud and rude manner. Their boisterous voices cut through the din of music and chatter, and people gave them a wide berth¡ªsince the sparser crowd here allowed it. The young thug appeared no happier than Kaydence felt, his round face contorted into a scowl rivalling her own. But whereas Kaydence preferred to deal with her demons in solitude, retreating to the shadows to brood, Thomas seemed intent on making his anger everyone else¡¯s problem.

    School was his usual hunting ground, over which he ruled as a little tyrant, but tonight, he had turned to heckling every performer he saw. His crew of immature troublemakers egged him on with cheers and jeers, adding fuel to his fire, their tankards raised high as they revelled in their own obnoxiousness. From their reddened complexion and unrestrained demeanour, Kaydence suspected they had been drinking copiously since sundown.

    Now, the people in this era were generally more educated than in Seifer¡¯s time. Most understood, in the vaguest sense, the adverse effects of mind-altering substances on the development of young minds. But on festive occasions, it was still not rare to allow even the young ones to indulge in alcohol and tobacco. This particular group, however, had long surpassed the stage of mild indulgence. Not that it surprised Kaydence, as these kids were sorely lacking in role models or authority figures either willing or capable of teaching them moderation. Thomas¡¯s father, though a priest of the Light, could often be found lost deeper in a bottle than in divine contemplation.

    Kaydence pitied the stilt-mounted jester the teens were harassing. His unfunny jokes did not deserve that level of verbal abuse. But ultimately, she cared not enough to intervene. She also regretted breaking the boy¡¯s hand yesterday, and the guilt surely affected her decision.

    She stood by her reasons: magic was not a benign tool to be wielded lightly. It had a mind of its own¡ªin a manner of speaking¡ªand could end up using its caster as much as the other way around. However, she deplored losing herself to blind rage. Her outburst was only half about the young Thomas¡¯s actions, and the kid undoubtedly saw it as a gratuitous act of aggression more than a sincere and valuable warning.

    Therefore, Kaydence planned on ignoring the unruly gang of drunk twelve-year-olds.

    Unfortunately, they appeared disinclined to extend to her the same consideration.

    Kaydence had just reached the puppeteer¡¯s tent, and was about to peek inside to check how close the play was to its conclusion, when a pebble narrowly missed her head, bouncing harmlessly off the beige canvas.

    ¡°How¡­ dare! How dare you¡­ show u-hiccup here, demon?! It¡¯s a shac¡­ a sacred cle... ceble¡­ celebe¡­ We don¡¯t want you here!¡± Thomas slurred. He staggered forward, pointing a shaky finger in Kaydence¡¯s direction, his face burning in alcohol-fuelled rage. His other hand clutched a half-full tankard. ¡°No one wants you here!¡±

    Kaydence sighed, slowly turning around. ¡°I¡¯m not here by choice. Let me reassure you.¡± She caught movement in her peripheral vision and snatched the flying tankard in mid-air. Unfortunately, the content splashed over the rim, dousing her face and shoulder, much to the group¡¯s hilarity. ¡°Thank you,¡± she deadpanned. ¡°But I¡¯m not one for ale much.¡±

    Her nonchalant reaction only inflamed the inebriated teens. Thomas¡¯s face edged dangerously close to purple, quite resembling his father¡¯s in that moment. From up close, his black eye looked noticeably worse than yesterday, and his left cheek appeared swollen. ¡°You watch your¡­ damn mouth¡­ demon!¡± he spat angrily.

    ¡°Or what? You¡¯ll barf on my shoes?¡± Kaydence sighed, noting the boy¡¯s unsteady stance. ¡°Go home, Thomas, unless you¡¯re looking for bruises you won¡¯t need to falsely pin on me.¡±

    Thomas flinched as if she had actually struck him. Kaydence was not proud of herself. It was a low blow, she knew. And she did sympathise. She really did. He was just a kid. However, being young and having a difficult home life did not justify making everyone else¡¯s lives miserable, and Kaydence lacked the patience and insight to educate him. Her experience with children was sorely limited¡ªSarmin being the exception¡ªand oddly specific. It was utterly unhelpful in this situation.

    This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    ¡°Bitch, I¡¯ll-¨C¡±

    ¡°Tom! Stop!¡± Thankfully, one of Thomas¡¯s companions, perhaps more sober or sensible than the rest, intervened just in time. He grabbed his fuming friend around the shoulders, just in time to prevent him from leaping towards Kaydence and an inevitably painful conclusion. Granted, his success in holding back the larger boy was likely due mainly to Thomas¡¯s impaired coordination. ¡°Don¡¯t listen to her, Tom. She¡¯s messing with your head with her evil demon powers!¡±

    So maybe not that sober¡­ But listen to your friend, Tommy Boy. Kaydence rolled her eyes but kept her thoughts to herself, conscious she would only aggravate the situation.

    Eventually, Thomas¡¯s agitation subsided. Once he ceased his attempts to reach Kaydence, he pushed his friend away with a frustrated huff. ¡°Come on. This place is lame anyway,¡± he grumbled, falling back on his usual excuse. He walked away, and the rest of the group trailed after him, heading for the courtyard¡¯s gates. One of the girls shot Kaydence a venomous glare in parting, as if blaming her for the entire altercation.

    ¡°...ungrateful twerps.¡± Kaydence bent over to pick up the spilt tankard, sniffed inside, and grimaced. She walked over to the unpleasant food vendor from earlier, flashing him a smirk. ¡°Hey. I found this on the ground. That should earn me a free cup of clean water, at least?¡±

    * * *

    ¡°The First Emperor was so great!¡± Sarmin¡¯s green eyes were sparkling as he and his father exited the puppeteer¡¯s tent at the end of the show. ¡°Woosh! Woosh! The day is saved!¡± Sarmin cheered, his empty hands slashing the air as if holding a sword. Lenril gazed at his son fondly and ruffled his hair despite the short boy¡¯s protest.

    Tales of Kayden the Hero always fascinated Sarmin. In fact, he adored any tale of adventure and daring, but especially whose protagonists rose up against insurmountable odds and fearlessly struck down evil to protect the weak and the innocent, with names like Calmera the Fierce, Sarenos the Liberator, or the warrior god Tsebek. Sarmin¡¯s dearest treasure was a book of heroic legends from his father¡¯s homeland, penned in elegant traditional Elvish by Lenril himself, which the Half-Elf kept preciously hidden behind a closet at home.

    Kaydence was waiting for them outside. The tall girl was scraping her shirt with a broken piece of melting stalactite she had snapped off a rooftop. The remains of a crushed mug lay at her feet. ¡°Don¡¯t ask,¡± she said gruffly, pressing the piece of ice to her forehead. ¡°Is the thing over? Can we call it a night?¡±

    Sarmin¡¯s smile fell. ¡°B-B-But the b-bonfire?¡±

    ¡°Do you really need to see that?¡± Kaydence grumbled sullenly. ¡°It¡¯s the same every year.¡± The midnight bonfire was one of the Festival¡¯s most significant traditions, to be held at midnight on the opening night. Kaydence had witnessed it once, from her mother¡¯s side at age three, and had sworn to herself never to attend again.

    Her rebuttal filled Sarmin¡¯s eyes with tears. Lenril rested a comforting hand on his son¡¯s shoulder and fixed Kaydence with a soft, pleading stare. Her crimson glare flitted between the two, her annoyance mounting, before she finally relented. ¡°Ugh. Fine! But we¡¯re heading straight back afterwards.¡± Although her entire being revolted against it, she saw here a golden opportunity to cut the night short. Otherwise, Sarmin was likely to drag them from stall to stall til dawn broke. His enabling father would do nothing to stop him.

    Kaydence threw the piece of ice aside and walked away in a huff, anxious to hide the unease squirming beneath her scowl. Sarmin cheered and hurried after her, followed by his father, quietly smiling.

    On Main Street, the throng that once whirled chaotically from countless competing currents had settled into a single flow, laboriously oozing upstreet under a canopy of lanterns. The ambient cheer had subsided to a contemplative hum. Idle chatter had made way for muttered prayers, the bards¡¯ mirthful tunes replaced by haunting melodies and pious chants. Even the children knew to play their games in hushed tones. The trio merged seamlessly into the ambling mass, as did more and more people, pouring out of every building and tortuous alley to join the slow procession that headed for the city¡¯s heart.

    Members of the Guard were parting the crowd at the entrance of the central square, directing the townsfolk to the periphery and preventing congestion along the main axes. As soon as she emerged from the cramped streets, Kaydence found her gaze shifting skyward. The low-hanging clouds that had choked the heavens for weeks had vanished, allowing the waning gibbous moon to cast its silver light upon the square below¡ªthe Earth God Shu¡¯s Lost Eye peering down at the mortal ants treading on his back.

    The shadow of the grand temple loomed ever-present in the background, sending a cold shiver down Kaydence¡¯s spine. Caught in the ebb and flow of people, she, Lenril and Sarmin were pushed into a corner at the rear of the audience, their backs to a wall. Above them, windows teemed with onlookers, friends and family invited over, privileged to spectate from their elevated vantage points. Lenril hoisted his son onto his shoulders. Kaydence did not need to see to know what stood in the open space at the square¡¯s centre.

    For over a week, the thirty-foot monolithic structure had stood sentinel in the gallows¡¯ place, cloaked in protective canvas akin to a shroud. Beside it, a makeshift stage hosted a sinuous brazier and a gathering of cowled clergy, their forms obscured by moving shadows cast by the flame. As the ambient music waned, a cadence of heavy drums rose gradually over the din of the crowd, low at first, then gaining in power, until everyone fell into a tense silence pervaded with febrile anticipation.

    The drums reached a crescendo, their frenzied tempo echoing through the square before abruptly falling silent. Above the stage, the moon¡¯s silver shine coalesced into a towering projection of the cowled celebrants, their faceless masks bearing the Mark of the Twelve. The shortest figure among them stepped faintly forth, his stooped back crooked by years of devout prostrations.

    ¡°People of Greyport!¡± His aged voice boomed in the void left behind, fragile and creaking but amplified with magic. ¡°Friends from across the Split Isles! Sons and daughters of the empire! Today is the first night of the Founder¡¯s Festival.¡± The words echoed over the silenced crowd.

    ¡°Tonight, the hearts of the faithful throughout the world turn to our Eternal Emperor and Saviour, Kayden the Bright. He who fought for us, bled for us, died for us. The Chosen of the Twelve stood tall at the Plains of Twelve Heavens and One Hell before the great evils of the world and proclaimed, ¡®Nevermore! Nevermore will pain be the reward of the just. Nevermore will the humble be forgotten. Nevermore shall the deserving receive less than their due.¡¯

    ¡°Those words spoken in defiance of all injustices are also spoken to us: a promise to build a nation unlike any the world had seen since the Fall of the Jaldehim. Tonight, we are full of hope and trust as we realise that the First Emperor, the Chosen One, has proclaimed to us the Heavens¡¯ Love, that the Twelve¡¯s Eternal Will is for their children to thrive and prosper within their everlasting Creation.¡±

    The drums returned, beating to the rhythm of a slow heartbeat.

    ¡°Brothers and sisters, there was a time when deep shadows threatened to devour the land.¡±

    Cloaked figures hastened to the base of the monolith under the cover of darkness. With deft hands, they unfastened the canvas, allowing it to cascade to the ground.

    Below emerged a crude assembly of reeds and wood wrapped in painted cloth. Exaggerated features were rendered in broad strokes of colour: jagged lines suggesting scales and claws, the face a gnarled mask of menace, its mouth agape in a silent roar, oversized crimson eyes, twisted horns protruded from its head, and crooked wings hanging from its back. The very clumsiness of the design made the effigy only more grotesque, like a nightmare given corporeal form to infiltrate the waking world. It loomed over the crowd, swathed in shadows, illuminated only by the distant moon and the lone brazier.

    The drum picked up a more sinister pace.

    ¡°Evil rampaged throughout our homes, leaving only blood and ash, sorrow and silence. Yet it was then, by the Twelve¡¯s Will, that an undying flame was lighted.¡±

    In a bright flash, another figure joined the priests, both in the projection and on the stage below. The man was clad in full-plate armour of immaculate white, his face obscured by his helmet. He raised his alabaster sword, and the silver moonlight seemed to condense in a heavenly beam shining upon him.

    The drums shifted back to a glorious crescendo.

    ¡°They chose their representative among humanity to enact their design. This is the good news that changed the course of history! Today, the world¡¯s evil has been overcome by the Heavens¡¯ Light!¡±

    The immaculate knight plunged his sword into the brazier, setting it ablaze. He then charged at the snarling creature of wood and cloth with slow, deliberated steps and impaled the nightmare. Coated in flammable oil, the effigy caught on fire with blazing speed. The flames lit up the square, and the townspeople cheered as the Dragon Demon King burned.

    At the rear of the crowd, her back against the wall, Kaydence stared at the display without blinking. The orange lights of the flames reflected in her crimson eyes.

    ¡°Death to Evil!¡± the priest shouted.

    ¡°Death to Evil!¡± the throng echoed.

    ¡°Death to Evil!¡± Sarmin cheered atop his father¡¯s shoulders.

    The drums reached a feverish pitch.

    ¡°Sons and daughters of our Radiant Empire, let us exult in this gift of grace! Rejoice, you who have lost your confidence, for you are not alone. Rejoice, you who have abandoned all hope, for the Twelve offer you their outstretched hand in Kayden. Rejoice, you who find no peace of heart, for the Eternal Emperor vanquished the Great Evil for your sake! Tonight, and for eleven more nights, we celebrate in trust that his peace, his empire, will have no end! Glory to the Holy Radiant Empire!¡±

    ¡°Glory to the Empire!¡± countless voices echoed across the imperial lands.

    ¡°Death to Evil!¡± the priest repeated.

    ¡°Death to Evil!¡± People thrust their fists into the air.

    ¡°Let it be known to all who seek to sow discord or disrupt the peace of the realm: the gods watch over us! Let no Void or malice prevail, for Kayden¡¯s righteousness shall guide our path! In abundance or dearth, our Eternal Emperor shields us from harm. Let us remain steadfast in our devotion, unwavering in our resolve, and united in our hearts, with the strength to overcome all obstacles and fulfil the glorious destiny bestowed upon us by the divine hand of Kayden the Bright!¡±

    The drums and the people went wild.

    ¡°Glory to Kayden!¡±

    ¡°Death to Evil!¡±

    ¡°Glory to the Radiant Empire!¡±

    ¡°Everlasting Glory to Kayden!¡±

    ¡°Death to Evil!¡±

    ¡°Glory to the Empire!¡±

    Sarmin kept on cheering with everyone as the Demon¡¯s effigy burned. When he ran out of breath, he turned around to beam at Kaydence, eager to share with his friend the joy he felt on this unique day.

    But Kaydence was nowhere to be seen.

    * * * * *

 B1CH16 - Festival of Flames, Part 4: Screaming in the Dark

    <sup>1 </sup>There he came into the little garden, the Black Snake God, the Dweller in the Deep. <sup>2 </sup>The Serpent spoke from the shadows to the gods¡¯ child, ¡°Why have you not tasted the gift of the Spider?¡±

    <sup>3 </sup>The child, who was good and just, said to the Serpent, ¡°It is forbidden. <sup>4 </sup>The Beetle said to me, ¡®Care for the garden. But do not touch the fruit off the Mad Spinner¡¯s web. It is poison of the soul.¡¯¡±

    <sup>5 </sup>¡°Poison it is not,¡± the Serpent denied from the Darkness. <sup>6 </sup>¡°The name of the fruit is Joy. It is none but the reward of your just labour.¡±

    <sup>7 </sup>When learning that the Spider¡¯s gift was good and just, the child tasted the fruit. And for the first time, he knew joy. <sup>8 </sup>But with joy came sadness that the Beetle had denied him so long. And the child then tasted of all the fruits in the garden in search of new joys. And he coveted the joys of the other children. And he tasted despair when the others took his joy away.

    ¡ªBook of Darkness 3:1-8, Revised Imperial Version.

    -

    Remembrance 2, 2497 AK, Radiant Empire, Cleft Isles, Greyport.

    Kaydence was burning. She could not breathe, could not scream. Her fingertips dug into her chest to grasp at her lungs. Skin flaked around her grip, flesh melting, swelling, bloating, bursting, and dripping off her bones¡ªbones that ached as if trying to stretch out of her skin, teeth falling off, nails crawling out, replaced by fangs and claws, scales burrowing out of her flesh like beetles, bloody wings tearing through her back. Then the process reversed, and she was whole again, unharmed, Human, without a trace that anything had happened save for the trauma branded in her soul, of an agony that was already starting anew.

    Pain. Her stomach jumped to her throat. She retched, eructing nothing but acrid bile, headbutting the ground in an effort to knock herself unconscious, to make the pain stop. How many times was she brought back from the brink while inwardly begging for death? Too many to count. She was trapped, stuck in a loop, in a hellish waking nightmare of her own making, locked as a wailing, tortured soul inside the immortal body she had crafted that refused to stop and die no matter how many times she was stabbed, sliced, shot, dismembered, gutted, crushed, trampled, cursed, drowned, frozen, quartered, strangled, suffocated, beheaded, blown to pieces... No one could stop the Dragon Demon King. Not even himself.

    Flames danced behind her closed eyes. Liquid fire coursed through her veins, devouring her conscious thoughts as fuel, reducing her to a raving animal. Faceless people cheered and danced around her burning corpse until she stepped off the pyre and started another slaughter. Laughter turned to screams, jigs to a mad, terrified scramble. Blood drenched the streets, tinting even the light of the peering moon red. Tears of flaming tar streamed down Kaydence¡¯s grossly sculpted face. Her creaking, crooked wings of wood and cloth spread as ominous shadows against the night sky, opening jagged windows into the abyss between the stars.

    Strands of purple mana burrowed sluggishly out of her bleeding pores. They slithered into tangles of ancient glyphs spelt in the half-forgotten tongue of the gods, rose in the air, and arranged themselves in concentric pulsating rings. The mostly senseless sentences looped on themselves, reinforcing their imprint on reality, and the magic circle started belching out clouds of nebulous shadows. Grasping gaseous tendrils wrapped around Kaydence, weaving together, and finally snapped into the shape of a cowled cloak.

    The Darkness spell fell on Kaydence like a bucket of icy water. It doused out pain and hallucinations and anchored her in the present.

    Kaydence took a shaky breath. She collapsed on the cold ground, shivering, cocooned in shadows. Her emotions were suddenly muted, and her problems seemed distant, less overwhelming. Her breathing and heartbeat gradually returned to normal, and her thoughts cleared, parsing between memories, waking nightmares, and reality.

    The sensation of peace was liberating¡ªand scarily easy to get lost in. The magic wanted her to as well. It wanted to be used, to spread its influence, and to change Creation in its image. Kaydence could hear its soundless whispers, luring her into its calming embrace. Every type of mana echoed a different concept, and, to Kaydence, Darkness magic had always been an expression of Greed, the Pit one that took without ever giving back: light, of course, but also sound, warmth, thoughts, fears, joys¡ªanything.

    ¡°Foul...¡± Kaydence wiped the bile off her chin. She slowly stood, wrapped in her immaterial cloak of shadows, and cast a cool gaze at her surroundings, trying to orient herself. The industry district. Reserved for smithies, tanneries, and other unneighbourly crafts, it was located almost at the opposite end of town from the main residential area and, therefore, far from the festivities. It made sense, then, that she had fled here during her episode.

    Once again, her eyes drifted upwards. In this district, the buildings were larger, further apart, and rarely taller than a single floor, allowing one to see more than a sliver of sky at a time.

    The silver gibbous moon stared back down at her, eerily big and attentive tonight.

    A set of shadows moved before Shu¡¯s Lost Eye, repeatedly eclipsing the stars. However, these were no demonic wings, but the creaking, crooked sails of Greyport¡¯s abandoned windmill, sitting at the far end of the street like a tired old man wondering why death had not yet come for him. Kaydence felt some amount of kinship with the old ruin: crumbling, irrelevant, purposeless, yet somehow still moving.

    This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

    Looking away, Kaydence inhaled the cool, crisp air and let the calming embrace of Darkness soothe her. The vaporous tendrils of her cloak undulated around her, grasping at nothing, curling around her limbs like a spoiled pet begging for caresses¡ªa pet waiting, ready to dig its fangs into her throat at the first sign of weakness. Pet? More like a parasite¡­

    She took a running leap and wall-stepped up to the roof of a darkened smithy, landing in a crouch in the moonlight shadow of a broad chimney. Her cloak latched onto the darkness and melted her into it, invisible.

    From up here, Greyport looked like a rowdy sea of uneven shingled roofs, with chimney pots and lost steeples masquerading as sharp rocks ready to gut passing ships. The grand temple towered over everything else this side of the Split. She also spotted the Tower of the Guard and the lighthouse, whose fiery beacon guided ships in the harbour at the mouth of the Split. Tonight, its light was rivalled by the flaming glow coming from the central plaza.

    Kaydence briefly considered heading back, but flashes of the effigy burning down and echoes of the crowd¡¯s cheers held her back. She turned away.

    I wasted too much time already. Kaydence leapt off the smithy¡¯s roof over to the next building and started dashing across the city¡¯s canopy. Darkness and agility muffled her rapid steps to nothingness. Running felt good. For as long as she could remember, in this life or the previous one, magic had always kept her body as healthy as could be. For everything else, action had been her default remedy.

    Tonight was no exception.

    Annet would surely scold her for abandoning Lenril and his son. But Kaydence preferred enduring her mother¡¯s ire to suffering the Festival another moment or watching a little boy joyfully applaud her death. She had played nanny long enough to justify her departure. They¡¯ll be fine. Things were winding down. They should be heading home. They don¡¯t need me, she repeated to herself, pushing down a twisted knot of emotions she was reluctant to untangle.

    I bet that Twig¡¯s glad to be rid of me for the night.

    * * *

    ¡°Kaaaay?! Kay, where are you?!¡±

    Sarmin was feeling desperate.

    ¡°Kaaaaaaydence!¡±

    He shouted at the top of his lungs, but his cries sank into the loud throng like pebbles in a dark lake. No one stopped to help or even lend an ear, everybody all too engrossed in their own merriment. His father was not much help either. Mute and unable to call out in the first place, Lenril looked distracted and tense and flinched whenever someone bumped into him. He always struggled in crowds.

    The light show had ended above the plaza, leaving the half-lidded moon alone in the black sky. Large logs were being added to the crackling remains of the demonic effigy, building up the bonfire proper. The beating drums died down, the festive music picked back up, and people started dancing in lines around the figurative funeral pyre.

    ¡°KAAAAYDENCE!! WHERE ARE YOU?!¡±

    Sarmin¡¯s throat was raw from shouting. The tiny Half-Elf stumbled through the crowd, jostled around by indifferent people three times his size, ducking under elbows, sweeping arms, and sometimes legs. Not for the first time, someone knocked him aside inadvertently. Inattentive, Sarmin tripped on his own foot and fell to the wet pavement.

    ¡°Ouch!¡± He tried to get up, but a sharp pain stabbed through his ankle. It must have sprained in the fall. Tears pearled at the corner of his eyes. He wiped them, but more kept coming. ¡°Stupid¡­ Useless¡­ Can¡¯t even walk properly¡­¡± he whimpered. ¡°Kay¡­ please¡­ I¡¯m sorry¡­ We can go home now.¡±

    Sarmin had known Kaydence was genuinely upset about attending the bonfire celebration. She had been acting distressed the entire week. The strange girl might seem always angry, but her perpetual scowls ran a spectrum. Most people could not tell them apart, but Sarmin had learnt to distinguish them¡ªas a matter of survival, if nothing else. He should have known something was wrong when she left the tent during the puppeteer¡¯s show. But he had ignored it, too caught up in his own excitement¡ªjust like the people dancing past him without pause.

    This isn¡¯t right, the little boy told himself. This isn¡¯t what a hero would have done. But Sarmin knew he was hardly a hero. Kaydence was always the one saving the day¡ªsaving him, at any rate¡ªeven if she complained and hurled abuse at him the entire way through.

    His father was probably right: she did not need them to worry about her. Kaydence could handle herself. But the guilt did not go away. Sarmin was the older one. He was supposed to be the responsible one. And even if he could not protect her¡ªshe did not need his help, did not want his help, probably would feel insulted if he offered¡ªat least he should avoid making himself a burden.

    Please don¡¯t leave¡­ The only thing that terrified Sarmin more than Kaydence herself was the prospect of her being gone.

    Groaning, he pushed himself off the cobblestone and resumed his search. His foot hurt, but the guilt hurt more. ¡°KAY?! WHERE ARE YOU?! KA¨C ack!¡± A coughing fit stopped his renewed shouting. By now, the inside of his throat felt like dry leather. Reflexively, Sarmin looked for his father. Lenril had their waterskin.

    Only then¡ªfar too late¡ªdid the Half-Elf realise his father had not kept up with him. Of course, the tall elf could not weave through the dense crowd with the same ease as his tiny son. Stupid. Stupid. Sarmin berated himself. Kaydence always scolded him for being oblivious to his surroundings.

    He attempted to retrace his steps through the square but could not locate Lenril in the turbulent throng.

    Calling out would be useless. Even in total silence, Sarmin¡¯s deaf father never heard him.

    He tried to ask around. But the people only shooed him away, unwilling or unable to answer.

    With dread clawing at his insides, Sarmin resolved to head back to the One-Eyed Bear. The tavern was closer than his home and less isolated. He also clung to the possibility of finding Kaydence there.

    Returning to Main Street, he plunged into the narrow tunnel of houses. The lantern-lit gallery of colourful stalls, strange objects and loud music seemed far more sinister by his lonesome. Shivering, he limped forward and counted the intersections. The tavern¡ªsafety¡ªwas on the fifth street to the right.

    He only made it to the second crossroad.

    Suddenly, a vice-like grip clamped over his mouth from behind, stifling his startled cries before they came out. The hand was too small for an adult but too large for a child. It smothered Sarmin as an unpleasant, lukewarm stench of cheap alcohol washed over him and a slurring voice whispered against his pointed ear.

    ¡°I told you, tree licker. That demon can¡¯t protect you.¡±

    Heart hammering in his tiny chest, Sarmin bit down as hard as he could. He tasted blood. His aggressor yelped and let go. Sarmin took off running, but his sprained ankle betrayed him, giving out from under him. For the second time tonight, Sarmin¡¯s face ate the pavement. This fall was more unexpected and brutal. His head hit the ground. He saw stars. A foot rammed into his side and evicted the air from his lungs. Wheezing, he tried to curl up but was roughly lifted up and thrown on someone¡¯s shoulder.

    ¡°Forces and Elements! The halfbreed is as feral as that demon bitch,¡± another familiar young voice reached Sarmin¡¯s groggy mind. ¡°He nearly bit your hand off!¡±

    ¡°Shut up! I¡¯m fine. That was on purpose!¡±

    ¡°Right¡­¡±

    ¡°I said, shut up! Let¡¯s go before she shows up.¡±

    Sarmin tried to cry for help, but a bundle of cloth was shoved inside his mouth, and he found himself carried into a dark alley. As the lantern lights of Main Street faded away, Sarmin sank deeper and deeper into despair. In the end, his screams never reached the ears of anyone who cared.

    * * * * *

 B1CH17 - Festival of Flames, Part 5: Silent as the Grave

    Lady Lorelai had two girl twins

    With lovely eyes and snow-white skin

    Played the same games, wore the same clothes

    Shared the same bed, spoke the same words

    The ten children in Sparrow Park

    Could hardly tell the two apart

    Same lovely smile, same snow-white skin,

    Until one twin started rottin¡¯

    Are you the one? Are you the one

    Who goes to Lady Lorelai?

    Lady Lorelai had two girl twins

    With lovely eyes and snow-white skin

    Played the same games, wore the same clothes

    Shared the same bed, spoke the same words

    The nine children in Sparrow Park...

    ¡ªLorelai¡¯s Twins, nursery rhyme

    -

    Remembrance 2, 2497 AK, Radiant Empire, Cleft Isles, Greyport.

    Nausea stabbed acid nails into Sarmin¡¯s insides. The soiled rag in his mouth tasted like mould and old sweat, teasing his last meal up his throat. The lack of air spun his head round, and his arms were twisted at an awkward angle by the teen holding him. With each lumbering step, his captor¡¯s shoulder dug painfully into Sarmin¡¯s stomach as the group jogged deeper through the unevenly paved, meandering backstreets of dank, cold and dark Greyport.

    The Half-Elf prided himself on knowing the city¡¯s layout inside and out, but even he had hopelessly lost his way in the darkness. His kidnappers had taken too many twists and turns, as if worried they were being followed. Sarmin hoped their fears came true. Kay¡­

    His consciousness was starting to fail him by the time the group finally slowed. He heard the groaning of an old door, and the cool silver moonlight was replaced by the fleeting, flickering orange glow of a candle flame. The starry sky vault became a high, shadowy ceiling teeming with crisscrossed timber and groaning wooden shapes.

    His captor roughly tossed Sarmin down on the floor, snapping him awake. He reacted instantly. Years of enduring Kaydence¡¯s abuse had trained his instincts, and the Half-Elf was moving before his conscious mind registered it. As soon as his hands were freed, he yanked the gag from his throat and leapt to his feet, his eyes searching desperately for the door. He nearly vomited from vertigo but swallowed it with a wet cough and took a deep breath.

    ¡°H-HELP¨C¡±

    His ankles were kicked from under him. He dropped to the floor. A boot dug viciously into his side, cutting off his cry for help. Stunned, Sarmin heard more than he felt his rib crack, and he curled around his aching side with a whimper, shielding his head with his thin arms, dreading the next blow. Splinters pricked his cheek, which pressed against the moulded, creaking floorboards scattered with rotten straw. A faint biting draught seeped between the planks, blowing a briny, fishy smell onto his face.

    Large fingers scraped against Sarmin¡¯s scalp, then roughly gripped his hair and twisted his head up, straining his neck. The Half-Elf found himself face-to-face with Thomas Burtin.

    A flame hovered above the bully¡¯s open palm, flickering weakly in the fishy draught, and casting waving shadows across Thomas¡¯s round, bloated face. His cheeks were ruddy with intoxication, and his black eye looked even more swollen than the last time Sarmin had seen him. A malevolent sneer distorted the twelve-year-old¡¯s ugly face into a demonic mask.

    ¡°Welcome¡­ to our hideout, tree licker,¡± the boy slurred drunkenly, clenching his free hand, which was crudely wrapped in blood-soaked bandages. ¡°No one¡­ No one will find you here.¡±

    Thomas¡¯s bloodied fist slammed into Sarmin¡¯s face. Pain exploded from his nose, and the darkness that had been encroaching upon his vision surged forth, rapidly swallowing all until nothing remained but a silent plea.

    Kay¡­ Help me¡­

    * * *

    A dark figure leapt between Greyport¡¯s rooftops, swiftly dashing towards the harbour. With shadows wrapped around her like a protective blanket, Kaydence appeared as little more than an ominous silhouette against the black starry sky.

    The Shadow Cloak spell erased sight, sounds, and even her magical presence, on top of looking intimidating for the rare cases she had to interact with people. From Kaydence¡¯s point of view, it was a coarse, pathetic little cantrip, plagued with too many drawbacks and an inexcusable weakness against targeted magic scrutiny. But it sufficed to fool any inattentive mages or clueless mundanes, and her current self dared not dabble in any spell too potent or complex.

    The path to power was too slippery a slope for her to trust herself to tread it ever again.

    One more leap delivered the cloaked girl atop one of the many brothels bordering the Split. Crouching at the edge of the roof, she peered at the people wandering the street below in the gleam of red-hued lanterns. The activity in the pleasure district was less than in recent days. Most local patrons and foreign visitors had flocked to the Festival grounds tonight. Yet, many still longed for the warmth of another body over that of a sanctified bonfire.

    No one noticed the shadow jumping down the roof, across the street, and into the precipice.

    Kaydence eschewed the snaking path that led past her home. She scaled the cliff in a straight line down, creeping along the uneven stone with the agility of a surefooted lizard, dropping yards at a time and catching herself briefly on asperities where sleeping seagulls nested. Her fast and quiet descent never even disturbed the slumbering birds, nor was it discovered by the listless city guards patrolling the docks below.

    Descending so fast towards the stagnant Death-touched waters in the depths of the Split made Kaydence¡¯s soul scar ache, but she brushed it aside and soon reached the pier. Calm waves lapped at the old wooden supports of the jetty, trapped between the rock walls. Viewed from down here in the dark of the night, the Split appeared at once looming and oppressively tight, like a stone jaw ready to snap shut at any moment.

    The bobbing light of a lantern approaching, along with loud creaking footsteps, Kaydence slid soundlessly across the old wet planks and snuck below the pier. Quiet as the grave, she waited amidst support pillars and crossbeams for the guard to walk above her. Inwardly, she was cursing the algae and barnacles impeding her grip. Luckily, the tide was low enough that she was not half-submerged.

    Once the guard moved away, Kaydence started crawling upside down below the pier towards the Split¡¯s mouth. Edon, the information broker, had mentioned a shipment of drugs sailing in from the mainland, and only small local fishing boats moored inside the canyon proper¡ªtoo narrow for the larger ocean-faring ships. Unfortunately, the Festival had attracted too many merchant vessels for Kaydence to check each and every one.

    Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.

    The black waters turned wilder once she exited into the broader oceanfront. Outside the Split, the narrow dock expanded, spreading multiple piers throughout the bay like the tentacles of an angular octopus. Froth and sea spray erupted from the wave¡¯s incessant assault on the cliffs. This thin mist was quick to dampen Kaydence¡¯s clothes, enabling the winter cold to sink its icy claws deeper into her flesh and bones. The slippery plants, shells and oozes encrusted in the supports multiplied, and displeased crustaceans waved their pincers warningly at the shadow invading their domain before skittering off into more secluded corners.

    Some of the oozes were livelier than Kaydence would have liked.

    Despite the discomfort, Kaydence crept along, balanced between the wet, barnacled beams, freezing every time a guard walked above her. From the shadows, she peered at every ship, trying to pick a first target.

    Some vessels had guards of their own¡ªnot from the city, but independent mercenaries hired by the merchants, whom Kaydence preferred to avoid if possible. Instead of beating homeless drunks and malnourished purse snatchers, these people were used to fighting off pirates and sea monsters. Miserly merchants who employed amateurs rarely lasted long on the ocean.

    Therefore, she had to swallow a curse when her instincts pointed her towards one of the better-guarded ships in the harbour. Of course¡­ She sighed.

    At least, Elusive Mer was not the best-defended ship in the harbour. Nor was this brigantine the biggest or the smallest ship around, neither the newest nor the oldest. It moored about halfway down the pier, between a large galleon and a different two-masted, and its colours belonged to none of the prominent merchant guilds Kaydence recognised. In fact, the ship was unremarkable in almost every single way.

    Naturally, Kaydence found it highly suspicious.

    However, what concerned her most were the guards themselves. The average-looking men, wearing average-looking equipment, patrolled the average-looking ship with metronomic precision. Their routes never deviated. They never exchanged words when crossing paths, much less drink or gamble together like others on neighbouring ships. The galleon¡¯s crew was especially loud. This level of discipline was offputting for such a run-of-the-mill vessel, and Kaydence could only suspect something unnatural was afoot.

    Without a sound, she skulked towards the ship, keeping to the damp shadows below the docks. One man guarded the gangway shipside. He was of middling height, with short-cropped black hair, dark eyes, a rugged, unassuming face, and a honeyed skin tone typical of the empire¡¯s central lands. He wore thick winter clothes, complete with gloves and a high woollen collar¡ªnot unexpected in this cold. But the way he stood to attention, rigid, inordinately static and alert, a hand resting on the pommel of the cutlass hanging at his waist, rang alarm bells in Kaydence¡¯s mind.

    Her doubts were rapidly morphing into certainty. Scratching a support beam, she broke off a thin splinter, then flicked it forcefully at the man¡¯s exposed face. The imperceptible shard flew unerringly and pierced the sentinel¡¯s left cheek.

    Kaydence was ready to retreat the moment she threw the splinter. But as she expected, the man showed no reaction, not even a grunt to acknowledge the pain. He kept staring at the access to the ship with fixed, vacant eyes.

    Kaydence clicked her tongue and ducked back behind the beam. Of course, these random scumbags have undead guards. Why wouldn¡¯t they? That was sarcastic. There were too many reasons to count why animated corpses made for poor sentinels. Firstly, the mana and skill required to raise undead minions capable of complex tasks were resources usually better spent elsewhere. Just keeping the bodies rot-free alone was a mana efficiency nightmare. And that was before even considering the public backlash.

    Necromancy was, strictly speaking, not banned in the Radiant Empire. Still, its practitioners were viewed with extreme distrust by the general populace. It was the reason why incineration had become the nearly exclusive way to dispose of bodies in these lands.

    Besides, desecrating corpses was very much illegal, and Kaydence doubted the bodies used for those undead soldiers had been ethically sourced.

    What rotten luck. Morality issues aside, Kaydence¡¯s most pressing concern was the undead¡¯s innate sensitivity to Life and Darkness magic. Her shadow cloak would not fool them if one spotted her, mindless corpse or not. Ah, that¡¯s funny. When has my luck ever been good?

    On the flip side, she was now relatively confident this was the drug-smuggling ship she was looking for.

    Kaydence had never gotten her hand on the so-called Ruby Dust. The last time the drug circulated in Greyport had been at the very start of ¡°Wraith¡¯s¡± collaboration with Edon, when she had still been reluctant to involve herself too deeply. However, the effects she had observed back then¡ªenhanced strength, desensitisation to pain, murderous insanity¡ªhad always appeared too severe to be mundane. In many uncomfortable ways, they reminded her far too much of her own forays into necromancy.

    This seemed too much of a coincidence.

    Reconsidering her initial plan to infiltrate from the top deck, Kaydence crept further beneath the pier, heading towards the stern. There, a row of small windows lined the back of the ship. Leaping off a support beam, she landed quietly against the hull and grasped the nearest windowsill. Peering through the glass, she saw a dark room bathed in moonlight: the captain¡¯s quarters. No one was in sight.

    Runes were carved inside the window frame. Kaydence recognised a defensive enchantment, currently dormant. The captain likely had to manually activate it in case of an attack, as maintaining any large-scale magic permanently was an enormous drain on resources, requiring either a mage on standby or a steady supply of managems or monster cores. Greyport could afford to maintain its Grand Ward only because the city sat atop a prominent ley line¡ªone of the many pathways of power that flowed underground like rivers of raw aether. Many believed these ley lines to be the veins of Shu, the Godly Element of Earth, whose body became the ground of the world.

    After checking the windows and finding them locked, Kaydence sighed and summoned her magic. Darkness-attuned mana rose through her cloak in thin, purplish threads, which she shaped into a circle of spinning runes. Her casting this time was meticulous, making her fairly confident nothing should detect her. Soon, a small orb of darkness formed on the closest window next to its handle.

    Then she punched through the glass.

    It shattered soundlessly. Kaydence let the spell dissipate, reached in through the hole, and turned the handle. The window opened with the faintest groan, inaudible over the ship¡¯s creaking. It was a tight fit, but she managed to squeeze through by dislocating her shoulder.

    Then she was inside.

    Never use a spell where a good punch gets the job done. Kaydence nodded to herself, popping her bone back in place. Not a popular opinion in the magic community, unfortunately. Even in the past, she had been appalled by how mages neglected their physical abilities and stuck to the rear in battle. But since Seifer¡¯s best counterargument had been a sword through the neck, few of his peers had the chance to heed his advice¡ªaside from his direct subordinates.

    And Seifer¡¯s older brother.

    Of course, that bastard was so effortlessly good at everything that it¡¯s really not praiseworthy.

    The captain¡¯s quarters of the Elusive Mer were sparsely furnished, with little more than a hammock, a desk, a chair, and a handful of cabinets. Kaydence stepped around the broken glass on the floor and went straight for the desk. Her aim was the cargo logs. Obviously, nothing illegal would be listed explicitly, but smugglers typically mixed contraband with regular merchandise. All of it would be offloaded together and stored in the same place, usually a private warehouse or store, where it would then be separated. Those private addresses were what she was after.

    The logs were not on the desk or in any of its drawers. A quick search of the cabinets yielded no result either. However, Kaydence eventually located a safe, hidden in the fake back pannel of a cupboard. The compact metal cube had a matte black finish and golden filigrees, with a sculpted rotary dial on its front. How needlessly fancy, she sneered. It looked pricy, definitely Dwarven-made, although the flourish appealed to Human sensibilities. Just by brushing her hand against it, she felt several security enchantments embedded inside. It seemed overkill to store mere shipping records, but Kaydence had looked everywhere else, and she did not want to waste any more time.

    The enchanted combination safe would have stumped most thieves. So sad to see all that money go to waste. Kaydence would have struggled more to open a regular key-locked chest¡ªdiscreetly, anyway. She crouched in front of the box and summoned her Darkness mana once again. She was using too much of it, but seeing the undead soldiers outside had annoyed her more than she cared to admit. Corpses? Cute. Let me show you how it¡¯s done, kid.

    The tendrils of her purple mana started to align in her most complex spell of the evening yet.

    At its core, necromancy was the mimicry of life. All living things possessed instincts and thoughts, and the aether¡ªor mana, as it was now known¡ªresponded to this inherent will. This was the most fundamental nature of magic. Even subconscious intent influenced ambient mana, leaving traces for those who knew how to find them.

    Necromancers used Darkness magic to extract those echoes and employed them as a framework to craft a simulacrum, or ¡°shade,¡± out of Life Magic, which they then infused with more Darkness mana. This shade could be implanted into any compatible receptacle to create a so-called ¡°undead¡± tool. Corpses were the stereotypical receptacle, as dead bodies contained high concentrations of life echoes, conveniently allowing the necromancer to conjure the shade directly within its perfect host.

    But convenient was all it was. Cheap, lazy and obvious, was what Kaydence called it.

    Her Darkness spell took shape in front of the safe, never actually touching it, thus avoiding triggering its defences. Once she felt it latch onto something, she called upon her Life magic to shape the dark mana into a simulacrum. Her first spell collapsed in on itself, forming the shade of a man¡¯s hand. The shadow limb brushed against the safe¡¯s dial, twitching.

    Beneath her cloak, a subconscious, vicious grin curved Kaydence¡¯s lips. She reached for the safe, allowing her shadow cloak to peel back off her forearm, and superposed her own hand through the unstable shade. With another flex of her will, she activated the last part of the spell. The hand shade was sucked into Kaydence¡¯s own limb.

    The sensation was deeply unpleasant. Necromancy was not meant to manipulate the living, and the forceful integration of a foreign will inside her body felt like ants crawling through her veins, compelling her hand to move against her desires. Grimacing, she stopped resisting and touched the safe. Moved by a force of habit not her own, her hand turned the dial back and forth. A heartbeat later, the safe unlocked with a satisfying click, the lock also disarming the magical safeties. She let the spell dissipate and shook her hand to rid her fingers of the horrible sensation.

    Inside, somewhat surprisingly, she did find the cargo logs she was after, along with a purse of mundane precious gems, which she unceremoniously pocketed. At this point, her break-in was unlikely to go unnoticed, and she would rather have the crew chalk it up to petty greed. She felt no remorse for robbing her fellow unscrupulous necromancers.

    Kaydence quickly checked the logs. The last entry indicated an address along the Split, not far upwards from the pleasure district. This felt somewhat anticlimactic, but not all unlawful nightly escapades ended with a life-threatening fight against the undead.

    In fact, Kaydence generally preferred it this way.

    With a shrug, she went to put the logs back, when she spotted an unassuming black ring at the very back of the safe. Her heartbeat hastened, and she wondered how she had missed it before. Now that her awareness was on it, the power inside the ring called out to her in a harrowingly familiar way. Dropping the logs in the safe, she retrieved the tiny artefact and rolled it between her trembling fingers.

    Her crimson eyes latched onto the sharp-edged rose carved into the ebony stone. The colour had chipped off it after millennia, but in her mind, she still saw the ornament hued in glistening blood red.

    ¡­Rina?

    Why was an item belonging to one of Seifer¡¯s old companions on this random ship?

    * * * * *

 B1CH18 - Festival of Flames, Part 6: Things Heat Up

    Darkness is everywhere. There is no light that casts no shadow. There is no heart that knows no suffering. Therefore, the role of the Church of Whekatsi should not be to erase the harmful Darkness, for it is impossible. The followers of the Shadow God should aim to contain, manage the harm dealt by the ubiquitous Dark. When the damage overflows, that is when the Inquistors intervene, cutting off the rot like a healer amputates a gangrened limb.

    However, such a drastic act should be a last recourse. More vital than Whekatsi¡¯s Inquisitors is the work of his Confessors. Whekatsi¡¯s temples welcome not only sinners in search of redemption, but all who feel lost in the Darkness, overwhelmed by wounds invisible to the naked eye.

    Darkness is everywhere. Suffering its touch is inevitable. Struggling against its ubiquitous Force is no weakness, and seeking help to return to the Light is no failure. Not even Whesi, the Radiant God, could ever completely defeat his twin brother. How could we, simple mortals, ever hope to face it alone?

    That is why the role of the Confessors is so crucial: to listen and advise, to guide and heal the minds of the gods¡¯ beloved children, before those invisible wounds deepen, fester and gangrene, before gloom, confusion, and fear turn to anger, hatred, and violence¡ªagainst oneself or others¡ªand before one sinks so deep into the Darkness they cannot even remember the appearance of the Light.

    ¡ªextract from the memoirs of Radus the Bloodsoaked, retired Inquisitor, 2471 AK.

    -

    Remembrance 2, 2497 AK, Radiant Empire, Cleft Isles, Greyport.

    Nearing the tapering end of the Split, before the continental scar sank under Greyport¡¯s decayed walls, two enormous platforms clung to its vertiginous sides: aetheric elevators, Greyport¡¯s one marvel. The enchanted stone slabs, several tons each, tirelessly ground up and down the cliffs since before the fall of the First Dynasty. For two millennia, they had facilitated the transportation of goods from the harbour to the upper cities.

    To Kaydence, the elevators¡¯ enchantments were wonders of magical engineering, a grand creation of singular practical focus, art composed with extreme simplicity and robustness. The evidence was in how the enchantments had kept the platforms trudging along for centuries, well after the physical mechanisms had succumbed to disrepair from neglect by generations of ducal governers.

    Back in Seifer¡¯s time, such works of magic existed only as broken, dysfunctional relics, scraps unearthed deep within ancient Jaldehim ruins. The Cataclysm that ended the Ancients had not been a natural catastrophe, but the Twelve Gods¡¯ conscious effort to reset civilisation. It left behind very little and nothing Seifer¡¯s contemporaries could dream of repairing or¡ªgods forbid¡ªreproducing. To see such magi-technical wonder built by Human hands, in a forsaken backwater like the Split Isles, had nearly brought tears to Kaydence¡¯s eyes. It had rekindled her hope¡ªand fears¡ªthat humanity might one day reclaim the unfathomable heights paved by their fallen progenitors.

    To the denizens of Greyport, the elevators were nothing but loud and lumbering antiques that never moved fast enough for convenience.

    On the commoner side of the city, the platform¡¯s course ended inside a squat terminal building. It disgorged its cargo onto a cramped cobblestone plaza, barely large enough for in- and outgoing traffic to intermingle, conjuring by day a cacophony of swears and collisions. Ancient, gangling homes encircled the square, hewn from the heavy grey blocks excavated from the Cliffside quarry. The old dwellings now sat empty of people, their interiors gutted and refitted with broader doors and metal-barred windows, converting them into shoddy, overpriced warehouses for passing traders. Of course, storage fees were siphoned directly into Duke Emeth Kroah the Third¡¯s coffers, adding to already oppressive import taxes.

    In the dead of the moonlit night, the platforms finally rested, and the plaza lay empty. All that remained from the daytime chaos were countless imprints of boots, hooves, and wheels overlapping in the frozen mud. Ancient lampposts flickered blue against the old grey fa?ades. A lone drunk stumbled across the square, humming a haunting nursery rhyme about missing children.

    Atop one of the warehouses, a dark figure wrapped in stealthy shadows struggled not to slide off the ice-coated shingles. Kaydence clung to the backed-up gutter, craning her neck to peer down at the entrance.

    A single man guarded the door below, seeming half-asleep¡ªnot an oddity, as Kaydence counted four more watchmen sat before other buildings. However, she was convinced hers was undead. The corpse mimicked a bored sentinel almost impeccably, but its actions felt rehearsed, lacking spontaneity; it never adjusted its slumped position on the uncomfortable chair or shivered against the biting cold; its glazed eyes never blinked or left the stumbling drunk.

    The wanton use of necromancy puzzled Kaydence. Surely, these people did not believe no one would notice. Surely? And to what end? To cheap out on subordinates? To ensure secrecy? Nonsense. Any necromancers worth their bone dust should have many and more covert ways to command obedience, even from living minions. All of this reeked of smug, entitled arrogance, the sort Kaydence abhorred with a burning passion. Only, she found it incongruous for criminals who had so long evaded capture¡ªif these were the same people who had smuggled the Ruby drug years ago.

    As intriguing as this all was, Kaydence found her mind wandering. Every now and then, her fingers brushed against the obsidian ring that now rested in her pocket alongside the dragon scale necklace. She idly traced the spiked rose engraved in the cold stone, wondering why, tonight, the universe seemed intent on delivering to her jewellery that reminded Kaydence of her past life.

    If this was some kind of divine omen, it was one she did not appreciate.

    She still took the ring, of course. Never in two million years would she leave it in the hands of these unworthy lowlifes. Vermin. Her anger burned at the mere thought¡ªcontained only by her self-preservation instincts and the numbing effect of her Shadow Cloak.

    When sneaking out of the smuggler¡¯s ship, Kaydence had intentionally tripped the safe¡¯s alarms and thrown a rock through the window. Hopefully, the brutish destruction would help disguise her magical proficiency and obfuscate her motives. With luck, the smugglers might even focus on the gems¡¯ theft instead of the missing artefact. Maybe. Probably not. Kaydence was not holding her breath on that plan.

    As a magic tool, the ring was unimpressive¡ªdiscounting perhaps its maker¡¯s identity. The Shadow Harvest Ring, as Kaydence knew it, allowed its wearer to drain a victim¡¯s life force and convert it into necromantic Dark mana. Chilling in concept, the effect was unfortunately too slow and short-ranged for battle applications¡ªdecidedly underwhelming next to Zerina¡¯s later works. In truth, the little artefact was more a proof of concept.

    Nevertheless, its absence would be noticed. Its current owner had to be fuming at the moment. Former owner, Kaydence corrected herself. Not that she had any use for the ring¡¯s sinister power. Her reasons were purely sentimental¡ªregret, mostly.

    Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

    The barest sad sigh escaped her lips.

    ¡­Rina¡­

    Kaydence had gotten so absorbed in her dark rooftop brooding that she missed the attack until something pierced her Shadow Cloak. Only her obscured shape spared her. The metal spike missed her actual body, hidden in the mass of darkness. Instead, it clinked loudly off the frozen roof, striking with enough force to shatter the ice and crack the shingle under it.

    Instinct took over. Kaydence threw herself backwards, just before a second weapon stabbed the spot she had occupied a heartbeat earlier. Without pause, she dashed up the slippery roof, slid down the other side, and dropped behind the warehouse into a confined alleyway. The shadows swallowed her as she fell, and Kaydence hit the pavement running.

    She had to get away; she could not risk fighting an unknown in the city, where the Guard might notice. Anyone who spotted her Shadow Cloak and then kept attacking after losing the element of surprise had the confidence to face a Darkness mage at night. Whether that confidence was justified, Kaydence had no intention to stick around and find out. She planned on losing her assailant in Greyport¡¯s mazy backstreets before things devolved into a conspicuous brawl.

    That plan fell apart instantly.

    A cowled figure landed before Kaydence¡ªalmost on top of her¡ªwith all the silent grace of an ambush predator. Kaydence backed away in several quick leaps, taking in her opponent.

    An ample black cloak hid the stranger¡¯s body. Contrary to Kaydence¡¯s enspelled shadows, their cover was woven of actual cloth, lightweight, flowing, and enchanted to blend into the darkness like a hole in reality. The stranger raised their hands¡ªslender, gloved¡ªand the two throwing spikes darted down from the roof to land in their open palms. Peculiar weapons, the foot-long, silvery needles had no crossguard or even any discernible hilt, but their sharp, elongated points left no doubt as to their lethality.

    As soon as the stranger retrieved the weapons, they were already poised for attack. Beneath their black cowl, two blood-red eyes gleamed malevolently, glaring at Kaydence with unbridled, overflowing hatred. The girl¡¯s own crimson eyes widened in shock.

    ¡­Rina?!

    Before she could say anything, the Vampire leapt at her.

    * * *

    Sarmin woke to find himself hung by the wrists. His taut arms stretched painfully above his head, holding him up, the tips of his winter boots barely scraping the floorboards. The damp robe binding his hands chafed horribly. The edges of a rusty metal hook bit into his inner wrists, and a small trickle of warm blood streamed down his arm. A gag tight over his mouth choked his breaths. His sprained ankle pulsed with every heartbeat. Cold, freezing stone pressed into his bare back, and an icy updraught chilled his chest.

    He shivered violently.

    Someone had taken away his coat and shirt.

    Holding back a whimper, Sarmin kept his eyes shut, hoping to hide his wakefulness.

    That hope did not last.

    ¡°H-Hey¡­ Thomas, look,¡± a boyish voice slurred. ¡°The freak is¡­ He¡¯s awake.¡±

    ¡°Fi-¨C ugh. Finally¡­ I thought I hit the wuss¡­ too hard or somethin¡¯¡­ Bah!¡± Thomas¡¯s brash, remorseless laugh found echoes in his drunken goons. They had clearly kept indulging, and Sarmin spotted the source as soon as he dared open his eyes: a large barrel propped against the incurved wall. A dripping candle on top revealed five boys sprawled on the floor, drinking straight from the tap and overflowing mugs; at least one of them was passed out, drool¡ªor something fouler¡ªleaking from the corner of his lips.

    Sarmin¡¯s wide, fearful eyes met Thomas¡¯s. His were unfocused, bloodshot, and filled with wrath. ¡°What¡¯s with the fuckin¡¯ look, creep?!¡± A tankard flew across the dark room, smashing beside Sarmin¡¯s head and shattering. Ale and splinters showered the half-naked Half-Elf boy.

    The gag stifled Sarmin¡¯s begging pleas for mercy.

    ¡°SHUT UP!! SHUT! UP!¡± Thomas struggled to his feet, nearly falling over. Catching himself against a wooden pillar, he glared at Sarmin with unblinking rage. ¡°I don¡¯t¡­ I don¡¯t care about you¨C your excuses! You think I don¡¯t kno¡­ know what¡¯s going on in your creep head?!¡±

    The older boy was unhinged. He had always been malicious, but never like this. Panic gripping Sarmin¡¯s heart. Tears dragged dirt down his face. He struggled to break free¡ªin vain. His weak, bound arms could not muster any strength; the hook¡¯s angle was too awkward to pull himself off. Sarmin¡¯s despair mounted as Thomas ambled closer, drunkenly rambling on.

    ¡°I knew¡­ From the start¡­ Always¡­ lurking away from everyone¡­ lurking¡­ little creep!¡± His voice rose with every word. Abundant spittle flew from his mouth. Angry veins bulged on his neck and forehead. ¡°Hiding behind that demon! You think you¡¯re better¨C better than us ¡®cause your dad¡¯s an Elf?! Uh?! Well, you¡¯re not! You¡¯re not worth shit! You half-bred failure! FAILURE! You know why your mum killed herself? It¡¯s ¡®cause she was ashamed of giving birth to a freak like you!¡±

    His round, rubicund face twisted in a distressed grimace. He stumbled in place, nearly tripping on a loose floorboard. His tone dropped to a mumble, somehow even scarier. ¡°I¡¯m just¡­ gods¡¯ work¡­ Someone has to put you¡­ your place¡­ Yeah. That¡¯s it.¡±

    Prickles skittered down Sarmin¡¯s spine as Thomas raised a hand and conjured a finger-sized flame. The big teen stared at it in almost childish wonder, then hate bled back into his eyes as they snapped to the hanging Half-Elf. A malevolent grin warped his features.

    ¡°Let¡¯s try for a bullseye.¡±

    Confused, Sarmin followed the other¡¯s gaze to his bare chest, where someone had drawn a crude target with circles of mud. Terror returned, but again, the gag swallowed his wails. His efforts to escape redoubled¡ªstill futile.

    ¡°Stop¡­ Stop moving so much!¡± Thomas laughed crazily. With a swipe of his hand, he cast his conjured fire toward Sarmin. Yet, before the meek flame even crossed half the room, the updraught leaking through the rotten floorboards snuffed it out.

    Thomas¡¯s face flushed with shame as his triumphal moment sputtered and fizzled out. A drunken chuckle drifted from behind. His head whipped around. ¡°Who was that?!¡± The large boy stumbled back to his friends and lifted one by the collar. ¡°What¡¯s funny, uh?! Come on¡­ Laugh again! I fuckin¡¯ dare you! Maybe I¡¯ll burn your face off!¡± Even hammered drunk, the other knew to keep his mouth shut. Eventually, Thomas dropped him with a grimace. ¡°Coward. Ugh.¡± Brows scrunched, he sloppily gestured for another boy. ¡°Hey! Rob, give¡­ give me the¡­ that thing.¡±

    ¡°Thing?¡±

    ¡°Come on.¡± Thomas rubbed his forehead. ¡°You know¡­ the bag¡­ with the thing.¡±

    The boy named Rob blinked groggily out of his drunken stupor.¡°Ohhh¡­ the thing!¡±

    ¡°Yes! Now hurry the fuck up!¡±

    Rob frowned, even as he patted his pockets. ¡°I don¡¯t¡­ I don¡¯t know, Tom.¡± He fetched out a small satchel and reluctantly held it out. ¡°You¡¯ve already had¡­ two tonight, right? My brother will kill me if he notices too many missing.¡± The fear seemed to sober him up a little.

    Thomas snatched the bag with a snort. ¡°Can that dumbass¡­ like¡­ count?¡± His shaky fingers fumbled with the bag¡¯s strap. ¡°Don¡¯t be a bitch¡­ If he has¨C hasn¡¯t noticed yet, he sure as Void won¡¯t now. He¡¯s probably passed out drunk in some whore¡¯s bed right now, ¡®nyway.¡±

    Rob chortled awkwardly. ¡°Maybe¡­ You¡¯re likely right.¡±

    ¡°Of course I am, dumbass.¡± Thomas finally managed to open the bag. Tiny red balls rolled out onto his shivering palm, each the size of a fingernail. When he held one by the candlelight, the orange glow reflected off its many angular, crystalline facets. ¡°They really look like gems¡­¡± he wondered out loud, before popping the thing in his mouth and biting down with an audible crunch. Sarmin stared anxiously, confused about the whole interaction.

    Before long, a shiver ran through Thomas¡¯s entire body, and more bulging veins appeared along his neck and forehead. ¡°Ugh.¡± He groaned in pain, briefly gripping his stomach, and then his laboured breathing settled. His relieved sigh transitioned into a mad cackle, which rapidly grew increasingly unhinged. Soon, he was laughing uproariously, clenched fists raised towards the high, shadowed ceiling. Strange solid shapes occupied that impenetrable darkness, and Sarmin could only imagine what indescribable monsters lurked just out of sight, peering down on them. The other teens stared at their laughing leader with a mixture of awe and worry.

    ¡°This¡­ Who¡¯s laughing now, uh?!¡±

    Without warning, Thomas spun and slammed his fist into his friend¡¯s face¡ªthe one who had dared mock his failure. A sickening crunch echoed in the tall room, blood bursting from the boy¡¯s broken nose.

    ¡°Not you, huh!¡±

    Snarling, Thomas delivered another punch to his drunk friend¡¯s stomach, throwing him to the ground, where he promptly vomited.

    ¡°Never. Laugh. At. Me. You. Useless. Shit!¡±

    Each word was punctuated by a kick against the downed boy, leaving him whimpering in a puddle of blood and vomit.

    Thomas loomed over him, panting, his face redder than ever, teeth clenched, pupils dilated and quivering amidst prominent blood vessels. ¡°How many times will you force me to beat you up before you get it?! You¡¯re nothing without me! Nothing!¡± he roared, angry spittle flying off his lips and dribbling down his chin. ¡°YOU¡¯LL NEVER BE GOOD ENOUGH!!¡±

    Just when Sarmin was daring to hope he had been forgotten, two crazed eyes found him again. ¡°Now, where were we? ¡­Ah. Right.¡± A deranged grin split Thomas¡¯s face as he raised both his hands. Prickles stronger than ever crawled up and down Sarmin¡¯s spine, and churning flames erupted above Thomas¡¯s palms, each rumbling fireball now the size of a grown-up¡¯s fist.

    ¡°I was teaching the half-bred vermin a lesson.¡±

    * * * * *

 B1CH19 - Festival of Flames, Part 7: Bad Blood

    ¡°Listen here, boy. Them folks hollerin¡¯ for war against the bloodsuckers ain¡¯t never faced one in a real fight. ¡®Cause those who did, well, they ain¡¯t around to tell the tale. I¡¯m lucky that Vamp I crossed wasn¡¯t after my hide, else I¡¯d have lost more than just my legs and arm. And them fuzzies? Hoo boy, they ain¡¯t no easier. Picture, boy, a thousand-pound rabid beast, all claws, fangs, and fur, chargin¡¯ at ya with murder in its beady eyes. It don¡¯t die, no matter what you throw at it. You can cut it, stab it, blow it to bits, it¡¯ll keep puttin¡¯ itself back together and comin¡¯ at ya ¡¯til it¡¯s gnawing on your bones. So sit your ass down, finish your drink, and go back to your mama.¡±

    ¨Ca retired veteran of the Two Dragons Army to the young patriarch of Noble House Bumboodle, 1st century AK.

    -

    Remembrance 2, 2497 AK, Radiant Empire, Cleft Isles, Greyport.

    An emaciated girl stared with vacant eyes at the ashen ruins of her home.

    The log cabin had burnt almost to the ground. From below the blackened timber heap, a reed-thin arm was reaching out, bony fingers with carbonised skin buried in the sooty earth. Its owner had tried to drag herself out of the blaze until the very end.

    Soot, burns and splinters marred the girl¡¯s forearms. Dried blood and dirt crusted her chipped fingernails. Tears long dried had drawn black trails on her dirtied face. With mechanical movements, lacking any strength or awareness, she pulled at the heavy scorched wood and dug the hard ground with bare hands, trying to free the corpses from their cooling pyres.

    Behind her, black pillars of smoke rose lazily from the husk of a once peaceful village.

    A shadow fell upon her. The girl¡¯s empty brown eyes gazed up listlessly at the dark titan who knelt by her side. Others lurked behind the mountainous, tenebrous man, but the girl saw only his black eyes, wet with the tears she had exhausted. ¡°They will pay for this,¡± the man spoke with the certainty of Fate in motion. His large, solid arm scooped up the unresponsive girl against his broad, solid chest, and the powerful beat of his heart lulled her tired soul to sleep.

    -

    A lean young woman was fussing over a blocky alabaster altar encased in old ruins.

    The clean-cut stone slab sat inside a dark, once-forgotten cave. Its white stone, almost holy in its purity, pulsed with an inner gleam to the rhythm of an unseen heart. Teal and purple gems pustulated along its sides like organic growths, and its finely chiselled ornaments, depicting totemic bears¡ªsymbols of Belhad, Goddess of Life¡ªseemed to shift imperceptibly whenever the woman looked away.

    Parchment notes lay scattered about, black with dense scribbles, magic circles, and diagrams of the human body detailing organs, systems, and aetheric pathways. The woman¡¯s manic brown eyes surveyed them through her large spectacles. Thin fingers smeared in ink pushed back her untamed locks as she added yet more feverish notes to the sprawling piles.

    Heavy footsteps announced the man¡¯s arrival. The young woman greeted him with a tired smile born from genuine affection. She had grown a lot since their first meeting, and the old soldier no longer towered so far over her. Years of toil and grief had sunken his kind black eyes that belied a harsh, brooding face. However, his broad shoulders stood tall and unbowed; to her, he was still a mountain that would never crumble.

    Their gaze met. In those tormented black eyes, the young woman saw the same wrath, the same vengeful thirst that moved her, a rageful light so bright it almost eclipsed the dark rings eating down her sunken cheeks. A large, calloused hand brushed an errant lock off her face as the man inspected her with concern. ¡°Have you slept?¡± he asked, though knowing the answer.

    The young woman leaned into the old soldier¡¯s familiar touch, his solidity ever so comforting.

    ¡°Soon, I won¡¯t need to.¡±

    -

    A pale woman stalked into a ruined throne room with predatory grace.

    Her appearance and gait exuded confidence, sensuality, and danger. Blood not her own dripped down her soaked hands and chin, leaving a spotted red trail in her wake. The tiling of the room was shattered and scattered with rubble as if a natural disaster had raged through. Armoured bodies dangled from the walls, brutally embedded into the stone, their metal shells crumpled inward, and the flesh inside pulped into a gory paste that dripped below them like morbid tapestries. The actual tapestries were on fire, alight with unearthly black flames that already started spreading to the castle¡¯s stone walls.

    Her gleaming ruby eyes found the tenebrous man looming over the fractured remains of a shining throne, reduced to a heap of glowing pebbles. The old soldier¡¯s broad back looked at once larger and smaller than ever. His bloated muscles quivered with inhuman strength under his darkened skin, covered in esoteric tattoos that pulsed with arcane power. The thin, coiling lines down his cheeks like tears, down his throat, and under his torn shirt. He had forgone armours years ago, metal unable to contain his growing form. Yet, the woman could see the cracks in the mountain she once thought unbreakable.

    ¡°The wolves found their scent. Northwards,¡± the woman spoke calmly.

    ¡°North?!¡± the man thundered, facing her. His once-kind black eyes now bled red with distrustful hatred. The demands of their crusade had crushed his kindness piece by piece, and too many knives in his back had closed his heart.

    But not to her.

    Never to her.

    He was her family, her best friend, her general, her master. He had held the whole of her being through her death and glorious rebirth. He knew her every thought and that her loyalty was more solid, unchanging and eternal than the Shmavahal¡¯s Everfrost Glaciers.

    It did not stop her from shivering when the General¡¯s rage flared. It exploded and rolled over her, choking her although she no longer drew breath, and dimmed the world with churning, burning, hungering, all-consuming Darkness. ¡°North!?¡± his baleful roar shook the walls. ¡°That coward would rather run off to those point-eared vermin¨C!¡± He noted her flinch. With visible effort, he reined in his power and wrath. His serpentine tattoos pulsed, and the world released its breath. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. My anger is not for you.¡±

    ¡°I know.¡± She embraced the old soldier, holding him close as he once kept a little girl from breaking apart. Pressing her head to his chest, she listened to the thundering heartbeat hers now lacked. ¡°But we almost got them. We¡¯re close now. Soon, it will be over. Just a little longer.¡±

    But she did not believe her own words anymore. That too, he knew.

    -

    ¡°Please! There has to be another way!¡± The one they called the Vampire Queen, the Blood Nightmare, the Red Death was begging, distraught tears streaming down her alabaster skin. Her pleading ruby eyes stared at the creature hunched at the back of the gigantic, battered tent. Roars of agony made the very aether quiver as the deformed, bloated shadow held its horned head with clawed fingers. ¡°Let me help! I¡¯m begging you! I can fix this! I just need¨C¡±

    ¡°I said, get out!¡± A voice like a rock avalanche struck her with almost physical force. ¡°There is nothing to fix! I will do what must be done! They will pay! All of them! They will all pay for what they did! They will burn! All will burn.¡±

    The Queen¡¯s voice fell on deaf ears. The mountain had become a volcano, devouring its own solid flesh to scorch the land around it, indiscriminately burning all that came near. The once-kind black eyes, those that once shed tears for a little nobody who had lost everything, had become lava pits of roiling, boiling, unquenchable hatred, snake-like pupils narrowed in a bestial, feral rage, blind to all but the Enemy.

    They stared even at her with all-consuming bloodlust.

    ¡°Please¡­¡± she begged again, stepping closer and laying a hand on his scaled shoulder.

    The monster attacked.

    --

    Kaydence almost failed to dodge, rooted in place by the spectre of a memory, of ruby eyes identical to her own, of Seifer¡¯s closest friend¡ªshe whom he let down most.

    But this was not Zerina.

    Kaydence¡¯s brain caught up to reality with the enemy¡¯s spike mere inches from her eye, piercing through her Shadow Cloak.

    She dropped, flattening against the ground, and spun into an instinctive low kick. Her foot caught the Vampire¡¯s ankle. Life mana rushed down her calf to bolster her muscles, breaking the undead¡¯s footing. Simultaneously, a basic Fire rune flared between them. The crude spell exploded. With a flash and a bang, the Vampire was toppled, blinded, and blasted away, careening disgracefully down the street to crash into a distant wall.

    Kaydence did not wait to check on her foe. She ran. Her counter-attack was barely an inconvenience, she knew. Vampires were annoyingly tough like that. But she was no slouch either. She rushed into the maze of Greyport¡¯s backstreets at an inhuman speed. Life magic pumped down her legs, healing her muscles forced past their breaking point with every step.

    This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

    Overzealous necromancy, now this? Who are these traffickers? Kaydence never seriously believed the Ruby drug was made from actual Vampire blood. Now, she was reconsidering. I might have been entirely too casual about this. But, dammit, she had been seeking a distraction for the night, not a fight to the death!

    As a silver lining, this Vampire was definitely not Zerina Amaneth. Seifer¡¯s old companion would have annihilated the current Kaydence. Not only that, but Vampires grew stronger with age. Who knew how monstrously powerful the Vampire Queen might be if she survived millennia to the present day? No, this attacker was much, much younger¡ªless than fifty years turned by Kaydence¡¯s reckoning. Sadly, young did not mean weak. No Vampire was ever weak.

    A high-pitched whistle tore through the air behind Kaydence. Already?! She lept into a narrow alleyway, bounding off the wall to keep her momentum. The metal spike whizzed past, tearing bits off her Shadow Cloak, and stabbed into a stone wall with a thunderous crack, leaving a small crater. Kaydence held back a swear and revised her age estimate upwards.

    Without breaking stride, she heard the weapon wrench free from the wall and zip back to the assassin¡¯s hand. Her foe moved soundlessly, but Kaydence sensed their faint presence constantly snapping at her heels as the two weaved through the labyrinth of tight, cluttered, and deserted alleyways. The Vampire was relentless, as her race was designed to be.

    Another spike whistled past Kaydence¡¯s ear. She ducked and dashed into yet another dark alley, spreading her Shadow Cloak to obscure her position. It barely helped. The Vampire was gaining in accuracy, analysing her movements to pinpoint her within the Cloak.

    This situation was untenable.

    Kaydence knew she could outlast the Vampire¡¯s endurance. The blood-powered undead¡¯s strength was high-maintenance. Sooner or later, her foe would need to disengage to feed. Meanwhile, Kaydence could keep this pace virtually indefinitely, as her mana regeneration outpaced the expenditure empowering her legs.

    It was not enough. Against her current foe, Kaydence could not afford a single bleeding wound, not even a graze. One drop would let the Vampire track her anywhere in the city¡ªand beyond. Kaydence was an excellent fighter, with decades of experience, but far from infallible. If anything, her over-reliance on physical regeneration did her a disservice here. She was unused to avoiding damage at all costs. Let her foes bob and weave. She was the immortal, unstoppable juggernaut who ploughed through enemy lines.

    Not anymore, Kaydence reminded herself.

    More than anything, she was out of practice. It was only a matter of time before she slipped. It would happen sooner rather than later.

    Those spikes are a problem. Kaydence dodged again. The weapons had no mana signature and apparently disrupted spellwork. Perfect assassination tools. And they flew, too. How do they fly if they disrupt spells? An annoying conundrum. Yet, her attacker wielded the precise stabbing implements with the finesse of a berserk Orc warchief swinging a club. For all their elegance, the Vampire¡¯s every move radiated unchecked fury. Kaydence lamented. What did I ever do to piss this one off?!

    Behind her, the cowled figure veered soundlessly in hot pursuit. Again, the thin metal stake shot at Kaydence. She ducked, letting it fly overhead, but the weapon suddenly changed direction in mid-air and stabbed down. Hoy! That¡¯s cheating! Kaydence hurriedly rolled to the side, narrowly avoiding impalement but losing her short lead. The Vampire was on her.

    A second spike appeared in the assassin¡¯s hand, already striking down toward Kaydence¡¯s chest through the Shadow Cloak. No hesitation. No wasted movement. Kaydence might have been impressed if her life was not the one at stake.

    She conjured an explosive attack. This time, her foe was ready. The downward spike diverted, striking the Fire rune as it formed, defusing the spell. But Kaydence had anticipated this. Her second spell exploded beneath her, hidden by her Cloak. Launched up by the blast, Kaydence gritted her teeth against the pain. Instant healing did not make broken ribs any less painful.

    Pushing through, she spun high over the Vampire¡¯s head. Her feet touched briefly against the alley¡¯s opposite wall, and she leapt back onto the rooftops.

    Fleeing through the backstreets had proven confining and useless. Kaydence would take her chances across the rooftops. She dashed across the slippery shingles, but the Vampire launched up from the street, instantly on her tail. Did he feed recently? she wondered, recalling the dead prostitute she had found days ago. Her brows furrowed.

    No time to worry about that now. The Vampire was gaining on her. Though not inherently slower, Kaydence struggled to navigate the iced-over, sloping roofs. Her pursuer seemed to disregard the tricky footing entirely. How many enchantments is that damn cheater wearing?

    From her observations, Kaydence believed she could kill the Vampire in a straight fight, but not quickly or discreetly. A clash would attract unwanted attention, and if the Vampire decided to run away, Kaydence was unsure she could catch up. Escape remained the least bothersome option, but her would-be murderer seemed disinclined to give her the chance.

    ¡°I don¡¯t suppose we can talk this out?¡± Kaydence called over her shoulder, her voice distorted by the Shadow Cloak. The answer was a spike whizzing past her head as she quickly leaned aside. Guess not. It had been a long shot anyway.

    Refocusing ahead, Kaydence swore under her breath. She had lost track of their position during the mad chase through the backstreets, and it had brought them dangerously close to Main Street. Admittedly, losing the Vampire in the dense crowd might be her best bet, but there was no telling how much restraint the enraged undead would exercise in ploughing through unrelated civilians.

    The question was: did Kaydence care?

    Annet¡¯s face flashed in her mind, her mother looking at her with infinite gentle patience.

    ¡­Damn it.

    Her mana shuddered. Hesitation gnawed at her as she slowed. A quivering Fire rune spread from her feet, sublimating the ice around her. Footing secured, she spun, hand outstretched, gathering more Fire mana into strands of glyphs. Words in the gods¡¯ tongue branded the air before her, eager to destroy and devour. Beyond the magic circle¡¯s fiery glow, the Vampire¡¯s red eyes widened in shock, maybe even fear.

    A town aflame. Taste of ash in her mouth. The smell of burning flesh. Her family¡¯s calcinated corpses piled in the streets.

    Kaydence¡¯s breath hitched. Her mana faltered. The spell lost cohesion.

    The trice-damned spike tore through her circle, ripping apart its fraying strands and carving a bloody furrow across her outstretched arm. Void dammit! She pulled back with a hiss. The wound closed instantly, but the damage was done. The spike flew back to its owner. A short tongue flicked out from the cowl¡¯s darkness, tasting the red-stained weapon, along with a glimpse of fangs. The Vampire¡¯s angry eyes widened again, this time with hunger and triumph.

    ¡°No more running, fiend!¡±

    ¡°Oh, now you want to talk.¡± Kaydence could not swallow her angry sarcasm, though startled to hear a female voice. ¡°Fancy that.¡±

    ¡°I shall talk to your corpse!¡± The Vampire threw herself forward, her silver spikes poised to strike like twin fangs.

    Instead of dodging, Kaydence flipped out the short dagger she kept sheathed at her ankle. She parried the spikes in quick succession, grabbed the Vampiress¡¯s collar with her free hand, pulled, and smashed their foreheads together with a sickening crack. The undead stumbled, not entirely immune to having her brain rattled. Kaydence¡¯s vision blurred, her balance offset, but she pushed through. As her skull mended, she stabbed at the Vampiress¡¯s neck, aiming for her spine.

    A flicker of mana warned her. Kaydence aborted her attack to parry a crystalline shard, glittering red in the moonlight. More flying crimson darts assaulted her, forcing Kaydence to retreat. Allowed to recover, the Vampiress held up her spikes, her stance more guarded, eyes narrowed, while the shards of crystalised blood orbited her like a swarm of angry wasps.

    ¡°Nice parlour trick.¡± Kaydence¡¯s deep, distorted voice dripped with condescension, even as her eyes searched the swarm for an opening. Her Shadow Cloak writhed around her, expanding to triple her apparent size. ¡°Is that how you control those pesky spikes? Hollowed out, filled with your blood? Ever considered a career in puppeteering?¡±

    ¡°Where is she?!¡± the Vampiress snarled, gloved hands clenching the spikes.

    ¡°What are you even talking about?¡±

    The Vampiress only replied with an unintelligible shriek, charging forward. Kaydence met her halfway across the slanted roof, and they clashed in a deadly, brutal dance.

    The undead assassin attacked with reckless rage, often leaving herself open. Yet, the relentless barrage of her spikes and swarm of blood weapons kept Kaydence from capitalising on it, lest she be turned into a bloody pincushion. Shrouded in her Cloak¡¯s obfuscating darkness, Kaydence deflected each attack with her dagger, but she was not gaining any ground. Her muscles screamed from the inhuman pace she was forcing on them, and her bursts of explosive fire and devastating strikes that would pulp a Human barely made the Vampiress stagger. Locked in close combat, she had no room to cast more complex spells.

    The situation had become far more volatile. But, once again, Kaydence found herself trapped in an untenable stalemate. Something had to break, and by the Void, it would not be her.

    With so many attacks flying around, some inevitably slipped past Kaydence¡¯s guard, especially when she went on the offensive. And yet, she was unprepared to feel the Vampiress¡¯s Darkness mana infiltrate her veins, reaching for her thoughts and trying to assert dominance. Gaping at the blood shard embedded in her arm, she followed the thin, red tendril extending from it like a fishing line, leading back to the Vampiress.

    Incredulity filled her. ¡°Are you really trying this?¡± she blurted out, her distorted voice coloured with disbelief. Why was Kaydence unprepared for such an attack? Because it was idiocy. At least, to her, it seemed obvious. Am I missing something here? But no. She sighed. ¡°You''re younger than I thought. Or maybe just foolish.¡±

    With a casual flex of her internal mana, Kaydence shattered the Vampiress¡¯ hold and infected the connection the foolish woman had opened between them. ¡°Attempting to enthral a Darkness mage? How clueless can you be? Did you think I wouldn¡¯t resist? Or that I couldn¡¯t resist?¡± Along with her pitying words, Kaydence¡¯s own Darkness flowed back to her foe, invading her exposed mana channels.

    For all their sophistication and sapience, Vampires were undead at their core. They were vastly superior to the vulgar meat puppets Kaydence had evaded all evening, but ultimately built on the same principle: a corpse puppeteered by a construct of Darkness mana.

    In a heartbeat, using her intimate knowledge of Vampires¡¯ inner workings, Kaydence usurped control over the soul-substitute. Triumph abruptly bled from the Vampiress¡¯ eyes, turning to sheer terror as she realised the depth of her mistake. To her credit, the undead woman immediately tried to send a mental distress call to her sire¡ªthe Vampire who had turned her, forever planting a kernel of themselves into their scion¡¯s shade, to monitor and command their progeny at will.

    Of course, Kaydence was one step ahead in this case. ¡°We¡¯ll do without that. Thank you very much.¡± Her tone was chidingly mocking as she swiftly shut down the connection, appropriating its authority for herself. That, more than anything else, seemed to rattle her foe to her core. And how could she not be, when suddenly deprived of something that must have felt as certain as the eternal cycle of night and day?

    Shadows oozing around her spectral form, Kaydence glided over to the petrified undead.

    ¡°Kneel.¡±

    The verbal command was unnecessary, but Kaydence was making a point. Unable to resist, the Vampiress crashed down on her knees, and with a casual wave, Kaydence pushed down the woman¡¯s hood, revealing a youthful face contorted in abject despair.

    Kaydence thought she might have felt some joy at besting the troublesome assassin, but she really did not. She concealed her discomfort, however, and allowed only imperious disdain into her warped, whispy, deep, echoing voice.

    ¡°Now, little bloodling, let¡¯s have that talk.¡±

    * * * * *

 B1CH20 - Festival of Flames, Part 8: Conflagration

    Listen up, bloody fledglings! When I was first turned, I thought all blood was the same. Any mortal would do, right? WRONG! That¡¯s like thinking all wine is the same because it¡¯s red. What a fucking joke! It took me centuries¡ªcenturies¡ªbefore I understood the complexity behind truly exceptional blood. So, if you don¡¯t want to be stuck with the equivalent of burnt toast, listen up! Starting with the basics.

    First off, emotion! Fear? Overrated. Stop romanticising it, you knuckleheads! If you want that perfect, smooth, rich, full-bodied flavour, you need contented, happy fucking Humans. Suffering? Forget it. The rush is tempting, but trust me, that bitter aftertaste will mess with your head as much as your palate. Find a calm, consenting donor, and you¡¯re in for a proper, satisfying feed.

    Next, diet! You are what you eat¡ªor, more accurately, you are what they eat. Mortals living off fresh game, fruits, and hearty grains become delicacies. Blood rich in vitality and flavour. Heavy meat-havers¡ªhunters, warriors¡ªget you that robust, savoury taste. For a lighter, thinner taste, look for those peasants or monks eating nothing but greens and grains.

    Age matters! And health! Mortals in their prime, thirties to forties, are where it¡¯s at! Vitality, richness, everything balanced just right. Young blood is sweeter, but the effects collapse faster than an undercooked souffl¨¦! Elderly blood has that mature, refined taste¡ªbut it lacks the vitality you bloody need! Keep track of your donors¡¯ mortality if you don¡¯t want to join them in the fucking grave! Above all, keep your donors free of diseases! We might be dead, but you don¡¯t want that damn rotten taste in your mouth.

    Lastly, genetics! No two bloodlines are equal. Find one with a solid arcane heredity, and you¡¯ll get yourself a rare and unforgettable treat. However! Even a first-generation Life mage will blow all other legacy mages out of the water. If you come across one, you better hold onto them like they¡¯re the fucking apple of your eye!

    Remember: what you consume shapes you. Overfeed on one donor, and you¡¯ll start turning into them! Balance is bloody key. So keep a variety of donors you find agreeable, or risk losing your mind and identity. Got it?

    Now get out there and stop feeding like bloody amateurs.

    ¨Cpreface from ¡°Blood and Butter: The Art of Perfect Flavour¡± by Gorgon Fangsay, Head Chef at the Black Sun Palace.

    -

    Remembrance 2, 2497 AK, Radiant Empire, Cleft Isles, Greyport.

    The Festival¡¯s First Night only grew wilder after the grand opening ceremony.

    The carcass of the Demon King¡¯s effigy blazed high and bright in the heart of the Central Plaza¡ªwood bones turned glorious bonfire. Its golden glow danced upon the looming face of the All Temple. The night was alive, vibrant with laughter, chatter, and jubilant tunes. Tireless bards played, and hundreds of feet struck the ground in rhythm, making the earth tremble.

    As novelty stalls closed and little children were ushered to bed, the food courts redoubled their efforts. Wine, ales, and spirits flowed in great rivers. The revelry rose to a fever pitch. Tonight, the Radiant Empire citizens feasted. They buried the Dark Season and the torments of the past, dancing and raising their drinks to the hopeful days ahead. Toasts were pledged to the memory of legends, to the Founder Kayden, to Emperor Rasmar, and to the proud Nezir line. Hymns of worship rose into the night sky, carried by the smoke of the funeral pyre.

    For this night, and thirteen more to follow, the people of Greyport surrendered to merriment. Whether at the bottom of a tankard, in frenzied jigs by the fire, or in tangled sheets reeking of cheap perfume, they sought to drown out the shadows of their lives.

    All the while, in darkened alleyways, just out of sight, corpses wandered secretly, hoisting crates of crystalline red poison. In a deserted neighbourhood, a mad boy conjured flames that spiralled wildly out of control. Heedless of the fire that was slipping beyond his grasp, he gleefully tormented his victim, whose muffled pleas faded into the silent night, unheard. And on a rooftop, a stone¡¯s throw above the oblivious revellers, a large figure cloaked in writhing darkness closed in on a petrified red-eyed woman.

    * * *

    Kaydence scrutinised the Vampiress¡¯s face.

    Without her cowl, the undead woman looked young¡ªin her early twenties, though that meant pretty much nothing. Even Vampires turned in their twilight years rapidly restored themselves to their prime. Her features¡ªcharming at first glance¡ªwere uncannily flawless, like a porcelain doll, lacking the comforting imperfections that marred natural flesh creatures. She had long, straight raven hair, with low bangs almost covering her gaze, an upturned button nose, and monolid almond-shaped eyes¡ªreminiscent of the olive-skinned Southern mountain tribes. However, her skin had the pallor of death. Her eyes were the colour of fresh-spilt blood, and two viperous fangs peeked anxiously from behind her regular human teeth.

    Seething hatred bled from her gaze as she was forced to kneel on the frozen roof, her free will ensnared by immaterial chains. Though she had killed her expression, breathing and heartbeat, and vowed to give nothing away to her captor, she ultimately failed to quell the overflowing wrath boiling at her core, letting it spill to the surface through her gleaming eyes.

    Not that it would have changed a thing. Kaydence¡¯s mana had wormed its way deep into the undead¡¯s artificial soul. No matter her superficial efforts, she was an open book for the young mage¡ªone packed with words of anger, disbelief, and despair scrawled in bold and violent strokes of blood-red ink that dripped between crumpled pages poorly bound in human skin.

    The Vampire¡¯s mind was a mess. Touching it felt like sinking her fingers into viscous, boiling tar, the sensation unnervingly familiar. Kaydence¡¯s every instinct screamed at her to recoil. But she could not afford to. Seizing control of the reckless undead had been easy; maintaining it was the true ordeal. Already, the Vampiress¡¯s mana was aggressively fighting back to purge Kaydence¡¯s encroaching presence.

    She could not afford to delay any longer.

    ¡°Bloodling.¡±

    In her Wraith persona, Kaydence¡¯s voice was a deep, echoing whisper, like the creaking of old stone and the eerie hiss of wind through pitch-black caves. She weaved motives from her past life¡¯s dialect into her speech, lading it with mystery and archaic gravitas. Bloodling was actually something Zerina had called newborn vampires, usually using the exact same contemptuous tone Kaydence now mimicked. Although, the bookish necromancer-turned-undead-killing-machine always harboured a fondness for her bloodthirsty progeny that Seifer never shared.

    ¡°I have queries¡­ You will provide answers.¡±

    Kaydence was not asking, but she allowed the Vampiress a moment to nod reluctantly before releasing her paralysed vocal cords. The more the woman bought into her own helplessness, the less her subconscious struggled against Kaydence¡¯s hold.

    ¡°Give me your name.¡±

    Again, not a request. The very magic that held the undead together compelled her to obey. Yet, despite her show of compliance, the Vampiress tried to resist¡ªin vain, of course. Her lips quivered, jaws clenching tight, as her fear and hatred briefly bolstered her defiance.

    But it was all futile at this stage. An answer ineluctably spilt out, hissing through gritted teeth.

    ¡°Ha¨C Hawthorn.¡±

    An obvious code name. Obvious and insulting. Kaydence¡¯s temper flared, anger choking her thoughts. The night had been an endless mental grind: nothing was going her way; inescapable phantom pains wracked her body from a lifetime away; nightmarish memories lurked at the edge of her conscious mind, exacerbated by the ghastly festival ongoing a few steps below.

    Her patience was spent.

    ¡°You dare¡­!¡± With a bestial snarl, barbs of her mana gouged deeper into the Vampiress¡¯s soul-shade, wrenching out a pained whimper. The Shadow Cloak unfurled like an angry spectre, swallowing the moonlight and enclosing them both into a sphere of absolute, inky blackness that leeched even the warmth from the air. Frost crept onto the Vampiress¡¯s cadaveric skin.

    ¡°Do not play games with me¡­ Tanya.¡± Within the impenetrable darkness, Kaydence¡¯s warped voice echoed from every direction at once. ¡°The outcome will never favour you¡­¡±

    Ripping the name from her captive¡¯s mind unfortunately came at a cost. Precise mind magic required a finesse Kaydence was ill-suited for, and with each crude probe, she risked exposing the true frailty of her magical hold. With each incursion, the Vampiress¡¯s subconscious resistance grew fiercer, like a body learning to fend off a virus.

    ¡°Do you understand¡­?¡± the Wraith demanded, pressing her advantage.

    Magic was no mere tool. It was a symbiotic existence, feeding on, magnifying and refining the user¡¯s self. A mage shaped reality by projecting their will through mana; but in doing so, they exposed themselves to magic¡¯s influence, allowing it to subtly reshape them in return. Nowhere was this self-assertion stronger than within the mage¡¯s own body. Foreign magic naturally clashed with a living being¡¯s inner mana¡ªtheir metaphysical immune system, so to speak. It made casting any spells within another¡¯s body an uphill battle, rarely worth the effort.

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    A Vampire¡¯s sire could bypass this resistance because their mana formed the foundation of their scion¡¯s soul-shade during the turning. But Kaydence was a usurper, appropriating that bond to her own means, and her mana was being rejected like a faulty organ transplant. She needed to resolve this situation quickly, before her prey wised up to that fact.

    ¡°I said¡­ Do you understand?¡±

    ¡°Y-Yes!¡±

    Kaydence let the undead writhe in pain a little longer before abating her magical assault. ¡°Why did you attack me?¡±

    ¡°You know why!¡± Tanya snarled before dropping with a strangled cry. ¡°Ahh-ah-aaAAArgh!¡±

    ¡°I am asking nonetheless,¡± Kaydence drawled coldly, heedless of the undead¡¯s agony. She had her theories, but too many details failed to add up. What intrigued her now was why the Vampiress believed she should already know. Kaydence watched her convulse helplessly on the roof, gasping for breath she no longer needed, then sighed. ¡°I see you understood nothing at all¡­ Now, answer me!¡±

    ¡°Is¡­ Is this all a game to you?!¡± The Vampiress¡¯ red eyes cried tears of blood.

    ¡°You are testing my patience¨C¡±

    ¡°You took her! Bastard!¡± Tanya¡¯s strident shriek dripped with venom, her rage spilling out in bloody foam at her mouth. ¡°You stole her from me! You wretched lot ruined us, destroyed everything¡ªdid the unthinkable, to a child! And now¨C now you demand I explain myself?! You dare ask why I came for you?!¡± Her will strained against Kaydence¡¯s, almost enough to stand. ¡°Curse you! Curse all of you! I will make you pay. Now that I have your blood, I¡¯ll hunt you down. I¡¯ll tear you rats screaming from your hiding holes, bite your throats out, and rip your hearts from your chests with my bare hands! I WILL BATHE IN YOUR BLOOD AND ENJOY EVERY M¨C¡±

    ¡°Enough.¡± Kaydence¡¯s voice cut through the tirade, brimming with barely contained fury. ¡°This is too mortifying to behold¡­¡± A forceful flick of her magic tossed the Vampiress back down, reducing her to a spasming, whimpering heap. Kaydence was glad for the sound-cancelling ward she had erected earlier, around when she started her interrogation. It had been a risk to split her focus, but now it was paying off.

    Disgust twisted her features as she gripped her stomach. The woman¡¯s rant had stirred unwelcome memories. Today, of all days. Now, Kaydence recognised the source of her unpleasant familiarity with the Vampiress¡¯s state of mind. This vile mixture of desperate urgency, helplessness, and unsurmountable loathing aimed both outward and in¡ªit mirrored the chaotic emotions that had once fuelled Seifer¡¯s rise to power and descent into madness. And beneath it all, Kaydence sensed fear: a raw, curdled, festering anguish that gnawed at the dead woman¡¯s mind like a parasite, nourishing every other foul emotion with its rot.

    In the broken, writhing creature at her feet, Kaydence saw a reflection of her former self.

    And it revolted her.

    ¡°Give¡­ her¡­ back¡­¡±

    With feeble movements, Tanya had managed to crawl across the frozen shingles, almost to Kaydence, though the Vampiress should not be able to sense her in the omnipresent darkness.

    ¡°You little idiot!¡±

    Kaydence¡¯s fury lashed out through her mana, twisting violently inside the undead woman and forcing her body into a painful arch. Wails of agony were swallowed by the darkness. But the girl cared not. The Founder¡¯s Festival always tortured her mind, but her current headache was different. ¡°You thought¡­ You thought I was associated with that¡­ reprehensible¡­ contemptible¡­ vermin! You believed I would debase myself¡­ raising such crude carrion puppets!¡± Her displeasure echoed around them like an eldritch choir.

    This half-witted assassin had mistaken her for whatever arrogant fool of a necromancer worked with the drug smugglers! The very thought sent a wave of indignation coursing through Kaydence. She constricted her mana around the Vampiress¡¯s soul-shade, smothering her mind as she yanked at her strings. She forced the undead woman into a pathetic prostration, face crushed into the cold shingles beneath them.

    Kaydence¡¯s voice dropped to a chilling whisper.

    ¡°You have no idea what I am¡­¡±

    An unnatural silence stretched out as Kaydence endeavoured to rein in her temper. Calm down¡­ Calm down, damn it! Torturing her prey was hardly constructive, and she knew remorse and self-loathing would catch up to her once she had time to cool off.

    Eventually, she let out a long-suffering sigh.

    ¡°Count yourself fortunate¡­ I was not your intended quarry¡­ They would have shown no such mercy¡­ had you attempted to subdue them as you did with me¡­ What madness overtook you¡­ to initiate a direct aetheric confrontation with a master of Darkness¡­ little bloodling¡­? How woefully young and inexperienced can you be¡­?¡± She suddenly realised her shivering captive was on the verge of passing out and pulled back with another frustrated sigh.

    ¡°Have you heard anything I just said¡­?¡±

    The Vampiress took a gasping breath¡ªa vestigial reflex from her time with the living¡ªthen started hacking and retching, as if to expunge something especially vile stuck in her throat. ¡°It¡¯s¨C ugh. It¡¯s never failed before.¡± Her raspy tone was filled with confusion and disbelief.

    ¡°Then it was chance¡­ Or you crossed paths only with incompetent novices¡­ Listen... I know not what sires teach their scions in these times¡­ but regardless of how flawless or superior you deem your race¡­ you are undead¡­ nothing more¡­ nothing less¡­ Exposing your essence to one whose craft is dominion over your kind¡­ that is the pinnacle of folly¡­ If you must seek to enthral another, use your fangs¡­ They were designed as magical catalysts for a reason¡­ serving as check valves for your aether¡­ preventing counterflux¡­

    ¡°Why, by the Void, am I giving you a lesson¡­?¡±

    No longer attempting to puke her soul out, Tanya gaped blindly in Kaydence¡¯s general direction. ¡°No one¡¯s ever told me.¡±

    ¡°Then your sire is a buffoon¡­¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t insult my master!¡± The Vampiress started hissing but cut herself off and mellowed surprisingly fast. From Kaydence¡¯s front-row seat on her emotions, it was unnerving to see the Vampiress consciously pull back her madness and lock it behind bars of iron will. This was not right. Her mind should not have been this fragmented. Her very nature should not allow it. But soon, of the all-consuming hatred, there remained only a simmer of hostile suspicion mixed in with reluctant awe. ¡°You, how do you know these things? Who are you?¡±

    ¡°That¡­ is none of your concern¡­ Just know we are tracking the same quarry¡­¡± Kaydence¡¯s gaze turned towards the harbour. Though darkness enclosed her and the Vampiress, she kept the ability to see her surroundings. It would have been foolish to blind herself along with her foe. ¡°They must have moved the drug by now¡­ Vermin as they may be¡­ if the necromancer set up any wards at all¡­ they could not have missed our aethers clashing by the warehouse¡­¡± She was not about to admit her little stunt at the smugglers¡¯ ship might have tipped them off as well.

    ¡°The Ruby Dust,¡± Tanya mulled over the response. ¡°Why should I believe you?¡±

    ¡°You are not dead¡­ er¡­¡±

    ¡°You could be after information.¡±

    ¡°I am¡­¡± Kaydence saw no reason to deny it. ¡°However¡­ holding you captive serves me not¡­ Instead¡­¡± Kaydence had to think fast. ¡°I may be inclined toward¡­ cooperation¡­ I know this town¡­ You do not¡­ Your movements within the noble district have already drawn¡­ notice¡­¡± She recalled Edon¡¯s inquiries about a suspicious figure lurking in Southern Greyport.

    Teaming up with an unstable undead was far from ideal, but Kaydence was running out of time and options¡ªshort of killing her. And that came with its own risks: chiefly, what would happen when the woman¡¯s sire lost contact permanently. There was a chance the sire would not care or investigate, but Kaydence was not a gambling woman.

    Additionally, any Vampire would require an entourage of blood donors¡ªthralls or otherwise¡ªwho would raise the alarm if she did not return. Kaydence had initially suspected Tanya might be behind the recent string of murders and disappearances in town. However, after seeing how quickly the Vampiress regained control over her bloodlust, Kaydence no longer saw her as the culprit. Had Tanya been responsible, there would have been far fewer bodies¡ªor far more. Moreover, while Kaydence recently found a woman dead in an alley with her throat torn open, the wounds had not matched Vampire fangs, and too much of her blood had been wasted, spilt freely onto her clothes.

    Regardless, this was not how Kaydence had hoped her night would go. She hoped she could at least salvage something from this entire mess.

    ¡°In return¡­ You shall provide me with the information I seek¡­ willingly¡­¡± Implying she could easily take what she desired by force, though that claim became more of a bluff with every passing moment. ¡°Also¡­ see that you exercise more discernment in the future¡­ Do not allow your little personal vendetta to cloud your judgment anymore¡­ A two-bit necromancer already believes they can use my city as a playground¡­ I do not care for a crazed bloodling making matters worse¡­¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not.¡±

    Kaydence waited for the Vampiress to elaborate.

    ¡°It¡¯s not a vendetta.¡±

    Again, Kaydence let the oppressive silence carry her scepticism.

    ¡°It¡¯s not,¡± Tanya insisted, though the brooding anger in her eyes belied her words.

    The Vampiress hesitated, then seemed to come to a decision. With deliberate, unthreatening movements, she reached inside her midnight-black cloak¡ªthus inadvertently demonstrating her returning autonomy. Kaydence tensed, but she should not have. What emerged from the Vampiress¡¯s cloak was no weapon or artefact, but something far more unsettling. Dangling from a delicate silver chain, the round medallion was emblazoned with the imperial phoenix perched triumphantly atop a skull, with a snake coiled through its hollowed eyes and mouth.

    The symbol of the Imperial Inquisition.

    ¡°This is an imperial investigation.¡±

    Kaydence had not expected that.

    She was still processing this new development when something else caught her eye that chilled her to the bone. In the street below, where the festivities were rapidly degenerating into drunken debauchery, a flash of long platinum hair, tinged with an unmistakable green sheen, flickered through the crowd, trailing behind a tall, running man. Her brief glimpse of Lenril¡¯s face, usually so placid, showed it twisted in abject terror. Then, just as quickly, he disappeared from view.

    One thing only could cause the stoic elf to run around in blind panic like a headless chicken.

    Something had happened to Sarmin.

    * * *

    The stench of burnt flesh, spilt beer, and piss choked up the draughty, circular room. A tiny Half-Elf hung limp from a rusted hook on the wall, like a slab of meat in a butcher¡¯s cellar. His fair skin was scorched and mottled with bruises. Patches of his curly blond hair were singed off. His left eye was swollen shut. His breathing was wet and shallow, and only sheer stubbornness kept him tethered to consciousness.

    But now, his bullies¡¯ drunken cheer had given way to horror and confusion. The young teens huddled against the incurved stone wall, their faces ghastly pale, their eyes nailed to the centre of the room. One passed-out boy lay forgotten in a puddle of his own vomit, while another crouched behind a cracked wooden pillar, gripping his head and rocking back and forth, muttering frantically, ¡°It¡¯s not my fault. I told him he was taking too many. I told him. It¡¯s not my fault!¡±

    Shrill cries of agony echoed in the once cold, dark tower, rattling the ancient rafters and cogs up high near the shadowy ceiling. Their source was also the object of the teen boys¡¯ terror.

    Curled on his knees in the centre of the room, Thomas wailed as his arms burned.

    The flames blazed unnaturally bright and fierce, the heat so intense it warped the air around him. ¡°No! Nooo! Stop it! You¡¯re mine! I command you! Stooooop!¡± His voice cracked with anguish as he flailed, trying to smother the fire¡ªbut only succeeding in igniting his clothes. Already, the flesh of his hands was bubbling and blackening. ¡°WHY IS THIS HAPPENING?!¡±

    Like a ravenous animal fed by the updraught in the room, the fire soon spread to the old, dried-up floorboards and started licking at the pillars. Thomas reached out as if to pull it back, but the flames ignored him. His dazed, bloodshot eyes brimmed with tears. ¡°I¡¯m going to the magic academy¡­¡± he whispered in a brittle voice.

    The roaring flames engulfed his head, and he collapsed to the floor. The other teens screamed and ran out, dragging their muttering friend behind.

    Trapped in the burning room, unable to move, Sarmin could only murmur a trembling prayer between ragged, shallow breaths.

    ¡°Kay¡­¡±

    * * * * *

 B1CH21 - Festival of Flames, Part 9: Catching Heat

    One must never forget the fundamental tenets governing the vibrational resonance of reagents in the synthesis, amendment, or study of any prime matter within the sacred continuum of the Tavil ot Rua, the Breath of the World. The universal soulweave pervades both substance and sentient interactions with its empathetic bonds. To deny this immutable truth is to reveal a mind deficient in both rational thought and perceptual acuity.

    Fools often grossly oversimplify the actual gamut of emotional entanglements between minds, matters, and the world¡¯s magic. Passion, hatred, fear, even indifference, every intermediary sentiment, each modulates the greater aetheric tapestry! Can these amateurs not fathom that only by mastering this nuanced, tangled web can we adequately identify a catalytic scheme and calibrate resonant chambers to ensure a harmonic and productive convergence between reagents? Note that any neglect of spectral emissions, whether from phosphorescence or flame, can also lead to dissonance, elemental aberrations, or worse, catastrophic eruptive dissolution.

    To the true student of the alchemical arts, I shall bequeath the keys to the recondite geometries underpinning all matter. Under my tutelage, you will uncover the subtleties of the soul in its interactions with the world and those around you. For to truly grasp the mysteries of Creation is to ascend toward the Divine, a journey that begins with mastering your own self.

    ¨C excerpt from ¡°Understanding the Divine Essence: The Penultimate Discourse on Alchemy¡± by Mifodus Fibelion, master alchemist, philosopher, polymath, and the eponymous founder of Fibelianism, published 187 AK.

    -

    Remembrance 2, 2497 AK, Radiant Empire, Cleft Isles, Greyport.

    ¡°Ugh. Boys are the worst.¡± Lyra¡¯s words cut through the festive hubbub. With unsteady drunk steps, she stumbled beside her friend, Mina, while paying no attention to the jugglers and bards and other acts lining their path, slightly off from the crowded main thoroughfare.

    Lyra was not having a good night. Scratch that. She was having the worst night.

    Not that she would ever admit it to anyone.

    Things had started well enough¡ªflirting with Thomas, getting him to buy her those cute bangles she had her eye on, then letting him win her a prize at the ring toss. But now, even with the party heating up to a fever pitch, the festivities felt dull without Thomas by her side. Sure, his temper was bad, and he could be rough with her when drunk. But that¡¯s just how men are, right? Lyra¡¯s mother always told her to smile and bear with it. Thomas was a mage. A real one. He was ¡°going places,¡± her mother said¡ªwhatever that meant.

    Lyra did not care, so long as it meant away from this stupid, stinking town. She had sworn herself she would be more than a peasant girl scrabbling for scraps of attention from some drunk.

    Not like Mina. Lyra shot a sideways glance at her friend, who was already halfway to complete intoxication. She¡¯ll never be more than a fisherman¡¯s wife¡­ or worse, a tavern wench. Lyra held back a sneer. Mina did not have the sense to want more. She would end up marrying some local boy and live out her days in a shoddy house by the docks, reeking of fish and washing clothes while her husband was off at the tavern or the whorehouse. Lyra almost felt sorry for her, but the pity was brief. Lyra was better than that. Better than Mina.

    Better than her mother.

    Mina stumbled into her, giggling as she took another swig of mead, oblivious to the thoughts brewing in her friend¡¯s head. ¡°Uh-uh. Can you believe Rob? He¡¯s one year older, and he thinks that means he can tell me what to do! Wait until I tell Mum he ditched me!¡±

    ¡°Oh, that¡¯s so evil. Your mum¡¯s a dragon!¡± Lyra laughed drunkenly, though it rang hollow. ¡°But that¡¯s, like, different. Robert¡¯s your brother. I¡¯m Tommy¡¯s girlfriend! He¡¯s supposed to keep me company! But noooo, he¡¯d rather run off to do¡­ whatever it is boys do when they¡¯re off being secretive and stupid.¡±

    ¡°Yeaaah,¡± Mina slurred, leaning into Lyra¡¯s shoulder for support. ¡°What are they even doing in that old place? It¡¯s creepy. And dusty. Like, ewww.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m with you.¡±

    ¡°They think they¡¯re all mysterious and cool just because they can hold a sword. Like, wow, congrats, you can swing a sharp thing. So impressive. I could do that too¡ªif I wanted!¡± Mina gestured wildly, mimicking a sword swipe, and nearly tripping over her own feet.

    ¡°Exactly!¡± Lyra scoffed. ¡°I¡¯ve been listening to all of Tommy¡¯s stupid rants about spells and whatnot. But apparently, drinking and dancing with your girlfriend is too boring. I mean, I spent all afternoon picking out this dress. It¡¯s my best one! And for what? For him to run off and leave me in that courtyard with nothing but stale pastries and the same stupid lute song!¡± She could almost still hear the faint strains of that minstrel¡¯s tired tune grating her ears.

    ¡°Oh! Don¡¯t get me started on the music! If I hear one more song about maidens lost in the woods, I¡¯m going to scream. Like, not all of us want to be rescued, okay?¡±

    ¡°Exactly! It¡¯s like, we¡¯re perfectly fine on our own. But no, we have to wait around for the boys to finish whatever super important thing they¡¯re doing, like¡­¡± Lyra¡¯s voice trailed off, having spotted a dark blot flitting across the moon. It had not looked like a cloud. She squinted, confused whether her eyes were playing tricks on her, then glared suspiciously down her empty ale mug.

    Something crashed into her with the speed of a runaway horse, knocking the breath from her lungs before she could scream. The festival lights blurred and went dark as she was shoved into an alleyway and slammed into a wall. Strong fingers clamped around her throat, hoisting her effortlessly off the ground. Her feet dangled, kicking uselessly against her assailant as her vision swam.

    ¡°Where is he?!¡± a voice shouted in a savage snarl.

    Lyra gasped for air, her pulse roaring in her ears. ¡°Piss off!¡± she rasped and hurled her mug. It bounced pathetically off her attacker. Her heart hammered in panic. She knew well what happened to girls caught in dark alleys like this¡ªgirls who never returned or who came back broken, hollowed out. One of her classmates had flung herself into the Split rather than live with the memories.

    ¡°Let me go!¡± Lyra wheezed through the chokehold. She clawed at the thick arm that pinned her to the wall, her painted nails scraping uselessly against skin that felt like iron. ¡°You won¡¯t¡­ get away with this! My fianc¨¦¡­ he¡¯s a mage... He¡¯ll burn you alive!¡±

    A chilling growl cut through her. ¡°That arrogant lump of whale fat ain¡¯t your fianc¨¦ any more than your piss smells like roses, girl.¡± The grip tightened on Lyra¡¯s throat, and the world around her began to blur, the edges of her vision closing in. ¡°I knew when I spotted you not stitched to his hip like a needy pup that he and his little goon squad had run off to that stupid hideout he never shuts up about. Now, tell me where it is, and I might not snap your neck like a twig.¡±

    Something clicked in Lyra¡¯s mind. That voice. She knew that voice. Blinking away tears, she finally recognised the unpleasant face of Kaydence Templeton. This bitch! The overgrown, mannish brute had always been an eyesore, sneering at everyone like she was better than them. What a joke. Kaydence was nothing but the cursed bastard of some worthless Elf-loving fool! She¡¯ll die in a ditch or rot in the duke¡¯s dungeons with the other lowlifes, Lyra seethed inwardly. ¡°Y-You?! Let go! How dare you¡ª¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m asking the questions!¡± Kaydence snarled like some feral beast. Lyra shivered in terror. Something¡¯s not right. Was it the lack of air making her delirious? Kaydence¡¯s freaky red eyes seemed to glow in the darkness, their pupils narrowing into vertical slits like a serpent¡¯s.

    ¡°Release her!¡± Mina had finally caught up, stumbling into the alley with wide, frantic eyes. Lyra¡¯s hope flickered, only for it to die instantly. ¡°Unhand her, you brute! I¨C I¡¯ve already called the Guard! They¡¯re on their way!¡± Mina lied poorly, her voice cracking with fear. Lyra wanted to scream. Idiot! Use your head! If you¡¯d called for help, how are you here alone?

    Kaydence looked unimpressed. ¡°Do not test my patience. Not tonight,¡± she growled dismissively, her lips curled in disdain. ¡°I don¡¯t have time to play chicken with children.¡±

    Mina, either too terrified or too foolish to back down, took a shaky step closer. ¡°M-My brother will beat you up!¡± she blurted, grasping at a more credible threat. At least this one was sincere. Mina¡¯s eldest sibling, Flynt, was little more than a thug in uniform¡ªthough that description applied to most of the Greyport City Guard.

    Kaydence merely rolled her eyes. She waved her free hand in an almost careless gesture, and Maria¡¯s body froze mid-step, as if time had stopped for her. Only her eyes moved, wide with terror, darting frantically in their sockets, but the rest of her was locked in place, like a statue.

    Those blood-red serpent eyes slid back to Lyra, gleaming faintly in the impenetrable darkness. The cold around them thickened, pressing in like an unseen, suffocating force. The last of Lyra¡¯s inebriation was ripped out of her, leaving space for more panic. ¡°I¡¯m not scared of your little mage-poser boyfriend or the Guard,¡± the monster hissed, its voice dripping with venom. The steel grip around Lyra¡¯s throat tightened. ¡°Now, ANSWER ME!!¡±

    The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

    Lyra whimpered, barely able to make a sound. Every breath was harder to draw. Her chest burned. The weight of her own helplessness crushed her soul. No one was coming. No one could help her. She was alone, trapped inside a nightmare she could not wake from.

    She could never escape.

    She caved in. ¡°Th-The old windmill¡­ in the southeast¡­¡± she whispered, the words forced out through what felt like shards of glass in her throat.

    Instantly, the pressure on her neck vanished. The freezing darkness that had shrouded the alley evaporated, as did Kaydence herself, disappearing like a shadow merging into the night.

    Lyra sagged, collapsing to the ground. Somewhere, she heard Mina fall, too, but the sound was distant, irrelevant. Trembling, tears streaming uncontrollably down her cheeks, Lyra curled up on the cold, wet cobblestones, heedless of her best dress getting soaked through. She hugged her knees to her chest and started sobbing.

    * * *

    The shack¡¯s interior was as dark and bitter cold as ever, with its cracked wooden walls and sparse furniture. Weak flames wavered and crackled in the hearth, yet they failed to provide any warmth or repel the dampness moulding the walls. A lonely chair stood abandoned by the fireplace, a tattered cloak folded over its backrest. The Vampire¡¯s fancy overstuffed armchair, ever incongruous, sat in a corner, vacant of its ghastly occupant. The rickety table had been propped up against a wall, its broken leg braced with a crude metal splint.

    A small alchemical set bubbled quietly on top of it.

    Soft hisses, gurgles, and pale glimmers drifted from its vials, stills, and pipes of glass and copper. The apparatus seemed complex, at first glance, but it was distinctly bare-bones¡ªsomething to be carried around and used on the road by a wandering potion maker. A wooden case lay next to it, compact and well-worn. Reagents filled it, packed in neat compartments: colourful powders, crystal shards, little bones, crushed herbs and twisty roots, and tiny vials snugly nestled in padded slots. A leather-bound booklet rested, open, on a stand, its pages covered in arcane symbols and cabalistic diagrams.

    At the setup¡¯s core hung a pair of round glass vials: one filled with a deep crimson liquid¡ªunmistakably blood¡ªand the other with a swirling gaseous fluid that shimmered in the dim light. Thin copper tubes connected them, spiralling above a magical circle lifted straight from the occult booklet and chalk-drawn on a piece of old leather. The glyphs pulsed faintly in time with the gas¡¯s shifting prismatic hues.

    A man stood hunched over the table. Occasionally, the glow of embers flared from the tip of his long, slender smoke pipe, briefly illuminating his worn-out face.

    His skin was pallid, sickly, almost grey. Deep lines etched his features, betraying a weariness that ran far deeper than mere physical fatigue. A faint shadow of stubble had crept back up his gaunt cheeks hollowed by exhaustion. Amber-rose eyes stared out from the bottom of their sunken sockets, slightly unfocused, their natural sharpness eroded by the endless tides of overwork. Premature greyness streaked his long black hair, tied in a loose bun at the back of his head, though several strands had slipped free, falling untidily over his pale face.

    Each drag on the pipe cast a flicker of ember light over him, unveiling the faint tremor in his hands and the shadows beneath his eyes. He exhaled slowly, the heavy, fragrant smoke drifting from his chapped lips like his soul trying to escape, but all that broke out was a loud, drawn-out, bone-weary sigh.

    ¡°Ughhhhhhhh¡­ Why do I do this to myself?¡±

    Gabe Fellworth was not having a good night. But then again, he rarely did¡ªnot since selling his soul to a grinning devil disguised in Human skin. And, no, he was not talking about his marriage. That was an entirely different source of sleepless nights.

    He glared at the two strands of black hair in his hand, rubbing them together absently, trying¡ªreally trying¡ªto convince himself to let this go.

    What am I doing? The girl had no ties to his mission¡ªnot even remotely. She could not. Should not. Probably not. Gabe¡¯s contact had provided plenty of background on this ¡°Kaydence Templeton.¡± Too much, really. All useless. Hearsays and fishwives¡¯ gossip. Rumours had their value, but these only confirmed the girl and her mother were local pariahs, infamous simply for not fitting in with the good folk. Bigots are the same everywhere. Greyport might have been the province¡¯s capital, but a small-town mentality clung to the city like a bad stench.

    Gabe pulled his collar up, took a whiff, and grimaced.

    Anyway.

    Nothing came of his pointless investigation that would have put the pair on his map.

    The girl¡¯s father was a blank space. Common enough. People in port cities constantly drifted in and out with the tides. The mother never married, never stuck with a man for long¡ªbesides the Elf. And he¡¯s obviously not it. Bronze skin was hardly rare¡ªthough more so here compared to the mainland. It did not mean the girl was related to their target. She could be the bastard of any wandering noble. Or even three or four generations out. Titled folk loved to toot their horn about blood purity, honour, and whatnot, but the truth was that centuries of marital indiscretions had scattered the old bloodlines far and wide. It¡¯s all probably in my head.

    The discrepancies between her age and appearance did not necessarily indicate overwhelming magical potential. Plenty of things cause deformities. And even if it was magic, it could not even be hers. Red eyes? So she got weird pigments. Big deal. It was an odd coincidence considering his partner¡¯s secondary objective, but that was all there was to it: a coincidence.

    Probably.

    That Elf orbiting the Templetons was more intriguing. Still not my problem, though. Gabe was here on domestic matters, not foreign ones¡ªand certainly nothing involving the Sacred Forest. In fact, he would gladly limit his interaction with Elves to enjoying their emberleaf pipeweed. Living long and healthy lives had made the pointy-eared folk infuriatingly unhurried and long-winded. He still had nightmares of meeting with his elvish counterparts.

    Just the opening tea ceremony alone had lasted over two hours.

    ¡°Ughhhhhhhhhh¡­¡±

    Gabe let out another long, suffering sigh, knowing he was just stalling at this point. He stared down at the bubbling vials and the two hairs in his hand, feeling the weight of it all. This little test could either put his worries to rest¡­ or turn his headache into an aneurysm. It was not even complicated¡ªjust a simple check to rule out the girl¡¯s connection to a certain bloodline and gauge her magical potential. Nothing too dramatic.

    Maybe then, he could actually get some sleep.

    But he doubted it. Even if he got the results he wanted, something else would come along to ruin his night.

    Something always did.

    He was about to place one hair in the centre of the magical circle¡ªbut stopped, doubt again creeping back in. With a sigh, he tweaked the power-dampening rune, boosting its potency. It might throw in a few false negatives, but at least it would lower the odds of the whole thing blowing up in his face.

    Not that it was likely to blow up.

    In fact, it was really not supposed to be dangerous at all¡ªjust a fancy blood test with extra steps. Gabe had never heard of it blowing up.

    I¡¯m just being paranoid.

    Feeling marginally more at ease, he dropped the hair inside the circle. The symbols flared to life all at once. The blood vial started to boil, and the shimmering gas spun faster in its glass prison. ¡°Alright¡­ Now, just waiting for the reaction to¨C¡±

    A loud rap on the door nearly made Gabe drop his pipe. Gods fucking dammit! He made a quick gesture as penance for blasphemy, fingers brushing his goat pendant, then carefully set the pipe aside and headed for the door. He was on edge. Only a handful of people knew about this so-called ¡°safe house¡±¡ªand fewer still could show up unannounced. Only one of them should be in Greyport right now, but she was not due back until sunrise.

    He slid the cover off the peephole and was greeted by the weathered trapper¡¯s face Hawthorn wore as a disguise. Even through the illusion, the Vampire looked distressed, surprising Gabe enough that he took a second to remember the passphrase.

    ¡°Err, who goes there?¡±

    ¡°A weary truth seeker.¡±

    ¡°What has brought you here?¡±

    ¡°A smell of blood in the dark.¡±

    Gabe unlocked the door, and Hawthorn stumbled into the shack. Her illusion fell away, revealing the Vampire more dishevelled than he had ever seen. He raised an eyebrow but did not move right away to help her, instead keeping his distance, his hands slipping inside his pockets as he subtly readied a spell¡ªjust in case. Bloodsuckers were tricky when drained, and though she acted sane so far, Gabe had not survived this long by taking chances.

    ¡°You alright? Need a drink?¡± he asked casually, his tone more relaxed than the situation warranted. Mentally, he was mapping his escape route and remembering the addresses of a couple of her donors.

    But Hawthorn waved him off, collapsing into her padded seat before burying her face in her hands with a muffled scream.

    ¡°Alright...¡± Gabe muttered. Not the most reassuring sound. But I¡¯ll take it. Keeping the undead woman in his peripheral vision, a ready killing spell at his fingertips, he moved to check outside. Down the dark street, every other lamppost flickered blue, the rest broken. Orange light glowed in the distance, just out of sight¡ªthe festival still going strong. No sign of pursuers, at least.

    He locked the door and turned fully toward his partner.

    ¡°What happened? You¡¯re back early.¡±

    Without looking up, the Vampire responded with a strained question of her own. She sounded¡­ confused. ¡°Do you know anyone who goes by ¡®Wraith¡¯?¡±

    Gabe scratched the back of his head. ¡°You¡¯ll have to narrow that down. On the top of my head, I can think of seven people using that moniker. Wait, no. Eight. Though one of them¡¯s a bard who goes around graveyards wailing depressing songs, so probably not him. Unless¡­¡±

    ¡°No, a necromancer, who also uses Fire magic. Ice, too, possibly¡­ I¡¯m not sure. They might have been using Fire magic to remove warmth from the air. They were alone.¡±

    At that, Gabe¡¯s easygoing demeanour faltered, his tired gaze sharpening. A necromancer who could handle a Vampire solo was already bad news¡ªeven considering Hawthorn had been forced to hold back to maintain a low profile. However, a triple-affinity mage was a catastrophe.

    ¡°Did they get away?¡± he asked, though the fact she returned at all¡ªwithout a prisoner or a body¡ªalready answered the question.

    ¡°They¡­ let me go,¡± Hawthorn admitted, shame in her voice. ¡°They went¡ª ugh!¡± She gasped suddenly, clutching her chest. ¡°Can¡¯t¡­ say¡­ Geas.¡±

    Gabe¡¯s eyes narrowed, his heart cooling down. ¡°They let you go? And put a geas on you? How did we both miss someone that strong?¡± He took a slow breath. ¡°Are you compromised?¡±

    The Vampire¡¯s tense expression gradually smoothed over. ¡°No, I don¡¯t think so. It¡¯s not¡­ I messed up. But I didn¡¯t know I could be countered like this. I¡¯ve never heard of anyone¡­ The way their mana moved¡­ It was like they knew exactly how to control me. Almost like¡­¡± She trailed off, lost in thought. ¡°But I don¡¯t think they¡¯re our enemy.¡±

    Gabe leaned back against the doorframe. ¡°I want you to take this in the least offensive way possible, Hawthorn, but you¡¯re not making any sense right now.¡±

    ¡°I need to contact my Master¡­¡±

    ¡°Hold on,¡± Gabe interrupted, his voice still calm but with a firmer edge. ¡°You know we¡¯re not supposed to use long-distance communication magic. You think I¡¯d have dragged my ass all the way out here if we could¡¯ve done this over magic mirrors from a cosy bed in Phoenix Rise?¡±

    ¡°Oh¡­ right.¡± Hawthorn blinked, her thoughts clearly scrambled. ¡°But if they¡¯re a lost Great Ancestor... the coven needs to know.¡± She suddenly perked up, as if remembering something important. ¡°Oh, also, the windmill two streets down is on fire.¡±

    ¡°¡­What?!¡±

    Right at that moment, an ominous, sharp, shrill hiss tore through the quiet shack. Gabe barely had time to turn toward his alchemical tools, eyes widening in horror as he saw the gas vial heating up to incandescence, the shimmering fluid inside spinning faster and faster.

    Oh, that¡¯s not good.

    The world erupted in a blinding flash, searing his vision as the explosion ripped through the room, obliterating the table, chair, padded seat, chimney, walls¡ªand blasting both co-conspirators out into the night.

    * * * * *

 B1CH22 - Festival of Flames, Part 10: Inferno

    Fire, Fire

    You formed the sun and stars

    Fire, Fire

    You forged the dwarven hearts

    Fire, Fire

    The heart-blood of the Earth

    Father, Father

    Hold us till our last verse¡­

    The old dwarf king¡¯s voice lingers in the silence after his song. Deep lines crack his mud-dark skin, and the breeze ruffles leaves on his strange armour carved of petrified wood. Shapes and whispers move in the shadows past the campfire¡¯s light. Many folks around camp have dropped their tasks to come and listen to the newcomers¡¯ tales.

    Maybe the quiet gets to the stoutfolk elder. His harrumphs sound embarrassed. ¡°It works better in our people¡¯s tongue,¡± he says.

    ¡°No.¡± The murmurs die when the general speaks. There are emotions in his eyes I have not seen in many moons. ¡°I like it,¡± he says. ¡°Please, sing another.¡±

    The old king sings through the night. We listen close. No one gets trouble for slacking tonight. We all know this is our last moment of peace for a long time.

    Tomorrow, we march.

    ¨C extract from Memoirs of a Nameless Soldier, apocryphal manuscript stored in Phoenix Rise¡¯s imperial library, restricted section, author unknown.

    -

    Remembrance 2, 2497 AK, Radiant Empire, Cleft Isles, Greyport, Industry District

    Greyport¡¯s rooftops blurred into a smudge of slate and stone as Kaydence hurtled across the city faster than she ever knew possible. Shingles splintered under her feet. Cold air whipped at her face. Her cloak of Darkness trailed behind her like a cape, struggling to keep up.

    I was right there!

    She had passed that damned windmill hours ago, after her episode, when she decided to go hunt down drug dealers to clear her head¡ªfor all the good that did. Those little shitheads must have slipped in right after I left. Her teeth ground together so hard they started to crack. If that twig has let himself be hurt, I¡¯ll finish him off myself! Her heart hammered inside her ribs as she neared the industrial district.

    An inferno leapt into view.

    As soon as Kaydence circumvented the high temples of the Holy Sanctuary, she saw it. The old mill was on fire, bright flames curling up into the night sky. Her eyes widened. Her steps faltered. What in the Void... Thomas¡¯ round face flickered through her mind, a grin plastered on as he flaunted that pitiful flame cantrip at the twig. Kaydence¡¯s pupils constricted into slits, a low growl bubbling from her throat. I¡¯ll roast that fat swine!

    Without hesitation, she launched herself across the street.

    BOOM

    Mid-leap, a deafening explosion rocked the neighbourhood. Blinding light seared Kaydence¡¯s vision as the shockwave flung her off course. Spiralling, she almost missed her target, hands scraping against the roof¡¯s gutter before she managed to haul herself up, gasping, mostly blind, blood dripping from her ears. But her magic was already hard at work fixing the damage. Her lost senses quickly returned, showing her a scene of devastation.

    A few streets away, a crater had swallowed half-a-dozen buildings. Many more had their windows shattered. The ambient aether thrummed, disturbed by the magical detonation. Two faint, familiar auras prickled Kaydence¡¯s senses from that direction¡ªone of which she had just left behind moments ago. What in the Void are those two doing here? And together? Could that Air mage also work for the Inquisition? Was that why he approached her and her mother?

    Kaydence suddenly felt as if an invisible net was closing in around her.

    Another familiar magical surge swept through the area, distracting her. This one belonged to a mage in the City Guard. Kaydence spat a curse and resumed her mad dash towards the burning windmill. Time was running out. Soon, this place would be crawling with guards. If Sarmin was in there, she needed to get to him first.

    Come on. Don¡¯t be too late. Kaydence¡¯s legs screamed, but she poured formless Life mana into her torn muscles and fractured bones, healing as she ran, relentless. More tiles shattered beneath her. She ignored them, as she ignored the pain¡ªand everything else. She would not acknowledge the worry and guilt twisting her guts. This was not her fault. She was never meant to be a protector. She could help no one. She was the threat¡ªa menace to everyone around her.

    Sei¡­ please¡­ help me¡­

    Kaydence¡¯s breath hitched violently. She missed a step and shook her head to dissipate the encroaching memory. Now was not the time.

    She had reached her destination.

    A blazing hellscape greeted her. Fire roared from the windmill¡¯s high windows, licking hungrily at its rickety, rotten sails. A chunk of the roof had caved in, belching out smoke. The entire structure groaned in its death throes. Kaydence hit the ground hard in front of the inferno, her heart pounding. The street was deserted¡ªfor now¡ªbut she had to be fast.

    Scorching heat washed over her, carrying the smell of burning wood and white-hot stone, the stench of charred flesh and the taste of ash. She swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. The world started to spin.

    Sei! Help me, Sei!

    Kaydence blinked, trying to clear her head. That voice¡ªit was not real.

    But suddenly, the fire was not just in front of her anymore¡ªit was everywhere. She was back there. The mansion was burning down around her; in her ears, nothing but eerie silence and the dull roar of the flames. The king¡¯s mission, the ambush against her squad, it had all been a trap¡ªa diversion, for this. She had run back as fast as she could, tried her hardest to make it in time. But she was too late, too slow¡ªtoo weak. She could do nothing. She could help nobody. Everyone was already¨C

    ¡°¡­Kay¡­¡±

    Her head jerked up. Was this real? Over the roar of flames, she strained to listen. The fire, clearly magical in origin, was muddling her senses. But now she could feel it¡ªsomewhere inside the inferno, a flicker of life, faint and fading. ¡°Yuna?!¡± Her voice cracked, her eyes misty and unfocused. ¡°Yuna, I¡¯m coming!¡±

    Kaydence thrust her hand out, casting magic to part the flames. But suddenly, wails filled her ears, the taste of boiling blood flooded her tongue, and pleading ghosts flashed before her eyes. Her focus wavered. Half-formed orange glyphs destabilised. Her spell burst, blasting her backwards. She crashed into a house with a startled, pained gasp.

    ¡°Argh!¡± She blinked stone dust away. ¡°Void! Now¡¯s not the time!¡± Her hands were trembling. Why won¡¯t you listen to me?! Fire had once been her loyal servant, a ravenous pet, always eager to burn at her call and consume everything in her path. But now, when she needed it most, it defied her. Why! Is it me? Am I the problem? ¡­Figures. The thought clawed at her, but she shoved it away.

    Fire magic be damned. The spell backlash stung, but at least it had the merit of slapping her mind back to the present. I don¡¯t need it. Gritting her teeth, Kaydence staggered to her feet, then charged headlong towards the inferno. She slammed through the burning door, throwing her arms up at the last second to shield her face. The brittle wood crumbled on impact, and she stumbled inside.

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    Fire roared all around.

    The heat gnawed at her, arcane flames lapping greedily at every inch of space. Her skin blistered and blackened in an instant; her hair and clothes ignited. The smoke was thick, acrid, and each breath felt like nails down her throat. Her regeneration kept pace, but the constant cycle of her nerves burning and regrowing was torture. The agony was relentless, assaulting her senses¡ªbut pain was an old friend of Kaydence¡¯s. What would incapacitate another only kept her grounded¡ªfocused. She refused to let old memories drag her down again. She pressed forward, eyes stinging, struggling to see more than a step ahead through the smoke even as the fire enveloped her and tried to consume her whole.

    ¡°Twig! If you¡¯re alive, say something!¡± she bellowed, before breaking into a coughing fit. Blasted! She could stop breathing, but every bodily function she shut down drained her mana faster¡ªand no matter how invincible she acted, her reserves were not actually infinite.

    She tried to keep her body low, but each step on the rotted, burning floorboards was treacherous. As Kaydence edged toward the centre of the room, they grew worryingly unstable, the dry wood groaning under her weight. She quickly veered toward the stone wall, where the fire was slightly less fierce and the footing more solid.

    When her boot nudged something small and charred, her heart stuttered¡ªbut it was not Sarmin. The curled body was a child¡¯s alright, but all too tall. Kaydence knelt, her fingers briefly brushing the blackened skin, checking the boy¡¯s vitals¡ªonly to confirm what her other senses were telling her. Stupid kids¡­ Clenching her fist, she moved on.

    ¡°SARMIN!!¡± she shouted again. There was no answer, only the groans of wood turning to ash. ¡°Answer, you little bitch! Answer me, or I¡¯ll kick your spinless ass until it¡¯s on backwards!¡±

    ¡°¡­here¡­¡±

    Kaydence¡¯s ear somehow caught a whimper, coming from all the way across the burning mill. ¡°Oh, for fuck¡¯s sake.¡± Cursing, she hurried around the room, following the incurved wall to the source of the voice. ¡°Don¡¯t move! Stay low! Cover your mouth!¡±

    ¡°¡­I can¡¯t¡­¡±

    The moment Kaydence saw him, she realised why.

    Sarmin, shirtless, was strung up on a metal hook like a piece of cured meat. Rage flared through Kaydence, the flames closest to her surging blue before she reined herself in. A weak smile lit up the Half-Elf¡¯s battered face when he spotted his friend. ¡°¡­you came¡­ I knew¡­¡±

    ¡°Save your breath, idiot,¡± Kaydence snapped, unhooking Sarmin and dragging him down to the floor, where the air was marginally breathable. A steady draught rose through the loose floorboards, feeding the flames but also creating some room to breathe¡ªliterally.

    With a flick of her knife, she sliced through his half-burnt restraints and yanked off the useless gag that had slipped down around his neck. ¡°Look at you. What a mess,¡± she grumbled, checking his injuries. Relief flickered in her chest¡ªhe was charred, but far less than she had feared. Most of his burns did not look like random fire damage, implying something that made Kaydence¡¯s blood simmer. She ran a hand over a missing patch of Sarmin¡¯s fluffy hair. I¡¯ll shave those little shits. The rest of his injuries were bruises and rope burns on his wrists. His life was not in immediate danger¡ªpresent circumstances aside.

    Satisfied, Kaydence withdrew her mana and hoisted the boy across her shoulders. ¡°Let¡¯s get out of here.¡±

    She turned to move, but Sarmin¡¯s weak voice rasped out, ¡°...wait...¡±

    Kaydence¡¯s irritation flared. ¡°What now?¡±

    ¡°...he¡¯ll die...¡± Sarmin wheezed, pointing shakily toward the centre of the room. Her gaze followed his finger, and through the smoke and fire, she saw another charred body engulfed in flames.

    Thomas.

    Kaydence¡¯s jaw clenched. She did not need to go closer to know it was him. The brat¡¯s mana saturated the fire all around them. As expected, he had lost control of his magic. She had even warned him¡ªor at least, meant to. None of that mattered now. Honestly, she was more surprised mana exhaustion had not killed him before the fire got its chance.

    But Thomas was not dead¡ªnot yet.

    ¡°So what?¡± she spat, shaking her head at Sarmin. ¡°He did this to you. We should leave him¡ªspare the world another careless, arrogant mage.¡± She turned away. ¡°We need to get out before this place collapses.¡± An ominous crack above them underscored her point. The flames were not dying down; the gap she had squeezed through along the wall was rapidly closing. She placed a hand on the hot stone beside her, considering. Should I just try breaking through?

    A weak squeeze on her shoulder stopped Kaydence in her tracks. She glared at the Half-Elf, but the usually meek boy held her gaze unflinchingly. His left eye was swollen shut, but the other shone with determination¡ªand worse¡ªtrust.

    ¡°...Damn it, Sarmin,¡± she muttered, more to herself than him, and set him down against the wall. She tore off the remnants of her burnt shirt and shoved them at him. ¡°Don¡¯t move. Stay low. Breathe through that.¡± Without waiting for a response, she strode toward the centre of the room, body low to the ground, warily eyeing the burning support beams above. The weakened floorboards creaked ominously beneath her, and through the cracks, she glimpsed a dark abyss below.

    Whatever basement the mill hid, it was deep. A fall would be painful¡ªor, at the very least, a waste of more precious time.

    By some miracle, she made it to Thomas without incident and knelt beside the unconscious boy, her scowl deepening. This idiot was actively on fire. ¡°You¡¯re one lucky son of a bitch,¡± she hisssed, pressing a hand to his back and sending a pulse of mana through his body. His natural resistance was pathetic; she severed his connection to the flames easily. It did not stop the inferno, but at least it kept him from turning into a drained husk. With a grunt, she rolled him over, smothering the flames still licking at his charred skin.

    How is he even still alive? Thomas was a wreck, one step removed from a lump of coal. Kaydence let her Life mana probe through him, patching up just enough to stop him catching a ride to the Underworld. But in doing so, she noticed something that definitely did not belong. What the Void did you do to yourself, you absolute moron?

    Before she could investigate further, a loud rumble shook the burning windmill. Kaydence¡¯s head whipped up just in time to see a massive flaming gear tumbling through the smoke. Instinct kicked in; she grabbed Thomas¡¯s charred body and rolled away, narrowly avoiding the huge cogwheel as it crashed through the floor where they had been just moments before.

    But they had not escaped yet. The impact triggered a chain reaction, and the floorboards started to give way beneath them like an opening sinkhole.

    Kaydence scrambled to her feet, yanking her burden towards the outer wall. She was not fast enough. The floor crumbled from under her feet, and suddenly, she was falling. Time slowed as she flailed in a dark void, already bracing herself for a painful landing¡ªuntil her hand grasped something metallic. White-hot iron melted into her palm, and her drop abruptly stopped, the momentum slamming her painfully into stone.

    ¡°Ugh. I hate today¡­¡± Groaning, she glanced down.

    Her feet dangled over an abyss¡ªa dark shaft that plunged into fathomless depth. She could barely make out the reflection of the fire in some water far down below. Fresh air and the tang of brine drifted up on a cold, persistent draught. She had caught onto the last rung of an old, rusted ladder. Incredibly, she had not let go of Thomas¡¯s wrist. Judging by the weird angle, his shoulder was dislocated, but Kaydence frankly did not give a damn.

    ¡°Void, you¡¯re heavy,¡± she muttered through gritted teeth, more for the sake of venting than because of any real strain. ¡°I really want to drop your roasted pig ass.¡± Nevertheless, she hoisted the charred boy up on her shoulder and started climbing back up the scalding ladder. They had not fallen that far down, luckily. ¡°I¡¯d make a joke about burning fat,¡± she grunted as she inched upward, ¡°But I¡¯m not in the mood. Just wait. I¡¯ll get even with you. Then you¡¯ll wish you¡¯d burned to death instead.¡±

    Reaching the top of the well, Kaydence tossed Thomas¡¯s limp form over the edge. His body thudded onto the floor near Sarmin, who stared worriedly, still clutching her torn shirt over his nose and mouth to block out the smoke. He had not moved, just as she had ordered. Not that it brought Kaydence any satisfaction. She was pissed.

    With a final grunt, Kaydence hauled herself out of the pit and back into the inferno. The path to the exit was now fully cut off, the flames closing in on them. She stomped over to the boys, flexing her fingers branded with the shape of the rungs.

    Burns like these were annoying. The cauterised wounds required her to consciously guide her healing to avoid permanent scars. Not that she cared much about scars, aesthetically speaking, but the loss of dexterity would be unacceptable.

    ¡°K-Kay¡­ I¨C¡± Sarmin began, his voice trembling.

    ¡°Don¡¯t,¡± Kaydence growled, cutting him off with a raised finger, ¡°talk to me right now.¡± Without another glance, she pressed her ear against the wall, rapping her knuckles against the masonry until she found a spot that echoed with a hollow thud. ¡°Get back,¡± she barked with a sharp gesture at the Half-Elf, who scrambled to obey.

    Kaydence drew in a deep breath, her jaw tightening as she flooded her right arm with Life magic. Glowing teal veins appeared beneath her bronze skin, spreading from her chest to her clenched fist like a network of pulsing roots. Her muscles bulged, stretching her skin taut. With a step back, she wound her bloated arm like a coiled spring. ¡°Get ready to run,¡± she said in a strained voice. She exhaled. The roar of the firestorm and the groaning windmill faded into the background as she sharpened her focus, honing in on her rebellious Fire magic.

    Obey.

    Blazing orange glyphs ignited in a circle above her fist. They flickered wildly, overwrought by the raw elemental power swirling around them. The inferno¡¯s flames surged towards Kaydence, crawling along the walls like a living creature answering her siren call. Scorching heat rolled over in suffocating waves, closing in on the children. Breathing became impossible.

    ¡°K-Kay?!¡± Sarmin wheezed urgently.

    With a primal roar, Kaydence struck. Her fist smashed into stone, and the Fire spell detonated¡ªproperly, this time. Physical and arcane forces combined into a massive explosion, obliterating the wall in a concentrated blast that shot dust and debris flying out into the street. The entire windmill quaked, releasing a deep, mournful groan.

    ¡°GO!¡±

    Kaydence lifted the unconscious bully in her left arm and threw herself through the gaping hole before the dust even settled, keeping a sharp eye on Sarmin to make sure the boy kept pace. A torrent of flames roared at their heels, hungrily devouring the fresh influx of air. The outside cold embraced them like a slap to the face. But there was no time to relish. The building behind them keened and groaned as it began to tilt. Kaydence had dealt the final blow, and now, the air thundered with the rumble of crashing wood and cracking stone as the windmill finally collapsed.

    The ground quaked beneath her feet, and Kaydence saw Sarmin stumble, his reedy legs faltering on the uneven cobblestones. With a burst of adrenaline, she tossed Thomas over her shoulder and snatched the Half-Elf by the back of his pants, hauling him forward. In the corner of her sight, the windmill¡¯s blazing sails were hurtling straight at them like a burning guillotine. Come on. Come on! Kaydence sped up. Her legs screamed. Her heart pounded in her chest. Her destroyed right hand throbbed in agony.

    The windmill¡¯s final groan echoed like a death knell.

    Kaydence dove forward, dragging both boys with her, shielding them with her body as the edge of the wreckage rained down around them. Burning debris pelted her bare back¡ªshards of wood, scalding stone, and embers slicing through the air. Every breath tasted like ash and dust; her lungs begged for relief.

    Finally¡ªafter an eternity that was really but an instant¡ªthe rumbling stopped. Stillness settled on the world, broken only by the crackle of the flames nibbling at the rubble.

    Kaydence rolled onto her back, arms sprawled out as she gasped for air, staring up at the night sky. Her body trembled as the adrenaline began to fade, leaving her limbs heavy and her mind numb. The stars glittered above, peaceful and uncaring.

    They had made it. Barely.

    * * * * *

 B1CH23 - Festival of Flames, Part 11: All Magic Comes with a Price

    As the tribe members¡¯ voices rose, a palpable sense of dread washed over the spectators of the delegation. I felt¡ªtruly <u>felt</u>¡ªthe weight of the entirety of Creation bearing down on me. It was immense, unfathomable, suffocating and uncaring, and I was reminded with undeniable certainty of my own insignificance.

    The world around the chanters seemed to become¡­ <u>more</u>. More in every way. The light shone brighter. The darkness deeper. The plants more vibrant. The colours multiplied. Even the rocks felt more solid. The whole of reality as I perceived it appeared to unfold into realms I could not¡ªdared not¡ªcomprehend.

    The sheer <u>power</u> channelled by the Chanters was enough to make even the imperial soldiers of our escort tremble with fear and doubt. I saw grown men cry and hardened veterans bite their lips bloody as colours drained from their faces.

    As the ritual reached its apotheosis, the very space seemed to shimmer and warp, twisting and bending in response to the incredible, terrible magic being unleashed here. I lost track of my senses for a brief instant, and when I came to myself, warm rain was falling from a previously clear sky, nourishing the hard, frozen ground of the Shmavahal.

    I will never forget what I experienced that day, that breathtaking and awe-inspiring display. However, it does leave me wondering as to the terrible price that must be paid to wield such magic.

    -¨Can anonymous member of Emperor Anubhab¡¯s peace delegations to the Dahathri tribes.

    -

    Remembrance 2, 2497 AK, Radiant Empire, Cleft Isles, Greyport, Industrial District

    The silence felt like a lie after the intense violence the children had just escaped.

    Kaydence could never get used to it¡ªthat unnerving stillness after battle, when the roar of men, the clash of steel, and the thunder of spells faded into nothing, an emptiness filled only by the cries of the wounded, and the suffocating quiet of the dead. The peace never felt real back then, either. The world was only taking a short breath before the next bloodshed.

    She could handle the tension before a fight¡ªfacing the unavoidable. She thrived in battle¡ªin the certainty of action. But after? When the blood started to dry, and the adrenaline ebbed, the weight of what came next bore down on her, of consequences and unpredictable futures, and rarely could she picture anything good happening.

    Seifer¡¯s father had called it a weakness, an unforgivable character defect¡ªanother disappointment in a long list coming from his younger son. ¡°A wolf doesn¡¯t lose sleep over the lives of sheep,¡± he liked to quote at them.

    Kayden never had trouble sleeping.

    Seifer had chosen to stop sleeping altogether.

    Flames crackled softly through the debris-strewn street. Their roaring fury had dulled, yet the sprawled remains of the windmill burned on, bathing the area in a trembling glow and stretching long shadows across the cobblestone. Restless sparks floated upwards, soaring, dancing in the indifferent night sky and mingling with their elders, the stars. It was beautiful, almost serene¡ªif one ignored the fire slowly spreading to the neighbouring buildings.

    Maybe that man was right¡­ Maybe I¡¯m too short-sighted¡­

    Kaydence wished she could sleep right now.

    Her brief moment of peace was shattered by Sarmin¡¯s alarmed cry.

    ¡°K-Kay! Y-Your hand!?¡±

    The girl with the too-old mind sighed, exhaustion creeping down to her bones. Her fatigue exceeded the physical; she had burned through too much mana tonight. She might act invincible, but her reserves were not actually infinite.

    ¡°Didn¡¯t I tell you to shut up?¡± she grumbled, forcing herself to stand. Every part of her body groaned in protest. Void. Is this what being my actual age feels like? Continuously regenerating that much damage had taken its toll. Her body felt numb, stiff and clumsy. Her head throbbed, her eyes refused to focus, and the ground seemed to pitch whenever she tried to stand still.

    Her right arm had shrunk back to normal¡ªbut it had suffered greatly from her stunt. From her shoulder down, it was one big, ugly bruise. Red swelling traced her abused mana veins like infected roots across her skin. Angry stretch marks cut serrated paths through the purples and blues. Despite her magical reinforcements, her fingers were mangled and twisted where they had shattered against stone. The gruesome fractures were already fusing incorrectly.

    I definitely overdid it. Kaydence grimaced painfully. For all her power and experience, right now, she hardly counted as a proper mage¡ªmore like a clumsy brute gripping a familiar greatsword by the wrong end and smacking people with the hilt. She had let her skill decay¡ªvoluntarily, in part¡ªand never seriously trained her new body to handle her magic.

    A quick assessment revealed that her reckless, improvised enhancements had left over a dozen malignant tumours throughout her arm muscles. Worn as she was, it would take days to reabsorb the growths and retrain her flesh to heal correctly. Normally, Kaydence would excise the cancerous parts and patch the holes afterwards, but her reserves ran too low for that sort of brute-force approach.

    No way around it. With sickening cracks, she straightened her crooked fingers¡ªrebreaking the bones as needed. Pebbles, splinters, and bone fragments had sunk deep into her regrowing flesh; she dug them out while her depleted magic struggled to knit the wounds back together. For once, she had to consciously steer the Life mana, using just enough to restore basic function to her arm and mask the worst of the damage. This¡¯ll have to do for now.

    Off to the side, Sarmin gaped at her with wide-eyed awe¡ªthough he looked a bit sickly green.

    ¡°Barf on me, Twig, and I¡¯ll shove it back down your throat,¡± Kaydence warned flatly, causing the Half-Elf to swallow nervously. ¡°Alright.¡± She flexed her stiff fingers¡ªgood enough¡ªthen jerked her head towards a lightless alley that led from the burning wreckage and spreading fires. ¡°Let¡¯s get out of here. This place¡¯ll be crawling with guards before long.¡±

    ¡°O-Okay.¡± Sarmin nodded but hesitated, ¡°W-What ab-b¨Cabout¡­¡±

    Both of them looked to their third ¡®companion.¡¯ Thomas¡¯s blackened body lay beside them, curled up like a mummified corpse. The bully¡¯s out-of-control magefire had left him encased in a charcoal-like shell made of his calcinated flesh. His extremities were charred to the bone; his hair, nose, lips, ears, and eyelids were gone; his eyeballs might as well be too. Even with healing magic, he would be lucky to ever see again. Only the shallow rise and fall of his chest betrayed a semblance of life. Probably best he¡¯s unconscious, Kaydence pondered.

    Awake, the agony might have killed him.

    ¡°Leave him.¡±

    ¡°B-B-But¨C¡±

    ¡°Sarmin, shut the fuck up,¡± she snapped. ¡°His father¡¯s a Priest of Light. I¡¯m sure the Temple¡¯s got a healer who¡¯ll patch him up.¡±

    That was a lie. Kaydence had no clue. The bully might make a full recovery, or he might die before sunrise¡ªor anything in between. She had ensured his survival until help reached him; the rest was off her hands. Even had she wished to do more, she was barely holding herself together. And Sarmin will need healing too.

    ¡°He¡¯ll be fine,¡± she reaffirmed. ¡°We, on the other hand, need to get the Void out of here. Now.¡± She grabbed the Half-Elf by the shoulder and yanked him along. ¡°Use your brain, Twig. The smoke can¡¯t have fried all of it. Who do you think they¡¯ll blame for this? The city¡¯s darling ¡®prodigy¡¯, future mage extraordinaire, son of a lector priest, who¡¯s looking mortally wounded, or two creepy kids everyone hates?¡±

    The tiny boy looked conflicted, but he let Kaydence lead him away quietly. Only inside the alley¡¯s relative safety did he finally let out a wistful whisper, ¡°Kay... Are you a mage, too?¡±

    Kaydence turned abruptly and slammed Sarmin into a wall. The impact knocked the breath out of him. Gasping for air, eyes panicked, the boy tried to apologise, but Kaydence¡¯s strong hand clamped over his mouth. ¡°Quiet!¡± she hissed. Her red eyes narrowed¡ªbut not at him; they shifted back the way they had come.

    The noise of stomping boots and clinking chainmail was growing louder behind them.

    ¡°Mages, control the fire! Stop it from spreading!¡± The Guard captain¡¯s familiar gravelly voice rang out, harsh and commanding. ¡°Swords, secure the perimeter! Nobody leaves! Once the Wands give the all-clear, check for survivors inside!¡±

    From the shadows, Kaydence watched, heart pounding, as what seemed like half the city garrison stormed past the mouth of their hiding spot. Among them, she spotted the two distinct silhouettes of Flynt and Carl. Wait¡­Wasn¡¯t Flynt¡¯s younger brother in Thomas¡¯s group? This thought prompted a bitter twist in her gut, as she remembered the dead child in the fire. She clenched her teeth, hoping she was wrong.

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    Nobody deserved to find their family like that.

    ¡°Over here! There¡¯s a body!¡±

    ¡°Where¨C By the gods, is that a kid?¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s still breathing! Healer, now!¡±

    Someone retched loudly.

    More footsteps rushed toward the scene, followed by a breathless shout. ¡°We need men at the other site! We caught a suspect!¡±

    ¡°Henson¡¯s group, with him!¡± barked the captain. ¡°Flynt, take your boys and search the alleys. There could be more hiding.¡±

    Kaydence had heard enough.

    ¡°Run.¡± She grabbed Sarmin¡¯s hand and bolted, moving as fast as she could without drawing attention. The smaller child stumbled after her in the near-complete darkness, terrified and tripping over his feet. He was not usually this clumsy. Is there something wrong with his ankle? After his third near fall, Kaydence halted abruptly and crouched with her back to him. ¡°Get on. There¡¯s no time.¡±

    ¡°Ehhh?¡± Sarmin breathed out in disbelief. A sliver of moonlight touched his pale face, betraying a blush as his gaze awkwardly flitted over their bare upper bodies¡ªespecially hers.

    ¡°Please. You¡¯re ten.¡± Kaydence scoffed, her exasperation almost tangible. ¡°There¡¯s nothing to see. On either of us.¡± She was not wrong. Life magic had made a mess of her physiology. While she was certainly tall, it was her sour expressions that aged her past her years, not her figure. If anything, people would sooner mistake her for a baby-faced teenage boy.

    Puberty was not something she liked to think about.

    ¡°Now, hurry up!¡± she urged, and Sarmin finally relented, climbing on. As his arms wrapped shakily around her neck, a sharp sting shot through Kaydence¡¯s right shoulder.

    ¡°I¡¯m n-not too h-heavy, a-am I?¡± the boy asked, noticing her flinch.

    ¡°Shut up. You¡¯re just a twig¡ªyou weigh nothing,¡± Kaydence muttered, gritting her teeth and gripping his legs securely. ¡°Are you even eating?¡± Sarmin stayed silent. He only tightened his hold, burying his face against her shoulder. Every distant shout, every clang of armour, every loud noise sent a fresh jolt of fear through him.

    Kaydence stood, fighting to stay conscious. Her vision blurred, and her breath came in shallow rasps, puffing mist into the winter air. Her mana channels ached for rest, but she pushed through and recast her Shadow Cloak. The Dark mana seared icy trails through her veins, sending shakes into her limbs, and sweat pearled on her forehead despite the freezing cold.

    ¡°¡­Kay?¡±

    ¡°Hold on.¡± The shadows unfolded around them, forming an intangible shield against detection spells, and Kaydence broke into a fast jog, taking them away from the wreckage, the fire, and the incoming patrols. Darkness encroached at the edges of her sight. She was unsure how much longer she could keep going¡ªbut for now, they were still ahead.

    That would have to be enough.

    * * *

    The house was dark and quiet. The only sounds were the groans of old timber, scattered shouts from outside, and the occasional drip from the cracked ceiling, splattering into a puddle on the wooden floor. The stench of stale air, old sweat, and spilt ale clung to everything. Empty bottles littered the floor, reflecting the thin slice of light that squeezed through ill-fitted shutters. The dull glow from the street¡¯s magic lamps and the hearth¡¯s embers were just enough to reveal the mess¡ªoverturned stools, dirty dishes piled in a basin, snuffed candles dribbling cold tallow off chipped furniture, dirty linens, and the limp bodies of a couple, asleep in a stupor, and a little boy.

    The father¡¯s sleeping breath came out in uneven grunts, his face half-buried in the stained straw mattress. His tunic, loose and soaked with sweat, clung to his gaunt frame. The mother¡¯s clothes were almost undone and her heavy make-up smudged. On a small nearby bed, the boy curled into himself, his tiny chest rising and falling steadily. A faint whiff of smoke and roast meat still hung on them, remnants of the festival¡¯s fires outside.

    Sneaking through the clutter under the cover of darkness, a silent figure moved across the room. The floorboards barely gave under her deliberate steps, timed to the husband¡¯s snores. Her breathing was tight, ribs still sore from the earlier escape. Reaching the wardrobe, she hesitated briefly before snatching two sets of clothing. She folded them under her arm and turned to leave.

    The floor creaked loudly. The thief stilled, her muscles tense, watching for a stir from the family. The boy twitched, but did not wake. The mother rolled in her sleep. Heart pounding, the thief made her way back to a window. The shutters rattled softly as she pried them open. Outside, a dark alley lay silent. This house stood at a street corner, near the pleasure district, a stone¡¯s throw away from Cliffside, its living quarters sitting atop a ratty potion shop.

    Kaydence paused on the windowsill long enough to close the shutters before letting herself fall. The landing jarred her legs, but she did not let it show. ¡°Here. Put those on.¡± She tossed the smaller set of clothes to Sarmin, who was hiding behind a crate.

    He caught the bundle, but this little goodie-two-shoe hesitated. ¡°S-Stealing is bad,¡± he stammered, glancing at her. His gaze held the faintest hint of judgment tinged with wariness.

    ¡°You¡¯re welcome,¡± Kaydence huffed, already pulling the father¡¯s tunic over her head. She gave it an unimpressed sniff. It reeked of stale sweat. ¡°Or do you want to meet up with Lenril looking like you lost a fight with a wyvern hatchling?¡± Under her withering glare, the Half-Elf said nothing, quietly chewing his lip. ¡°Didn¡¯t think so.¡± She adjusted the ill-fitting clothes with a few sharp tugs before waving him over. ¡°Come here. Let me fix your face¡­ and the rest.¡±

    Without waiting for Sarmin¡¯s answer, she grabbed his shirt and dragged him deeper into the alley, before pushing him down onto an abandoned cart. Her hands cupped his bruised face roughly to inspect his injuries, making him wince, but he did not resist. Focusing on his swollen black eye, Kaydence let her magic flow, though sparingly. Her Life mana was still low. ¡°It¡¯ll sting for a while.¡± Once the surface damage was dealt with, she moved on to his other bruises, burns, sprained ankle, and missing patches of hair. ¡°Try not to make it obvious.¡±

    ¡°Y-You can do m-m-magic,¡± Sarmin blurted out, awe in his voice. It was not a question, and as always, his admiration pissed Kaydence off. She hummed noncommittally, lifting his shirt to check the burn marks on his torso. ¡°H-How?¡±

    She sighed. ¡°Didn¡¯t you hear your friends? I¡¯m a demon from the Void.¡±

    ¡°Th-They¡¯re n-not my f-friends.¡±

    ¡°Didn¡¯t deny the demon part, eh?¡± Kaydence mumbled, causing Sarmin to blush. ¡°Could¡¯ve fooled me, the way you followed them into that old windmill.¡±

    ¡°They g-grabbed me!¡± His voice rose, cracking in protest.

    ¡°And you didn¡¯t fight back? Not even enough for Lenril to notice? I know he¡¯s a cripple, but he¡¯s still a bloody Elf.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t t-t-talk about D-Dad like that!¡± Sarmin¡¯s face flushed with anger in a rare flicker of defiance. Though he quickly looked away, embarrassed. ¡°¡­I-I wasn¡¯t near him.¡±

    ¡°Even dumber. You split from him? Why?¡±

    Sarmin squirmed, his voice barely a whisper. ¡°I was looking for you.¡±

    Kaydence¡¯s hands stilled. She felt that familiar tug in her chest¡ªone she immediately shoved down¡ªand sighed heavily. ¡°Don¡¯t do that¡­ Nothing good will ever come off it.¡± She yanked his shirt back down and pulled him to his feet. ¡°Come on,¡± she said flatly. ¡°Let¡¯s get you home.¡±

    They walked in strained silence, the only sound the crunch of half-molten snow beneath their feet. The entrance to Cliffside soon came into view. Kaydence had debated bringing Sarmin back to the One-Eyed Bear, but she decided against it. She had an inkling Grizelda might be able to smell the blood and smoke off of them. Better to check their homes first.

    The narrow path along the former quarry was almost deserted, a far cry from the daytime bustle. Exhaustion clung to Kaydence, her eyelids heavy, her steps missing her usual predatory grace. Her boot slipped on a patch of slushy snow, and she stumbled dangerously close to the canyon¡¯s edge. She caught herself just in time, her heart racing as she stared into the yawning drop.

    ¡°K-Kay?¡± Sarmin¡¯s cautious voice interrupted her dark thoughts again.

    ¡°What?¡± she snapped, her patience wearing thin.

    ¡°Can you teach me?¡±

    Kaydence¡¯s footsteps halted. Slowly, almost too slowly, she turned to the Half-Elf, her tone dangerously flat. ¡°Teach you what, Sarmin?¡±

    He met her gaze, his both hopeful and hesitant. ¡°Magi¨C¡± The word never crossed his lips before Kaydences hand shot out and gripped his throat.

    ¡°You seem to be under a misunderstanding, Sara.¡± She walked deliberately towards the path¡¯s edge, slowly pushing him closer to the black abyss. Sarmin¡¯s toes scrabbled for purchase on the slick rock, his hands weakly clawing at her wrist¡ªin vain. Her grip was like steel. Her blood-red eyes bore into him, cold and distant¡ªalmost as empty as the void behind him. ¡°We are not friends. I saved you because your death would be a nuisance to me. I don¡¯t care about you. I don¡¯t owe you a thing. Do you understand?¡±

    Sarmin¡¯s breath came in short, panicked gasps. ¡°B-But¨C¡±

    ¡°B-B-But? Is that all you can say?!¡± Her pupils narrowed into furious reptilian slits. ¡°Look at me,¡± she hissed, her voice sharp as broken glass. ¡°Look. At. Me!¡±

    He gaped back with abject terror.

    ¡°That¡¯s right. That¡¯s the look,¡± Kaydence sneered, tightening her grip just enough to make him choke. ¡°Scared? You should be. This is what magic does to a person. You saw it with your buddy Thomas, too. You felt what it did to you. So, Void help me, if your takeaway from tonight is that magic¡¯s ¡®awesome¡¯ and you can¡¯t wait to try, I might just drop you now. Save us all the trouble of another demon in the making.¡±

    Though she glared at him, her gaze was a thousand yards away. At the back of her mind, she could again hear the roar of the flames and wails of the dying, smell the acrid stench of smoke, and taste burning flesh on her tongue.

    Sarmin¡¯s eyes filled with tears, his grip on her wrist waning, but he did not look away. He did not beg, did not plead. He just stared at her, terrified but unyielding¡ªso out of character for the meek little boy. Something about that look stirred more old memories, some not quite so horrible but no less bitter. Kaydence heard a faint, ghostly giggle echo like crystal bells in the distance.

    Suddenly, Sarmin let go, leaving himself dangling in her grasp over the cliff¡¯s edge. His clear eyes seemed to dare her to drop him. They claimed this was more than a childish whim¡ªthat he would not back down, even for her.

    What¡¯s gotten into him? For a long, tense moment, Kaydence held him there.

    Eventually, she released a low, weary sigh and threw him back onto solid ground, away from the ledge. ¡°Of all the hills to die on... Fine. I¡¯ll teach you the basics. Nothing more. But if you breathe so much as a word of it, to anyone, I¡¯ll bury your corpse somewhere no one will ever think to look.¡±

    She turned and began walking again, her pace brisk, never looking back.

    Sarmin lay still for a moment, rubbing his sore throat, then quietly stood and followed. His footsteps were soft, his posture wary, and his heart still racing.

    Yet, a faint, satisfied smile played on his lips.

    * * *

    The children¡¯s return was anticlimactic.

    Finding empty homes, they changed clothes¡ªso much for her theft¡ªand set off for the One-Eyed Bear, only to encounter their parents anxiously heading back the other way. While Kaydence was rescuing Sarmin, a small search party had already been organised, comprising the Southey siblings and a few Bear regulars. Annet and Lenril had been sent home in case the kids came back on their own.

    Kaydence gave a vague excuse for losing Lenril in the crowd; Sarmin, usually a terrible liar, was too distracted by her promise to teach him magic to give the game away. She did feel like Lenril was not fully buying her story, though his stoic face made it hard to gauge. However, before the Elf could start interrogating her, Annet cut him off by pulling the children into a hug, kissing their cheeks, and delivering the gentlest of scoldings.

    Kaydence would have preferred being yelled at.

    Lenril eventually stopped trying to stare a hole through her head. He gave his son a quick once-over before releasing the faintest sigh of relief and patting his shoulder.

    Annet had to return to the tavern to finish her shift, and she refused to let her daughter escort her. Kaydence, for once, did not argue too strongly¡ªtoo exhausted and secretly relieved to avoid the overly perceptive Southey family. She walked back to Cliffside with Lenril and Sarmin, parting ways at her mother¡¯s door.

    With the adrenaline drained away, Sarmin was practically asleep on his feet; his father scooped him up and departed with a nod. Watching them leave, Kaydence shot Sarmin a final discreet warning glare, but the little boy only waved back with a sleepy grin.

    Despite her overwhelming weariness, Kaydence struggled to fall asleep that night.

    * * * * *

 B1CH24 - Training Montage, Part 1: Spirit Spring

    ¡°Just stay away from them pixies.¡±

    ¨Cquote from Igot Bayter, farmer, married to a newt.

    -

    Remembrance 10, 2497 AK, Radiant Empire, Cleft Isles, Greyport

    Kaydence jolted awake, a muffled scream caught in her throat. Sweltering dampness enveloped her. Thick, fleshy ropes pinned her arms to her chest, and dry coils filled her mouth, suffocating her. Alarm pumped through her veins, and she almost struck at her attacker before the last threads of her nightmare finally unravelled.

    She was not under attack. The dampness was her own sweat. Those were not ropes wrapped around her, but her mother¡¯s arms and legs, while Annet¡¯s curly hair pressed into her face.

    Annet was a clingy sleeper. She must have slipped into the too-small bed they shared sometime during the night, after another late shift at the Bear. To Kaydence¡¯s chagrin, the woman always managed to creep past her sharp senses, which should have caught any movement in their tiny home, even in her sleep. Though it often caused her distress, Kaydence had learned to accept it. She only hoped her nightmares had not disturbed her mother¡¯s rest.

    Heart still pounding, Kaydence turned aside and quietly coughed out a few stray hairs. Gently, she untangled herself from her mother¡¯s embrace and slipped off the bed. The stone floor was like ice beneath her feet as she crossed their cluttered little cave. Dawn was still hours away, and only the faint glow of embers in the firepit kept the darkness at bay. She pulled off her nightclothes, crouched by a bucket, and began wiping herself down with the frigid water.

    Outside, far below, dockworkers were already hard at it in the depths of the Split; echoes of their labour drifted up and through the window shutters. Most of the town had yet to rouse, still recuperating from yet another night of revelry. The Founder¡¯s Festival lasted a fortnight; until its end, many businesses would stay closed in the mornings¡ªand Annet would spend her afternoons at Neela¡¯s, helping the old herbalist brew hangover cures.

    It had been over a week since Kaydence¡¯s infiltration of a necromancer¡¯s drug-smuggling ship led to her brush with an undead inquisitor and the windmill incident. The dead boy¡¯s funeral had been a sombre spot in this supposedly festive time. Annet had attended the ceremony. Kaydence had not. She sold some of the drug-related information to Edon, but it did not amount to much. By the following day, the Elusive Mer was gone, and no official record mentioned any ship of that name.

    Her arm had mostly healed, though it still throbbed as she brought the wet cloth over tender spots. Looking back, she had acted far too rashly¡ªsloppily¡ªin both the fight and the fire. After ten years of relative peace, the sudden danger had thrown her off. But it was no excuse. She could only blame her own stupidity.

    With a frustrated sigh, she set the bucket aside and dried off with a quick Fire spell. Her mending mana veins stung from it. That recovery was slower; overusing magic was a lot like pulling a muscle. She could still use it, but it was painful, and pushing too far could lead to permanent injuries.

    Once dressed, Kaydence returned to her mother¡¯s bedside. Annet stirred as if reacting to her presence, but Kaydence gently touched her mother¡¯s forehead. ¡°Sleep,¡± she whispered. A soft wave of Darkness flowed from her, settling Annet¡¯s consciousness like ripples fading on a pond. Kaydence wished she had the power to grant peaceful dreams, but all she had to offer were horrible nightmares.

    Hers were growing worse again.

    Last week¡¯s events had exhumed old memories¡ªmore so than the Festival usually did. They haunted her waking hours and brewed terror in her sleep. Worse still, a treacherous whisper had crept into her thoughts, reminding her how much she missed the thrill of action, of feeling like what she did mattered, of leaving her mark on the world¡ªnot watching idly as it drifted by her and she faded away.

    On top of everything, an insidious certainty gnawed at her: Sarmin would talk. Any day now, her secret would spill out. Kaydence had always planned to leave before it was too late, before her presence brought disaster upon this family¡ªbut she kept delaying. Now, that choice risked being taken from her. Yet, instead of relief, a clawing anguish twisted her insides.

    Kaydence brushed a few chestnut curls from her mother¡¯s freckled face, her fingers lingering for a moment longer than needed. As she did every day, she sent out a gentle pulse of Life magic, quietly mending any hidden ailment and soothing the tiny strains caused by Annet¡¯s hard-working days. It was the least she could do, yet far too small a reparation for stealing this wonderful, kindhearted woman¡¯s chance at a normal daughter.

    The world might spurn her mother, call her tainted, the woman who gave birth to a cursed child. Yet Annet had never given her daughter anything but love¡ªa love Kaydence knew she could never deserve or hope to fully repay. ¡°I¡¯ll make it right. I swear,¡± Kaydence whispered, unsure if to the sleeping woman or to herself.

    You made that promise before, an insidious voice reminded her¡ªher own. A foul feeling tried to rise from her gut. She pushed it down.

    This was different.

    She would not make the same mistakes again.

    Shaking off her lingering unease, Kaydence snuck out of their cliffside hole and onto the old quarry¡¯s path, stepping into the last moon rays of the fading night. She only had a couple of hours to complete her errand¡ªfetching the one resource she needed to start Sarmin¡¯s training¡ªand make it home before sunrise. Her sleeping spell would last about that long.

    What did I get myself into? Sighing again, she conjured her Shadow Cloak, enhanced her legs with Life magic, and in moments, she was bounding up the cliff. She quickly cleared the edge of the Split and took to the rooftops, eyes sharp for any unwelcome company.

    Since that night, Kaydence had not seen the local bloodthirsty inquisitor¡ªnot that she expected to. The Vampiress was likely preoccupied with breaking her partner out of the duke¡¯s dungeon. The day after the fire, Duke Emeth Kroah had made a rare public appearance, grandly announcing the capture of the ¡°nefarious mage behind the night¡¯s sacrilegious attacks.¡± Kaydence doubted any Vampire could be subdued so easily; it had to be this ¡°Gabriel,¡± the Air mage, whose aura she had also sensed near the explosion.

    It was all speculation, of course. She had no solid proof that man worked for the Inquisition¡ªpersonal disdain aside. If he were, he could have used his status to evade arrest; on the other hand, she suspected the duke did not even know the Inquisition was in town. It fit her inkling as to why the drug-smuggling necromancer could act so brazen right under the Guard¡¯s nose.

    The geas Kaydence had placed on Tanya might also explain the Vampiress¡¯s absence. Still, all it did was prevent her from sharing information about her, and it was fairly weak at that, owing to a hasty casting.

    Duke Kroah had further urged citizens to report any suspicious individual, and Kaydence had gotten dragged to the guardhouse thrice since then. The half-hearted interrogations felt more like harassment than real accusations, but she smelled another, even more unpleasant motive. As a minor, Kaydence needed her mother to bail her out, which gave that sleazy Flynt the perfect excuse to chat up Annet¡ªlikely the whole reason behind these repeated arrests.

    Between the stress of potential discovery and enduring Flynt¡¯s lecherous gazes towards her mother, Kaydence was almost looking forward to Sarmin¡¯s magic lessons.

    At least she might finally get to blow off some steam.

    * * *

    Kaydence crossed town unnoticed, vaulted over Greyport¡¯s decrepit, vine-grown walls, and landed lightly on the other side. She sprinted across the open stretch between the city and the Grey Woods, then plunged among the giant ash trees and quickly rose to the skeletal canopy, wishing to avoid leaving a trail in the snow. Followers were unlikely, but stealth was a force of habit.

    Her strides stretched long, swift and silent, jumping between branches and carrying her deeper into the woods. She was in a hurry, but not desperately so; her exact destination was still uncertain. However, Kaydence trusted in her mana sense to guide her. She shot past a series of rune-engraved cairns, and a subtle pressure in the air faded as she left the confines of Greyport¡¯s protective wards¡ªthose that kept the worst of the forest creatures at bay.Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    After a while without more change in the ambient mana, she grew ever-so-slightly concerned her objective might be further than anticipated. Eventually, the tangled branches grew too dense to navigate, forcing her to drop back to the forest floor.

    She landed in a crouch, breath steady, ready to press on.

    A trapdoor spider tall as a wolf exploded from its hidden burrow the moment Kaydence touched ground, leaping at her with a piercing shriek. The twisted monstrosity was bulbous, malformed, with over a dozen legs jutting from strange, unseemly angles. Kaydence barely slowed down. She rolled under the attack and drove her fist upward, smashing through black chitin into a gooey mess. Her fingers closed around a solid mass; she let loose a crude Fire spell. The creature was incinerated before it even registered the blow.

    Pausing for the first time since leaving home, Kaydence lifted the lumpy crystal that remained in her grasp after the monster crumbled to ash. It was a vivid bruise-purple colour, looking more like flesh than mineral, and its rough, uneven surface pulsed faintly with warmth. But it was undeniably a crystal¡ªa monster core, to be exact, a magical lithoid parasite that transformed its host into a ravenous, mana-craving mutant. Even now, Kaydence felt it feebly tugging at her magic, though the drain was fading fast as the core cooled down, unable to ¡°survive¡± outside its host.

    Two thousand, five hundred years, and still working perfectly as intended¡­ Geniuses really are scary. She pocketed the core¡ªit would be worth some pocket change on the black market¡ªand quickly resumed her run. A few more monsters attacked her, and she destroyed them, keeping the cores, but for the most part, Kaydence was content to ignore the wildlife.

    She leapt over a colony of slimes grazing placidly on the corpse of a giant beast. The inoffensive-looking red blobs had already picked the bones clean and started dissolving them to get to the marrow. A pack of dire wolves forced a slight detour; a three-eyed owl hooted indignantly when she startled it; one of the rocks she slid across shifted and revealed the head of an irate tunnelling tortoise. It spat stone pellets at her, but Kaydence dodged easily and kept running.

    The monster attacks grew less frequent as Kaydence sensed her destination nearing. Something¡¯s not right, she thought warily. She had expected more monsters the closer she got¡ªnot fewer. Usually, this meant a bigger threat had claimed the area, and the last thing she wanted was to waste time dealing with anything actually dangerous.

    At last, a sharp spike in the ambient mana made her slow to a cautious walk. Up ahead, bright, shimmering lights pierced the pre-dawn gloom. They seeped through a ring of tall, jagged stones encircling a dip in the landscape, lush with moss, verdant vines, and conspicuously off-season flowers in bloom. The clearing in the dense giants offered a glimpse at the clearing sky above. The air tasted more alive here and prickled her tongue.

    Approaching with wary steps, Kaydence began to pick up on high-pitched, giggling voices. She kept low to the ground, pressing herself against a mossy boulder, and peered over its edge.

    Her lips curled in disgust.

    The lack of monsters made more sense now.

    Fairies.

    A whole swarm of the little pests flitted around a glowing pond¡ªKaydence¡¯s goal. They were everywhere: chattering, playing tag, dancing in the air, lounging on the luxuriant vegetation, or diving into the glistening waters.

    Fairies were tricksters, shapeshifters, and masters of illusions. But they often appeared as small, androgynous figures made of iridescent light. Gossamer wings fluttered at their back, leaving trails of glittering dust in their wake, and their big, glossy eyes swirled with misty shimmers, void of iris or pupil. They had the intellect of adults but the wisdom of children, with an endless appetite for mischief¡ªand enough magic to make it everyone else¡¯s problem.

    A single sprite posed little threat, but fairies rarely appeared alone¡ªand provoking a swarm could be deadly. Uniquely, this race could link their mana pools together, unleashing terrible spells that defied all known principles of magic. In his youth, even Seifer had trod carefully around them¡ªuntil his own power grew into its own realm of insanity.

    Maddeningly, fairies were also unpredictable in what might set them off. One moment, they would be giggling and tugging your hair; the next, you found yourself fleeing a firestorm or croaking as a transmorphed, warty toad, confused about your sudden craving for flies. The reason could be the gravest offence or a simple joke. Only they understood the difference, and they seemed blissfully oblivious to how fragile human bodies and minds could be.

    Kaydence wanted nothing to do with them, but that was not an option unless she accepted to return empty-handed. Curses¡­ The things I put up with for that brat. Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to drop her stealth and relax her grip on her mana, letting it flow just enough to be noticed before standing up and boldly stepping into the vale.

    The laughter cut off abruptly.

    Dozens of pupilless, irisless, glossy eyes turned to the intruder all at once.

    Kaydence strolled purposefully toward the glowing pond, ignoring the prying stares. Two key rules applied when dealing with fairies: they despised deception, and acknowledging them only spurred greater mischief. The little pests thrived on attention. Displaying her power as a show of good faith and avoiding eye contact were Kaydence¡¯s best chances to avoid conflict.

    The silence lasted only a heartbeat before erupting in high-pitched chatter.

    ¡°It¡¯s a Human!¡± ¡°A Human?¡± ¡°Is it a girl?¡± ¡°Is it a boy?¡± ¡°Too tall! Too tall!¡± ¡°No wings.¡± ¡°Poor thing.¡± ¡°Young girl. Old soul.¡± ¡°Bad soul.¡± ¡°Evil soul.¡±

    ¡°Sad soul.¡±

    Kaydence¡¯s eye twitched, but she managed to stay impassive. The fairies still kept their distance; she might yet get away with this. Kneeling by the Spirit Pond, she pulled out the leather waterskin strapped to her belt.

    After a moment¡¯s hesitation, she dipped a finger into the glowing water and brought it to her lips. Void! Her eyes grew misty. Even a single droplet seared like white-hot metal. She quickly absorbed the surge of pure mana into her own reserves, leaving only a faint, numbing tingle on her tongue. Potent stuff. She coughed, satisfied. This would do nicely.

    Ley lines¡ªpathways of raw power¡ªcrisscrossed the underground in an intangible web. Myths likened them to the veins of Shu, the Earth God, whose body became the world itself in the Beginning. These ley lines usually flowed deep within the planet¡¯s crust, causing the formation of mana crystals. However, in some places, they surfaced, creating strange environments that attracted magical creatures of all kinds. Monsters, in particular, were irresistibly drawn to these mana wells. But here, it seemed the pixies had thinned out the local monster population.

    Greyport was built atop one such hotspot, which fueled its potent wards. Kaydence had gambled on finding a minor leak in the woods along the same lay line, and it had paid off.

    She went to fill her waterskin.

    Unfortunately, the fairies finally got tired of simply watching and gossiping from afar.

    In an instant, they swarmed Kaydence. A flurry of giggles, babbles, and colourful sparkles exploded around her as tiny hands yanked her hair into tangled knots, loosened her shoelaces, and tugged her clothes in every direction, trying to drag her into the glowing water. Sharp little teeth nipped her ears and nose, and shimmering dust was thrown into her eyes. She tried to ignore the assault, keeping her focus on filling the leather container¡ªbut then she felt the swarm¡¯s interest shift as several fairies peered curiously at what she was doing.

    ¡°Why is the Human taking the water?¡± one asked, prompting a heated debate.

    ¡°Can she?¡± ¡°I think so.¡± ¡°I think not!¡± ¡°Is she a thief?¡± ¡°Thief! Thief!¡± ¡°Maybe she¡¯s not a thief?¡± ¡°The water is ours!¡± ¡°Will it snow tomorrow?¡± ¡°The magic is ours!¡± ¡°Is it?¡± ¡°I¡¯m not sure it is.¡± ¡°We only found it here.¡± ¡°We found it!¡± ¡°So it¡¯s ours!¡± ¡°Is it?¡± ¡°It is!¡± ¡°No, it¡¯s not!¡±

    ¡°I like her eyes.¡± ¡°Pretty eyes.¡± ¡°Bloody eyes.¡±

    ¡°How much blood did they see?¡±

    ¡°Can we take them?¡± ¡°I want them!¡± ¡°I don¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°A bargain for the water!¡±

    ¡°Oooh! Bargain!¡±

    ¡°Take them!¡± ¡°Pull them out!¡± ¡°Rip them out!¡± ¡°Scoop them out!¡±

    ¡°Maybe just one?¡±

    ¡°Which one?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll take the other!¡± A red fairy floated in close, reaching for Kaydence¡¯s left eye, smiling an innocent grin full of needle-point teeth.

    ¡°Yeah, nope,¡± Kaydence huffed. A sudden Fire spell engulfed the incoming sprite. ¡°I like my eyes where they are, thank you.¡± She quickly plugged the waterskin and stood. The swarm had frozen while the red fairy fell and writhed on the ground, ablaze and wailing.

    ¡°AAAAAH! It burns! It burns!¡±

    Another fairy drifted over, head tilted in curiosity, lidless eyes wide and unblinking. ¡°Does it?¡±

    The red fairy stopped mid-scream, still blazing, and shrugged. ¡°Eh. No.¡± They giggled, and the flames receded, forming a flaming dress around their body. ¡°That¡¯s just what Humans say when I set them on fire!¡±

    ¡°Oooooh! Acting!¡± another fairy cried with delight.

    ¡°Very good! Very good!¡± chimed a dozen more, clapping their tiny hands as though Kaydence¡¯s retaliation was all part of some elaborate play. The red fairy bowed to the audience, launching a mess of cheers and demands.

    ¡°Do another one!¡± ¡°Encore! Encore!¡± ¡°Kiksi, do the Human freezing to death!¡± ¡°No, Okiki, do the drowning one!¡± ¡°Drowning! Drowning!¡± ¡°I want a musical!¡± ¡°Who brought snacks?¡±

    ¡°Hey!¡± The red fairy interrupted with a shout, ¡°The young-old Human¡¯s getting away!¡±

    Crap. Kaydence winced, only halfway out of the vale, but she did not stop or look back. Instead, she picked up her pace, now actively running rather than sneaking.

    ¡°Human boy! Come back!¡± one shouted, though a chorus of other voices immediately contradicted them and each other.

    ¡°It¡¯s a girl!¡± ¡°No, it¡¯s a boy!¡± ¡°Is he?¡± ¡°I decided!¡± ¡°No, she¡¯s not!¡± ¡°Don¡¯t run away in the middle of play!¡± ¡°So rude!¡± ¡°She stole our pretty water!¡± ¡°Tasty water!¡± ¡°Wet water!¡± ¡°Water¡¯s always wet, idiot!¡± ¡°She attacked Sparki!¡±

    ¡°Vengeance!¡± The word rippled through the swarm, reprised by many overlapping voices, shrill, delighted, and gleefully sinister. ¡°Vengeance!¡±

    ¡°Is vengeance wet?¡±

    ¡°Vengeance!¡±

    ¡°I like her eyes.¡±

    ¡°Vengeance!¡±

    ¡°How much blood is a wet vengeance?¡±

    ¡°Err¡­ I don¡¯t know.¡±

    ¡°Who cares? CHAAAAAAARGE!!¡±

    All Hell broke loose.

    ¡°Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit!¡± Kaydence fled through the forest, swearing up a storm, clinging to the waterskin, and dodging a hail of sparkles and random energy bolts of every colour. A rainbow cloud of giggling fairies zipped after her, shrieking and blasting wild spells. Every time one got too close, Kaydence fended them off with a weak puff of fire. She had to restrain herself; hurting one of these little devils, even by accident, would only make the situation a thousand times worse.

    She had a good run. However, eventually, sheer numbers and aerial superiority overwhelmed her. A stray spell hit her feet; she stumbled; her face hit the snow¡ªand they were on her.

    * * * * *

 B1CH25 - Training Montage, Part 2: A Mothers Heart

    <sup>9 </sup>Among all the creatures, and all the plants, and all that lived, there was one whose spirit was most fierce and boundless with joy. She danced across the land, and the seas, and the skies, visiting all living things and lifting her laughter unto the Heavens. <sup>10</sup> And she spoke to the Heavens, ¡°Behold, are they not wondrous and beautiful? If it pleases, let me be named Belhad, Force of Life. Ancestors, grant unto me the keeping of these children.¡±

    <sup>11 </sup>The Elements could not turn their hearts against Belhad¡¯s earnest request. <sup>12 </sup>Thus, their essences remained intertwined as One World, allowing Life to endure and flourish, just as the Primordial Siblings had sheltered within themselves Arakhan¡¯s Creation.

    <sup>13</sup> From then on, Belhad watched over all the creatures, and all the plants, and all that lived, and she walked among them. <sup>14 </sup>But in the shadow of her steps walked a dark and quiet figure who gathered those who could follow Belhad no longer. <sup>15 </sup>And she whispered tenderly, ¡°Tend well to the living, O sister, and let your heart be untroubled. For I, Urabi, Force of Death, will guard their final sleep.¡±

    ¨C Book of Provenance 4:9-15, Revised Imperial Version.

    -

    Remembrance 10, 2497 AK, Radiant Empire, Cleft Isles, Greyport

    Annet Templeton awoke just before dawn, feeling remarkably refreshed despite the short rest¡ªbarely a few hours. With a contented groan, she stretched, her hand instinctively padding across the bed¡ªonly to find Kaydence¡¯s side empty.

    A soft sigh passed her lips.

    For a moment, the motley fabric draped across the ceiling was all she saw. The colourful canopy was among her efforts to make their tiny cliffside cave feel like an actual home, a place where her daughter, her Light, could feel cherished and welcome.

    But Kaydence was not one to let herself be loved easily. Annet¡¯s daughter was a free spirit. Holding onto her was like trying to catch sunlight with your bare hands. From the moment she could walk¡ªabsurdly soon, according to Neela¡ªshe could not be contained. It was perhaps the only thing Kaydence had inherited from her mother¡ªthough Annet doubted it. Her Light raised herself. She had no need for her silly mother. She was stronger, smarter, and more talented than Annet could ever hope to be. Kaydence was a barely contained hurricane, a force of nature, overflowing with life and momentum, even in her sleep.

    Especially in her sleep.

    Annet wished she could offer more than a hug and a song when her Light screamed herself raw at night, when she clawed at her face in tears, and her unseeing eyes stared at horrors Annet could not fathom.

    For ten years, Annet had felt woefully inadequate. And yet, she was the happiest she had ever been! Ten years. She could hardly believe a decade had passed since Kaydence bloomed into her life¡ªlike a beautiful crimson rose growing out of barren soil; ten years since Annet¡¯s unfocused world clicked into place and her days filled with endless joy and purpose.

    If only she could share a fraction with the person who gave her so much.

    A resounding slap pierced the tiny abode. Annet¡¯s palms left red imprints on her freckled cheeks, and a bright smile blossomed on her face. ¡°Alright!¡± She swung her legs off the bed.

    The Split opened westward to the Leonine Ocean, which meant little to no daylight graced the canyon in the mornings; besides, the weather was too cold to open the shutters. Shuffling through the darkness, a dissonant ditty on her lips¡ªones whose lyrics she had forgotten¡ªAnnet added a log into the firepit, blew the embers back to life, and lit a tallow lantern. In the dancing light, she changed from her nightwear into warm pants and dress and a paint-dappled apron. She forwent shoes, enjoying the feel of solid stone beneath her feet, even icy.

    Neela would not wake until midday, Lenril was watching over his son today, and Kaydence was out somewhere. Annet had her whole morning free! Humming still, she hopped across the cheerful clutter. Busy house, busy mind, her mother used to say¡ªor something along those lines. She was probably misremembering. That old biddy never had a cheerful bone in her body.

    Annet stretched on her tippytoes to nab a blank canvas from the pile haphazardly stuck in a narrow gap above the wardrobe. Her tall daughter would not have had such trouble. Annet unfolded her easel and sat her petite posterior on a crocheted cushion, atop a knotty tree stump, which she fondly remembered having Kaydence carry home from the forest.

    Taking a breath, she invoked the fading strands of the night¡¯s dreams and let them flow into her brush.

    Ever since she was little, drawing, and then painting, had always helped settle Annet¡¯s nerves. When she feared this blissful daydream she called life was too good to last, when the shadow of a dead woman called from beyond the grave, naming her words Annet used to believe, when she caught herself wondering why everyone always left¡­ It helped.

    And while the darkness rarely seemed to creep in as it once did, she still found comfort in the familiar ritual. Putting the flimsy meanderings of her mind into shapes and colours grounded her. It made her world feel real, concrete, under control¡ªinstead of a wishful figment of her imagination that a too-strong breeze might shatter.

    Some days were easier than others.

    Her brush caressed the canvas, conjuring abstract semblances of towering, coal-black trees with leaves like burning sunsets. A tiny, indistinct character meandered amidst the giants, leaving a crisscrossing, looping trail in the ash-grey snow. An enormous, twisted shadow extended from the figure¡¯s feet, curling inward as if about to swallow the lost, lonely wanderer. Annet¡¯s hand halted with a sigh.

    Today was not an easy day.

    Kaydence¡¯s absence weighed on her mind. She knew her Light could handle herself, and yet¡­

    A mother¡¯s heart worried.

    A sudden rap on the door started Annet. She blinked, reorienting herself. At this hour? Who could it be? The pattern of knocks was unfamiliar. It was not any of the neighbours. Kaydence never knocked. Lenril¡¯s were sharp and efficient, and Sarmin¡¯s always sounded like he was apologising for being there. Neela never visited uninvited.

    Another impatient knock demanded her attention.

    ¡°Coming!¡± Annet called, setting aside her paints. Wiping her hands on her apron, she formed a bright smile as she approached the entrance, smoothing the edge of her nerves.

    Her smile dimmed at the sight of Flynt Lobeck darkening her doorway. His guard¡¯s tabard was unwashed and clinging awkwardly to his broad, bulging shoulders. His pale face gleamed with sweat despite the crisp morning, and his grin was a mix of bravado and misplaced arrogance. And he used to be such a sweet boy, Annet reminisced briefly, quietly mourning a friendship that could not survive the man¡¯s one-sided obsession.

    ¡°Hey, Annie,¡± he greeted her, with a familiarity he could no longer pretend to.

    ¡°Flynt,¡± she returned, her tone only a touch colder than usual. ¡°Good morning.¡± She glanced up and down the path, searching for Carl¡ªthe man¡¯s hulking, taciturn shadow. But Flynt was alone. ¡°What brings you here so early?¡±

    ¡°Ah, well¡­¡± He blushed, showing an awkward smile, and for a fleeting moment, Annet caught a glimpse of her old friend¡ªbefore a ghoulish smirk swallowed him whole. ¡°Maybe I just hoped to see a beautiful someone?¡±

    Annet released a small, exasperated sigh. ¡°Flynt¡­¡±

    ¡°I know, I know.¡± He waved her off and pulled a flat wooden box from behind his back. ¡°You forgot this at the guardhouse yesterday.¡±

    ¡°¡­But I didn¡¯t go yesterday.¡±

    Ignoring her, he flipped the box open with a flourish, revealing a glittering gold necklace studded with gemstones.

    Her chest tightened. ¡°Flynt. That¡¯s not mine.¡±

    ¡°It is now,¡± he said, his grin widening, showing off yellowed teeth. There was something unpleasant in his gaze, like he was not truly seeing her. ¡°I saw it at a stall last night and thought of you. A beautiful thing¨C¡± His tongue wetted his chapped lips in a nervous tick. ¡°¨Cfor a beautiful woman.¡±If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

    Annet never reached for the necklace. Her paint-stained hand closed around the small black scale strung around her neck, like a protective talisman. ¡°Flynt.¡± Her voice was quiet¡ªbut firm. ¡°No.¡±

    His grin wavered, then disappeared entirely. His face darkened, jaw tight, brows furrowed. ¡°Why not? It¡¯s just a gift, Annie¡ªHeaven¡¯s sake.¡± His knuckles turned white around the box. ¡°Why must you always make things so difficult?¡±

    ¡°Because with you, it¡¯s never just a gift.¡±

    The air seemed to thicken as Flynt¡¯s brows furrowed deeper. ¡°¡­I don¡¯t get it,¡± he muttered. ¡°Why are you being so stubborn? I don¡¯t understand.¡±

    ¡°I know you don¡¯t.¡± Annet sighed softly. ¡°Please. There are so many women in town who would be grateful for your kindness. I¡¯m not¨C¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t want them!¡± Flynt snapped; his free hand slammed against the doorframe. Annet held back a flinch, eyes widening. ¡°Don¡¯t you get it, Annie? It¡¯s you. It¡¯s always been you.¡± He stepped closer, crowding her against the threshold. The acrid stench of alcohol and cheap perfume rolled off of him. ¡°Listen to me. I¡¯ve been considered to join the duke¡¯s guard¡ªhis personal guard! We could leave all this crap behind, move to the good side of town, to a better life. Better than¨C¡± He gestured at her cramped home with a disdainful sneer. ¡°¨Cthis.¡±

    Annet could only return a pained look.

    ¡°Annie, come on. Be reasonable,¡± he tried to coax her as if she were a defiant child. ¡°We had good times, didn¡¯t we? Why can¡¯t things be like they used to?¡±

    ¡°We had one time,¡± she corrected. ¡°It was a long time ago. We were just kids.¡±

    ¡°Well, I¡¯m not a kid no more!¡± Flynt roared. He straightened to his full height, his presence looming over her. ¡°You¡¯re right. That was a fucking long time ago. I¡¯ve changed! I can protect you now! Don¡¯t you see? That¡¯s all I want! All I ever fucking wanted!¡± His voice was desperate, but his expression warped into a snarl. ¡°It¡¯s him, isn¡¯t it? The Elf?¡±

    ¡°Flynt. He¡¯s not¨C¡±

    ¡°That knife-ear tree-fucker!¡± The words were spat like venom. ¡°You think he loves you? Gods damn it, Annie, wake up! He¡¯s lying. He¡¯s using you!¡± Flynt¡¯s breath came faster as his agitation grew. ¡°That¡¯s what they do! They¡¯re not like us! They don¡¯t think like we do. They don¡¯t feel like we do! Their minds are... twisty, like roots. He¡¯s not Human, Annie!¡± he shouted as if she were the one acting insane. ¡°His kind don¡¯t belong here! They come into our city, into our lives, and they ruin EVERYTHING!! They¡¯re rats! Parasites!

    ¡°And he¡¯ll ruin you too. Like he ruined his fucking wife¡ªGods pity her soul. Stupid bitch. Mary let that slant-eyed leech latch onto her, and now she¡¯s dead. Fucking DEAD! Because of him.¡± His face twisted further into something vile, heinous. Veins bulged at his temples. Sweat coated his clammy brow. His eyes quivered, wild and bloodshot. His pupils narrowed to pinpricks as he leaned deeper into her doorway. ¡°He¡¯ll do the same to you¡ªpump his hybrid spawn into you, and leave you to rot. He¡¯s fucking KILLING you!¡± His voice cracked to a hysterical pitch. ¡°And you¡¯re too blind to see!¡±

    ¡°Flynt. That¡¯s enough,¡± Annet said, her voice suddenly icy. ¡°Lenril has nothing to do with it.¡± She breathed in deeply, trying to tame her rising anger¡ªa rare occurrence¡ªand retreated into her home, beginning to close the door. ¡°Please. Leave. You¡¯re making a scene.¡±

    Flynt had always been overly conscious of how people saw him. Appealing to his sense of shame for acting the fool in public usually made him back off.

    Not today.

    Whether anger or alcohol overwrote his self-consciousness, Flynt¡¯s hand shot out, slamming against the door. It was blown open¡ªripped from Annet¡¯s hands. ¡°Then it¡¯s her! That¡­ thing you call a daughter!¡± Heavy boots thudded over the threshold as the man forced himself inside her home. His bulk blackened the doorway, blotting out the pale outside light. ¡°You think I don¡¯t see it, hey? She¡¯s not right, Annie. She¡¯s a demon! I know it. We all know it. You¡¯re the only one that¡¯s blind! Those two have you under their spell!¡±

    A strange realisation flashed through Annet¡¯s mind, as if a veil had been ripped from her eyes. How did I miss it? She had never seen Flynt¡¯s advances as worse than a passing irritation¡ªunwanted, unpleasant, but¡ªultimately harmless. Somehow, she had still thought of him as that awkward, gangly, sad boy who trailed her through their childhood games, when they used to sneak onboard ships in the docks, or into the temple¡¯s attic, or out into the woods, acting out silly make-believe adventures, away from their stifling homes.

    She had treated his wounds when his father¡¯s drunk fists found him. He held her when her mother¡¯s loathful belittling made her want to fade away from the world.

    But that boy was gone.

    In his place stood a man¡ªtowering, broad-shouldered, corded with muscles and bristling with pent-up rage. His uneven breathing misted the air. His hands clenched into fists at his sides. Veins bulged in his thick neck and forearms. With a start, Annet realised he was at least two heads taller than her. His presence dominated the space, his shadow stretching into her home.

    Her heart pounded as she backed away. Her eyes darted to the sides, searching for something, anything she could use to defend herself. A stool. Cooking pots. Painted rocks. A book. The lantern by her easel. ¡°Flynt, stop!¡± she pleaded, working to keep the dread from her voice. ¡°You¡¯re scaring me.¡±

    He did not stop. In fact, he stepped closer. ¡°I don¡¯t want to scare you, Anniebun,¡± he said, his voice low and strained. ¡°I just want you to see. I¡¯m doing this for you. I¡¯m trying to save you! I love you, Gods damn it!¡± He hurled the jewellery box across the room; it smashed violently into the wall. ¡°Why can¡¯t you see that?!¡±

    Annet swallowed, steeling her heart even as it thundered. ¡°If you love me, then stop this. Leave. Please. This isn¡¯t the way to show you care.¡± She held his gaze. ¡°You¡¯re not helping me. You¡¯re scaring me. Just go.¡±

    Flynt finally paused. His steps halted as he seemed to turn her words around in his head.

    ¡°¡­No.¡±

    His bloodshot eyes locked onto her¡ªsteady, determined, unhinged. ¡°It¡¯s not your fault,¡± he whispered with the conviction of the true believers. ¡°It¡¯s them. They¡¯ve twisted your mind, poisoned you against the truth, against me! I see it. I see it now.¡± He shook his head, resuming his slow approach. ¡°I won¡¯t let them hurt you anymore. I¡¯ve been patient. I¡¯ve waited¡ªfor you to come to your senses on your own. But they won¡¯t let you, will they? They¡¯re too deep inside your head! And I¡­ I won¡¯t let them destroy you! You¡¯re coming with me. Now. I¡¯ll save you. I¡¯ll fix this!¡±

    He lunged forward, hands outstretched, moving with a desperation that poured icy terror through Annet¡¯s veins. Her fingers closed around the lantern¡¯s handle. Acting on pure instinct, she swung the heavy lantern with every ounce of her strength. She heard a sickening wet crunch, the noise of shattering glass, and a hollow metallic clang. The light went out.

    Flynt screamed¡ªa visceral, animal sound. His hands jerked to his face as his massive form lurched forward. Annet scrambled out of the way; he crashed into the easel in the dark. The wooden frame splintered under his weight. Pieces of wood and canvas clattered on the ground. Her foot caught on something hard. She fell, landing hard against the side of the bed. The impact punched the breath out of her lungs.

    ¡°You whore!¡± Flynt¡¯s wail cut through the dark. ¡°Look at what you¡¯ve done!¡±

    He rose from the wreckage like a monstrous shadow. Glints from the firepit danced on his gory face, reflecting off the glass shards embedded in his flesh. One jagged fragment protruded from his brow, another from the edge of his cheekbone. His nose was crooked, the bridge split. Blood poured freely from the wounds, streaming down his face, into his right eye, pooling in the corner of his lips and dripping from his chin. The blood looked almost black in the dim light.

    Annet bolted for the door. With an enraged bellow, Flynt leapt after her. His feet caught the mess on the floor; he collapsed, but his outstretched hand found her ankle, clamping onto it like a vice. She screamed as she was yanked off her feet, crashing to the floor. Her palms scraped against splinters and shattered glass as she desperately tried to crawl forward¡ªthe door was so close¡ªbut he dragged her back shrieking into the dark room.

    ¡°Let me go!¡± she shrieked, striking out with her free foot. It connected with his face in a wet, meaty thud. White-hot agony shot up her leg as shards of glass pierced her bare sole. Another scream tore itself from her throat. But she did not falter. ¡°Let! Me! Go!¡± She kept kicking, feeling the crunch of glass and bone under her heel.

    Flynt¡¯s screams joined her own, yet his assault barely faltered. The man seemed impervious to pain, and it only drove him on, angrier and more determined.

    A fist shot out of the darkness and socked Annet in the jaw. Her head snapped back, stars exploding across her vision. Before she could recover, a hand yanked her hair and brutally rammed her face into the floor. Once. Twice. Thrice.

    The world blurred, her ears ringing; the taste of iron filled her mouth. Darkness encroached on her sight. A heavy weight pinned legs to the ground. Large, calloused and bloodied hands wrapped around her throat, shaking but merciless.

    They started to squeeze.

    A face loomed above her, barely human¡ªmangled, streaked with blood, its only visible eye wide and wild, veins bursting red against the white. Spittle flew from his lips as he snarled. Annet¡¯s vision narrowed, the room collapsing into blackness as her struggles grew weaker.

    ¡°You filthy whore!¡± Flynt¡¯s grip tightened, his breath hot and ragged. ¡°I should have known! As soon as I saw that monster crawl out of you. You were already too far gone! The tree-fucker had already gotten to you!¡±

    Annet¡¯s struggles waned as her lungs failed to draw breath, her blows against his sides feeble and ineffective. Her fingers clawed at his arms but slid off, limp, her strength spent. Her vision wavered, spots swimming in the encroaching black. Her chest heaved in vain, and the reality of her imminent fate finally settled in her slipping consciousness.

    ¡°I¡¯m¡­ sorry¡­¡±

    Her words were little more than a breathless murmur, her unfocused gaze fixed on the colourful fabrics draped across the ceiling.

    Flynt froze, briefly, and a grotesque smile curled across his mangled face. ¡°I forgive you, my love,¡± he whispered hoarsely, his hands trembling as they tightened, triumphant.

    But Annet was not talking to him.

    I¡¯m sorry, my Light.

    Her thoughts flew away, beyond her failing body, beyond her desecrated home, to the daughter she had failed one final time. Because she was too weak¡ªjust a foolish, helpless woman, who could not keep darkness away from her beautiful, fragile little Light¡ªAnnet knew, deep in her heart, what would come next. Whether Flynt dared to go after her Light or not¡­ Kaydence would kill him.

    Annet understood more about her daughter than Kaydence probably wanted her to. She was not blind¡ªno matter what anyone claimed. She saw the potential for brutal, unspeakable violence dwelling in her sweet, brooding girl. But she also saw the toll it took on her daughter.

    Please. A fresh wave of anguish surged through her. Tears welled in her eyes. Not like this. She did not fear Death. Though not the most devout, Annet knew Urabi was the kindest and gentlest among the gods. A small part of her was always curious to meet Her. As a child, she even dreamed of the beautiful goddess taking her away.

    But not like this.

    Not now.

    Not when her passing would scar her Light¡¯s soul with hatred and regret.

    Annet¡¯s chest burned, her body trembling as darkness closed in.

    She had no words left, only a silent, desperate plea.

    Don¡¯t blame yourself.

    * * * * *

 B1CH26 - Training Montage, Part 3: Fairly Odd Daughter

    FAIRIES!

    They¡¯ve been here since the dawn of time. But they weren¡¯t made by our gods! I know! I have PROOF! Their magic is lunacy incarnate! It spits in the face of reality and every known law of spellcasting! WHY? HOW?! And every scholar bold enough to ask, ¡°Where do they come from? Why do they exist? WHAT ARE THEY HIDING?¡± ends up GONE. Disappeared!

    But not THIS professor! Oh, no! They think they¡¯re so clever, laughing through their sharp little teeth, stealing socks, turning people into newts, warping our world for their twisted little games! But I see you, FAIRIES. I SEE YOU! AND I WILL EXPOSE YOUR LIES FOR WHAT THEY¡ª

    [The handwriting here grows briefly erratic and unreadable.]

    ¡ªinterstitial dimension folding!

    I have found it. A portal to their glittering hellscape! ¡°Fairyland,¡± I call it. After years of work, I am ready. I WILL ENTER. I WILL RETURN. And when I do, the world will finally understand the TRUTH. Fairies are not whimsical spirits¡ªthey are MONSTERS, cosmic horrors cloaked in glimmering deceit! Otherworldly interlopers bent on our annihilation!

    Do. Not. Trust. Them.

    If I vanish, know this: it¡¯s THEIR doing! Not the gods, not the academy board (this time)¡ªIT¡¯S FAIRIES!!

    To account for such eventuality, I have left a copy of all my research at¡ª

    [The letter ends abruptly, with a scorch mark and faint traces of glitter on the parchment.]

    ¨Cattributed to Professor D. Crocker, disgraced Head of Space Magic Development and Planar Research at Grimsvale¡¯s Academy of Arcane Studies, found in his residence after his disappearance, circa 1112 AK.

    -

    Remembrance 10, 2497 AK, Radiant Empire, Cleft Isles, Greyport

    Darkness.

    Annet floated in its cold embrace¡ªsurrounded, untethered, barely conscious. There was no sound, in the void. Only the quiet throb of her fading heartbeat. No sensations. Only the phantom weight of Flynt¡¯s fingers against her throat.

    So this is how it ends. Her thoughts dulled as her mind sank further into fathomless depths. It felt strangely¡­ peaceful. My Light, please don¡¯t cry.

    As a child, she used to wonder¡ªwould anyone mourn her when she died? She used to feel invisible. Her own mother wished she was never born. Her sister had her own demons to fight and no space for her confused little sibling.

    Now, Annet understood the true selfishness of her wish. And as a great black horse with eyes of burning gold appeared in the void, come to carry her to the hereafter on wings of shadows, all she wished for anymore was to have given a proper goodbye.

    The pegasus lay beside her, silently inviting her to climb on. Annet felt its shadow mane on her fingers¡ªat once there and not, infinitely cold, and yet comfortingly warm.

    What truly lies beyond the Veil? What plans did the Gods have for her daughter? Would she be able to ask her questions, before her soul was scrubbed bare of memories and thrust back into the Cycle of Reincarnation?

    Annet never got the answer to any of those questions. Before she could climb onto Death¡¯s Emissary, the endless dark was invaded by a brilliant red spark. And over the thrum of her failing heart, she heard the tiniest voice, squeaking with outrage and fury.

    ¡°¨Ceave Anya alone! You big meanie!¡±

    Like an arrow, the small light pierced the darkness, banishing the psychopomp. The crushing pressure vanished from Annet¡¯s throat, and she wheezed for breath, her back arching, her lungs desperate for the crisp morning air. The cold rush cut her insides like daggers, but nothing had ever tasted sweeter.

    Coughs wracked her body, curling on her side. Her trembling fingers clutched her neck. Her head throbbed in time with her speeding heart. Annet¡¯s entire being screamed at her as her dulled senses came alive, but she welcomed the pain with tears of joy.

    For an indeterminate time, her consciousness still teetered on the edge. Then, ever slowly, the blackness slunk away, and colours bled back into the world.

    Shapes wavered above her, blurry and indistinct. She recognised Flynt¡¯s hulking silhouette¡ªunmistakable. He was staggering away, arms flailing wildly. Something darted past him, too fast to follow¡ªa crimson streak, no taller than Annet¡¯s palm. It flitted through the air like a crazed hummingbird, painting glowing trails that seared her waking eyes. And always, that same high-pitched voice drilled into her skull.

    ¡°Stupid! Dumb! Birdbrain! Anchovy! You dare hurt Anya?! You dare?! Bad! Bad Human! You will pay a thousandfold! Pay! Pay! Pay!¡±

    Flashes of red illuminated Flynt¡¯s mangled face. Annet¡¯s vision swam as the blur zipped around him, scratching, biting, hurling tiny objects, and unleashing sharp bolts of light that cracked like elven fireworks.

    ¡°You ugly! Why are you so ugly?! Drop dead! Corpse face! Stinky blood! Why is it so stinky?! Let me drain it for you.¡±

    The noises, the motion, the lights¡ªthey battered Annet¡¯s senses, compounding her headache. She tried to push herself up, to crawl away¡ªbut her limbs felt like lead: numb, stiff, impossibly heavy. The effort jabbed pain through her ribs, where she had hit the bed, and she sank back to the floor, gasping and holding her side.

    Through her tears, she spotted the shrieking blur dash past. There for a blink, gone the next. But, in that instant, she saw it clearly: a silhouette of brilliant scarlet, with buzzing gossamer wings, hairs of flickering flames, massive pupilless almond eyes filled with cosmic fire, and sharp, needle-like teeth exposed in a mad, too-wide rictus.

    Then the fairy was onto Flynt, biting his ear¡ªsavaging it¡ªtearing off pieces of flesh with their sharp teeth while tiny fingers clawed at his mangled face. Blood specks rained onto Annet, and Flynt bellowed like a wounded bull. Pain, rage, and disbelief mixed in his guttural scream.

    He swung, but his clumsy punch hit nothing but air. The pixie somersaulted away, laughing maniacally, before pelting him with more missiles: a shoe, a paintbrush, a handful of painted pebbles¡ªanything not nailed down that their tiny hands could lift. Each pitch was impossibly precise, striking soft flesh and open wounds and forcing Flynt further toward the door.

    ¡°What devilry is this?!¡± he roared, arms shielding his face.

    The answer he got was a high-pitched shriek of fury and a dozen dazzling red beams that exploded in sparkles against his arms. ¡°You¡¯re the devil, you stupid horned toad! Overgown frog! I¡¯ll rip your legs off and eat them fried in breadcrumbs! Baldie! Heretic! Politician!¡±

    With Flynt stepping away and a moment to breathe, Annet finally struggled to her knees. Dots still danced before her eyes. The darkness ebbed and flowed, stealing moments away. The stone floor seemed to pitch underneath her. Her balance lurched to the side, and bile surged up her throat.

    But she could not tear her eyes away from the surreal fight wrecking her home.

    At last, Flynt stumbled onto the threshold, shouting his frustration. Ragged breaths heaved from his chest. Bleeding burns pockmarked his forearms like little craters. Gore caked his mangled face, sealing one eye shut. His remaining eye spun, wild and bloodshot¡ªuntil it locked shakily onto Annet, piercing her with a hate-filled glare. ¡°Youuuu¡­¡± A rasping growl rumbled from his throat. ¡°This is all yoooour fault!¡±

    His hand suddenly jerked to his belt, to his scimitar, so far forgotten. ¡°ENOUGH!!¡± The blade slid free with a metallic hiss. ¡°I¡¯ve had enough! Enough of your tricks! Enough of these¡­ demonic machinations! I will not be denied what is mine! I will not¨C!¡±

    CRACK!!

    There was a flash and a deafening crack, like the world¡¯s largest whip. Flynt¡¯s scimitar clattered to the ground as he clutched his hand, staring in shock at the bloody stump where his index finger used to be.

    ¡°Ah-AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!¡±

    ¡°Oh? Oopsie! Did you need that?¡± A mad giggle mirrored his horrified wail. The fairy twirled in the air, hands pressed to their cheeks in exaggerated mock concern, only to dissolve into another fit of shrill, manic laughter. ¡°It¡¯s fiiiiine~! You got nine more!¡±

    The cackling abruptly ceased. The air around the little fae sprite seemed to warp, their shadow extending unnaturally without regard for light sources, creeping along the walls, the floor and the ceiling, and converging on the door, still framing Flynt. The creature¡¯s high-pitched voice plunged into a deep, eldritch echo, multiple voices overlapping and singing the words in a cacophony of languages, each seeming to speak directly into Annet¡¯s brain.

    ¡°Let¡¯s fix that.¡±

    The shadows surged, carrying infernal shrieks that laced the air with broken glass. Waves of terror seethed with the wails of damned souls and the promise of unending torment for the wicked. Chitters in the Dark spoke of an Ancient Witness who saw the death of worlds, and their rebirth, and the endless cycle of inconsequential choices that all led to Oblivion. They whispered of the ineluctable March of Time that erodes all things, grinds even the mightiest kings to dust, and dims even the brightest stars to nothingness in the sempiternal cosmic Void.

    Annet hugged her knees to her chest, shivering. Luckily, she had only caught the barest edge of the spell aimed at Flynt. Yet even this much left her paralysed with existential dread.

    Flynt was not so lucky. The yawning maw of eternity bore down on him, unravelling his mind with the grotesque awareness of his own insignificance. He wasn¡¯t among the mightiest, nor the brightest. He was small. Less than an ant. Less than a bad dream. Less than a thought already half-forgotten.

    It broke him.

    With a distressed wail, he turned tail and fled through the door, chased by a mass of churning, howling darkness that oozed out of Annet¡¯s home like pus out of an infected wound and the sound of distorted high-pitched giggles that echoed distantly.

    Silence settled at once in the battered home, save for Annet¡¯s laboured breaths. She remained sitting on the cold floor, shivering as the adrenaline deserted her, swaying softly, arms hugging her knees to her chest. Carefully, she touched her throat and gripped the scale pendant there. Her daughter had called it a dragon scale¡ªas if it were meant as a joke. But Annet believed.The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

    Her fingers came away bloodied and shaking.

    A moment passed, then another. Slowly, cautiously, Annet¡¯s mind started to accept she might live. A tiny, incredulous laugh bubbled up her aching throat. It was painful. It turned into a sob. Tears filled her eyes. There was still too much to process.

    A sudden movement in the doorway caught Annet¡¯s blurred peripheral sight¡ªa shadow blotting out the morning light. Her pulse spiked. Horror stirred in her gut. Is he back?! Before she could react, heavy footsteps rushed in; strong hands grabbed her shoulders.

    ¡°Mum!¡±

    Annet was drawn into a warm, crushing embrace. A familiar scent washed over her, smelling of home, of a burning hearth on a lonely evening, of flames casting dancing shadows across the walls and keeping the cold darkness of the night at bay. The presence pulled back a little, and a face filled her sight: wild obsidian hair tumbling over skin like polished bronze, and two precious rubies peering back into her soul with undisguised worry.

    Annet¡¯s fears melted away, and she realised everything would be alright.

    Her Light was here.

    Already, a warm tide surged through her body, pooling at her wounds, drowning her aches, and washing away the icy void clawing at her heart and mind. A wry smile tugged at Annet¡¯s lips, cracking the blood crusted at their edges. What a sorry sight she must have been, for her cute mageling to forget her usual caution. One day¡­ One day, her wonderful daughter would find the confidence to share her secrets. Until then, Annet could continue to feign ignorance.

    Kaydence¡¯s quivering fingers brushed Annet¡¯s throat, where the marks of Flynt¡¯s assault were already fading.

    ¡°I¡¯ll kill him.¡±

    The sound was more growl than human words, more promise than threat. Her Light was already getting up, turning away, taking her warmth with her¡ªlocking it away as if Kaydence herself feared to get burned. Her face was set in a mask of cold fury.

    ¡°Wait!¡± Annet¡¯s feebly grasped onto her daughter¡¯s shirt. Moving hurt. Phantom pains still flared with every gesture. But a new terror had gripped her heart. If she let go, her Firelight would disappear, gone into a night where Annet could not reach her. ¡°Don¡¯t go. Please,¡± she begged. ¡°He¡¯s not worth it.¡±

    ¡°He hurt you.¡±

    Judgement rumbled from her words with a force equal to the summer storms that sometimes ravaged the Isles. Two rubies cracked with slits of Void stared back at Annet, cold and merciless.

    The air grew colder. Reality held its breath as something ancient and primal stirred. The shadows in the room, still seething with fae magic, stretched along the floor as though drawn to Kaydence¡¯s wrath. They crept about her, weaving sinuously into a regal cloak and grasping, supplicating hands. Spectral fingers clutched at the hem of the garment, hungry, greedy, yearning to leech away more than Kaydence could afford to give¡ªto hollow her out, leaving only a husk, another shade to join their empty host into an infinite and unknowable Abyss deeper and darker than even the void of Death Annet had found herself in.

    With just three words¡ªthree little words¡ªKaydence exuded a terror far beyond anything Flynt could ever muster, even at the peak of his murderous madness. She was no mere mortal¡ªshe was the predator, the storm, an incarnation of the Abyss staring back.

    Tears welled in Annet¡¯s eyes. She had never seen her daughter so visibly upset.

    ¡°This is not your burden to bear.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s hardly a burden.¡±

    ¡°Please.¡± Annet¡¯s hand tightened on her daughter¡¯s shirt, trying to hold her close. ¡°I need you here. Come back to me. I don¡¯t want to be alone. I can¡¯t¡­¡± Her voice cracked. ¡°I can¡¯t be alone again.¡±

    The dark storm in Kaydence¡¯s eyes flickered, hesitation breaking through her rage. For a moment, she seemed torn¡ªthen the shadows began to retreat, hissing reluctantly. Kaydence¡¯s breath shuddered with the effort of reining herself in.

    Eventually, with a sigh that seemed to push out half her soul, Kaydence sat down at her mother¡¯s side. Her hands rested limply in her lap, smeared with blood, dirt, soot¡ªand odd streaks of glitter. She stared at them as though they held some sort of answer.

    Annet scooted closer and gently cupped her daughter¡¯s cheek, coaxing her to meet her eyes. ¡°There you are,¡± she murmured lovingly, her smile soft with relief. Her thumb brushed another glittering pink smudge. ¡°My Kaydence. My sweetheart. Where were you? I was so worried.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Kaydence breathed, her voice thick with guilt. She grabbed her mother¡¯s hand, something she rarely did, and held it tightly. ¡°I¡¯m so sorry. I should have been here. I should have stopped it before it ever came to this.¡± Her beautiful ruby eyes only seemed half here in the present, the other half lost somewhere far away. Silent tears dripped down her face, cleaning trails in the grime. ¡°I should have been there.¡±

    ¡°Shhh,¡± Annet soothed, her free hand gently smoothing the furrow in her daughter¡¯s dark brows. ¡°You¡¯re here now. That¡¯s all that matters.¡± She leaned into her, resting her head against her chest. Her baby was so much taller than her now. ¡°I was afraid I¡¯d never see you again.¡±

    Kaydence¡¯s reply took a conspicuous amount of time.

    ¡°If I wasn¡¯t there¨C¡±

    ¡°No!¡± Annet cut her off with a frustrated slap on the shoulder. ¡°Enough of that. If you hadn¡¯t been there¡­ Then what? Flynt¡¯s obsession with me would have simply disappeared? No. It was festering regardless. I was never going to return his feelings, and Lenril was a thorn in his side long before you were even conceived. If not you, he¡¯d have found someone else to blame for his shortcomings. I forbid you to take any responsibility for his actions. If anyone¡¯s to blame, it¡¯s me¡ªfor not shutting down his delusions sooner.¡±

    She cupped Kaydence¡¯s face again, gently but firmly making her meet her gaze. ¡°Look at me. I¡¯m here. I¡¯m fine. I¡¯m alive because of you. Without you, I would be dead. You saved me.¡± Annet lacked the words to express how true that was. She could only hope her eyes spoke loud enough.

    But Kaydence¡¯s guilt was a fortress not easily breached. She pulled her mother¡¯s hand from her face, her voice stubborn. ¡°I¡¯m not the one who saved you.¡±

    Annet scoffed, ¡°Oh, so a fairy would have magically shown up to help me regardless of your involvement? I¡¯m sorry. I hadn¡¯t realised I was that kind of fairytale character.¡±

    Kaydence rolled her eyes. ¡°Mum! This is serious!¡± She looked almost pouty.

    And just like that, the final tension broke.

    Annet took that as her cue to address the whale in the bay.

    ¡°Sweetie. What happened?¡±

    Kaydence froze mid-motion, her hand poised awkwardly, brushing off an unidentifiable smear on the remnants of her sleeve. The fabric was half-burnt, half-drenched, and fully beyond saving. Finally, she sighed and let her shoulder slump.

    ¡°Nothing,¡± she mumbled. But the word rang hollow juxtaposed with her appearance.

    Her wild obsidian hair clung to her in a damp, tangled mess streaked with blotches of luminous pink goop. Strands ended in singed curls, others jutted out in frozen spikes, and some were matted stiff with mud. Here and there, adorable braids peeked through, woven with nettle and out-of-season wildflowers. Soot and what looked like glittering pollen smeared her bronze skin, and tiny doodles swirled and spiralled across her face and arms like tribal tattoos.

    Her clothes were in tatters: torn, scorched, and splashed with every colour imaginable. A faint scent of burnt sugar clung to her. Annet also noticed scattered blood stains; thankfully, Kaydence seemed uninjured. And¡ªOh, dear¡ªshe was missing a boot.

    Annet¡¯s lips twitched, caught between worry and amusement. ¡°Sweetie, ¡®nothing¡¯ doesn¡¯t usually leave you looking like you lost a brawl with an angry rainbow.¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t lose,¡± Kaydence grumbled surly.

    ¡°I can hazard a guess,¡± Annet said with a chuckle, pulling a cloth from her pocket. She leaned in to wipe the glittering smears off Kaydence¡¯s face, batting away her daughter¡¯s attempt to grab the cloth. ¡°Stay still. Did you at least get what you were after?¡±

    ¡°How do you¨C¡± Kaydence cut herself off, her lips pressing into a thin line.

    ¡°You¡¯re a clever girl. You wouldn¡¯t go poke around a fairy nest without a good reason.¡± Annet frowned as the squiggles on Kaydence¡¯s face resisted her scrubbing attempts. ¡°Did you go all the way to that glowing pond? The one in the southeast.¡±

    Kaydence gasped. ¡°How do you know about the spirit spring?¡± The question burst out, her surprise too great to stop herself in time.

    Annet thought it was just too adorable.

    ¡°Is that what it¡¯s called?¡± she mused distractedly, dabbing her cloth in water. ¡°When I was your age, I used to sneak out to the woods to play with the fairies. They took me there a couple of times... maybe more. It¡¯s all a bit fuzzy now¡­¡± Her voice trailed off, her eyes glazing over, then she shook her head. ¡°Anyways. It¡¯s probably your fault for aggravating them.¡±

    ¡°You went to the¨C With the¨C What?!¡± Kaydence grabbed Annet¡¯s hands. ¡°That¡¯s beyond the city wards! It¡¯s dangerous out there, woman! There are monsters!¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t be silly.¡± Annet wiggled her hands loose, patted her daughter¡¯s head, and stood up. ¡°What could possibly be dangerous with several dozen fairies around?¡±

    ¡°What could¨C?¡± Kaydence spluttered, her voice rising in disbelief. ¡°The fairies!¡±

    Unfazed, Annet crossed the room to the wardrobe and tugged at its cracked door. It didn¡¯t budge. ¡°Can you help me with this, sweetheart? I think it¡¯s jammed. You need to change out of those rags. They¡¯re a lost cause.¡±

    ¡°Annet, this is serious!¡± Kaydence groaned but stomped over to assist, yanking the door open with a sharp tug. ¡°Fairies are completely unpredictable! They¡¯re dangerous! You could¡¯ve been abducted, or¨C or turned into something unnatural!¡±

    Annet waved off her concern as she rummaged through the wardrobe. ¡°Well, I¡¯m here, aren¡¯t I? And I¡¯m still me. You worry too much.¡± She tossed a clean shirt and pants at Kaydence. ¡°We¡¯ll need to get you a new pair of shoes. Maybe I¡¯ll ask Grizelda for an extra shift next week¨C Oh, stop glaring at me like that. Your face will get stuck.¡± Ignoring her daughter¡¯s exasperated groan, she continued wistfully, ¡°All we ever did was run around the woods and play make-believe. It was fun. Really, they¡¯re harmless if you know what they like.¡±

    Kaydence¡¯s mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, visibly searching for a polite way to question her mother¡¯s sanity. The sight was so funny that Annet could not help a burst of giggles, which rapidly spiralled into irrepressible laughter¡ªprobably not helping her case. Tears pricked her eyes as she clutched her sides.

    ¡°Anyaaaaaaa!¡±

    Before Annet could catch her breath, a streak of red zipped through the open window and smacked into her chest.

    ¡°Anyaaaaaaa! I miiiiiiissed youuuuuu!¡± chirped a muffled, high-pitched voice.

    Startled, Annet blinked down at the little winged person splayed spread-eagle over her breasts¡ªperhaps an attempt at a full-body hug. Wide eyes swirling with crimson mist stared up at her, underlined by a gleeful grin full of sharp, needle-like teeth.

    ¡°Um¡­ hello?¡± Annet managed, taken aback.

    ¡°Anya!¡± the fairy squealed, then tilted their head. ¡°You don¡¯t remember me?¡±

    ¡°Anya?¡± Annet repeated, bewildered. ¡°Is that your name?¡±

    ¡°What? No!¡± The fairy pouted, floating up with tiny fists planted on their hips. ¡°That¡¯s your name! Silly Anya,¡± they giggled with a mid-air somersault. ¡°Grown-up Humans are so weird. I¡¯m Sparki!¡± They thumped their miniature chest with pride. ¡°Head of her Majesty Anya¡¯s Royal Guard!¡±

    Before Annet could parse the rapid-fire chatter, Kaydence lunged forward, swiping at the fairy. The sprite yelped and zipped behind Annet¡¯s head, burrowing into her bushy hair. ¡°Rude!¡± Sparki huffed, their voice muffled by the curls.

    Kaydence¡¯s glare could have curdled milk. ¡°Get away from my mother! Don¡¯t you have a creep to torment?¡± Her tone dropped dangerously low. ¡°Did you let him get away?¡±

    Sparki peeked out, their tiny nose in the air. ¡°Humph! I could have caught him, but I got bored. It¡¯s fine! He won¡¯t ever hurt Queen Anya again, not with me around!¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s this nonsense?¡± Kaydence growled, eyeing the little fae with tensed suspicion.

    ¡°I told you, sweetheart,¡± Annet cut in lightly. ¡°We used to play all kinds of make-believe in the woods.¡± She raised a hand to her hair, and the fairy leapt onto her palm without hesitation. Bringing Sparki down to eye level, Annet grinned at the tiny sprite. ¡°Sparki! Of course. How could I forget?¡± she said warmly. ¡°How are all the others doing?¡±

    Sparki returned her gaze with unbridled joy, their crimson eyes figuratively and literally sparkling. ¡°They¡¯re all doing great! Looni¡¯s been painting moonbeams on spiderwebs¡ªsays it¡¯s her life¡¯s calling now. Ponk accidentally turned himself into a mushroom again, and now we can¡¯t find him. Trinket found a fallen star, so she traded it for a teapot, and then¨C Well, it¡¯s too long to explain, but we don¡¯t know what to do with all the doorknobs! And Sleepi¡¯s been building a castle from thistledown and stolen dreams! But it keeps floating away whenever someone sneezes!¡± The sprite doubled over in laughter, a befuddled Kaydence and an amused Annet looking on.

    ¡°Well, that¡¯s nice.¡± Annet smiled indulgently. ¡°But what brings you here, Sparki? Not that I don¡¯t enjoy the visit.¡±

    ¡°Why?¡± Sparki tilted their head as if having forgotten the reason. ¡°Oh! OOOH!! That¡¯s right!¡± Their face lit up, and they spun around before launching toward Kaydence. ¡°Give me those eyes! Thief!¡±

    Kaydence was ready, raising her fists in a defensive stance. But before the fairy could get close, Annet plucked them from the air with practised ease.

    ¡°No fighting in the house,¡± she sighed. ¡°There¡¯s been enough of that already. And I¡¯m sure you have a good reason, but I¡¯d prefer my daughter kept her eyes. Thank you.¡±

    ¡°No! She stole from us!¡± Sparki squeaked, arms crossed in indignation as they dangled from Annet¡¯s grasp. ¡°The debt must be paid.¡± The words echoed with traces of fae power.

    ¡°What if I gave you something else?¡±

    ¡°Annet, no!¡± Kaydence protested, taking a step forward, her voice sharp with worry. ¡°You can¡¯t bargain with the fae! You don¡¯t know what you¡¯re doing!¡±

    ¡°Shush, sweetheart.¡± Annet waved her off with a reassuring smile. ¡°I¡¯m sure Sparki is a smart and reasonable individual.¡±

    Sparki preened under the praise and stuck out their tongue at Kaydence, who looked ready to explode. ¡°Humph! Well¡­ I guess... If it¡¯s Queen Anya asking¡­¡± they said with exaggerated magnanimity.

    With a soft smile, Annet set the fairy down on the shattered remains of her easel and crossed the room. She brushed aside the clay shards of a broken flowerpot at the base of the wall and retrieved a battered wooden box. From it, she pulled out a glittering golden necklace, embedded with jewels that caught the light like tiny stars.

    ¡°How about this as payment?¡± she asked, holding it up.

    Sparki¡¯s eyes widened to twice their size. ¡°Shiny!¡± they squealed ecstatically. ¡°Deal!¡±

    The necklace disappeared from Annet¡¯s hand instantly, reappearing next to Sparki, who hugged it with giddy abandon, rubbing their face against the jewels while cooing with delight.

    Annet turned back to her daughter with a sly wink.

    Kaydence stood frozen, her mouth opening and closing in disbelief. ¡°You¡­ you can¡¯t just¡­¡±

    But Annet only laughed softly and ruffled her daughter¡¯s hair. ¡°Come on, sweetheart. Let¡¯s clean up this mess.¡±

    Without waiting for an answer, she picked up a broom and got to sorting the unpleasant mess in her home. Her movements were steady, still a little stiff, but before long, the faint sound of her humming joined Sparki¡¯s innocent giggles and her daughter¡¯s frustrated muttering.

    Annet was not fine. Her smile was a little too brittle, and the shadows in her thoughts crept closer than she cared to admit. But as she glanced at her daughter, busy righting the dented wardrobe while keeping a suspicious eye on the fairy, Annet knew she would be alright.

    As long as she had her family by her side, she could always piece her world back together.

    * * * * *