ã€ŠWither and Bloomã€‹


 Dreams of Damnation - Chapter 1

    A dry twig snapped beneath a small girl¡¯s feet. The sound echoed far in the silent wood, scaring nothing away for nothing lived to be scared.

    Her eyes last saw another life some thirty minutes ago, nearer to the forest edge- a deer, fleeing in the opposite direction from where she was heading. It leaped high over the fallen remains of a lesser ashwood tree, landing gracefully on the other side and vanishing into the brush.

    Lashes fell closed, a shaky breath struggling its way in and out of her lungs. Anxiety, growing dread, emotions running high as necessity pushed the traveller further into darkness.

    This forest was not special, no curse was laid upon it, and yet none wished to enter and none wished to remain. In back alley streets where those who have nothing lay, whispers spoke of something hiding in the depths: a monster that ate the flesh of men. Armed with a silver sword, leather armour, and a simple iron shield, a desperate girl was given a goal: kill the beast and welcomed as one of them- welcomed at the table where all will drink of her bravery.

    An adventurer she was not, too scrawny and malnourished for a brothel let alone a guild of monster hunters, and yet this thin spider¡¯s thread that stretched out in front of her was all that remained.

    She had to succeed- there was nothing else.

    The earth was misshapen in the empty wood, sections of ground pushed high above others, creating sheer walls of dirt and stone that left root systems floundering for purchase and herself blocked- forced to go around. One such raise of soil she came across had knocked over a large tree sometime in the distant past, but it had adapted and survived, roots sprouting from what once were branches and new growth reaching toward the sky beside roots still clinging to solid earth. She silently praised the tree for its determination, grateful for the path it had become for others.

    Step after step, she forged through the ever darkening forest, towering true ashwoods holding up the sky overhead, their branches and leaves creating a dense canopy that blotted out the sun. Below, the ground soon became muddy, murky water pooling in places where the earth had sunk instead of risen, creating shallow swampland. It was in this stretch of transforming biome that a new sound slowly became audible over the squish of her boots in the muck. The low howling of wind, deep and full like an oncoming typhoon.

    It followed a rhythm, eight seconds of silence between each new gust.

    She stopped, a lump forming in her throat, one that proved extremely difficult to force back down. It was the sound of breathing, gallons of air filling and emptying lungs the size of horses. Each long breath reverberated through the trees, echoing off grey bark to assault her ears from all directions.

    The weapon felt heavy in her clammy grip.

    ¡°I have to do this.¡± The girl whispered- a reminder. ¡°I will find happiness.¡±

    She squeezed the handle tight, and continued walking.

    Each step toward the sound increased the dread hanging over her, new signs of danger appearing with increasing frequency.

    More and more as she trudged through the mud, trees she passed were knocked over, struck with such force that they simply snapped in half. The resultant logs were left to rot in the shallows as food for mushrooms and worms.

    Climbing atop the largest of them and following until its end brought her to section of much deeper water flanked by high rock walls. Gnarled grey roots curled lovingly over one of the raised slabs, slithering down its face and into the depths where they could feed. The other cliffside bore twin sets of long straight grooves, numerous deep indents into the rock where nightmarish claws had made their mark.

    She averted her eyes from the claw marks, childishly pretending for a moment that what she couldn¡¯t see no longer existed. She focused on the root covered wall instead, seeking a possible way to cross. In many places, stones that had crumbled from above became wedged between two roots; testing her body weight on them found that they were sturdy. Slowly and carefully she stepped from soil to rock to root, holding on tightly to each gravel coloured tendril of wood until she had to reach for the next, eventually touching down on the other side with an unsatisfactory wet squish. The breaths were so much louder now, her target not far away- asleep, she hoped, the only way someone like her could feasibly succeed.

    A few paces away the earth sloped downward, a muddy slide down into the swamp proper where her final destination lay. It felt like a true precipice, looking down the hill knowing the only way she could ever get back out was when the threat was gone. She could see bones of all kinds at the bottom: human, animal, things she had never seen, all equal in the muck and the slime.

    Her eyes fell closed again, tilting her head down to hide her nose in her scarf.

    A deep breath. Hold- two, three, four -out.

    She began her decent.

    The ground wasn¡¯t as slippery as she thought, and so it took some time to alternately slide and shuffle down the slope. A sickening crunch underfoot bid her welcome at the hill¡¯s base, the brittle remains of something once living giving way beneath even the slight weight of her skeletal body. Ahead, a clear path through the thick undergrowth of the swamp had been made by the repeated trampling of something truly large, knocking aside or crushing anything that got in the way of its chosen direction. She followed the path, wading through the water as quietly as she could, until at last finding herself at its destination.

    A clearing- or what would have been if not for the permanent roof created by the canopy -opened up before her, an islet of dry land raised up from the earth at the centre. Laying atop the dais of soil, curled around a pile of shimmering metals, was most unfortunately- tragically- certainly- her quarry.

    Great wings of abyssal black folded against a hide of obsidian scales, four large horns grew out and forward from its brow and neck, framing a face of heavy contours and hard edges. Atop its head a webbed crest grew, lilac fins continuing in series down its spine to end in a graceful fishlike tail.

    It was an ancient black dragon, and it was asleep, breathing calm deep breaths as it dreamt of destruction.

    For the first time in her long long journey through the forest, Ilya completely lost it.

    This was in no way part of the plan. She expected a beastman or a troll or even a direbear, anything even remotely possible for a human to slay. Realistically speaking, a scrawny little street beggar would fair little chance against any of those threats, but little chance is still greater than zero. Ancient dragons were the apex predator of the world, the list of things that threatened them extremely short: gods, other ancients, heroes, done. Why would anyone ever think she could do this? Why did they send her here?

    Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

    ¡°Oh? Another lamb to the slaughter?¡±

    She froze.

    In the short span of time her momentary lapse of courage took, Ilya had lost everything: her chance for a home, her chance for escape, her very life. The dragon had opened its eyes.

    Jade irises surrounded by a sea of blackness peered deep into the girl¡¯s soul and their owner found itself very amused. ¡°But my, they really have outdone themselves this time, sending a starving child?¡± It rose to a seated position, towering over its new prey with a dark chuckle, its deep feminine voice dripping with derision. ¡°Such cruelty from supposed creatures of Order.¡±

    Stepping off the island and into the water, the dragon paced a slow methodical circle around her, observing its meal from all angles, trapping her within an ouroboros of its long serpentine body. ¡°What did they promise you on your successful return? Wealth, renown, a grand feast?¡±

    When the dragon¡¯s terrible eyes went out of view, the overwhelming hold they had over her voice went with them. ¡°A place to¡­ to belong¡­¡± Ilya whimpered breathlessly. It was so easy for them to convince her. A home, friends, purpose- merely a glimpse at what she would gain when she returned was all it took.

    The sudden booming of horrid cackling laughter shook the trees above, the beast¡¯s tail slapping against the water¡¯s surface multiple times with uncontrollable mirth. The waves the motion generated sloshed around the clearing violently, toppling over delicate grasses and splashing up onto until then dry shores. ¡°Truly??!¡± It cried in disbelief.

    Ilya squeezed her eyes tightly closed and nodded quickly. It¡¯s the only thing she¡¯d ever wanted- she would do anything for that simple goal. This sent the dragon into another round of cackles, lasting just as long as the first, it laughed joyously into the night for what felt like ages until finally petering out and leaving the swamp silent.

    ¡°Let me let you in on a little secret, my sweet lonely child.¡± Its voice was suddenly millimetres away from her ear, sending an involuntary chill up the young woman¡¯s spine. ¡°They were never going to accept you.¡±

    Ilya¡¯s eyes opened wide, something in her stomach dropping. ¡°¡­what?¡±

    Another chuckle, quieter this time. She felt it vibrate against her body. ¡°They know I am here, this was no mistake.¡± Grinning as it watched the girl put the pieces together, it drip fed further despair. ¡°The humans send unto me their most unwanted and despised: a noble¡¯s useless third son, an adventurer who tried too hard to be good, an annoying orphan girl begging to be given a chance.¡±

    It made one more half circle around, coming a stop directly in front of the girl. Leaning down, the dragon puffed a jet of hot air out of its nostrils, blowing messy bangs out of Ilya¡¯s eyes so it could stare into them as she realized the truth.

    ¡°You were disposed of.¡±

    Just like that, the thin shimmering spider¡¯s thread that had guided her all this way snapped, plunging her into the bottomless abyss below. All expression and emotion drained from Ilya¡¯s face, her terrified and sorrowful grey eyes becoming empty and cold, her tense muscles relaxing. There was a splash as the silver sword felt from her limp fingers, disappearing beneath the disturbed and murky swamp water. The rest of her body joined it as her legs failed to hold her up, sinking down to her knees.

    ¡°No tears? No anger? Not even a scream of betrayal?¡± The dragon queried disappointedly, watching its prey lamely fall apart like the abandoned puppet she was. ¡°I worked hard building that up, the polite thing to do is let me in on the despair.¡±

    ¡°What is wrong with you?¡±

    ¡­

    ¡°¡­You bore me.¡± It finally conceded, picking the sword out of the muck and turning to walk back to it¡¯s hoard. It¡¯s tail splashed water at the girl as it went, but still she did not move.

    The silver blade made a fine centrepiece to the hoard, sticking out pommel up with the gold below as its pedestal. Content with the new addition, the dragon once more curled up around the pile of shimmering wealth and closed its eyes. ¡°When next you wake me, do so with screams or wailing.¡±

    Nothing happened for a full two minutes, the only sounds aside from the dragons lungs being the occasional collapse of something from the canopy or a bubble of gas popping as it reached the surface of the swamp. Eventually, the quiet sloshing of water bid the dragon to open an eye. Ilya had shuffled her way across the clearing to the dragons islet and now gripped tightly to its shore, digging her thin fingers into the soil. Her shield had been discarded somewhere and her head was tilted down, a curtain of long and dirty black hair covering her face from sight.

    Another few seconds of quietude passed between them, neither moving and neither speaking a word.

    ¡°¡­I have nothing.¡± The voice that finally came out was dead and lifeless- without inflection or emotion. ¡°No place to return to. No one to miss me. I never did. I never will.¡± The girl¡¯s body tilted forward, bowing to press her forehead into the mud.

    ¡°I give myself to you, great dragon, to do with as you wish.¡± She declared, prostrating herself before her executioner. ¡°I¡¯m sorry¡­ but I can¡¯t find the life in me to scream.¡±

    The great beast continued to stare at the girl¡¯s form, single eye occasionally scanning up and down as if considering what to do to her. It eventually sat up, rising to full and terrible height, claws flexing only a foot from Ilya¡¯s head. ¡°¡­Very well.¡± The dragon sighed with annoyance, and Ilya readied herself for the release of death.

    A life of suffering over at last.

    ¡­

    ¡°Go and sort the bone piles outside; set aside any skulls for warning stakes or totems.¡±

    Head still pressed into the filth, when Ilya¡¯s brain restarted and her eyes snapped open all they could see was mud. That couldn¡¯t be right, surely? It sounded like the dragon was expecting her to do chores? The last time anyone wanted her to do anything for them it was a ploy to take her life, something this predator already held in its claws.

    The great beast continued. ¡°Also go and find a clean stream in the forest to wash your hands and face, that mud is full of disease and you are not yet immune.¡± Okay that definitely couldn¡¯t be correct, someone caring if she got sick? It sounded too good to be true. Perhaps she had died in her sleep last night, and this whole day was one final fever dream.

    ¡®But what if¡­¡¯ Ilya rose up from her bow, dumbly looking up at the man-eating, torture loving evil dragon with a look of genuine hope.

    ¡°Are your ears broken in addition to your head?¡± They might be.

    ¡°Let me be perfectly clear then.¡±

    Abyssal black wings opened to their full majestic span, brushing each edge of the clearing as their owner¡¯s glorious scales shimmered with dark power. ¡°I am the black dragon Visnavik¡¯drok¡¯sahrot, and you are mine now, bound in servitude for the rest of your sad little existence.¡±

    The great beast¡¯s words were punctuated with a flap of its massive wings, the resultant gust of wind slapping Ilya across the face and nearly throwing her backwards into the water. ¡°You are to call me Lady Visnavik, or My Queen, or My Lady. You are to do whatever I say.¡±

    Forcefully snapped out of her shock, Ilya scrambled to grab the lifeline offered to her, head bowed in desperate submission. ¡°Yes my Queen! Of course my Queen!¡± This was it. This was finally her chance, what she had been surviving all this time to find, what all the pain and tears and suffering had been for. A place in this world she could call her own. A purpose.

    Ilya would do anything, debase herself in any way, to stop it from slipping between her fingers.

    This was the beginning of her new life.

    From the sketches of the author:

 Dreams of Damnation - Chapter 2

    Visnavik¡¯drok¡¯sahrot had lived in her swamp within a forest for five hundred years. In that time, all manner of aimless fools had wandered into the black dragon¡¯s territory, seeking all manner of things. Adventurers seeking evil to slay or treasure to find, hunters seeking a new quarry to sell or eat, thieves and monsters alike seeking a dark and quiet place to hide; none of them expected her. She drank of their terror gladly and revelled in their screams of suffering.

    Eventually, all things instinctually learned to fear that forest, learned that none who entered the swamp at its centre ever came back out. Even beasts who required the trees and the brush to survive stuck to its very edges, risking interaction with the outside world to remain as far away from her as possible.

    The forest fell silent for a long, long time, until one day, when the parade of fools suddenly began anew.

    The drum major leading the march towards death was a human hero, freshly awakened to his abilities and so incredibly arrogant because of it. He stepped into the clearing with such a boisterous shout, claiming he was the next saviour of the world, and that the growth in power he would gain upon slaying her would catapult him into legends. Visnavik had yawned in response, stretching as she rose from her favoured sleeping position, casting a tidal wave of disease ridden water to easily knock the newborn hero off his feet. He didn¡¯t last much longer than that, summoned vines covered in thorns to restrict his movement and a spray of acid to melt his arms and the weapons they held. She enjoyed the remaining hours of his life very much, his sizeable ego fuelling a despair so divine.

    More victims followed over next fifty years: nobles, merchants, criminals, adventurers, investigators- their quality variable but enjoyed to the fullest all the same. But even an all devouring void of sadism and hunger had standards for her toys, and the latest fool that town sent her way did not meet them.

    Despite the awful hilarity of her existence and banishment, the girl was assuredly the worst sacrifice yet. If their goal was to satiate a predator¡¯s hunger, she failed immediately: a thin thing with barely any muscle or fat, she would be less satisfying to consume than even an insect. As a victim she was extremely disappointing, so delectable at first- a true human so full of hope to loose- but when faced with emotional torment she seemed to lock up and become as stone, denying her tormentor the satisfaction. The fun of physical torture was also dampened, for one so frail would likely just pass out or perish from any serious injury and the black dragon could only raise undead.

    In a moment of tired exasperation, Visnavik thought to simply vaporize the girl with acid and be done with it, but a gut feeling told her it was wasteful- thus the current arrangement.

    ¡°I¡¯m back, m-my Queen.¡± Ilya shuffled into the clearing, her face no longer covered in mud and filth and even her hair slightly better, picked of leaves and twigs and as brushed as fingers alone could manage. ¡°I sorted as many- as many bones as I could find into piles.¡±

    She kneeled down in the filthy water again, uncaring of how soaked and dirty her lower half already was. ¡°One for skulls, l-like you asked. One for like, long bones? A-and one for all the little ones and broken shards.¡± She fidgeted with her fingers as she babbled, head bowed and mind racing. Was it right to speak this much? Would she be reprimanded? The great dragon surely didn¡¯t care about the specifics, but Ilya wanted her new master to know the effort she was putting in, that accepting her was not a mistake.

    Lady Visnavik sat beside her shimmering hoard as opposed to curled around it, taking a moment to consider the mission report. A slight tilt of the head, and then a return to centre.

    ¡°Surprising.¡± She finally said. ¡°Long bones look useful at a glance, and are, but bone shards serve a purpose as well. I expected a worthless know nothing like you to just ignore them.¡±

    The dragon¡¯s right claws began to thrum a rhythm against the ground. ¡°Perhaps you may have some worth after all.¡±

    A blistering warmth surged in Ilya¡¯s chest, and she pressed a clenched fist to the spot. The words of almost praise ignited her heart and sent liquid gold surging through her veins; it was an entirely new sensation, one she could easily see herself becoming addicted to. ¡°Th-Thank you my Queen.¡± She stuttered with a tiny smile.

    ¡°Wipe that happy look off of your face.¡± The dragon snarled. ¡°I have another job for you.¡± The frown her lady cast her way was sobering, and Ilya very quickly wrestled control of her emotions. The control wasn¡¯t perfect- her body twitching as fear of rejection blossomed anew, but it seemed good enough for Lady Visnavik to continue.

    ¡°The animals in the surrounding forest fear me, rightly so, but this makes fresh meat rare.¡± She explained, her index claw tapping alone rather than with the rest of its kin. ¡°The sacrifices sent by the humans are regular enough to partly alleviate this issue, but their latest delivery was completely inedible. I grow hungry.¡± Ilya sucked her bottom lip in, her fingers suddenly very interesting again. The targeted jab brought out wave of shame: her lack of nutritional value was the only reason she lived to hear it, and yet the reminder of her inadequacy in all things, even this, still stung. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, m-my Queen. You deserve a finer sacrifice.¡±

    Lady Visnavik nodded once sharply. ¡°Yes I do. You are entirely useless as a meal, and so you shall go and catch me a replacement. It is simple.¡± Ilya agreed with the logic, it was an outstanding debt she owed that needed to be paid, and as bonus it was a way to further prove her worth. ¡°Of course, my Lady.¡±

    ¡°But before I can send you out of my domain unsupervised, there is something we must do.¡± The black dragon pointed a claw at the raised earth directly in front of her. ¡°Come.¡± Like the loyal dog she was, Ilya stood, climbing onto the dragon¡¯s islet and kneeling again directly in front of her master. ¡°Turn around.¡± She ordered again, and Ilya did so, shuffling on her knees until Lady Visnavik¡¯s colossal form was out of sight.

    ¡°Remove your shirt.¡±

    Now, Ilya was no prude or shrinking violet: she had, for years, attempted to sell herself in back alleys on the off chance that someone would like her enough to take her home. She remembered the look on the brothel owner¡¯s face when she asked for a job, telling her that she wasn¡¯t fit for their line of work- no one would want an underdeveloped skeletal waif like her for anything more than a quick blow. She was right in the end.

    That being said, when her new master ordered her to remove her clothes, Ilya was thrown for a loop. ¡°W-What? I- I m-mean- just the top, my Queen?¡±

    ¡°Do it. Now.¡± Irritation was creeping into Lady Visnavik¡¯s normally apathetic or sardonic voice.

    Ilya would not keep her waiting longer. ¡°Right away!¡± She cried unbuckling the leather chest piece as quickly as her clumsy fingers would allow. Once that was done, she ripped the scarf from around her neck and pulled the long sleeved shirt up and off.

    The air was cold against Ilya¡¯s flesh, but occasional puffs from the dragon¡¯s nostrils offset the chill with a shower of warmth. ¡°Done, my Lady. What n-¡°

    Pain. Fiercely stinging pain as something sharp pressed against her shoulder-blade, slowly moving as it carved into her skin. There was no fat and very little muscle between skin and bone, and so the horrid thing scraped directly against her scapula. A strained sound squeezed out of her throat: not a scream, as much as Lady Visnavik would like that, but a sound akin to a rusty iron gate closing. ¡°Stay still.¡± The dragon ordered, and Ilya tried her very hardest to obey, but it hurt. More than being beaten, more than starving, it hurt like how she imagined being stabbed hurt, except directly against bone and stretched out over what felt like eternity.

    For the past hour and a half, Ilya¡¯s mind was flooded with a mixture of euphoria and worry: completely elated to have her own place in the world and terrified of having it taken away. She couldn¡¯t even think about anything else, stuck in her waking dream, but the severe pain screaming through her body harshly pulled her back to reality.

    This was real. She had given herself over to a dragon. She was a slave now, receiving her brand. Her teeth slammed down against each other, somehow not slicing off her tongue.

    Just as Ilya was about to black out, the sharp pain stopped, leaving behind a harsh burning and the dull throb of a heart beat. She collapsed forward over her knees in relief, hugging the bundle of clothes to her chest and shivering like a leaf in the wind.

    Seconds later she could hear the beast behind her begin whispering, the foreign words harsh against her ringing ears. The air shifted, something rushing into the open wound on her back, removing the throb but increasing the burn. The burning surged for just a moment of suffering before vanishing entirely. Only a slight soreness remained as evidence anything had happened at all.

    ¡°It is done.¡± Visnavik announced, licking the blood off of her claw while her other hand pulled Ilya back up to sitting straight. ¡°I have marked you with a draconic word. It now contains a spell that will show me your exact location whenever I desire it.¡±

    The dragon¡¯s head drew close, long neck allowing her to easily pass over Ilya¡¯s shoulder to side eye her. ¡°So do not even think about running away. You will serve me forever.¡±

    The thought of never again being without purpose flooded Ilya¡¯s body with that addictive warmth- her moment of lucidity gone and forgotten. ¡°F-Forever? I- won¡¯t you get bored of me?¡± She could see Lady Visnavik grin out of the corner of her eye in response, a wide rictus that showed off her row upon row of razor sharp teeth. ¡°If that happens child, I will just kill you.¡±

    Ilya¡¯s heart skipped. She used to fear death- fear that her life would come to a close before ever knowing fulfilment or love- that her flame would go out before finding the joy she knew had to be right around the corner. Now, after experiencing that joy- the ecstasy that purpose and praise could bring, death became something not to fear, but revile. The idea that this incredible feeling could be taken away and replaced with empty blackness was absolutely revolting. She couldn¡¯t give this up. She wouldn¡¯t.

    Shuffling back around to face her master, Ilya smiled again, bowing low over her knees and prostrating herself for a second time that day, ¡°I will work my very hardest to earn that forever then, my Queen.¡±

    Visnavik felt the grin on her face collapse, the threat failing spectacularly. Creatures of Order were supposed to despise and fear her, they were supposed be terrified when she threatened them. They were definitely not supposed to smile. ¡°Put your clothes back on and get to work.¡± She scowled with annoyance, pulling her neck back from the girl¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Your blood only made my hunger increase.¡±

    Ilya immediately began doing so, letting the stained, threadbare white shirt fall over her head, but halfway through refastening her chest plate a thought occurred. ¡°My Lady.¡± She began, watching the great beast curl back up around the hoard- the hoard that now had her old blade sticking out the top of it.¡°I have no weapon- how will I hunt for you without one?¡±

    ¡°Figure something out.¡± Her Lady growled in simple reply, her tail slapping grumpily against the ground ¡°Any servant of mine must be able to improvise. I have no patience for micromanaging.¡±

    ¡°Of course, my Queen.¡± She acquiesced, her brain beginning to turn its well worn gears in thought. She lacked any martial or hunting abilities; her only possible selling point was her proficiency in stealth, honed over years of hiding from aggrieved merchants, violent guards, or other equally starving outcasts. Sneaking up on an animal was all well and good, but without a bladed weapon any blow from her would be a slight breeze.

    You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

    Ilya sighed internally, she would have to come up with a plan on the long walk out of the swamp, it was quite the distance until life felt safe enough from her Lady to relax.

    Suitably stumped and armour fully attached, she hopped back into the muck and shuffled slowly toward the clearing¡¯s edge. ¡°I¡¯ll be back soon, my Queen.¡± She bid with a turn and a deep bow. Lady Visnavik only grunted, glaring to the side at nothing.

    It felt so bizarre for Ilya to have repeatedly entered and left the clearing of no return, possibly the only human to have ever done so. The thought brought a smile to her face; she felt a little special for the achievement, a new and euphoric feeling. Her Lady Visnavik had gifted her so many new, amazing feelings, and would surely gift her many more if she could prove to be a steadfast and reliable servant.

    Servant, that was what and who she was now. She had a job with a name and title. ¡®Servant to the Black Dragon Visnavik¡¯drok¡¯sahrot.¡¯ It made her kind of giddy.

    Her heart eyed daydreaming was interrupted by her boot sinking into a particularly soft bit of mud. She had wandered out of her Lady¡¯s well trampled path and into the more wild and free part of the swamp where the ground wasn¡¯t as packed down by a gargantuan beast. A few more steps proved it extremely difficult to walk in, almost trapping her feet completely a few times.

    A zap between two neurons set an idea spinning through Ilya¡¯s brain. It was cowardly, it was ridiculous, it was cruel. It was the only way a weakling like her could do what her Lady had asked of her- and therefore it was perfect.

    Two hours later, long after the faint golden light in the distance was again smothered by darkness, Ilya sprinted through the forest as fast as her pathetic legs could carry her, leaping over puddles and weaving around trees, making a grand and chaotic raucous all the while. A poor deer galloped far ahead of her, scared out of its mind at the madwoman chasing after it and the terrible sounds she was making. The curved rib bones between her fingers made a horrid rattling noise as they collided, and from the woman¡¯s throat came a ghastly wail.

    Its every instinct told it that only danger was in this direction and yet every time it tried to change its path away from the danger back to safety that scary human was right behind it, forcing it to continue fleeing. The ground was getting wet against its hooves and the brush was growing thicker, normally a sign of the most delicious ferns and grasses, but the deer was far to busy being terrified to think about food.

    Ilya giggled maniacally as her legs pumped, she had used basically everything in the immediate surroundings and pushed her body to its limits to make this happen, but her harebrained plan was actually working. The deep parts of the swamp were coming up soon, all she had to do was not collapse a lung or tear a tendon for just a little bit longer and victory was assured- the hunter would have her prey. She laughed again- a wheezing, breathless thing.

    A pulse of warmth in her left shoulder brought the mood down somewhat, reminding her of the actual reason behind this insanity. Multiple times throughout the hours this warmth had appeared, and the servant girl eventually pieced the reason together: her Lady was watching her through the runes engraved on her back, checking to see if the task she ordered was being fulfilled. The knowledge she was being watched and judged filled Ilya with anxiety. Was she taking to long? Would the animal she picked not be enough? Was she not enough?

    She shook her head, ratty hair whipping in the wind. She couldn¡¯t think about that now, there was still a job to do- one she would not fail.

    The deer finally reached the cliff at the proper swamp¡¯s edge, screeching to a halt and looking down the slope warily. The danger was here, in this place, it could sense it. But then the sound of rattling bones returned, that awful human closing in. Its instincts were screaming conflicting messages, one telling it to turn around now, and the other telling it to keep fleeing the scary lady. One was a vague unknown danger and the other was a present and timely danger. The latter inevitably won out.

    Jumping off the small cliff and into the swamp below, the deer immediately felt its hooves sink into the mud, the force of the landing pushing them in deep. It tried to move forward- it could not. It tried to move backward- it could not. It tried to lift a leg up and out, but the extra weight on its other legs pushed them in further and it ended up even more trapped- now in an awkward position.

    This was not good.

    The human had caught up with it while it was struggling in the muck, panting and laughing as she bent over to catch her breath. ¡°I¡­ I can¡¯t¡­. I can¡¯t believe it¡­¡± She puffed, looking down at the trapped creature with shimmering mad eyes. ¡°You will¡­ you will¡­ make a fine sacrifice for my Queen¡­¡± It couldn¡¯t understand her, but the mixture of purpose and mania in her eyes was enough for it to get the gist. The deer began to panic, squirming in the mud for any purchase.

    The mad huntress had picked up a large rock from the water around the base of the slope, and now carried it in both hands, slowly trudging towards her target. Kneeling down beside the deer¡¯s head, heavy stone held tightly, she raised it over her head. ¡°This might hurt.¡± She apologized, and swung down.

    It took a fair few tries, as she wasn¡¯t very strong, but eventually Ilya successfully beat the defenceless thing to death- mission accomplished. Her lady would surely be pleased, once she got her kill home that is¡­

    ¡­

    Oh.

    In all her planning and exuberance, Ilya had forgotten a vital part of the puzzle- namely, the last bit. How was she going to do this?

    <hr>

    Visnavik had watched these proceedings off and on through the girl¡¯s rune of scrying- half making sure the human wasn¡¯t escaping or plotting a revolt and half hoping that observation would help in understanding her behaviour. She had cut the link an hour or so ago when she witnessed the girl trying to outrun one of the fastest herbivores around on foot, and now sat scowling and stewing in her thoughts.

    Every living thing in the world had its place, a role punched out for it by the universe itself: humans were useless alone but worked together to form a stronger whole: fearful, weak, cooperative, communal- that was their archetype. Annoyingly, few humans recently matched this preordained role, fitting instead into one anathema to the concept of Order: arrogant, selfish, greedy, alone. It was the archetype of a Chaos dragon not an ape- a circle peg in a square hole meant for her- it was disgusting.

    Ilya was different in a strange and confusing way. When she first walked into the clearing, she was the closest thing to a true human Visnavik had ever seen: fearful of Chaos, understanding of her weakness, longing for community to make her stronger. The black dragon had been so thrilled to fulfil her role as the killer of hope for one so in line with their nature, but when the final emotional strike landed, there were no tears- no screams- just emptiness and disappointment.

    Did that perfect human ever really exist, or had her expectations deceived her? Visnavik had brushed it off at the time and assumed the girl broken- a defective child that town had sent here to be euthanized. With no use as a toy or a meal, the dragon set her to work on a whim, but then came drastic change. She had become happy with her enslavement and desperate to serve, beaming at even the slightest drip of approval and not even flinching at a direct threat of death.

    The only thread of a possibility her vast intellect could weave was that the change was only outward, that the first human did exist but now imagined servitude a substitute for companionship and wanted it to continue. But that didn¡¯t make any sense, a human would never willingly subjugate themselves to chaos. There had to be another explanation.

    ¡°M-My Queen!¡° At that moment, the girl in question stumbled in from the swamp, back first, covered again in leaves and vines and the lower half of her body completely covered in mud. She was dragging something large through the water, thin fingers once pale now red with exertion grasping a pair of antlers tightly. The human slave had somehow killed a moderately sized deer buck with no weapon and somehow transported it all the way back.

    Everything clicked together in Visnavik¡¯s mind. The girl was completely insane.

    Finally, an explanation that the dragon could make sense of- one that fell in line with their roles. The perfection she had seen did exist, but the black dragon had shattered it, manipulating her mind and soul into submission, just as nature intended.

    Visnavik¡¯s head cleared- all was again right with her world.

    ¡°My Queen I¡¯m¡­ I¡¯m back!¡± Ilya huffed, looking over her shoulder at her master. ¡°I¡¯m sorry I¡­took so long¡­¡± The kill was brought forward and now half sat-half floated in front of Visnavik like a rat or bird on a cat owner¡¯s doorstep. Its head was horrifically caved in, blunt force applied over and over again to the creature¡¯s skull until it crumpled. The death was not quick, nor was it clean.

    Ilya kneeled down next to the body, looking up at her Lady with a mixture of pride and nervousness, like the aforementioned cat waiting for a treat.

    ¡°I must say¡­¡± Lady Visnavik began, reaching a large clawed hand out to grab her meal. ¡°You have again exceeded my low expectations of you: not only is this beast of decent size, you also took the time to torture it.¡±

    ¡°Well done.¡±

    If Ilya thought the last hit was good, not only was she wrong; she was ignorant. An explosion of dopamine drowned her brain, overwhelming her senses enough to bring tears to her eyes. She didn¡¯t know happiness like this was possible, let alone achievable for useless old her. No one had ever said those words to her- ever acknowledged her efforts in any way, but this being they called evil- a blight on the land, did.

    Ilya¡¯s body began to shake uncontrollably as she hyperventilated, creating a great many ripples across the surface of the swamp. ¡°I¡­¡° She tried to say, but her throat was too twisted up to let anything coherent through. Looking up she saw her Lady- her Queen, quietly staring down at her. What was she thinking, watching her servant break down from just two words? Ilya wanted to know- wanted to know everything about her.

    Suddenly, a high pressure stream of cold water hit her square in the face, blasting away the mud and greenery that had accumulated throughout the earlier chase and leaving Ilya momentarily stunned.

    ¡°That is enough panting, slave.¡± Lady Visnavik ordered impassionately. In the short time Ilya had spent riding the high, her Lady had devoured the entirety of the deer, save part of a leg which she now held out. ¡°Eat.¡±

    Ilya blinked dumbly, sniffling as a large droplet of water hung from her nose. She had never eaten fresh meat before, her only experience with animal protein being table scraps she had fished out of the garbage. She knew it was valuable, and that she was unworthy of such a gift, yet here it was being offered to her.

    ¡°I- I¡¯m sorry my Queen,¡± She finally said, realizing she was keeping her Lady waiting. ¡°I was just overwhelmed for a minute.¡±

    ¡°I truly do not care.¡± The dragon responded dismissively, shoving the severed body part into her face. ¡°Eat. Now. You must gain weight or you shall remain useless in perpetuity.¡±

    The red meat looked appetizing, but the strong smell of blood made Ilya¡¯s stomach turn. Such a valuable gift from her Queen couldn¡¯t be denied however, and so she took the leg into her hands. Coarse fur covered most of it, making the flesh underneath hard to get at, but near the top where Lady Visnavik¡¯s teeth and claws had ripped the limb from the rest of the animal there was a chunk more easily accessible.

    It was quite tough, her careful bite unable to cut through the muscle, requiring a left and right shake of the head to saw completely through. It was slow going, but Ilya pushed onward in order to fulfill her Lady¡¯s command, swallowing bite after bite even as the familiar metallic taste suffused her with nausea. Ignoring the fact that a human could not digest raw meat in the first place, a street rat¡¯s stomach would be doubly unfit: not used to the richness and protein density, nor used to such a volume of that dense material entering at the same time. That is to say, five bites in and the abused organ could take no more, violently expelling it¡¯s contents to join the muck and slime of the swamp.

    Ilya dry heaved a few more times after everything was already gone, feeling acid burn her esophagus and embarrassment burn her cheeks. ¡°I¡¯m¡­¡± A pause to spit out more acid. ¡°I¡¯m sorry my Lady, I tried my best.¡± At least she didn¡¯t vomit on the meat.

    Lady Visnavik didn¡¯t seem to mind her failure, taking the leg out of her hands. ¡°Unfortunate. More for myself then.¡± In one smooth motion the dragon placed the whole thing in her mouth and then pulled outward tearing all of the meat from the bone and leaving flawless white behind.

    Tossing the bone somewhere behind her with a splash, Lady Visnavik¡¯s face shifted to what Ilya had come to recognize as her thinking expression. ¡°¡­How to feed a human¡­¡± She hummed thoughtfully, claw tapping against the dirt a few times before stopping. ¡°Ah.¡±

    Lifting her hand towards a bush at the clearing¡¯s edge, the dragon¡¯s claws flexed, a green flash of magic flaring. In response to the great beast¡¯s command, bluish berries inflated into existence amid the leaves. ¡°Go and pick some of those, eat no more than five.¡±

    Stomach still a little uneasy, but now more hungry than she had been before, Ilya sloshed over to the bush. The berries were perfectly spherical save for the small creases on one end where a tiny brownish patch pinched the skin. There were a great many of them, arranged in bundled clusters like the bunches of grapes she had longingly gazed at in the market- her mouth watered. As much as she wanted to stuff her face with them all, she was limited to five, and so meticulously picked out the five largest she could find.

    It didn¡¯t look like much of a meal, but the berries smelled delicious, sweet and earthy and fresh in way that tickled the tiny hairs in her nose. Gently grasping one between finger and thumb found them to be firm but with a slight amount of give that immediately sent a bead of juice trailing down the side of her palm. Her tongue instinctually caught the droplet, and her face scrunched from the initial sour edge, but that sourness quickly dissipated, leaving a light sweetness behind.

    The tiny taste relit the ravenous fire of a starving beggar, causing Ilya to shove all five of the berries into her mouth at once in a desperate flurry of hunger. She closed her eyes in bliss as the press of her molars brought forth an explosion of the greatest flavours the girl had ever had the pleasure of experiencing.

    She had stolen fruit numerous times over the years- merchants too distracted with a customer to notice the slight waif reaching up over the side of the stall, or a farmer too distracted by his children to notice one or two apples gone from his cart. They had been good, the best meals of her life and probably a big reason she lived this long, but nothing could compare to the delight contained in those tiny berries. Ilya squealed, wiggling her body and bringing a hand to her cheek.

    Eventually the party in her mouth was over, her throat muscles pulling the crushed remains down into her empty stomach. The berries were as filling as they were delicious, she had never felt so satisfied from eating before- never once felt like she could have too much of a good thing, but her Lady was right: five was more than enough.

    Spinning around, Ilya hinged over at the hip, bowing with sincere gratitude. ¡°Thank you my Queen! Your unworthy servant is grateful!¡±

    ¡°As you should be.¡± Lady Visnavik replied in turn, her tone haughty yet content with the state of things. ¡°I am investing much into you, slave. Do not disappoint me.¡±

    She absolutely would not. Happiness, fulfilment, praise, delicious food- her Lady had given her more than she could have ever dreamed. If Ilya could not serve her well in return, then it was the worst of betrayals and she was truly worthless.

 Dreams of Damnation - Chapter 3

    The next few days passed in a blur, the sun rising and setting multiple times without meaningfully affecting her duties. Ilya would wake up when Lady Visnavik told her to, and she would sleep when she was both tired and without further tasks.

    Strangely enough, Ilya found herself meeting that second condition far more than she thought she would: her Queen slept often and for long periods, leaving Ilya with a lot of free time.

    Sometimes the breather was appreciated, like after a long hike through the swamp, but sometimes it was saddening, like in the middle of a job she truly enjoyed.

    Ilya¡¯s favourite had very quickly become tasks where she serviced her Lady directly: scratching her where instructed, picking twigs and the like out of her beautiful obsidian scales. It felt like a reward rather than a chore to be permitted to sit so close to her Queen- to be allowed to touch such a magnificent being.

    Her Queen never showed it, but Ilya hoped she enjoyed the attention as much as her servant enjoyed giving it.

    During one such span of free time, Ilya sat quietly on a patch of dry land near the edge of the clearing, listening to the great dragon snore. When first Ilya heard the sound those days ago, she was terrified- imagining the towering horror that awaited her, but after all the joy serving her Lady had brought, the sound became incredibly comforting. It was a reminder that all this was not a dream: that when she closed her eyes and then opened them again, her Queen would still be there.

    She spent a lot of her free time sitting like this and thinking: thinking about her Lady, thinking about her past, and inevitably thinking about what to actually do when the first two options only used a fraction of the time available to her.

    The first thing that always came to mind was improving herself in some way. Her Queen often called her useless, and Ilya agreed, as much as the words hurt. She was a starving beggar for most of her existence and still looked the part: frail, weak, and unable. It was fortunate that most of Lady Visnavik¡¯s daily tasks had a low skill requirement, or she might have been at risk of failing the one being in this world she couldn¡¯t afford to fail. The success of the deer hunt had relied wholly on luck and had pushed Ilya¡¯s body to its absolute limits. What would happen when her Queen ordered another sacrifice, something bigger or faster than a deer?

    She had to become better in order to serve better, that much was clear, but the specifics eluded her.

    Thievery was what she was best at: sneaking around unnoticed in a crowd, picking the one piece of bread people were least likely to notice missing, and then taking it. Unfortunately, there was no one around to steal from in a spooky dark swamp, making that skill set pointless.

    Her limited experience as a harlot was also entirely useless; males of her own species barely wanted her, a giant dragon would just laugh in her face. Not that she would know what to do with a dragon if the opportunity arose.

    What else was there?

    Muscle building? Becoming a warrior type? Her body was just starting to claw its way out of critical malnutrition, the consequences of which would follow her for the rest of her life. Not the foundation for a fighter.

    Magic was most likely bunk as well. You either had to be rich enough to taught, smart enough to teach yourself, or lucky enough to have innate aptitude. Ilya was neither of the former two and had no idea if she was the latter. Lady Visnavik would know, but Ilya would never wake her with such an unimportant question. Her Queen would check on her own time and order her servant to train the proficiency if it existed.

    She looked at her bony fingers, dirt and mud building up under her nails. Lady Visnavik made interesting gestures with her claws sometimes when she casted, pointing towards dexterity as a requirement. Should she try improving that? It could help with her other tasks even if magic was out of her reach- maybe she could even learn to use a bow for hunting.

    A stray memory moored itself to the idea. It was one of the many conversations she had listened to over many years on the street; no one payed the dirty little orphan girl sitting across the street any mind, leaving her free to eavesdrop.

    Two men sat at a table in front of some kind of shop, one was younger, one was old. The older one had some kind of small wooden craft in one hand and some kind of sharp implement in the other.

    ¡°Do you really have to mess around with that stuff at the table granddad?¡± The younger man asked, brushing away fragments of wood. ¡°You¡¯re getting shavings everywhere.¡±

    The older man continued carving, and Ilya had watched his movements: smooth and precise despite his age. ¡°¡®Course I do, I¡¯m old. Carving trains the fingers and the mind- keeps ¡®em both young!¡±

    He had eventually stopped to eat when their meals arrived and Ilya remembered trying to come up with a way to distract them so she could take the food. In the end nothing came of it and she went to sleep hungry.

    Carving then. There was certainly plenty of wood for her to practice on. But what to use as the sharp bit? Again, the sword was off limits- she would have to look around.

    Stepping out of her dry corner and into the muck, Ilya¡¯s shoulder-blade warmed, bringing small smile to her lips.

    Her Lady had gifted her body with another inscription, one that protected her from all manner of sickness and disease. The etching process had been just as agonizing as the first time, but Ilya endured, content in the knowledge her Queen only hurt her for her own good.

    Not only did the new addition keep her from falling ill and becoming a burden, but it removed the many illnesses she was apparently riddled with. With it¡¯s magic now eternally carved into her flesh, Ilya felt stronger and healthier than ever before.

    She should have expected it by now. Every time she thought her life couldn¡¯t get any better, her Lady made it happen.

    The warm runes were a comforting companion as she trudged through the cold and dark waters, exiting the clearing quietly. The path through the brush led her back towards the swamp¡¯s sloping entrance, where she stopped, turning towards the neatly organized piles of remains nearby.

    Ilya regarded the bones with a thoughtful tilt of the head. Some street rats in her neighbourhood carried bone shivs around, usually used to mug others for their food or protect themselves from being mugged. They were ugly things, basically just an animal bone snapped in half and then sharpened to a point, but their wielders swore by their effectiveness.

    If it was good enough for flesh, maybe it would be good enough for wood.

    The long bone pile was physically the largest, as 10 victims produced 80 limb bones at the very minimum, and there had been far more than that over the hundreds of years this swamp had belonged to her Lady. Kneeling before the pile, Ilya picked up a moderately sized bone about half as long as her arm. A quick rap of her knuckles against it returned a hollow sound; Ilya had no idea if that was normal.

    The thought of it being human suddenly arose, and she darted her eyes to the right- to the pile of skulls sitting beside her. So many of them were of her own kind.

    In the dark corners of society, the dead were a common sight: stabbing, beating, starving, coughing- there were just so many ways to die. Dragons were not on most people¡¯s lists, and these souls would not have expected the painful end fate had written for them. Was it right for her to harm them further? Did they not deserve rest?

    She looked down at the piece of another person in her hands for a silent second before shaking the traitorous thoughts out of her head. It didn¡¯t matter if they were dead or alive, if using them would solidify her usefulness to her Lady, she had to do it. Lady Visnavik was all she had- the only good thing that had ever happened to her.

    Grip tight and expression resolute, she stood back up.

    The first step was to break her find in half, and luckily enough, Ilya had recently acquired some experience in breaking bone.

    Locating a rock was easy, but finding a solid surface to strike against was a bit more difficult. Most of the ground nearby was either soft mud or beneath a foot of water, limiting her options lest she wanted most of her efforts to be absorbed.

    She eventually decided on a large root at the base of a true ashwood tree, age making the bark hard as stone. The arch of the root¡¯s surface focused the force of her blows on a small area, and it only took a few swings until a large diagonal crack split the tibia in two.

    Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

    When the second step arrived, Ilya was hit with a realization: she hadn¡¯t the foggiest idea how to sharpen anything, let alone a bone. No memories emerged to help her- she was left floundering.

    ¡°Slave.¡±

    A sharp voice suddenly echoed through the swamp, startling Ilya from her brainstorming. Her Lady was calling to her, the side project would have to wait.

    ¡°Yes my Queen!¡± She called, shoving the bone fragment in her pocket and rising. ¡°I¡¯ll be right there!¡± Ilya rushed in the voice¡¯s direction, almost tripping on a submerged root once or twice.

    ¡°Why are you not already here?¡± The great dragon questioned, her superior senses hearing the girl¡¯s cries clearly despite the distance. ¡°What could you possibly be doing?¡±

    Ilya entered the clearing and slid to her knees in front of her Queen, bowing her head. ¡° I was¡­¡± she panted, catching her breath. ¡°I was working on becoming a better servant for you, my Queen. ¡±

    This seemed to give Lady Visnavik pause- Ilya imagined a look of mild surprise. ¡°¡­I see.¡± The emotion in the words were difficult to parse, but she hoped her Lady was pleased. ¡°You may continue at a later date; I have a job for you.¡±

    Her ears perked up. The last few times her Lady announced a task like this, it was one she was unsure her slave could complete- one where success earned genuine praise. Ilya hoped the trend continued- she truly, desperately, did.

    ¡°I want you to go to the nearby town and steal valuables for my hoard.¡± The dragon raked a clawed hand through the pile of treasure next to her, the resulting sound of colliding coins tickling Ilya¡¯s eardrums. ¡°A street rat such as yourself should be competent in thievery, yes?¡±

    Ilya nodded. ¡°Yes, my Queen.¡± It was currently the only thing she was competent at, but the words died in her throat. The thought of telling her Lady such a shameful thing was too much to bear.

    ¡°Good.¡± The dragon hummed. ¡°You may raise your head.¡± Lady Visnavik¡¯s eyes met hers when she looked up, greener than all of the life surrounding them combined.

    Her Lady¡¯s face was probably quite frightening to most people- her harsh bony brow trapping her expression somewhere between boredom, rage, and displeasure, but after many hours of silent observation, Ilya had noticed a few intricacies. The ridge would rise slightly when she was surprised, it would sink deeper if she was grumpy, her eyes would squint if she was suspicious, and in moments like this, when she was thinking, her jaw would set in a very particular way. Rather than frightening, Ilya had come to find her Queen¡¯s face quite endearing.

    ¡°Prioritize precious metals over all else.¡± Her Lady clarified, pulling the servant girl out of her fawning and back to the task at hand. ¡°Currency is a personal favourite, but I have come to appreciate weapons and armour over the last hundred years as well.¡± Her index claw rose from the pile to gently trace a sword¡¯s sharp edge. ¡°Those are my only specifications, I do not care how they are met or in what quantity.¡±

    ¡°Now go. Take a berry or two with you.¡±

    The journey between swamp and town was a long one: endless hours spent walking through vast wooded wilderness. The last time she had made the long march, she had no supplies and only a piece of stale bread in her stomach- it was truly hellish. Perhaps this time, with all the gifts of her Lady, things would be better.

    <hr>

    As it turned out, not being starved or diseased did wonders for one¡¯s physical fitness. It was still an incredible distance to walk, but breaks were taken when necessary, food was eaten when she grew hungry, and aside from her feet eventually hurting, the trek was downright pleasant as a consequence.

    She made it out of the swamp in record time, taking a short break to update her fellow survivor, the uprooted tree, on how her life was going. From there, a combination of jogging and hiking had her at the edge of the forest in less than half a day, the afternoon sun greeting her with blinding brightness.

    When the white blur reconstituted into actual shapes, the town of Bearwood was in sight; even from a distance, Ilya could see the old mill and the sprawling lumberyard surrounding it.

    Walking closer to the town, she could make out individual people and faces. Workers lifted logs from big wheeled wagons and sorted them into piles based on something a man with a book and quill said. Humans carried the smaller logs in groups, while their orc counterparts paired off to carry the full trees.

    Orcs were a common sight in Bearwood, especially in the western districts where their immense strength landed them jobs as lumberers or hunters. Ilya had been 13 when she learned that they were an entirely different people as opposed to just big humans with bigger teeth.

    No one, human or orc, lifted their heads from their work as she passed by- they never did.

    That was fine: she also had a job to do.

    Ilya had stolen many things over the years, but almost all of it was food. Food was the most valuable thing in the world to a street rat, and any time the market was open was an opportunity to not go hungry.

    Food was easy enough to steal as long as you got there first: it was always placed right at the front of the stall, surrounded by plenty of buyers to hide behind, and since there was so much of it, people wouldn¡¯t notice one or two pieces missing. Money was harder and usually not worth the risk; people were far more likely to be vengeful about their money being stolen than a single apple or bread loaf.

    Once, a boy had pickpocketed a merchant Ilya was just about to also steal from. He was young and sloppy and had gotten caught, resulting in a beating so severe that he was killed right there in the middle of the market, sobbing apologies unto the end.

    The experience spooked Ilya so bad that she gave up thievery for a while, leading to her stint as a night lady. Even when days without a customer forced her to return to crime, the memory remained, limiting her to the almost impossible storefronts and cafes of the east districts.

    The market square looked unchanged from that day, but the bloodstain had been washed away since, leaving no trace of that boy ever existing. ¡®Life always moves on.¡¯ Ilya thought to herself. She would have to move on as well; her Queen wanted valuables, and this was the only way she knew how to get them.

    Ilya quickly located a place where she could sit, somewhere inconspicuous enough to not draw attention and with good enough sight lines to see everything she needed to. She would have to canvass the place for a while to pick out the right target, one that was both successful enough to have silver or gold coins with them, and distracted enough to not notice their purse missing until she was already gone.

    An hour of watching eventually narrowed it down to a middle aged human man selling rugs and animal furs at the north end of the square. He had numerous customers or perusers always holding his attention, and even came out from behind the stall a few times to help them decide between two pieces.

    That would be her chance.

    Mixing with the crowd got her across the square, where she pretended to watch a peddler¡¯s performance for a few minutes until the opportunity arose to duck behind a pile of crates.

    As soon as she was out of direct line of sight it usually became simple to sneak right up and steal what she needed, but Ilya wanted to be extra careful this time. Moving from hiding spot to hiding spot, she ended up crouched behind a rack of pelts beside the target stall.

    The man was less than a metre away from her, chatting to an orc mother about the best choice of fur for the newborn in her arms. Ilya could see no coin purse on his belt from this angle, increasing the odds that it was behind the counter.

    So she waited, heart rate rising, glaring unblinkingly at the back of the man¡¯s head and mouthing the same word over and over. ¡®Leave. Leave. Leave. Leave. Leave.¡¯

    He finally did, walking around front with a few squares of sample fur. Ilya watched him go, checking the new angles of his person for any sign of a wallet- again nothing, it had to be in the stall.

    Her eyelids fell closed, taking one long calming breath. ¡®Two¡­ three¡­ four¡­ out.¡¯ Grey eyes snapped open, blazing with determination.

    With a burst of speed she hopped out from behind the rack, quickly crawling the rest of the way to the stall. Her heart was pounding as her eyes bounced back and forth from shelf to shelf, searching for her prize. There was so much garbage and worthless junk in the way: samples, cutoffs, quills, rolls of meaningless paper with words she couldn¡¯t read.

    ¡°Excellent choice! Let me fold it for you and then get you your change.¡±

    Her nerves spiked as time seemed to slow, a cold sweat of panic forming on her neck. She had seconds.

    Finally- mercifully, she saw it, a fist sized bag in the corner of the top shelf. Snatching it with all the speed of a swiping mantis, Ilya rolled out of the stall just in time for the merchant to step in behind her. Sneaking around the corner of the adjacent building, she pressed her back against the cool brickwork, holding her breath so her panicked gasping wouldn¡¯t give her away.

    There was no way he hadn¡¯t seen her, she couldn¡¯t stay here- she had to run.

    Swallowing what felt like sand in her dry throat, Ilya broke out into a sprint, careening down alleyways and streets, making every possible turn and even doubling back through the same turn to run in another direction.

    At last, when her body could run no more, Ilya collapsed to her knees in a familiar puddle, next to a familiar hovel. Her blind flight had led her back to the same place it always did.

    The place where she starved and shivered on the bad days, where she smiled and ate her fill on the good days, where she hid away from a world that seemed to hate her on the worst days. It was a place where she could close her eyes and dream- of the better tomorrow that would surely come if only she survived today.

    The indent in the wall was once her home, and even though it was now supplanted by a dry corner of a plagued swamp, the feelings of warmth and safety helped calm her heaving breaths. She was okay now, no one had ever caught her after a double back turn before; she had succeeded and escaped with her prize.

    Picking up the wallet and loosening the string around the mouth, she dumped her spoils into a shaky palm. The sum was paltry in comparison to her Lady¡¯s grand hoard, but It was by far the most money Ilya had ever held. The precious metal filled most of her hand, dozens of gold and silver coins shimmering in the low light of the alley. The cold weight was undeniable proof of her competence as a thief, and more, her worth to Lady Visnavik.

    But it wasn¡¯t enough. She needed more- her Queen deserved far more.

    She stood up. She had to find a bigger target- break into a house, rob the nobility, the clergy.

    Ilya¡¯s manic enthusiasm dampened slightly when she realized she had idea how to do anything like that. She was a street thief, overspecialized for street targets.

    No- that wouldn¡¯t stop her- it couldn¡¯t stop her, she just needed to learn. Other thieves would know- she would find them and they would help her.

    As fate would have it she would not have to look far, for at that moment the glint of metal caught her eye. A roguish young woman walked past the mouth of the alleyway, sunlight reflecting off of her sheathed twin daggers. Numerous belts were strapped to her clothes, holding tools, pouches, likely other hidden weapons.

    Ilya¡¯s smile grew wide- too wide, this was most definitely a thief.

    She followed as closely as she could but the girl walked fast, almost too fast for a tired slave to keep up. Ilya constantly lost and regained sight of her in the crowds of the east district, and only thanks to the aggressive bounce and wave of a brown ponytail was she able to know which turns to take.

    She eventually caught up to the thief outside an ornate building, large windows allowing her to easily view the people drinking and chatting within. An orc man at the door of the establishment stopped the thief, holding out a hand palm up, to which she responded by taking out a card of some kind. A brief read of the card and a nod from the bouncer got her through the door.

    Approaching the bouncer, Ilya received different treatment, no blocking her path and no hand for her to place a card into. Was the card only only for thieves? Maybe they needed to trust you not to steal from them first, in which case it was a promise Ilya could never keep.

    Entering the building Ilya was met with a sea of tables, some seating four, some seating two, and near the back, a table seating one- her new teacher.

    ¡°Excuse me.¡± Ilya began, leaning forward with her hands behind her back.

    The woman visibly jumped. ¡°W-Wha? Where the fuck did you come from?¡± Her tone was immediately combative- a bad sign for negotiations.

    ¡°I came from outside.¡± Ilya answered, flashing the brightest smile she was capable of. ¡°Are you a thief?

    The answer seemed to baffle her teacher, red eyes growing wide and brow dropping as the following question registered. ¡°Am I a¡­¡±

    ¡°No!¡± The thief cried, suddenly shouting- she seemed upset. ¡°How did you even get in here? You look like a dirty street kid!¡±

    ¡°Oh, I am one of those.¡± Ilya agreed with a tilt of her head. ¡°But no one stopped me, so I thought it was okay.¡± Was she supposed to have a thief card then? Ilya supposed she technically counted as one.

    ¡°No one stopped¡­ get the fuck out of here!¡± A knife was suddenly in her face- negotiations had failed.

 Dreams of Damnation - Chapter 4

    Driven away from her only lead at knifepoint, Ilya escaped to the opposite corner of the establishment, where she now sat at a lonely table, dejectedly hugging her knees to her chest. The table was probably an extra, tucked away under the stairs to the second floor alongside a multitude of unused ale barrels. The shadows they cast over her were comforting, but did little to alleviate the frustration of failure.

    In retrospect, just walking up and asking someone for help had never once worked out, it was silly to try. Taking even the smallest moment to stop and think would have immediately reminded her of this fact, but her enthusiasm to impress her Queen overpowered all.

    She was back at square one. Even if that woman was lying about not being a thief, Ilya doubted she would give her another chance.

    ¡°You alright?¡±

    Her disappointed pouting was interrupted by a deep voice. A large man in shimmering silver armour had approached, and now stood in front of her wearing a concerned frown. He looked superficially human, but was of larger build than any human man or woman Ilya had ever seen- he had to bend somewhat as to not hit his head on the stairs.

    ¡°We heard that girl shouting at you.¡± A willowy woman with a big purple hat leaned out from behind the man¡¯s huge torso, her long straight hair nearly touching the floor. ¡°I¡¯m sorry about her, I think she¡¯s like that with everyone.¡±

    Yet another person leaned out, this one recognizable to Ilya as one of the many archers Bearwood was lousy with. ¡°I¡¯ve never seen her with a party¡± He said, fiddling with the pointed brim of his bycocket hat. ¡°With an attitude like that it¡¯s no wonder.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sure she has her reasons- let¡¯s not judge.¡± The big man chided with a side eye. ¡°Enough about her though- I ask again: you alright?¡±

    Ilya blinked in response- she had never been asked that by someone before. ¡°I- I think so? She didn¡¯t try to actually stab me- just threatened to.¡±

    ¡°She threatened to stab you?¡± A fourth voice suddenly said. Looking around for the source, Ilya found its owner sitting next to her at the table. She jumped; they weren¡¯t there a second ago. ¡°What could you have possibly said to make her do that?¡± They had a dark hood and mask covering their face and their voice was fairly androgynous, making it difficult to parse their gender.

    ¡°I think I was being too direct- I wanted her to teach me some things about thieving.¡± Ilya tucked her nose into her scarf and the pouting resumed. She needed to brainstorm some other way to obtain gold; the tiny pouch attached to her hip still wasn¡¯t a good enough offering for her Lady on its own.

    ¡°What, like yoinking bread?¡± The hooded person beside her asked, kicking their feet up on the table and crossing their arms. ¡°I¡¯m a rogue, I could give you a few pointers.¡±

    Ilya brushed the thief off without thinking- hyper focused on the exact wording of her orders. ¡°No, no. My Lady was very specific: it has to be precious metals. I have to get this right.¡±

    Their brows dipped in confusion. ¡°Your Lady? Like some noblewoman?¡± They sounded like they were having a hard time understanding. What was so hard to understand? The orders were the easiest part- seeing them through was much harder. ¡°What¡¯s a noble doing commissioning street kids to steal for her? She running out of money or something?¡±

    ¡°No, she has a lot.¡± Ilya refuted with a small head shake, letting her legs dangle off the chair- still not meeting anyone¡¯s eyes. Lady Visnavik¡¯s hoard was an awe inspiring mountain of treasure- a mountain she was going to contribute to if only she could figure out how. ¡°She just wants more.¡±

    ¡°What is she, a dragon? That sounds super greedy.¡± The archer joked, placing his bow down on the table and shooting her a cheeky grin.

    ¡°Don¡¯t call her greedy!¡± Ilya objected, suddenly offended on Her Lady¡¯s behalf. ¡°It¡¯s natural for a dragon to want a bigger hoard, so I¡¯m-¡° She froze, as did all present at the table.

    She had said too much.

    ¡°That¡¯s¡­ that was a joke.¡± The archer¡¯s grin slowly died on his face. ¡°It was supposed to be.¡±

    The thief slowly and deliberately removed their feet from the table, uncrossing their arms and turning in Ilya¡¯s direction.

    The lady with the big hat just stared, saying nothing, eyebrows long since disappeared into her bangs.

    The big man, without looking, grabbed a chair from somewhere behind him, sitting down heavily. ¡°Kiddo¡­¡± He started after a long pause, expression serious. ¡°Are you enslaved to a dragon?¡±

    ¡°No! N-Nononono!¡± She frantically denied, trying to salvage her blunder, but it was clear none of them believed her for a second. Worse, it seemed like her pathetic attempt at lying had instead confirmed their suspicions.

    ¡°What kind of dragon is she?¡± The thief asked, and when Ilya¡¯s only response was to look away, their voice turned stern. ¡°Listen kid, we¡¯re adventurers, we can¡¯t just let this slide. If there¡¯s a wyvern nearby, we need to know so we can take care of it.¡±

    ¡®These are adventurers?!¡¯ Ilya knew of them: a guild of monster hunters, their members travelling all around the world defeating evil, but she¡¯d never seen an adventurer in person. She didn¡¯t know what she expected them to look like- the big man in silver probably fit best, but if the rest of the people in the building were also adventurers, then her internal image of one was probably wrong.

    ¡°I¡­ I can¡¯t¡­¡± She weakly refused, Them being adventurers made her loose lips an even larger problem. If they found out a black dragon was so close to their town, Lady Visnavik¡¯s quiet swamp would never be quiet again- and it would be all her fault.

    The lady with the big hat suddenly approached, kneeling down to her eye level and offering a warm smile. ¡°Hello, I¡¯m Eleanor.¡± She was very pretty, now that Ilya could see her closer. Long lashes fluttering over icy blue eyes, delicate pink lips that looked like flower petals, a body of soft curves; if this is what a woman was supposed looked like, then it was no wonder her harlot days were filled with such failure, she was but a child in comparison. ¡°What¡¯s your name, hon?¡±

    ¡°I-Ilya¡­¡± She stuttered, trying to shake off the feelings of inadequacy.

    ¡°It¡¯s nice to meet you, Ilya.¡± Eleanor spoke her name with ease. ¡°Do you think you could tell us about your Lady? I promise we won¡¯t tell anyone.¡±

    She shook her head in small rapid turns. ¡°N-No. She might get angry if I tell you.¡±

    Eleanor¡¯s lips tilted down slightly, her thin brows sinking. ¡°Does she get mean when she¡¯s angry?¡± Her voice was serious. ¡°Does she hurt you?¡±

    ¡°No! She would never hurt- well¡­¡± She instinctively denied before trailing off when she realized that wasn¡¯t true. The quartet of adventurers shared a look- the damage was done.

    In the moment of silence that followed, a mild tingle on her back drew Ilya¡¯s attention to her shoulder. The warmth of a roof over her head made it much harder to notice, but at some point during her manic chasing, pouting, and over sharing, one of the engravings had activated.

    Lady Visnavik was watching, and had been for a while.

    Ilya¡¯s nerves instantly spiked, her body frozen in place. Not only had she not yet completed her assigned task, she had outed Lady Visnavik¡¯s existence to a bunch of adventurers who would now surely run off and try to slay her.

    At the thought, an awful question whispered in her ear. Would her Lady think it was on purpose? Would she think her ungrateful slave had betrayed her to the humans? Ilya would rather cut off a finger than intentionally do such a thing, but to her Lady, maybe there was no difference. Her eyes glazed over. ¡®Please no.¡¯ She couldn¡¯t go back to that life.

    Eleanor noticed immediately and grabbed hold of her shoulders with a firm but gentle grip. ¡°Listen, Ilya, It¡¯s gonna be okay, nothing you tell us will get back to her- she¡¯ll never know.¡±

    She was wrong, she was so wrong. Her Lady was looking at her right now, of course she would know. She would know her slave was a failure and a dirty traitor that deserved to be cast aside like the trash she was.

    ¡°If you can lead us to her- me, Darius, Shane, Besa, we can free you.¡± Eleanor gave her a light squeeze. ¡°We¡¯re the strongest around: she¡¯ll never hurt you again.¡±

    If Ilya was capable of tears, they would already be flowing. She didn¡¯t want to be freed, and she didn¡¯t want to be cast aside either. She wanted to stay with her Lady forever- she wanted that swamp to remain her home for the rest of her life.

    Seeing the girl¡¯s haunted far off look, Eleanor slid her hands down Ilya¡¯s arms to hold her cold and lifeless fingers. A stern glare was sent Darius¡¯ way. ¡®We¡¯re doing this now.¡¯

    He responded with a succinct nod.

    ¡°Stay here with Eleanor, okay?¡± He said, bending down further to offer a smile. ¡°We¡¯re gonna go get our stuff.¡± His bottom canines were very large.

    Watching the group walk away, rune of scrying still warm, Ilya¡¯s eyes automatically locked in on the large coin pouches at their belts.

    It was then the black dragon¡¯s servant had an idea, and light returned to her eyes. There was still a chance this mission could end in praise and not banishment- she could still fix this.

    The stories were unanimous: an ancient dragon could only be overcome by heroes, other ancients, or divine intervention. Without the power of any of those three, a group of adventurers stood no chance.

    Her Lady would slaughter them, as she had done to countless others.

    If she could withhold the right information, the four would carry themselves, and all their valuables, to their final resting place. Lady Visnavik would surely be pleased.

    Then, another idea. ¡°My Lady really, really, likes coins.¡± She spoke up, and Eleanor turned back to listen with a patient smile. ¡°Maybe you can buy me from her?¡±

    ¡°We can try that if you like.¡± Eleanor accepted, patting the girls knee. ¡°I haven¡¯t collected the reward from our last quest yet; do you want to come with me to pick it up? We¡¯ll bring it with us.¡±

    Ilya nodded. The more stuff they brought on their suicide mission the better.

    <hr>

    It took some finagling and glares from Eleanor, but eventually all the adventurers- and their gold, left the guild. The bouncer sent Ilya a confused look on the way out, but being surrounded by registered adventurers, he couldn¡¯t really pull her aside as he seemed to want to do.

    Perhaps she did need card after all.

    ¡°Gods, I was really hoping to get a drink after such a long time away from town.¡± Besa groaned, folding both hands behind their head as the five walked past a busy bar. ¡°Now we gotta go hiking through the woods?¡±

    ¡°The Silver Dragon will be there when we get back.¡± Shane replied, matching their pose. ¡°We have a real one to deal with.¡±

    ¡°And then I¡¯ll buy drinks for all of us as a celebration.¡± Darius declared, somehow at the head of the group despite the giant silver tower shield strapped to his back.

    ¡°I don¡¯t think Ilya¡¯s old enough to drink.¡± A frown creased Eleanor¡¯s soft face.

    Besa scoffed. ¡°This is Bearwood. You think they care about drinking age? They barely care about the age of consent.¡±

    Eleanor¡¯s face further scrunched up with disgust, but said nothing. Ilya didn¡¯t know what either of those things were, but they must have been important to get her to make such an expression.

    As soon as they made it out of the town, Eleanor began casting something. Ilya watched her free hand as it weaved the spell- she moved a lot more than Lady Visnavik did. She then looked to Shane who was also concentrating, though his hands were still.

    The two finished at the same time, and the effect was instantly noticeable. Ilya didn¡¯t feel like she was moving her legs any differently, but the forest¡¯s edge approached far quicker than she remembered from her first journey out of town.

    ¡°[ Longstride ] and [ Windwalk ]- a ranger and aeromancer spell respectively.¡± Eleanor explained upon seeing Ilya¡¯s confused face. ¡°Both make you move faster with less effort, but they stack, so we usually cast them together.¡±

    Aeromancer was a new word. It sounded like air and then man and sir- but Eleanor was a woman wasn¡¯t she? She was a wizard of some kind too.

    Ilya looked down at her feet, watching the ground zip by beneath her slow normal steps. Maybe the word meant wizard and only men used to be wizards.

    ¡®Air wizard- much easier.¡¯

    Increased vocabulary aside, if they were in the mood for questions, then there was another she could ask. ¡°Why do you move your hands more when you¡¯re doing the same kind of spell as him?¡± She pointed at Shane.

    The air wizard happily obliged. ¡°Big gestures are usually required for spells, but if you¡¯re either really good at magic or really used to that one spell you can choose to do smaller ones or even none at all.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m the latter.¡± Shane elaborated. ¡°I¡¯ve been using this spell since I was a boy.¡±

    Was her Queen ¡®really good¡¯ at magic then? Ilya thought back to all the times she¡¯d seen her Lady cast: always just a few quick movements with her fingers and the world obeyed her. Even that berry summoning spell, which Lady Visnavik had admitted to never having a use for before, was a quick pinch of five claws before pulling them apart.

    Ilya still had one of that spell¡¯s berries in her pocket; she would like to eat it at some point- they were very tasty.

    The time eventually came when the group stopped a few hours in to give Ilya a break. Even with magical speed, she was still just her.

    The fruit was just as sweet and filling as all the rest had been; it was a dearly needed comfort after nearly catastrophizing herself into catatonia. She tried her best to savour the little joy for as long as possible, but the berry eventually disintegrated into nothing, leaving her with only aching feet as company. Well, that wasn¡¯t entirely true: she also had the bone of a dead person she could fiddle with.

    Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

    The party of adventurers was standing in a circle some distance away from the tree she sat against, laughing and chatting as a group. It was the same kind of camaraderie she had watched enviously from afar for years- one she would have done anything to find. Now though, after all that had happened, she didn¡¯t feel that envy anymore- she didn¡¯t feel much of anything.

    ¡°My Queen¡­¡± She whispered to nowhere, tracing the yet dull edge of the bone chisel with her finger. ¡°Do you see my sacrifices to you? Does it show my loyalty?¡±

    The mark on her back, which had been active for hours, suddenly cooled, only to quickly reactivate again. A response. Her Lady had actually acknowledged her question.

    But what did the pulse mean? Did Lady Visnavik follow her plan? Was she pleased instead of angry?

    Before she could ask any clarifying questions, Shane approached, abruptly forcing the end of the conversation. ¡°What d¡¯you got there?¡± He said, eyeing the snapped tibia in her hands.

    ¡°A bone.¡± Ilya replied, mildly irritated for the interruption. He didn¡¯t need to know its origins.

    Shane¡¯s left eyebrow rose. ¡°What for?¡±

    She thought for a moment on how much to share, but ultimately decided on almost the whole truth- she was terrible at flat lies anyway. ¡°I need something sharp so I can learn to carve wood. I thought a bone might work.¡±

    Shane nodded along, leaning back against her tree. ¡°Not a bad idea: find a random bone, break it, rub the edge against a rough surface for a while. Good enough for chiseling soft wood.¡±

    Ilya sat up straighter, ears perked. So she was on the right track.

    ¡°But the wood of these things-¡° He kicked the lesser ashwood tree behind them with the heel of his boot. ¡°-is too tough for a bone chisel. As a new carver, it would probably just break if you tried.¡±

    She deflated. ¡®I guess not.¡¯

    A knife was suddenly drawn out from somewhere behind Shane¡¯s back. Its blade was skinny, with a blunt rounded tip instead of the point Ilya though all blades had to have; the handle was a nice off-white colour- bone, she realized, glancing down at the object in her hands to compare.

    ¡°A better idea would be to get a nice steel blade and carve that bone into a handle for it- that¡¯s what I did for this.¡± He held out the knife with both hands to show her the place where the handle and blade connected. ¡°See that groove there? The blade slots in snug. Add a little true ash resin before you put it in and that baby will never come out.¡±

    Ilya absorbed the new information greedily; the more she knew, the more tasks she could perform for her Lady.

    First the magic lesson and now this: these adventurers were a wealth of knowledge. It was almost a shame to deceive them like this, but no matter how useful or helpful they were, no one could ever be as important to her as Lady Visnavik.

    <hr>

    Besa had seen a lot during their time as an adventurer: powerful direbeasts, diabolical wyverns, plagues, famines, disasters both human made and otherwise.

    They had never seen [ Longstride ] or [ Windwalk ] fail before, and never so suddenly.

    The party had just entered the more muddy areas of the forest when their speed was abruptly shunted back to normal, causing everyone to stumble forward. It was only through the rogue¡¯s boosted reflexes that they caught Ilya before she tumbled over into the muck.

    ¡°What is this? Why¡¯d the spells stop?¡± Shane looked down to their still unsteady guide.

    Ilya shrugged. ¡°I dunno. I¡¯m not a wizard or air-man-sir.¡±

    ¡°Aeromancer.¡± Eleanor corrected, but Ilya had already began sloshing ahead, presumably anxious to get the party to her captor.

    Besa frowned beneath their mask: the feeling was mutual.

    Ilya led them through the swamp, across felled trees, over deep pools, finally stopping at the edge of a steep muddy slope.

    ¡°She¡¯s down there.¡± Their guide pointed. ¡°The slide isn¡¯t that good, you have to step at some points.¡± Ilya went first to demonstrate, sliding a lame distance before having to shuffle the rest of the way. Mimicking her technique got them down quickly at the cost of being sprayed with mud.

    The sight at the bottom wasn¡¯t pretty: numerous piles of bones sitting in foul smelling dark water, each seemingly sorted with care. The sheer number of bodies that comprised the piles was staggering, easily overshadowing the refuse dump of any monster they had ever fought.

    ¡°Ilya¡­¡± Besa started, old stories flashing behind their eyes. ¡°Your Lady¡­ she¡¯s got four limbs right?¡±

    The girl stopped, looking over her shoulder at her fellow thief. ¡°Doesn¡¯t everything? Well I guess bugs don¡¯t but¡­¡± Her expression was confused, like the question didn¡¯t make sense. After getting no reply back, Ilya continued walking, following an unnaturally clear path through the brush.

    They didn¡¯t demand a clear answer at the time, but upon reaching the end of the path, and the clearing it emptied into, they wish they had.

    A truly gargantuan creature, covered head to tail in black scales, sat on an islet in the centre of the open space. It was holding a single gold coin between two sharp claws, eyeing the piece from multiple angles. Worryingly, it had five digits, and nowhere on the raised arm could the webbing of a wing be seen.

    Besa paled, eyes widening. ¡°That¡¯s not a wyvern¡­¡±

    The not-wyvern swivelled its head to greet them, soul piercing green eyes scanning each of the five until they at last fell upon its slave. Ilya met the beast¡¯s gaze, flinching and averting her eyes instinctively before she forced herself to look back up. The eye contact lasted a few beats of the heart, and then the girl began to walk forward.

    Besa wanted to reach out and stop her, but stunned as they were, their arms wouldn¡¯t respond.

    Ilya knelt down before her Lady and bowed low, entirely uncaring of the foul water and mud that now covered her. ¡°My Queen, I¡¯m back. I brought you what you asked.¡±

    The ancient dragon had put down its coin as she approached and now sat with its forearms and hands planted flat against the ground. ¡°Welcome back, slave. I have been watching your progress closely.¡±

    Darius was the first to shake off the surprise, lifting his shield and pointing his sword towards his foe. ¡°Chaos dragon! I am Paladin Darius, loyal to Order! Release this girl from your thrall or face the wrath of the gods!¡±

    ¡°No thank you.¡± Visnavik denied simply, as if the man was trying to sell her a necklace in a market and not trying to threaten her. ¡°I am quite enjoying having a slave, and am very pleased with this one in particular- even more so now.¡±

    Ilya shoulders quivered with the beast¡¯s words, shaking like a leaf in a storm. The shivers expanded until her whole body began to violently vibrate.

    ¡°Ilya!¡± Eleanor cried, rushing to the girl¡¯s side. Placing a firm hand on her shoulder to to try and stop the seizure, Eleanor found it wholly unhelpful. Jabbing her staff into the mud, she used both hands to pull the street rat up from her bow of supplication, but when her face was finally in view, the aeromancer gasped in horror.

    Ilya¡¯s mouth was frozen in a mad rictus, her grey eyes blown wide as her irises twitched around erratically. It was not an expression a poor orphan girl should have been capable of- it was the face of a madman. ¡°W-What? What did you do to her!?

    Visnavik cackled, a terrible sound that shook the soul. ¡°Aside from breaking her in? Nothing! All of this is her alone.¡±

    ¡°Guys!? We¡¯re locked in!¡± Shane called, bringing his party¡¯s attention to the mouth of the clearing: where there once was a straight path out, now stood wall of thorns. Frantically looking to the tree line for another path found only more thorns, sprouting from nowhere to close off every form of egress. Shane and Besa swung at the thorn wall with their knives, only for each blow to bounce off uselessly with a woody thunk.

    ¡°You know, I only sent her to that town to steal coins from merchants.¡± Visnavik began, drinking in the growing panic as the adventurers realized the futility of escape. ¡°I would have been perfectly happy with a couple dozen, but she decides ¡®No! Not enough!¡¯ and brings home hundreds- with four sacrifices to boot!¡± The laughter began anew as thorns began creeping inward from the edges of the clearing, growing over the shore and disappearing into the dark waters.

    Rumbles beneath her feet bid Eleanor to rip her staff from the mud and blink out of the way just as a large vine tendril burst out of the water, splashing foul water up into the air where it then rained down upon them all.

    ¡°Slave.¡± The black dragon spoke, willing the vine to slap Ilya across her still smiling face. The thorns covering its surface cut into her cheek, leaving three bloody red lines.¡°Go hide in your corner.¡±

    ¡°Wha- oh.¡° Ilya babbled, shocked out of her trance. ¡°Yes, my Queen!¡± She leapt into action at the direct order, scurrying across the clearing to cower on a single piece of dry land that had been left untouched by the thorns. As soon as the girl sat down in her spot, the brambles returned to life, creating a spiky cage around her curled up form.

    ¡°So loyal, is she not?¡± Visnavik mocked. ¡°Well, not to you, she betrayed you quite easily- but she adores me.¡± Eleanor¡¯s heart clenched- she didn¡¯t understand.

    Another vine suddenly burst forth from the ground, taking the left while its twin took the right. They were trapped, surrounded, and betrayed: all they could do was fight.

    ¡°Now, shall we get to business?¡± It sneered at the party, showing row after row of pearly white teeth.

    ¡°Formation!¡± Darius called, and the four fell in line. Eleanor stood directly behind the paladin, gripping her staff with both hands as her soul called out for mana. Shane stood to her right, multiple arrows between his fingers and one already nocked, ready for rapid fire. Besa stood to her left, crouched low with a knife in one hand, and a multitude of tricks in the other.

    Their enemy sat ahead, not even bothering to rise from its relaxed position. Even laying down it towered over them, its sickly green eyes filled with amusement as they looked down from on high.

    ¡°Lets go!¡±

    The first vine slid across the ground, slamming into Darius¡¯ shield with enough force to make even the mountainous paladin take a step back. ¡°The shield of justice cannot be overcome!¡± He cried, bashing back with equal and opposite force.

    Besa dashed in to assist, throwing a glass bottle which smashed against bark, releasing the contents within. The next trick was thrown just as quickly as the first, a bundle of tubes that hissed for half a second before exploding into a shower of sparks. As soon as the sparks touched the mystery liquid, it ignited, setting the vine ablaze.

    The creature thrashed, slamming itself into the water to put out the fire, but it wouldn¡¯t be quenched. The vine eventually gave up on saving itself, instead lashing out at the one who had caused it such pain. Besa backflipped out of harm¡¯s way as the creature began to swing wildly.

    Meanwhile from the right, Shane riddled the advancing vine with arrows, while the air wizard chained arcs of lighting through the metal shafts, sending torrents of burning energy deep into the thorny thing¡¯s core and up its entire length. With her lightning stunning the plant monster, Eleanor took the second of downtime to glance towards Ilya¡¯s cage of thorns.

    She was watching the battle with great interest, eyes shining as the party went head to head with her Lady¡¯s vines. No worry, no fear, not even a hint of remorse in her eyes. She looked like she was having fun.

    Seeing the relative ease with which her singular vine was being held back, the black dragon summoned another, and another, until seven more bloodthirsty plants were added to the fray.

    A blast of light lit up the dark swamp- a smite from Darius¡¯ blade cleaving his foe in two. The proud grin on his face was short lived as he saw the thrashing horde approach.

    Rushing to intercept, Darius planted his shield in the ground and crouched behind it, causing a translucent bubble of gold to form around the party. The vine creatures smashed into it, striking the holy shield with all of their weight, yet it held firm.

    Shane took the initiative, using the opportunity given to him to set up a decisive strike. He knelt down on one knee, pulling a single large arrow from the quiver on his back and nocking it in.

    ¡°Eleanor! Hit me!¡± He called, and with an underhand swing of her arm, the aeromancer obliged, infusing the very tip of his arrow with the power of storms. Lining up the the shot, Shane pulled back on the string, filling the flexible stave with both physical tension and magical might. The wood creaked as it strained, begging for release as the power grew, and only when the bow was just about splinter into a million pieces did his fingers finally relent.

    With the force of a ballista bolt, the arrow blasted across the clearing, piercing straight through the flesh of a vine and continuing to its true target- the one part of the dragon¡¯s body uncovered by black scales.

    With an arrow gouged through its eye, the beast would loose focus, and then all of its summoned vines would-

    The arrow bounced uselessly off of the beast¡¯s cornea with a quiet tink, only releasing its charge when it hit the water below.

    There was no time for stunned silence, as the sound of breaking glass alerted the party to the dwindling strength of Darius¡¯ shield.

    Each slam of a tendril against the shield birthed another fracture, soon growing to cover the entire surface in a spiderweb of cracks.

    ¡°Anyone got a plan?!¡± Besa cried, getting in as many stabs in as possible while the shield was still blocking retaliation. ¡°Darius?! Eleanor!?¡±

    The air wizard hesitated, rapidly tapping her index and middle finger against her staff. ¡°I might have something!¡± A spell she knew all the steps to cast, but had never channelled to completion. It was powerful, maybe powerful enough to save them, but the sheer amount of mana the spell took would surely put her out of commission. ¡°It¡¯s risky though!¡±

    ¡°Riskier than doing nothing?!¡± No. Nothing could be riskier than that. But if anyone else had an idea¡­

    ¡°Do it!¡± Darius called. ¡°The shield is going down!¡±

    With a white knuckled grip around her staff, Eleanor cast her hesitation aside, closing her eyes and beginning to channel mana. She could hear the shield caving in as her hands rapidly went through the memorized motions, but she held focus- panicking now would kill them all.

    The first step of her usual lightning based spells was usually pathing, using mana to tell the lightning where and what to course through, but that would not help her here. After a certain level of power, the path of elemental spells became almost impossible to control, forcing the caster to work on prediction and protection, defending themselves from the wrath of their own magic.

    Layer upon layer of resistance spells surrounded the party, overkill for most situations, but they were all soaked from the constant splashing around of the vines- a fatal combination when mixed with what she was about to do.

    Preparations complete, Eleanor allowed the mana in her body to grow and grow, filling her entirety until the tiny hairs on her skin sizzled away. She had never felt such power, all the strength of storm and sky at her command- it was intoxicating.

    A dark cloud whirled into existence over their heads, grey and angry, sparking with barely contained fury. Eleanor lifted her lashes to welcome it, static buzzing in her eyes.

    ¡°[ CROWN OF STORMS! ]¡±

    A rattling sonic boom sent nine blades of lightning down at once, striking the water with the rage of the heavens and sending countless arcing waves across its surface. The vines spasmed as their internals were fried and their bark was grilled, thrashing and twitching until the white hot fire burnt them from the inside to the out, leaving only ash.

    The smell of ozone and burnt wood filled the air, and for a beautiful moment it overpowered all the rot and slime and stink of the swamp. Eleanor took a deep breath of victory and then collapsed to her knees.

    ¡°You can kill plants, congratulations.¡± A flap of gigantic wings cleared away smoke and soot to reveal the beast, again entirely unharmed. ¡°That¡¯s enough of you now, mage, I want to see more of Sir Order over here.¡±

    Black winds billowed through the trees, swirling inward to arrive in an upturned palm where they coalesced into a sphere. Necrotic energies billowed forth from the ball of darkness, ashen smoke flecked with nauseous green spilling from between the ancient¡¯s fingers.

    ¡°Rise, my victims, and live again.¡± The dragon¡¯s fist clenched tightly closed, shattering the sphere and sending a dark shockwave across the clearing.

    For a moment, there was silence, only the sounds of dripping water, crackling ashes, and breathing.

    Then¡­ more silence. No skeletons rose from the swamp to greet them- the spell had done nothing.

    ¡°Ahh right¡­ she cleaned up recently.¡± The dragon hummed to itself, head tilting slightly to one side. ¡°All the bones are in the pile now.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m so sorry, my Lady!¡± Ilya gave a shout of distress from her cage. ¡°I didn¡¯t ask you before moving the bones! I-Ouch.¡± She tried to bow her head but ended up getting her hair caught in thorns, and any subsequent movements only resulted in hair being pulled out painfully.

    ¡°Silence, slave.¡± The dragon ordered impassionately. ¡°I should have remembered you moving them- for once this is on me.¡± Ilya seemed like she wanted to object, but the direct order sealed her lips.

    ¡°The fun has been spoiled- I no longer care.¡± Then the beast got up.

    The trademark six limbs of a true dragon stretched to full length as it rose. Abyssal black wings opened wide, their span covering the entire width of the clearing and snapping branches at each end to emphasize their enormity. Its front and hind limbs pressed down forcefully into the earth, claws at the ends of each gripping the terrain as its neck and tail twisted to work out the kinks of sleep.

    Finally, the creation of chaos looked down at them, a small sadistic smile creasing its leathery lips.

    ¡°I am the black dragon, Visnavik¡¯drok¡¯sahrot. Know my name, puny humans, and despair.¡±

    The battle was now over.

    The beast took a single shallow breath, and then before anyone could react or even move, a jet of burning acid erupted from its mouth, sweeping across the entire clearing. Eleanor, too exhausted to channel mana, watched in slow motion as the embodiment of certain death turned her way.

    ¡®Ilya, forgive me¡­ I couldn¡¯t save-¡®

    In the blink of an eye, everything above her waist was just gone- torso, head, hat and all.

    The archer and rogue had tried to dodge. Shane was too slow and was erased entirely from existence; Besa jumped just slightly too late, loosing first their legs, followed by the rest when the beam came back around for another sweep.

    Three adventurers, the strongest around, reduced to sizzling slime.

    When it was finished, only one remained: the shimmering silver armour and shield he so prized being the only thing that stood between him and the total annihilation that took his friends.

    Darius was alive, but now he stood alone.

    Acid lazily dripped over the top edge of the shield, each drop instantly burning through the leather and cloth covering the underside of his forearm to sear flesh.

    The pain shoved him out of shock and straight into righteous fury as despair and anger flowed into him from all angles. ¡°You¡­ YOU FIEND!!¡± The paladin roared, summoning all the strength and every blessing he could. Their smiling faces flashed through his mind, each speaking his name with such love. ¡°I¡¯LL KILL YOU!¡±

    ¡°No.¡± The dragon said smugly, holding out a single hand. ¡°You won¡¯t.¡±

    Green light flew from his body toward the dragon¡¯s hand while its claws slowly flexed closed- Darius felt his very life being sucked away.

    The sound of a dozen pairs of lungs sighing their final breath filled the air, and Darius joined them, his lungs compressing involuntarily as his organs failed.

    ¡®This can¡¯t be the end¡­¡¯

    The half orc collapsed face down in the muck, not dead, but unconscious, for a black dragon could do far worse than simply kill.

    Visnavik stomped over to the body, picking up the giant of a man in a single clawed fist. She would enjoy this one.

    With a thought, the thorns caging her slave turned to dust, freeing the girl and her hair from their spiny prison. ¡°Pick up all the valuables and add them to the hoard.¡± Visnavik ordered without turning. ¡°I will be back in a few hours.¡±

    She was a step away from the clearing¡¯s exit when a thought occurred. Leaning back on her hind legs, the dragon raised a claw to the side of her neck, popping out a scale.

    ¡°Here.¡± She offered, holding out the piece of herself. ¡°Use this to cut through anything keeping you from my new treasure.¡±

    Ilya scampered to her Lady¡¯s side, accepting the gift with reverence. She had looked upon her Lady¡¯s scales many times, and had even touched them when a task called for it, but actually holding one of the black dragon¡¯s black scales in her hands¡­ it was unimaginable. ¡°T-Thank you my Queen! I will make sure to return it safely!¡±

    ¡°Do not bother.¡± Lady Visnavik replied, and as if to prove her point, the empty spot on her neck instantly filled in with a new scale. ¡°You may think of it as a reward if you wish, for a task over-completed.¡±

    Ilya¡¯s eyes shimmered, looking down at the scale laid across her palms in disbelief. ¡°I¡­ I will treasure it always¡­¡±

    With an ambivalent grunt, Lady Visnavik departed, leaving the slave girl to her assignment.

    Slowly shifting the scale to her left hand, Ilya carefully gripped the blade-like object between two fingers and a thumb. It was much lighter than she expected, for even her weak digits could manipulate it with ease, letting her look at the fragment of her Lady from all angles.

    Just as her Lady had suggested, the edge of the scale was extremely fine- it would have no trouble cutting through leather, cloth, flesh, or even bone.

    Bone. The thought of the material brought Ilya back to her crafts project from that morning and the bone still stuffed in her pocket. Though if she now had something capable of cutting through bone, sharpening the thing became pointless.

    Perhaps she would turn it into a handle after all.

    Ilya shook herself out of her thoughts: there would be time for all of this later, she had been ordered to clean up.

    Her Lady¡¯s breath attack had melted two of the bodies away entirely, but their gold was apparently immune and had scattered all across the clearing as a result.

    Scrounging around in the mud for every lost coin would take a while and so Ilya decided to start easy, sloshing up to the only non liquid corpse.

    Eleanor had been kneeling in the water when the green beam hit, leaving her lower half mostly untouched. She looked down at the air wizard¡¯s exposed spine with a blank expression, absentmindedly stroking the flat side of her Lady¡¯s scale with her thumb.

    They had really saved her in the end. Lady Visnavik had been so pleased with her results, enough to gift her unworthy slave something truly priceless.

    Crouching down, Ilya reached her hand through the water to touch Eleanor¡¯s knee.

    A quiet second passed.

    Then Ilya pushed the body over, using her Lady¡¯s black scale to cut the coin purse from its hip.

    Bouncing the bag a few times in one hand to test its weight, Ilya stood, stepping over the corpse to continue her work.

    ¡®Thanks, you guys.¡¯

 Dreams of Damnation - Chapter 5

    A roll of thunder reverberated across the sea of trees, echoing off of mountain and sky long after the discharge that bore it had ceased.

    It was raining today.

    Water endlessly spilled from clouds above, pitter-pattering down upon the canopy of dark green and ashen grey. Each drop flowed across leaves and branches, collecting in the places where one tree met another to drizzle through the gaps like a waterfall.

    Stood in one of said waterfalls was the only human to be found for tens of kilometres in any direction. Ilya meticulously raked her fingers through her hair from root to tip, dislodging any grime or mud from her raggedy mane for the downpour to then wash away.

    Any trace of filth had disappeared from her hair over ten minutes ago, and yet she continued: a quick double check turning into a quick triple check, and so on.

    ¡®Still dirty! I can feel it!¡¯ The slave girl obsessed. Her Queen deserved a servant that was pleasing to the eyes, not a street rat covered in filth. She deserved more than that- she deserved everything, this was just the start.

    Lady Visnavik had been quite happy with her performance during the latest job, but that had been some time ago. She couldn¡¯t expect victory to cover for her shortcomings forever- coasting on a single success would make her complacent.

    Eventually the bitter chill of a stray breeze through the ashwoods forced Ilya to end her shower, retreating under cover to dry off.

    Her scarf awaited her nearby, hung neatly over a branch alongside her top and chest piece. After gently squeezing as much excess water out of her hair as she could, Ilya used the soft woolly muffler to towel off the rest.

    It did its best, but there was too much hair and far too much water in said hair for the scarf to hold. Despite their best combined efforts and the soaked final state of the scarf, Ilya¡¯s hair was only slightly more dry then when she started.

    Another terrible gale billowed across the forest, piercing straight through wet skin and into her bones. Ilya began to shiver. She couldn¡¯t stay here, she had to get home or she would certainly catch something.

    Well, no, that couldn¡¯t happen anymore, not with her Queen¡¯s magic protecting her.

    Still, being cold for long periods could do serious harm even without disease to help. Street kids of Bearwood tended to disappear during the winter, their bodies only found with the first melts of spring, curled up on themselves in a useless effort to stay warm.

    Ilya had avoided that end, mostly due to luck. The alley she had chosen to make her home was situated behind a distillery, and the pipes that ran outside the building provided desperately needed heat that her fluffy scarf had then helped retain.

    Lady Visnavik served as a similar lifeline to her now, but unlike that lifeless pipe work, her new source of warmth was a sentient being: someone who could accept her boundless gratitude and someone she could devote a lifetime of service to.

    Ilya let a tiny sincere smile form on her lips- a lifetime of service. It was hard to grasp: so much had happened in less than a month, she couldn¡¯t imagine how different her life would be next year, next week, or even tomorrow.

    What big task would her Queen send her on next time? What could she do now to prepare for then? How much praise and reward would she be showered with upon completing it? The future was filled with potential.

    She slapped both palms to her cheeks, reigning in her fantasies. ¡®Focus.¡¯ Under Her Lady¡¯s service the future was guaranteed, if only she stayed anchored on her tasks in the now.

    Hastily throwing her clothes back on, Ilya made a break for home, enduring the discomfort of wet fabric to expedite her departure.

    As she dashed through the forest, warming her blood with activity, the razor edge of Lady Visnavik¡¯s black scale effortlessly felled any greenery in her way.

    It felt strange, treating such a priceless artifact like a simple tool- it was a piece of her Queen¡¯s own body after all.

    If left up to her, Ilya would treasure the scale with the respect and care it deserved- not dirty it by hacking through trees -but Lady Visnavik¡¯s only order about the scale¡¯s use involved cutting through whatever was in her way. So despite her misgivings, she followed her Lady¡¯s order to the best of her ability, cutting a path straight toward home.

    The black dragon¡¯s deep breaths began to fill the air around her, gentle snores matching the low howling of wind through the trees. Ilya much preferred former to the later and the comforting sound energized her tired legs.

    It was a short run to the swamp¡¯s sloping edge, and she found that the dripping rainfall from the canopy had turned it into a proper slide. Wrapping the scarf around her head to ensure no mud splashed up into her freshly cleaned hair, Ilya hopped onto the slope and rode the frictionless surface down into the dark water below.

    As soon as her boots slid into the muck, her back lit up with welcome warmth, reacting to the countless diseases her Lady had tainted the waters with over the centuries. Ilya sighed, the chill of the rain fading away.

    She hadn¡¯t even gone that far, but it was good to be home regardless.

    Lady Visnavik was expectedly asleep when she arrived, her sharp angular face as relaxed as it could possibly be as dreams of death and suffering played out behind her closed eyes.

    Ilya just stood and stared at her mistress for a time, smiling when she saw the majestic beast¡¯s nose twitch. A leaf had dropped out of the canopy and now rested on her Queen¡¯s snout, causing her brow to droop and lip to curl in irritation.

    Slowly and quietly, Ilya snuck over to remove the offending object, as was her duty. The dragon¡¯s head was huge, and so she had to really stretch to grasp the leaf without brushing against any part of her Lady¡¯s face and accidentally waking her.

    A quick pinch and twist of the wrist sent the leaf lazily drifting down into the swamp to be consumed by the black waters and vanish from sight.

    With the irritant gone, her Queen returned to peaceful slumber- another job completed to perfection, she could step back.

    Yet she did not: Ilya¡¯s hand lingered, floating just above her Lady¡¯s snout. It itched to descend, to lay itself upon the smooth skin of tiny scales and gently stroke the dreaming beast with the affection she deserved.

    Her left hand bolted out to grasp her right wrist tightly, preventing the offending appendage from acting on its desires.

    Ilya pulled herself back, stepping off the dais of soil and back into the muck, still holding her arm. Only when she had sat down on her nest of leaves and fur and clothes did she let go, allowing the two hands to come together and fidget.

    At least from her tiny dry corner she could still see her Queen¡¯s sleeping face.

    Minutes of fidgeting and staring later it was clear she had to keep her hands busy somehow, lest she tear her own nails off in agitation.

    Snapped branches of ashwood sat in a pile nearby- wood she had gathered to build a fire before realizing she knew nothing about starting one. The sight of the pile and the angle of some of the breaks brought her back weeks earlier to the goal she had given herself.

    She had plenty of wood and she had an extremely sharp blade: she could carve if she wanted to. But that same thought process from the run home stopped her before she could get too excited.

    Should she be using her Queen¡¯s scale for personal crafts projects?

    They weren¡¯t truly personal, she rationalized, critiquing her own question. The act of carving was meant to improve the speed and skill she had with her hands, so that her tasks could be completed all the better.

    As much as she wished to cherish the shard of her Queen, what mattered the most in the end was her usefulness as a servant.

    Ilya picked up one of the wider sticks, placing it next to her while she unwound her Queen¡¯s scale from its protective leather wrappings- not protective for the scale mind you, it was surely indestructible, but protective for her and her clothing. It only took a slight amount of downward pressure before she lost both her pockets and a large amount of blood.

    If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    Taking both the wood and the scale in her hands, Ilya thought of that old man sitting outside the cafe, whittling away the marks of age. His grandson never understood the craft or saw its use, but Ilya would try.

    Performing the movements as she remembered him doing, the scale¡¯s sharp edge smoothly cut through the bark to the heartwood within, curling it into little spirals as she shaved off layer after layer.

    She rotated the stick to cut at different angles in an attempt to shape the wood into something less uniform; something resembling the subject sleeping across the swamp from her.

    The end result was far from what she imagined, looking more like a misshapen spear or arrow point than her Lady¡¯s lovely face. The cuts were clean and smooth as expected, but her wobbly grip and untrained eye meant that their position and direction were almost entirely random.

    Ilya tossed the stick to the side with a pout, flopping over to lay on her ¡®bed¡¯- it would be a long time before she could make anything good enough to show her Queen. She would pick it up and try again some other time, but for now she simply laid there, trying to match her breathing to the great dragon¡¯s.

    ¡®I should ask her about the scale.¡¯ Ilya thought, cheek pressed into a sweet smelling scrap of clothing. ¡®I need a proper answer If I plan on practising often.¡¯

    Deep her in own thoughts she almost didn¡¯t notice the changes in the black dragon¡¯s breathing, but the deep inhale through her nostrils as Lady Visnavik stirred from rest was loud and impossible to miss.

    Ilya jumped to her feet, ignoring the sudden lightheadedness as she removed the scarf from around her head and brushed the now dry hair frantically with her fingers.

    ¡°Good morning, my Queen. ¡° She greeted as the dragon¡¯s eyes fluttered open, offering a quick bow. ¡°I hope you slept well.¡±

    Lady Visnavik¡¯s sleepy half-lidded eye scanned her from bottom to top and Ilya squirmed under the gaze. She hoped her grooming had made a noticeable impact.

    ¡°Mm.¡± The great dragon hummed contentedly in reply. Though probably in reference to her words, Ilya chose to believe the sound meant her appearance was acknowledged and satisfactory.

    The fins along Lady Visnavik¡¯s spine made a flapping sound when stood up to shake and stretch. ¡°The moisture in the air pleases me.¡± She declared, and it was visible in her body language and mannerisms. The black dragon was in a good mood.

    Maybe in a good enough mood to give her loyal servant guidance.

    ¡°¡­My Queen, may I ask a question?¡± She started hesitantly, approaching the great dragon- if she was shut down she would have to figure it out on her own.

    Lady Visnavik regarded her for a quiet moment, motionless except for her breathing. ¡°Speak. I will determine then if it is worth a reply.¡± She eventually allowed.

    ¡°This scale, my Queen.¡± She held up the dark fragment of her liege, her grey eyes subconsciously jumping to spot on her Queen¡¯s neck it had come from. ¡°I¡­ I wanted to know how best to use it- how you want it to be used or not used, so that I don¡¯t waste your precious gift.¡±

    ¡°Is that all?¡± Lady Visnavik¡¯s brow ridge rose slightly, glancing down at her. ¡°Such a simple thing to answer. I want one thing of that scale.¡±

    ¡°Drench it in blood.¡±

    ¡°Eh?¡± The words were just as simple as Lady Visnavik said they would be, and yet Ilya still found herself surprised.

    A devilish smirk formed on her Lady¡¯s lips; she would eagerly elaborate. ¡°When your tasks call for you to kill in my name¡­ do so gladly and with great violence.¡±

    ¡°Maim their bodies, slice their flesh, nourish the earth with their spilled life force.¡± Her words gradually sped up as she grew excited. ¡°Cut them down swiftly and without mercy; bring out the sweet songs of suffering and despair only cried in one¡¯s final moments of terror!¡± An invisible pulse of dark energy rocketed through the clearing with the final shout, killing the wind and rustling boughs as it went.

    ¡°¡­That is how you may best use my scale.¡± She concluded, and Ilya absorbed her words readily. ¡°As long as that is being done, you may do whatever else you wish with it.

    A deep breath and sigh of contentment.

    ¡°Such talk of bloodshed has sparked my appetite.¡± The black dragon commented after the pause, taking a wide scan of her clearing. ¡°Where did you and my minions bury the large one?¡±

    ¡°Around here, my Lady.¡± Ilya answered, responding to the sudden pivot by gesturing at a seemingly inane patch of the swamp where the group had buried the body.

    Working alongside her co-workers for the first time was a bizarre experience to be sure, but they were dutiful, fast working, and responded when she offered input. Being voiceless vines and skeletons didn¡¯t seem to affect the job or how they cooperated in the slightest.

    They were all slaves of the black dragon, and a common truth was shared between them, one written into the summons¡¯ very being at birth, and one Ilya came to on her own.

    Whatever their Queen desired, she would have. They could deny her nothing, nor did they want to.

    A shooing wave of her Queen¡¯s claws bid her to back far away from the burial site, and not a moment after she left its radius, a single incredibly large vine burst from the ground. Tangled in its twisting form was the half putrefied corpse of Darius, horribly disfigured by his endless days of torment.

    ¡°Ah, there he is, the mighty paladin.¡± Lady Visnavik mocked derisively, griping his shoulder between her index and thumb claws. ¡°So loyal to his cause- so stalwart in the face of evil.¡±

    ¡°What pleasure I took breaking him¡­¡± A gentle tug ripped the dead body¡¯s arm clean out of the shoulder.

    ¡°My victims rarely retain the ability to speak sentences, but this one was very talkative- I learned much.¡± Ilya allowed a tiny smile to sit on her lips. Her Lady was being similarly talkative to her today, and she listened intently, carving the lilt of her Queen¡¯s voice into her memory.

    ¡°For instance: these highlands have been orc territory as long as I can recall.¡± The great dragon continued to explain, gesturing around with her victim¡¯s arm. ¡°The last time I checked they still were, and so when humans started showing up- started building a town here, I was rather puzzled.¡±

    ¡°It seems a few hundred years ago the humans conquered the orc tribes, as this entire land is now human territory instead- a kingdom.¡±

    Ilya had never really thought much about the orcs, so she wasn¡¯t sure how to digest the information. For most of her life they had been the weird green humans who were bigger for some reason, and even after learning the truth, not a lot changed. At the end of the day they treated her no different than the humans, making the distinction irrelevant in her eyes.

    She supposed it was interesting to learn about a place she had lived for so long- especially from her Queen¡¯s perspective. So many years of life lived, sustained by so much power and filled with so few worries: her thoughts would be completely different from a weak and fearful human.

    ¡°Hm?¡± Lady Visnavik suddenly made a face, glancing down at the meat she had just bitten into. ¡°This human tastes different.¡±

    Ilya didn¡¯t know what people were supposed to taste like; did people normally taste the same? They all looked pretty different on the outside. ¡°Different, my Queen?¡±

    Her Lady took another bite, her expression calculating. ¡°It is the same fermented human I have eaten for many years, and yet there is a hint of something else familiar...¡±

    The giant vine bent forward with a creak, bringing Darius¡¯ corpse in close for scrutiny. Lady Visnavik examined the body, as well as the skeleton poking through the putrefying skin and muscle, eventually zeroing in on the paladin¡¯s face- eternally frozen in a pained scream.

    With a spit of acid, the man¡¯s face melted away, disappearing into the dark water below and leaving behind clean white bone.

    Ilya had seen many types of bones over her life- most of them in the last few weeks -and had become very accustomed to what a human skull looked like compared to say, a deer or a wolf.

    Darius¡¯ skull was very much a human¡¯s, but like the rest of the man, it was¡­ bigger, for lack of a better term. The jaw was bigger, the brow was bigger, the canines were much bigger: sticking up and down past the middle line where the rest of the teeth fit together.

    ¡°What is the meaning of this?¡± The dragon barked, willing the vine and the body away from her face. ¡°Orc features, on a human skull?!¡± Lady Visnavik¡¯s confusion set her gaze sideways at her slave as if to demand explanation.

    ¡°Um-¡° Ilya fumbled, grasping at all the straws her brain could form. ¡°People look like their parents right? Bearwood is full of orcs- who you said were already there- and also full of humans that moved in, maybe-¡±

    ¡°You suggest his sire or mare was an orc?¡± The great dragon cut her slave off, a disgusted sneer on her face. ¡°War¡¯s chosen, breeding with the enemy? Loving their conqueror?!¡± Such a thing belied their very nature as Chaos; it just didn¡¯t make sense.

    Not waiting for an answer to any of her questions, Visnavik¡¯s eyes squinted suspiciously. ¡°Are you trying to be funny slave? Is this a joke?¡±

    Ilya shook her head rapidly. ¡°No, my Queen, no jokes.¡± Joking just wasn¡¯t something she did. There wasn¡¯t much funny about the constant threat of death by starvation, and she didn¡¯t have anyone to make laugh anyway.

    The sudden mental image of Lady Visnavik cackling joyfully reminded her that wasn¡¯t true anymore.

    ¡°I- I could try and come up with a real joke if you¡¯d like?¡± She offered, face full of naive hope. ¡°I would love to make you laugh, my Lady!¡±

    All of Visnavik¡¯s frustration left her as her expression deflated into a deep frown. ¡°You will do no such thing.¡± Ilya deflated in kind, and the pair were left staring at each other, both silent and both frowning.

    The black dragon sighed heavily after a moment before continuing to eat. ¡°What has this world become?¡±

    The dragon tore the last bit of flesh from the arm, using her long green tongue to lick off any remnants before tossing it toward her slave. ¡°At least this one¡¯s¡­ abnormality¡­ made for interesting flavours.¡±

    Ilya caught the humerus in a underhanded hug, but the connective tissues tying the rest of the arm together gave way mid flight, sending the hand and forearm bones scattering into the swamp with a splash.

    That would take a while to fish out. Ilya¡¯s eyes briefly fell shut as she exhaled.

    She was about turn to begin her work, but the thoughtful tapping of her Queen¡¯s claw indicated she had more to say.

    ¡°It is interesting though.¡± Lady Visnavik mused, eyes tracing the golden details of the fallen paladin¡¯s blade. ¡°That a human kingdom could conquer these lands while I slept.¡±

    ¡°I wonder if on the little maps they make, they mark my forest as theirs.¡± Her Lady¡¯s tone was mocking and unserious, but for Ilya, the concept struck a sudden nerve.

    Her Lady Visnavik was her everything, her warmth in the cold, her bright future; she deserved everything in return. The idea that somebody could have the gall to try and steal from her Lady- try to pretend they owned what was rightfully hers¡­

    She shifted her grip on the half orc¡¯s bone, a palm held tightly around its head.

    Squatters, laying claim to a land they knew belonged a being far greater than them, gambling on the black dragon¡¯s love of sleep and a meagre drip of sacrifices to protect them from reprisal. It was insulting.

    ¡°You were here first, my Queen.¡± She grumbled, glaring at the dark water. ¡°You are far stronger than them- far better. They should know their place.¡± Finders keepers, first dibs, might makes right. It was simple logic that even know nothing street rats had memorized. ¡°They should just submit to you and feel lucky to serve.¡±

    Lady Visnavik paused, as if surprised by her words; then a terrible grin split the dragon¡¯s face in two. ¡°What is your name, slave?¡±

    Ilya jumped, shoved out of her anger by the sudden personal question. Her Queen was now looking down directly at her, and had asked for her name.

    ¡°Ah- I- uh-¡± She sputtered, unsteadied from the sudden attention. ¡°Il- Ilya¡­ m-my Queen¡­¡±

    ¡°Ilya¡­¡± The black dragon purred, and all the shadows of the swamp lengthened in unison, darkening until Visnavik¡¯s looming silhouette was an infinite empty void. Only her irises stood out, glowing a bright noxious green. ¡°My loyal slave¡­¡±

    A pleasant shiver went down the girl¡¯s spine to sit in her stomach. Her name spoken with that voice- it was suddenly very hard to breathe.

    ¡°I like what you just said very much.¡± Her Queen leaned in close, hot air shooting from her nostrils to hit the girl square in the face. ¡°Say it again.¡±

    Ilya quivered at the low cooing command, static sparks of excitement igniting a fire under her skin. That look was on her face again- that wide unnatural smile, there was no way it wasn¡¯t. She couldn¡¯t help it; the way her Lady¡¯s praise made her feel, it just couldn¡¯t stay contained inside.

    ¡°T-They should serve you, my Queen.¡± She declared breathlessly, and basking in the powerful shadow of her mistress, Ilya knew it to be true. ¡°They should all serve and feel blessed to do so.¡±

    The black dragon chuckled darkly, mirth growing and growing until she threw her neck back and began cackling towards the sky. The horrific roaring laughter echoed for kilometres in all directions, startling birds from their perches, wolves from their dens; causing the blood of even the fiercest direbeasts to run cold.

    In the quiet logging town of Bearwood, a days march away, a dreadful storm hung overhead, blowing rain and leaves and trash through empty streets.

    Every soul in town had nightmares that night, of a dark shadow looming over them as they slept; terrible green eyes glaring in the dark.

    From the sketches of the author:

 Dreams of Damnation - Chapter 6

    The cobblestone streets were caked with mud when Ilya entered the town, puddles pooling in dips created by the uneven road. The rain had stopped some hours ago and yet the sun remained hidden, preventing its drying heat from reaching the ground.

    She had always hated the rain; it would shut down the market and street stalls for days, forcing her to risk illness by running around cold and wet for hours looking for another source of food. Even now that illness as a threat was deleted and nutrition was provided for her, being in this place and this weather put a downer on her mood.

    Why then, had she spent so much time and effort walking through weather she hated to this town she resented?

    Why else? Her Lady had given her another mission.

    ¡°I have thought on our conversation, slave.¡± Lady Visnavik had spoken hours earlier, staring at her clawed hand as it wept necrotic darkness. ¡°The world has changed around me as I slept, and much that I once knew that is now outdated.¡±

    ¡°You have proven yourself capable of seeing my will done, and so this task falls to you.¡± The ancient black dragon said, turning to her dutiful servant to properly announce her orders.

    ¡°Go out into this human kingdom. Learn of its strengths, its weaknesses, the peoples it has conquered- I want everything you can find.¡±

    Ilya remembered being overjoyed to tears: Her Queen not only verbally recognizing her past efforts but trusting her to get the job done in the future. She had value to someone; expectations to meet.

    The memory still burned her cheeks and warmed her core.

    Ilya slapped the smile off of her own face with both hands, returning to the unfortunate now. She could enjoy that memory when she actually deserved it.

    The work of info gathering had started right away, but Ilya quickly ran up against a troublesome wall. Her main way of learning had always been finding a place people were gathered and eavesdropping on them, but all her usual spots were empty, either of people entirely or just the conversations between them. The market, the lumberyard, the main road, the bunkhouses- the west districts were quiet today it seemed, a rarity in her lifetime that ruined her plans.

    With the first half of her quest cut down at the starting line, Ilya¡¯s thoughts drifted to the second half, tacked on at the end just as she was preparing to leave the swamp.

    ¡°One more thing, slave.¡± Lady Visnavik had interrupted, blocking the way with her tail. ¡°A second objective, to be completed or not.¡± Ilya was slightly confused at the time- if her Lady gave her job to do, how could it possibly go undone?

    The dragon had continued. ¡°On your journey, should you come across another like you: alone, shunned, easily manipulated¡­¡± Her Queen had drawn out each syllable of the last two words, her grin growing wide.

    ¡°Bring them to me. Your wish for this kingdom may be granted yet.¡±

    A new coworker: a friend who she could speak to and listen to and gush over their Queen with. The idea was extremely exciting, she had never had a friend before.

    An obvious choice was the destitute women and children of the town: those like her who had nothing to loose and everything to gain. One of them could be saved from their sorrowful life, just as she had- they would be saved and join her in blissful servitude.

    But before that bliss could be, the lucky candidate had to be chosen and found.

    Finding the children specifically would normally take much time and effort, but Ilya had been one of them for a time, and had a good idea of where to start.

    Amongst the winding roads of the Bowl was an extremely narrow side street where orphans and runaways tended to gather. The buildings on either side of the alley were tall enough to block sunlight from reaching the ground most hours of the day, giving a comforting cloak of shadows to those who didn¡¯t wish to be found.

    Stepping into the dark alleyway, Ilya found a group of children and teenagers loudly fighting over something- probably food, it was always food.

    ¡°We were first!¡± One of the small ones cried, clinging to someone¡¯s leg. ¡°So we get!¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯ care! My mum needs it more than you!¡± A teenager shot back, holding something above their head- it looked like the very end of a bread loaf. The way it didn¡¯t give despite how hard the boy was holding it told Ilya it was very hard and very stale.

    ¡°Fuck your stupid mum, I¡¯m starving!¡± A kid slightly shorter than the teenager yelled, reaching for the crusty brick while trying to kick the teen in the groin. ¡°Cunt should die and leave more for the rest of us!!¡± The group looked to be on the verge of violence.

    Ilya approached slowly, her silhouette darkening against the light at her back. ¡°Hello.¡± She said, making every one of them jump.

    ¡°W-Whuh?! Who¡¯re you?¡± The tallest one stammered before regaining his confidence. ¡°Shove off, this bread is mine!¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not here for your bread, I¡¯m here to tell you a way out of needing it.¡± Ilya wanted to be direct with these people; they were the only group in the entire world she felt any sort of kinship with.

    ¡°I serve a great being in the woods.¡± Ilya explained, pointing to herself. ¡°In return for my service I am kept warm and fed and free from sickness.¡± There was more to be gained than just that: purpose, meaning, satisfaction, but she kept her explanation focused on the physical.

    Her forearm extended out, palm upturned. ¡°My Lady, that great being, is offering that same safety and comfort to anyone who will love and serve her.¡± She searched their expressions one after another for signs of acceptance before something near the ground caught her eye.

    A severely beaten little girl sat in the deepest shadows of the alley, soaked by rainwater and curled up against the wall. Ilya¡¯s gut twisted as her memories superimposed themselves on the stranger- visions of her younger self hiding on this exact street.

    ¡°That¡­ that goes for you too.¡± She offered, reaching out to her replica. ¡°A happier life, hope, a place in this world, for the first person who takes my hand.¡±

    The girl¡¯s eyes glanced up at the outstretched arm, the rest of her remaining stony and still. ¡®Take it¡­¡¯ Ilya pleaded internally, but the girl¡¯s lightless gaze fell back down to the cobblestones instead.

    She didn¡¯t believe her.

    ¡°I don¡¯t need a cultist¡¯s empty promises. All I need¡­ is this bread!¡± The shorter teenager suddenly snatched the bread out of the taller one¡¯s hand and sprinted away. It took a second for their reaction time to catch up, but the others soon gave chase, scrambling out of the alley after their meal without so much as a glance back.

    They didn¡¯t believe her.

    Why didn¡¯t they believe her? She was so sure they would jump at any chance offered to them- it¡¯s what she had done, time and time and time again. Were they not so similar after all?

    Looking again at the girl on the ground, Ilya noted the emptiness in her eyes. It was a depth of despair Ilya had only brushed up against, a void that only opened its jaws when she finally had trust to be betrayed and a tangible thread of hope to have severed.

    She remembered the numbness in that moment, a weight to her flesh as if her soul had loosened its grip on life. If Lady Visnavik had not been there to take claim of her soul, would she have become like this, an empty husk viewing even the possibility of salvation a lie?

    Maybe it was too late for this one.

    ¡®But those kids¡­¡¯

    Ilya¡¯s jaw clenched; her head shook. ¡®No. Forget about them.¡¯ She couldn¡¯t stand around worrying about the happiness of strangers when her work- the protection of her own happiness -was much more important. If they didn¡¯t take her hand, all she could do is walk away and move on.

    So she did, silently stepping back into the blinding light of day and abandoning the girl to her fate.

    There would be others.

    <hr>

    The clouds still had yet to clear as she wandered back into the south side of town, arms crossed over her chest and nose buried in her scarf. Her mood had somewhat worsened.

    She had tried making her pitch to a few more groups, but it had turned out the same every time: they either ignored her or told her to get lost or ran away screaming.

    It was a demoralizing string of failures that left her once again wandering the muddy streets with both metaphorical and very real rain clouds hanging over her head.

    Her Lady was so wonderful, so beautiful, so powerful, so fair. If only the people of this town could look past their distrust, they would see as she did.

    Finding a dry bit of ground just off of the main street, Ilya finally crouched down to sit after endless hours of walking. It was a break that she didn¡¯t deserve- what had she actually done today?

    Ilya frustratedly shoved her hands into her hair to grip her scalp. She wanted so badly to start strong today, to prove to herself and her Lady that the trust being placed in her wasn¡¯t a mistake.

    A stray gust of wind suddenly blew through the street, carrying the smell of damp earth, rain, and freshly cut wood. It whistled past her, causing closed shutters to rattle and hanging signs to swing back and forth noisily.

    Ilya tilted her head to look up at the one creaking just above her: a grey wooden sign dominated by a stylized drawing of a dragon, its left hand holding a mug of ale and its right holding a very large haunch of meat. It was similar to her Lady in overall design, crest and all, but whites and light greys replaced the familiar black and purple.

    ¡®Silver dragon¡­¡¯ Ilya thought, remembering the tavern and the name that archer had called it. The building had a slight overhanging roof, creating the dry space she now sat in.

    The door was held open by a block of wood as it was the last she passed by, but no raucous voices or laughter echoed out onto the street as they did back then. It was no wonder she didn¡¯t recognize where she was.

    Ilya had lived behind a distillery for an extremely long time, but had never actually gone inside a bar or tavern before. She was honestly a bit curious.

    Standing up and brushing the dirt from her behind, Ilya peeked into the doorway. The streets had turned up nothing of worth so far; searching the interior of a quiet business couldn¡¯t waste her time any more than sulking outside would.

    Making her way through the entrance hall, Ilya found the tavern actually quite active: many of the tables were filled, and the sounds of clinking glassware and dozens of conversations filled her ears. The volume of each voice was low and the lips they came from made minimal movements, but together they still made a jumble that was hard to eavesdrop on.

    A woman in colourful clothes stood on a small stage in the corner of the room, playing some kind of string instrument. The music was slow and peaceful, matching the energy level of the tired looking patrons surrounding her.

    Everyone looked tired now that she was taking a look around: dark circles underlining their eyes, identical to the permanent racoon mask on her own face. The only person who seemed to be in a brighter mood was a tall man standing behind the counter, his icy blue eyes inspecting a glass mug in the light before smiling to himself and placing it with the others.

    He then did something extremely strange, something she was unprepared for: he turned the smile her way. From across the room he smiled at her, creasing his eyes kindly and beckoning her over to the bar.

    ¡°Hello there.¡± The man greeted as she approached, gesturing to the stool in front of him. His long hair was a very light blonde, like sawdust from those fancy brown trees that rich people¡¯s chairs were made out of. The whole of it was bundled together in a loose ponytail that tucked behind an especially long and pointed ear to fall over his left shoulder. Ilya had never seen a person with such strange ears before.

    ¡°You¡¯re a new face- I don¡¯t get many of those around here. Are you from out of town?¡± He seemed to radiate joy at the prospect.

    The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    A wave of exhaustion washed over Ilya. Was this an orc situation again? Was this yet another kind of person that had always existed in the world? How many different kinds of people were there? How many more would she have to find?

    ¡°¡­I live in the woods outside town.¡± She eventually answered, climbing up onto a stool meant for individuals far taller than her. She could have mentioned living in Bearwood her whole life, but that might give the impression that she had been a part of the community at any point.

    The bartender closed his eyes and nodded along, bringing two fingers up to stroke his chin. ¡°Ah, like in a cabin, that sounds cozy.¡± It seemed he had still been given the wrong impression.

    ¡°No.¡± Ilya replied flatly. ¡°I sleep on the ground.¡± She had never and would never have a house- especially now.

    His pleased imaginings were cut short at her admission- his expression faltering. ¡°Oh¡­¡± A pause. ¡°¡­By choice?¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡± Her lady would never fit inside a human dwelling anyway.

    A much longer pause, as if her truthful statements had knocked the energy for conversation out of him and sent his mind spinning away.

    He eventually gave up on whatever he was internally struggling with, squeezing his eyes shut and rubbing his brow with a knuckle. ¡°Let¡¯s just try again¡­ My name is Issnur; I own this bar.¡± A sigh left his lips, letting the hand fall off his face to hit the side of his leg. ¡°I won¡¯t ask for your story, but I would like to ask for your name.¡±

    ¡°Ilya.¡± She answered.

    The smile was back, much smaller though no less kind. ¡°Well Ilya, you look more put together than any forest hermit I¡¯ve ever seen.¡±

    For all his kindness and handsome features, that was what got a positive reaction out of her. ¡°¡­thank you.¡± Ilya murmured honestly. ¡°I try really hard.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t mention it.¡± A glass mug was placed in front of her: its outsides were covered in flat faces and edges like a cut gemstone and the way the low light of the bar shimmered through it was almost entrancing.

    Clear water being poured in from above caused the light to scatter; glancing up she saw the bartender holding a pitcher.

    ¡°Where are you from?¡± She suddenly asked, eyes once more locking in on the side of Issnur¡¯s head as he finished pouring. ¡°Your ears look strange- they¡¯re like knives.¡±

    He winced as if stung by a large insect, placing the jug on the counter as his face scrunched In a cringe. ¡°You don¡¯t mince words, do you?¡± The long eared man seemed upset, but Ilya didn¡¯t really understand why.

    Issnur leaned in, searching her eyes for something, but found only a blank glassy stare.

    No hostility, no malice, just a dim shine of curiosity.

    ¡°I¡¯m from up north, over the mountains.¡± He relented, answering with the same friendly face as before. ¡°I moved here a long time ago and haven¡¯t been back since.¡±

    He didn¡¯t need to specify which mountains he was talking about.

    Those mountains had been a constant backdrop to every event in her short existence. Their towering snowy peaks would glisten in the morning sun, visible even from her dark alleyway, the cold wind blowing down from their summits whispering promises of freedom.

    More than once, when stress and sadness weighed too heavy, Ilya would look up to those mountains and think of just... going. She could escape this place, climb to the very top of the tallest mountain, touch the clouds and see with her own eyes what was on the other side.

    She never did of course; her real escape laid in the depths of the forest, not mountain heights.

    ¡°As for these things-¡° Issnur¡¯s ears suddenly wiggled as if the tips were being pulled around by an invisible string. ¡°I¡¯m an elf, a snow elf to be exact. These are just what our ears look like.¡±

    ¡°Wha- how-?!¡± Ilya startled, distracted from her memories by the motion before being further distracted by the information he revealed. ¡°Snow elf¡­¡± She sounded out, squeezing her eyes shut for a second to focus. ¡°So there¡¯s more kinds?¡±

    ¡°Sure.¡± He nodded, crossing his arms and leaning against the back of the bar. ¡°The most common kind in this kingdom are the wood elves, but there are other kinds like dark elves or snow elves.¡±

    He looked off to the side, moving his gaze from table to table. ¡°Though I suppose even wood elves are rare, so it¡¯s not too strange you¡¯ve never seen one.¡±

    ¡®Rare?¡¯ Ilya repeated in her head. How could a person be rare? People weren¡¯t like treasure, they could be found anywhere you looked and could be tossed in the gutter just as easily.

    Or so she had always believed, but Issnur certainly knew more about his own people than she did- she had never even heard of elves before she entered his tavern..

    Everything she knew was limited to her own experience and the experiences of the few people she had overheard, a tiny bubble that made up only a fraction of what life entailed.

    ¡°I have a lot to learn¡­¡± She mumbled, staring down blankly at her untouched glass of water.

    Lady Visnavik was expecting a full report when she returned home, a report she had yet to fill with even the most basic things.

    She needed some source of knowledge, some person or place or group that she could endlessly scavenge for the information she needed. Whatever it was, she needed to find it else she fall short of expectations.

    Ilya eyes jumped back up to the barkeep- she had spoken with him for such a short time and yet he had already given her a piece of the puzzle.

    ¡°Could¡­ Could you be my teacher?¡± She asked, hopeful- pleading. ¡°I¡¯m supposed to leave here and learn about this kingdom; you seem to know so much about it a-and-¡°

    ¡°Gonna stop you there.¡± Issnur interrupted, holding up a hand. ¡°I can¡¯t do that; I have a business to run.¡±

    She mentally kicked herself- of course he would say no. At least Issnur actually gave her a reason, everyone else she had solicited recently just yelled at her or ran away.

    Swallowing her disappointment, Ilya went back to staring at the water in her mug.

    She wondered how different it would taste from the streams and puddles she had been living on or the black and gooey swamp water that splashed up into her mouth from time to time.

    ¡°I can still give you some advice.¡± Issnur offered, watching the girl wrap her thin pale fingers around the glass mug. ¡°Like how about the local bookshop? There are books on anything you need to know.¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t read.¡± Ilya admitted casually in reply, raising the glass of water to her lips. It tasted like snow, crisp and clean; devoid of the dirt or rot she was so used to.

    ¡°Oh.¡± The snow elf¡¯s lips pressed together in a tight line. ¡°Hm.¡± Again, such a simple unimportant truth made him lock up. The preachers she occasionally listened to often talked about the value of truth and the evil of deceit, but did anyone actually want the truth at all?

    She took another sip from her mug. If that was the case, maybe she should learn how to lie.

    ¡°Well, if you¡¯re impressed with a backwater barkeep like me.¡± Issnur began, looking up from the scuff mark he had been staring at. ¡°You could get a whole lot more out of travelling to bigger places and chatting up folks there.¡±

    He pushed off of the bar to stand up straight. ¡°A port town would probably be best: lots of different people coming and going from all over and knowledgeable about different things.¡±

    It was a small addition to what she planned to do anyways, but that small addition narrowed her places to wander from the entire kingdom down to a specific type of town.

    ¡°Follow me.¡± He said, stepping out from behind the bar to walk further into the tavern.

    Downing the rest of the water in her glass, Ilya hopped off of the stool to catch up to the much taller man. She had to jog just to match the distance his legs covered between steps, but eventually the two arrived at a large framed picture on the wall.

    ¡°This is us.¡± With his long arms, Issnur could easily point to a spot near the top of the picture. The place he pointed to was a dot surrounded by little sketches of trees that got denser the more left from it you looked. A little ways above the dot was a bunch of very large spiky objects that seemed to tower over the drawings of trees- mountains, she realized.

    Which meant¡­

    Looking slightly to the left of the dot, the depiction of the great forest grew denser and denser until at last her eyes arrived on a small picture of a skull.

    The dot he pointed to was Bearwood. This was a map of the kingdom.

    Ilya looked at the distance between the skull and the dot once more. The long journey from Bearwood to her Lady¡¯s swamp was a tiny blip when compared to the rest of the map.

    ¡°It took me all day to walk that blip¡­¡± She murmured, disheartened.

    Issnur¡¯s hand moved a ways downward, across a thick blue line that was probably a river and stopping on a dot situated right against a big blue blob. ¡°Flavenport is going to be your best bet; it¡¯s the busiest of the lake ports and has an adventurers guild branch to boot.¡±

    ¡°Adventurers love to tell stories.¡± He said casually, leaning his head in her direction without looking away from the map. ¡°It¡¯s really easy to get most of them to talk your ear off.¡±

    Continuing his directions, the barkeep pointed to a spot just above the river where the background colours changed suddenly instead of slowly blending into each other. ¡°The highlands end in a cliff here, so you have to follow the road down and around to get there.¡±

    Tracing her eyes along the lines connecting Bearwood¡¯s dot to the port town, Ilya reeled back, horrified at the sheer length of the trip.

    ¡°It¡¯ll take me weeks to hike that far!¡± She cried, distraught. Her Lady hadn¡¯t set a deadline for her work, but the thought of so much walking, so much time spent away from home, was genuinely upsetting.

    The snow elf beside Ilya stifled a laugh. ¡°You¡¯re not supposed to hike it. You¡¯re supposed to take a cart to this town and then take a boat this way.¡± He pointed to a dot on the map that was situated right on a river and then followed that river through a smaller blue blob and then across to the large one.

    ¡°Oh, good.¡± She sighed in relief, running a hand through her hair. ¡°I thought I was going to have to beg someone to cast [ Windwalk ] on me or something.¡± A nervous laugh escaped her mouth.

    Issnur¡¯s ear twitched and turned fully towards her, his expression a mixture of bewilderment and mild suspicion. ¡°How do you know about specific aeromancy spells but not about horse travel?¡±

    Ilya shrugged. ¡°A lady who helped me out once was an air wizard,¡±

    ¡°Is that right¡­¡± Issnur replied with a strange tone.

    After an brief stare down, he turned his head back to the map, gesturing broadly. ¡°Regardless, you have your route and destination now. This as much as I can do.¡±

    ¡°Carts heading out of town are set up in the east districts.¡± He directed with a final helpful smile. ¡°Take a look around; you might find someone who will give you a lift.¡±

    ¡°Okay.¡± Ilya said, eyes unfocused, nodding multiple times to herself as she processed. ¡°Okay, I¡¯ll go now.¡± She took a few steps back from the painting, gaining bounce to her movements with each.

    ¡°Thank you mister elf-sir!¡± She stopped to call over her shoulder before weaving through tables and vanishing from sight.

    Issnur watched the human go, his smile dropping as soon as he was sure she wasn¡¯t going to turn around again.

    ¡°Air wizard¡­¡± He muttered under his breath. Issnur only knew of one female Aeromancer in this town, but she had gone missing recently, along with her entire party. Whispers around the guild said they were last seen with a strange girl.

    Issnur looked down at his side, frowning at the spot where the little hermit once stood.

    If she was the girl from those rumours; if she was more dangerous than she appeared, at least she would soon be far, far away from his tavern.

    <hr>

    Stepping out onto the dreary street, Ilya felt far better than before she entered.

    The snow elf had given her much: a nice drink, knowledge on new peoples, a specific city to travel to as well as a lead once she got there. She wished he would have agreed to join her, but so far it seemed her streak of recruitment failures would continue.

    At least she knew he was here now, and with him owning a business it was unlikely he would leave anytime soon. She could come back and see him if she hit a dead end in Flavenport.

    She should probably bring money next time.

    Before she left, Ilya had asked her Lady about the subject of money, travelling took a lot of it and she had none. It was the main reason she had never tried to flee this town and start again elsewhere.

    ¡°Procure it yourself.¡± The dragon had replied, almost insulted by the question. ¡°You are a slave, lest we forget. You are paid in continued existence and nothing else.¡±

    Ilya took that to mean steal- that any money she stole was hers to spend on whatever the job required. Though the thought of stealing gold still spiked her anxiety, her last visit to Bearwood proved that she was capable of getting away with it unscathed. Further successes would surely quell her fears.

    As she fussed with her thoughts, her feet carried her into the eastern districts of the town. They were far from lively, but the richer half of the town at least held the rumble of voices that indicated life.

    From what she had gathered over the years, these districts were newer, built when word of the forest¡¯s plenty started drawing in scores of people who wanted to profit from it.

    Grown alongside its wealth, the east side was very different from the west: clean stonework streets instead of muddy cobbles, colourful flowers and paints instead of grey wood and grey brick, bright magical lighting instead of dim candles or darkness. In place of dusty workshops and bunkhouses there were eateries and cafes with finely carved furniture and warm food she couldn¡¯t steal thanks to regularly posted guards.

    At least they grew bored of that food quickly enough, Ilya wasn¡¯t sure what she would have done without the sizeable leftovers she found in their trash.

    Following the rows of buildings eventually spat her out into an open area similar in size to the market. Piles of crates and barrels sat near the entrance of the square and a few wagons were lined up in a row near the end where the town ended and the road began. Some of the wagons had a fabric covering protecting their contents from the rain, but there was a single much larger wagon that did not, allowing Ilya to see the long planks of ashy grey wood that filled its bed.

    Many people rushed about back and forth across the square, taking the crates from the piles and placing them in the covered wagons while two men in fancier clothes stood around pointing.

    ¡°That one goes on that wagon- Not you! That¡¯s the right one already -That one¡¯s heading up to Krod, put it over there.¡± They must have been merchants- the shouting one certainly talked fast enough to be a merchant.

    Issnur had said to ask for a lift, but she severely doubted her ability to get anything from Bearwood merchants by asking. If only the market square hadn¡¯t been rained out, she might have been able to bribe her way into an easy ride.

    Stepping into a less obvious position in the shadows of a multi floor building, Ilya continued to watch and listen while she scrounged around in her head for a plan. Her first thought was to steal a horse and escape, but shook that idea off when she remembered she didn¡¯t know how to steer or ride one.

    The only other possibility she could think of was sneaking aboard a wagon and pretending to be cargo. As long as she wasn¡¯t discovered, she could be carried a great distance with little effort.

    The problem with that was finding out which cart was going where; she didn¡¯t want to end up stuck in a town that couldn¡¯t teach her anything useful.

    One of the four covered wagons was already ruled out; Krod was apparently ¡®up¡¯ and she was going down, leaving three more possibilities. Remaining in the shadows and listening to the merchant¡¯s instructions could rule out more, but the wagons seemed to be filling up quickly and she didn¡¯t want to risk being left behind.

    ¡®So what then- go up and ask?¡¯ She thought to herself, channeling her Lady¡¯s mocking tone.

    But then, as she watched the workers run crates, she realized just how different they all appeared. On the east side, labour like this was usually done by adult human men, but many of the workers before her were orc, or women, or young.

    An idea sparked to life. Maybe she could just ask.

    Sneaking over to the closest pile of crates as to not be noticed by the many people of the square, Ilya examined the wooden containers closely.

    Each of the crates were painted on the side with some sort of logo: a bear or direbear on all fours carrying colourful cargo like a pack animal. Peeking up over the side of a large crate to look at the top, Ilya found a paper label stuck to the wood, covered with text she couldn¡¯t read. Moving from crate to crate she found some words were repeated on every label while other words varied.

    On one of the smaller boxes in the pile, the label had an eye catching difference stamped into it: a cross shaped symbol with a long curved line below it and a small ring at the top, something she vaguely recognized from the map in Issnur¡¯s bar.

    ¡®I guess I¡¯ll start with this one.¡¯ Lifting the small crate with a quiet noise of exertion, Ilya stepped out from behind the pile to join the flurry of fellow labourers. ¡®Hope this works.¡¯

    Walking out into the middle of the square, Ilya stopped, looking from wagon to wagon and then down at her crate before looking up at the pair of merchants ahead of her. The one doing the shouting and directing was rather rotund and healthy, his full belly covered by expensive looking clothing and accessories.

    He looked like a man who had never known hunger or hardship. As much as she didn¡¯t want to even be near him- partially out of resentment and partially out of fear -this merchant was central to her plan, and so she approached.

    ¡°Um, S-Sir?¡± Ilya spoke when the man continued to look over her head despite the very little distance between them. ¡°Where is this going?¡±

    ¡°Huh?¡° He startled, staring down at her with a surprised expression that scrunched and turned disgusted. ¡°We have gutter trash loading up!? Are we really so short staffed today?¡± The merchant looked to his coworker who only shook his head, pushing his glasses up with a finger and reading the label on her box

    ¡°Put it on either of the right wagons.¡± The glasses man said, marking something down on the parchment. ¡°That one¡¯s going down to Flavenport.¡±

    A surge of satisfaction flooded Ilya¡¯s mind. She had remembered correctly; she picked the right box. Finally, a win.

    ¡°Yes sir- right away sir!¡± She bowed her head, hiding her smile behind a curtain of dark hair.

    Jogging over to the fuller and less busy looking wagon of the two, Ilya placed down her heavy burden in its correct spot. Taking a second to look at the crates in front of her, she noted similarities the labels all shared: the symbol she had remembered from the map was one of them, but there was one word repeated on each label that felt long enough to be the destination.

    ¡®Is that how you say that¡­?¡¯ She thought, lingering for a second on her newly acquired ability to recognize a single written word.

    Flavenport.

    Quickly glancing around to make sure no one was looking at her, Ilya climbed up onto the wagon¡¯s bed and ducked inside. An hour later, the wagons were gone, leaving behind an empty square, spotlit by a single stray sunbeam.

    From the sketches of the author:

 Dreams of Damnation - Chapter 7

    A cool morning breeze blew in across the water, briefly catching the sails of moored vessels as they raised shut. The north docks of Flavenport were busy this time of day: unloading vessels that had anchored in the small hours of dawn and loading vessels that would set out alongside the rising sun.

    One of the vessels being unloaded was a smaller riverboat, filled to capacity with goods from the upper reaches of the kingdom. Each crate and barrel carried off the boat was painted with the image of a fierce looking bear, frozen in the act of walking across a pair of bolded words- Highland Star.

    The merchant company was the biggest fish in its home pond, but whenever it stepped out of that pond and into the market of the Great Lake it became one minnow among many.

    At the bow of the riverboat, a merchant stood watching over the unloading effort. His job would follow: to take these piles of grey wood and these boxes of furs and bones and spin them into luxuries fit for royalty. A difficult job given he had only his voice to work them with, but the company¡¯s continued expansion into the lake relied on his success.

    ¡°That should be about it sir!¡± A worker called from down on the dock, holding up a piece of parchment and a quill pen. ¡°We need you to sign off on everything now!¡±

    Taking a breath to ready himself, the merchant stepped off the boat, walking down the long wooden pier until he was in front of the pile of goods. Taking the pen and paper, the merchant drifted from crate to barrel to box, checking off each item after a brief scan and attempted jiggle of the sealed lid.

    One after another the manifest was filled with checks until one crate¡¯s lid finally shifted under his grasp.

    ¡°Eh?¡± He breathed, confused. ¡°This box¡¯s supposed to be nailed shut¡­¡± Indeed, he could still see the metal heads embedded into the wood, identical to every other crate he had checked.

    Suddenly the lid flew open, causing the merchant to stumble back and fall onto his behind. A pale and skinny girl burst from the box, covered in the expensive furs he had expected to be the only thing inside.

    Hopping over the side and onto the ground, the stowaway peeled the pelts from her body and tossed them back into the wooden cube. ¡°I made it!¡± She exclaimed. Her wide grey eyes took in the sights of the docks, filled with a mad glee that matched her grin.

    She turned to look down at him, her expression unchanged. ¡°Thanks for the ride.¡±

    ¡°You little¡­ STOP!¡± He shouted, finally breaking from his shocked silence to lunge and grab her, but it was too late. ¡°THIEF! STOWAWAY!¡± By the time the echo of his voice bounced back to hit his ears she was already gone, slipping through his fingers like a grain of sand.

    ¡°STOP HER!¡± Ilya sprinted away from the angry cry, weaving and ducking past the confused dockworkers and traders in her way. She twisted through the crowded and unfamiliar streets almost at random, relying on her instincts, long trained in this exact situation, to help her shake off any pursuers.

    Turn after turn after turn eventually led Ilya up a set of stairs and out into a vast market, much busier than the one she used to prowl. Everywhere she looked was a colourful tent, a cart filled with goods, a display of fine crafts, each of them surrounded by eager buyers.

    Ilya slid to a stop amid the crowds- she had never seen so many people in one place. They were swarming between stalls, pushing each other aside and shouting for the attention of each stall¡¯s salesman over the roar of other voices.

    The sound was so overwhelming Ilya could barely think. She needed to find a place to hide, somewhere away from all the noise and somewhere that merchant wouldn¡¯t find her.

    Eyes bouncing in different directions, a pair of large double doors came into view across the market, crafted from a dark wood and left slightly ajar as if inviting her inside.

    Ilya gladly took the invitation, running around the outer edges of the plaza to her destination. She hopped up the small set of steps beneath the entrance and ducked into the building, shutting the doors behind her.

    Leaning back against the doors, Ilya sighed and closed her eyes, tilting her head back to rest against the wood with the rest of her body. Whatever the building was made of, it dampened the roar outside into a muffled rumble- it was quiet.

    When her eyes opened again, she was staring up at a very fancy ceiling: a swirl of stone arches and metal trims and delicate paint strokes surrounding a large central skylight. The morning sun streamed in through a giant window at the other end of the room, brightening every colour and erasing every shadow. Following the curve of the arches to their connecting pillars and then down, she found shining incense burners hanging high above a sea of pews.

    She was in a church. It was built for far more people than the one back in Bearwood, but it was still recognizable.

    ¡°I¡¯m afraid you just missed morning service.¡± The sound of a voice returned Ilya¡¯s attention to back of the hall, where a woman in white priest robes stood tidying the altar.

    Her robes were large and billowy, drowning her body in fabric trimmed with bronze and gold, matching the tiara of metal that sat atop her head. A silky veil flowed out from the tiara, down over her braided hair and then her shoulders, framing her soft face.

    That face lifted from the altar to greet her. ¡°Mmm¡­ though it doesn¡¯t look like you¡¯re here for that.¡± Her eyes were the deepest blue Ilya had ever seen, deeper than even the cloudless sky visible through the skylight above them. Large and shimmering they observed her intensely, making her shift and shuffle, averting her own gaze.

    ¡°Hiding from someone?¡±

    Ilya flinched. Those massive windows made the church so blindingly bright, and yet the woman at the altar could see her clearly. She felt exposed, like a nocturnal animal forced out into the day.

    ¡°You¡¯re welcome to sit.¡± The priestly woman spoke again, stepping out from behind the altar and motioning to the frontmost row of pews. ¡°The house of our Lord is a refuge for all.¡±

    When her arm rose to gesture, her large sleeves slid down her arm to her elbow, revealing another layer underneath. The white fabric clung to the woman¡¯s arm much tighter than the rest of her robes, like a second skin that went all the way up to her wrist.

    Ilya hesitantly walked up the central aisle, drawing closer to the front seats and the woman who analyzed her every move. ¡°How long am I allowed to stay?¡± She asked, her voice amplified by the size of the hall.

    The woman smiled warmly, hands folded in front of her. ¡°As long as you like.¡±

    Ilya blinked. That was new.

    In the past, preachers allowed her to stay only so long as their sermons lasted. Gods and dragons, chaos and order, crime and punishment, the stories they told filled her with wonder, and yet they always ended with her being kicked out.

    Was that not the normal for priests? Was this woman the strange one? Ilya didn¡¯t know, but she wouldn¡¯t reject any opportunity to sit in a real seat.

    Reaching the front pew and sliding in, she made herself comfortable. The smooth and sanded wooden bench was far nicer to sit on than bumpy cobblestones, and she much preferred the supportive back of the pew to the balancing act of Issnur¡¯s high stools.

    Taking another look at the church around her, Ilya was again awed that so much light could exist in a single space. She had never really sat in the sun before, preferring the safety of a shadow, but maybe she should have. It was so warm, and with such a comfortable place to sit, Ilya could see herself falling asleep here.

    Sleep never came however, as the priestess stepped down from the altar¡¯s higher flooring to introduce herself. ¡°Blessings of the rising sun upon you.¡± She greeted. ¡°I am Annabelle, sister of the church and saint of Amasur.¡±

    Amasur rang a few bells in Ilya¡¯s memory, labeled ¡®god¡¯, but the other word did no such thing.

    ¡°What¡¯s a saint?¡± She asked aloud, curiosity breaking through her initial wariness. ¡°What does that mean?¡°

    Annabelle seemed pleased at the question, like she was hoping for it. ¡°It means many different things to many different people.¡±

    Taking a few steps down the aisle as she formed a more in depth explanation, Ilya watched the priestess slide into the pew across from her. She sat with her spine straight and her hands folded atop her lap, ignoring the perfectly good backrest just behind her.

    ¡°To some, it¡¯s simply a position of authority within the church. To others, it¡¯s a beacon of hope- a sign that the dark times are over and morning has come.¡±

    Lifting her gaze to the sunlight that streamed in through the windows, she continued. ¡°To me, it¡¯s a message: proof that my god trusts me to see his work done.¡± The blues of her irises sparkled with loving reverence. ¡°I am truly honoured to have that trust.¡±

    Ilya¡¯s eyes widened slightly. The words reverberated in her heart just as heavily as they echoed around the open church hall. She never expected to find someone she could relate to so exactly.

    ¡°Do¡­ do you get upgrades for being a saint?¡± Like a scale that cuts through metal nails as easily as foliage, or a rune carved into the flesh that protected the flesh from harm.

    Ilya suddenly found herself interested in this woman; in what other similarities their lives of service might share.

    Annabelle puffed a laugh through her nose, raising a knuckle to her lips. ¡°Saints are blessed with a deep affinity for magics of the faith.¡± She paused for a second, gauging Ilya¡¯s understanding before simplifying her explanation. ¡°That means spells of or relating to my god are far stronger and easier to cast than normal.¡±

    ¡°That sounds¡­ useful.¡± Ilya said with a slow nod- she had witnessed the power of spellcasting for herself. From turning a journey of days into hours, to calling down the might of storms, those lucky enough to have magical talent could change the world with just a few words.

    Annabelle hummed in agreement, her hand falling back into her lap. ¡°I work with the local adventurers from time to time and it¡¯s saved many lives.¡±

    All of a sudden, Ilya was reminded of the directions was supposed to be following; the specific place she had been told to visit. In the escape from the docks and the flurry of senses since, she had become distracted.

    ¡°Um¡­ I¡¯m supposed to find the adventurers guild in this city.¡± Ilya informed the saint beside her. Annabelle seemed to humour her questions so far, so she hoped that helpfulness would extend to giving directions as it had with her last guide.

    For a split second, Annabelle¡¯s eyes regained that same intense sheen. ¡°What happy coincidence¡­¡± Then it was gone.

    ¡°I was already planning on visiting the guild today.¡± She informed her guest. ¡°We can walk there together if you¡¯d like.¡± Ilya brightened at the suggestion, it would make her task a lot easier if she had someone to both lead her through the city and answer her questions on the way.

    Annabelle made no move to rise however, continuing to stare patiently at her. It was only after a few seconds of unbroken eye contact that Ilya realized the saint was waiting for her response and permission.

    ¡°Oh uh- Yes, I would like that.¡± She agreed awkwardly.

    Rising from the pew, Annabelle stepped back out into the aisle with a practiced grace. ¡°Then shall we?¡±

    Ilya nodded, sliding off of the pew to stand face to face- or face to throat -with the priestess. Annabelle was a good bit taller than her, something that shouldn¡¯t have been surprising, but the way the flowing robes hung off of the saint¡¯s body gave the impression she was smaller than she really was.

    ¡°Um¡­ I¡¯m Ilya by the way.¡± She introduced herself abruptly. No one had asked, but everyone she had met in the last month had given her their name similarly unprompted so it must have been a normal thing to do.

    Annabelle smiled wide at her introduction, as if she had been waiting. ¡°It¡¯s very nice to meet you, Ilya.¡±

    <hr>

    When the pair stepped out of the church, Ilya found the market somehow more busy than when she entered. More stalls had started to set up as crates from recently docked ships were delivered, and more customers arrived to meet them.

    ¡°As the sun rises, so too do the people of this city.¡± The saint said, gazing out over the sea of shoppers. ¡°Be sure to stay close, Ilya, I don¡¯t want us to be separated.¡± Ilya nodded and followed behind her guide, though a few steps to the left as to not have a face full of veil.

    Members of the crowd who noticed the saint stepped out of her path, some of the men removing their hats and some of the women clasping their hands in prayer. Ilya was given no such recognition, stumbling around people as they moved out of Annabelle¡¯s way and directly into hers. As much as she was used the disregard, being shoved around was incredibly frustrating, not to mention painful.

    Noticing Ilya falling behind, the saint slowed to a stop and offered her splayed fingers.

    Staring down at the back of the priestess¡¯ hand, Ilya could see the way her sleeve extended further than on the other side, white fabric tapering off until it attached to a gold ring on her middle finger. Ilya felt that ring press against her skin when she took Annabelle¡¯s hand- it was cold despite the rest of the priestess being very warm.

    ¡°Hold on tight, okay?¡±

    The strong yet gentle grip on her hand brought Ilya a stray sense of familiarity- a feeling with no memory attached.

    It was a bizarre sensation, to have forgotten, like returning to a place you swore you had left something, only to find nothing. Maybe this was what it felt like to have something stolen from you.

    ¡®I need to steal a new shirt.¡¯ Ilya thought as she was dragged through the crowd, her moment of empathy cast aside in favour of self interest. ¡®I¡¯ll need to canvass this place for a clothes seller later.¡¯ For now though, her fashion needs could wait.

    Annabelle led her safely across the market to one of the many streets that continually fed it new buyers and sellers. The road was still busier than any Ilya had ever travelled before, but at least now she could walk beside her guide without being shoved around.

    ¡°Is this place always so busy?¡± Ilya asked, bending forward so she could see the priestess¡¯ face.

    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

    ¡°Some days it is.¡± She replied. ¡°But this level of excitement is due to the upcoming decennial.¡±

    Ilya frowned. ¡°That¡¯s another word I don¡¯t know.¡± There would many more such words before her job in this city was over. Ilya only hoped her guide wouldn¡¯t get sick of constantly dumbing down her speech.

    ¡°A decennial is a festival celebrating ten years of something. In this case, ten years of the current king¡¯s rule.¡± Annabelle explained, leading her around a corner and down a new street.

    ¡°Do people like the king?¡± Ilya followed up. If she was to learn everything about the kingdom, its ruler was as good a place to start as any.

    The saint thought about it for a moment. ¡°Most think him decent- he does his duties well. But the shadow of the Hero-King is not so easy to escape.¡±

    Horns of warning blared through Ilya¡¯s skull: the H-word, spoken outside the abstraction of legend and sermon. ¡°¡­There¡¯s a Hero-King?¡± If the royalty of this kingdom had any possibility of being a threat, her Lady had to know.

    Her guide nodded, eyes forward on the road ahead. ¡°There was, long ago. Rollant. He conquered this land with his army of hunters and became the first king of Louterre.¡±

    ¡°His descendants have been struggling to live up to his legacy ever since.¡±

    A dark feeling welled in Ilya¡¯s chest, something like anger, but slow and dripping instead of the short lived fire she had always known. It might have been hate.

    Hate for a man arrogant enough to name himself king of a land already ruled.

    Hate for a celebration in honour of that arrogant man¡¯s successor instead of her Lady.

    Hate for a kingdom that ignored her Lady¡¯s magnificence.

    ¡®Louterre¡­¡¯

    She squeezed Annabelle¡¯s hand, her anger spilling out of her mind into the real world. She wanted to know more- she needed to.

    Annabelle spoke of the Hero-King only in the past tense, did that mean the current king was not a hero? Was he a mere man like any other? Or were his powers simply not as strong as the true Hero-King?

    The more questions continued to pile, the more Ilya anticipated their arrival at the adventurers guild. Answers would await her there.

    <hr>

    ¡°There¡¯s no one here!¡± Ilya cried with a frustrated pout, arriving to a mostly empty adventurers guild. ¡°Where is everyone?!¡±

    Looking around, she found most of the guild¡¯s tables seating only leftover cups and plates. A few members of the staff were going around the room collecting the dishes in a rolling cart, but they hadn¡¯t gotten very far.

    ¡°Breakfast usually finishes up around the same time morning service does.¡± Annabelle explained, scanning her gaze across the guild and smiling a silent greeting when one of the girls cleaning tables waved at her. ¡°Most members will be out questing by now.¡±

    Ilya crouched down to the floor dejectedly, her head in her hands. She had missed them by such a short amount of time. ¡°I have so many questions though¡­¡±

    The saint placed a soothing palm on top of her head. ¡°You¡¯ll get your chance. Perhaps fate is pushing you onto a different course for a time.¡±

    ¡°Is that Sister Annabelle?¡± Someone¡¯s voice suddenly came from the direction of the front desk.

    A woman¡¯s head poked out from the slot separating the area behind the desk from the back office. Her eyes and hair were a dark brown and her nose was small and button-like. ¡°Ah, it is! Good morning Sister.¡±

    Annabelle smiled with familiarity. ¡°Blessed light of morn upon you, Clara. I hope the breakfast rush went well?¡±

    The woman- Clara -retreated quickly back into the office to appear out of a different door. ¡°Yes Sister.¡± She said, approaching the saint and her moping ward. ¡°All of our commissions were accepted without argument or incident. Though there was one I thought you should know about.¡±

    ¡°Someone in need of my help?¡± Annabelle asked, like she expected it.

    The guild girl nodded, the many curls in her hair bouncing with each motion. ¡°There¡¯s been word of a sickness spreading around near the south docks. The Lord¡¯s office wants it taken care of before it turns into a plague.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ve already sent a few adventurers down there.¡± She continued. ¡°Anyone with [ Cure Ailment ] or an equivalent, as well as a few others to support them. Though with you there the disease would be entirely eradicated in hours.¡±

    Annabelle turned to look down at the girl crouched on the floor beside her. ¡°It seems I am needed. Would you come with me Ilya?¡± She offered a hand.

    Looking up at the priestess, Ilya weighed her options. If there were no adventurers for her leech knowledge off of, surely she should stick with her current guide. Annabelle was Ilya¡¯s only realistic way of navigating the city as well; without her she would be hopelessly lost.

    ¡°Okay¡­¡± She took the hand, using it to pull herself back to standing. There was only one choice.

    ¡°Sister, is that wise?¡± The guild girl questioned, holding her elbows beneath her chest. ¡°It would be safer for her to stay here, away from the illness.¡±

    Annabelle¡¯s lips turned slightly down, the first time Ilya had seen the saint do something other than smile. ¡°In the event of a plague, I would think the safest place is by my side. Do you disagree?¡±

    ¡°O-Of course not, Sister, but-¡°

    ¡°You guys don¡¯t have to worry about that.¡± Ilya interrupted the two women before they could start arguing over an impossibility. ¡°I¡¯m immune to getting sick.¡±

    ¡°Immune? I don¡¯t think-¡° Clara tried to start before the girl¡¯s expression caught her off guard. It was a face she had until then only seen on seasoned adventurers: a face of complete confidence in one¡¯s ability to return safe that eclipsed even the possibility of arrogance.

    This tiny waif was completely serious.

    ¡°[ Detect Disease ].¡± Annabelle spoke after a moment¡¯s thought, pressing two fingers against Ilya¡¯s forehead. There was a gold glow for a second before a quiet cracking noise caused the light to suddenly vanish.

    ¡°I knew you weren¡¯t lying to us, but this is quite extraordinary.¡± The saint announced, her blue eyes shimmering with curiosity. ¡°Everyone has at least a little Illness in them or on their skin, but you are completely clean, like a rushing waterfall.¡±

    ¡°I told you.¡± Ilya pouted at the guild girl. She would know if anything diseased touched her body, and her Lady¡¯s magic wouldn¡¯t let that disease live for long- it would protect her without fail.

    Clara¡¯s expression twisted in surprise, dropping her held arms. ¡°I¡­ huh? This girl is?! How?!¡±

    ¡°This girl is blessed, Clara.¡± Annabelle returned her hand to the top of Ilya¡¯s head. ¡°We don¡¯t need to understand it, only accept her gifts and guide her to do good deeds.¡±

    Ilya held back a proud grin, sucking in her lips. She was blessed, though the priestess might not be as happy if she revealed who by. Her Lady was wonderful to her, but these people didn¡¯t know her good side yet, only what the stories told them.

    If only they submitted themselves to her¡­

    ¡°We¡¯ll be back in an hour or two.¡± Annabelle said to the secretary, guiding Ilya back towards the entrance of the guild. ¡°Tell the Lord¡¯s office the matter¡¯s being taken care of.¡±

    Clara still felt unsteadied by the reveal, but bowed a professional goodbye as her job demanded. ¡°Ah- very well, Sister. Be safe.¡±

    Then the guild was quiet once more.

    ¡°Has she finally gone and adopted one of the street kids?¡± One of her co-workers eventually chimed in from the office, breaking the silence.

    Clara¡¯s hand went to her hip as she continued staring at the door. Annabelle had always been a bit of a mother hen, babying newbie adventurers and veterans alike, but her refusal to part with that girl was new.

    Something about her must have gotten the saint invested.

    ¡°She might have.¡±

    <hr>

    The part of the city where the sickness was said to be spreading looked uncomfortably familiar to Ilya. The quality of the buildings and roads were blatantly lower than elsewhere, and little effort had been put into maintaining anything apart from a few patch-jobs. As much as she had hoped otherwise, it seemed her hometown wasn¡¯t unique in the unbalanced focus of its wealth.

    Following the streets led the pair to a moderately sized court where many people were gathered. Most of the people in the court were normal folk, dressed in normal- if worn -clothing, but some were dressed very differently.

    Robes, giant hats, armour, cloaks- this group was likely the ones sent by the guild. Each of them crouched or stood by a patient, tending to the sick with spells or giving them food and water.

    Some patients sat on the ground around the court, some laid in what looked like short tables with bedding on them, while a long line of hopefuls waiting to be seen snaked out of the court and down the connecting street.

    ¡°Saint Annabelle!¡± One of the workers cried, visibly brightening when they saw the priestess approaching. They looked like a knight of some sort, in similarly designed armour to that paladin Her Lady had been eating recently- though that man¡¯s armour was far more expensive looking.

    ¡°Blessings of the morning upon you, Marcus.¡± Annabelle greeted, raising a hand to touch the necklace at her chest. ¡°The Judge sees your aid to these people and is pleased.¡±

    ¡°Thank you, Saint Annabelle, and thank you for coming.¡± He clasped both hands in front of him and bowed his head at Annabelle. Only when he raised his head did the paladin notice the thin girl standing next to the saint.

    ¡°Who is this?¡± He asked. ¡°Someone else in need of healing?¡±

    Annabelle shook her head, gesturing at the girl at her side to introduce her. ¡°This is Ilya, I will be¡­ teaching her for the foreseeable future.¡±

    The paladin¡¯s eyes widened, as if the saint showing a girl how she did her job was the biggest possible deal. ¡°What, really?!¡±

    ¡°Yes, really. This is a good learning opportunity for her.¡± Annabelle¡¯s smile was bright and also a little proud.

    Ilya looked between the two followers of Order with confusion. Was this some kind of church thing? Why were they so happy about her being there? It wasn¡¯t like she could do anything to help- she was just here to watch.

    Annabelle eventually moved the conversation along. ¡°Enough about that though, tell me about the situation here.¡± She folded her hands in front of her, tilting her chin up a bit to listen attentively.

    Paladin Marcus scratched the back of his head, looking down at the street bricks for a few moments before starting.¡°Well¡­ there¡¯s a lot more sick and a lot less dead than we thought there would be, like it spread so fast it hasn¡¯t really had time to kill anyone.¡±

    He went on to describe the symptoms of the sick: fever, disorientation, body pain, rash, as well as the common patterns they had been seeing in patients. The sickest and furthest along all had small bites in their feet and ankles and the rash always seemed to start there. ¡°We¡¯re thinking the local rats have gotten into something foul and are bringing the disease back with them.¡±

    Annabelle hummed, briefly closing her eyes in thought. ¡°That sounds reasonable. We can add it to the report.¡±

    She opened her eyes again, chin dropping back to the natural angle. ¡°Where am I needed the most?¡±

    ¡°There are a few patients that our low level cure spells don¡¯t seem to work on.¡± Marcus replied, crossing his arms and looking towards one of the healers as they worked. ¡°Yours are certainly strong enough to help them.¡±

    ¡°Consider it done.¡± Annabelle announced confidently. ¡°Lead me.¡±

    The paladin dropped his arms and nodded, leading the saint and her student to what would be a nondescript building if not for the big X symbol written on the door in chalk. On top of the symbol was a piece of paper with actual words on it, probably saying something about staying out.

    ¡°We moved them into this building away from the others.¡± He explained, gesturing to the door beside them. ¡°Just in case their different version is contagious.¡±

    Annabelle hummed again in agreement with the decision. ¡°Responsible- send me any more you receive and I¡¯ll take care of them. Now go, your spells are needed as well.¡± Shooing the paladin away to continue his work, she stepped inside the building, beckoning Ilya to follow her.

    One of the runes on Ilya¡¯s back heated up when they entered. It wasn¡¯t as warm as when she was back home in the swamp, but it was still soothing to the aches she acquired from being shoved around earlier.

    Many more makeshift beds were set up inside the building, all filled by very ill looking people, some of them lying motionless and others writing in pain. The rashes on their bodies were bad enough that they were obvious to even Ilya¡¯s untrained eye, and in some areas of exposed skin the flesh had began to rise in bubble like sores.

    Annabelle looked rather upset upon seeing the state of the sick, but Ilya didn¡¯t really get it- they were sick and she was going to fix it, what was there to feel upset about? All Ilya felt was a dull disgust at how gross the lumps looked.

    The saint moved around the room, looking over each of the patients with that same spell and those same glowing fingers from the guild. Her expression was grim but focused on the task at hand as the spell told her everything about what illness had befallen these people.

    Every step she explained aloud, from the diagnosis to the choice of spell based on the level of disease she was dealing with. It had to be strong enough to completely destroy the sickness but easy enough to cast that she wouldn¡¯t become exhausted before everyone could be cured.

    She eventually decided on a spell, moving to the centre of the room to kneel on the floor, eyes closed and hands clasped in prayer. Ilya could see her mouth moving but no words came out, not until the spell was finally unleashed.

    ¡°[ Purity ].¡± A pulse of light burst forth from the saint¡¯s skin, the stale air being pushed back by her power. The room turned an amber hue, as if the sun had suddenly started setting hours too early. Motes of gold light appeared from between the floorboards and slowly floated toward the ceiling, vanishing into the wood. For a good minute Ilya stood in silence, feeling her rune cool to nothing and watching the gross skin bubbles deflate.

    When the disease was extinguished, Annabelle rose from the ground, somehow not a speck of filth on her pristine white robes. She again moved about the room, checking on the newly cured patients who had fallen still but for a steady rise and fall of the chest that indicated sleep. She seemed very pleased with the results.

    Ilya must have had some kind of look on her face, because when the saint¡¯s eyes flicked right to look at her, they stayed there- staring.

    ¡°Have you ever tried casting magic before?¡± The saint suddenly asked, turning her head to meet Ilya¡¯s eyes properly.

    Ilya¡¯s eyebrows raised slightly. ¡°No? That¡¯s not something I can do.¡± If she had that capability she wouldn¡¯t be just standing there, waiting for someone to tell her something relevant about Louterre or its people. There were probably endless ways to gather information using magic, ways she couldn¡¯t even think of.

    ¡°You seem like a very capable young lady. I¡¯m sure you could do it if you tried.¡± Annabelle reassured, but her ward seemed unconvinced of her own potential.

    The saint stepped away from her patient and towards Ilya. ¡°Perhaps I should rephrase my question¡­ Would you like me to teach you magic?¡±

    Realizing what was being offered to her, Ilya nodded, first a one slow nod that quickly transformed into rapid up and down nodding. If she could learn how to cast- at least one single spell -she would increase her usefulness to Lady Visnavik by leaps and bounds. The more she thought on the benefits it would bring, the more Ilya really wanted to learn.

    Annabelle¡¯s irises absolutely sparkled with joy, the same intensity from earlier that morning returning in full force. ¡°Alright then.¡± She said with a bright smile. ¡°Let¡¯s find somewhere to sit and I can show you where to start.¡±

    The saint led her away from the room housing the recovering patients and into a cozy side room where two chairs sat under a window flanked by bookshelves. Ilya chose a chair at random and her teacher took the other, settling in the chair just as primly as back in the church.

    ¡°The very first step to learning any kind of spellcasting is learning how to open your soul to mana.¡± She explained. ¡°A closed soul is like a closed sail, unable to catch the wind.¡±

    Ilya frowned. ¡°How do I do that? That sounds hard.¡± Indeed, it sounded like the kind of thing that required a great deal of prior knowledge or training.

    ¡°For some people it is, but I believe in your abilities.¡± Annabelle seemed convinced she could do it, looking at her with such expectation that Ilya felt pressured to at least try her best.

    Seeing her student nod in comprehension, the saint continued the lesson. ¡°The way I first learned was with this metaphor: imagine a little candle sitting in its holder- it¡¯s surrounded by glass, right?¡± Ilya tried to imagine the object as instructed, closing her eyes tightly.

    A bronze holder of simple shape, the kind of piece that a modest orc lumberer could afford with his monthly wage. The glass was thin and fragile, but even a weak wall could protect the flame inside from the stray breezes of a cold evening.

    ¡°Imagine that a little door suddenly appears in that glass.¡± Annabelle instructed. ¡°Imagine yourself opening that door with the intent to let me in. The intent is very important.¡± Ilya couldn¡¯t see the saint¡¯s face through closed eyes, but her expression was probably very serious.

    ¡°Tell me when you feel this- it should feel like a weird tickle. That¡¯s how you¡¯ll know you¡¯ve done it right.¡±

    It took a few minutes, straining her brain to clear up the picture in her mind¡¯s eye- to make colours deeper and lines sharper -but eventually the warned about tickle appeared. It felt like a worm or insect wriggling under her skin, trying to get into somewhere it shouldn¡¯t be.

    ¡°I think I have it?¡± Ilya informed her teacher. ¡°It feels really weird and bad.¡±

    Annabelle put a comforting hand on her knee. ¡°That¡¯s alright, it¡¯s just me channelling mana into you- it feels like that for everyone at first. Do you feel the pressure underneath that weirdness? Try and make that pressure bigger on your own.¡±

    It was incredibly easy to focus on the feeling of something extra in place only her soul had ever occupied before, but filling that space further was extremely hard, like flexing a muscle you didn¡¯t realize you had.

    Half an hour passed as she tried to increase the amount of magic within her, the saint occasionally getting up from time to time to treat new arrivals. She always returned to her chair when they were cured, continuing to patiently watch her student¡¯s efforts.

    The final increase was minuscule compared to all the work she put in, but after another ten minutes of no progress, she knew that was her maximum. ¡°I pushed it a little more¡­ it¡¯s not much.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s good!¡± Annabelle praised anyway, leaning forward. ¡°You see? I knew you could do it.¡±

    ¡°Now keep that pressure steady, I¡¯m going to move your hands and fingers.¡± Ilya felt the saint¡¯s hands doing just that, guiding her through a series of motions one at a time. Her focus was now split between holding the magic inside of herself and remaining mentally present for the gestures of casting.

    ¡°Imagine someone hurt, someone who needs your help.¡± The priestess instructed, bringing Ilya¡¯s hands around one more time to cup around an empty space. ¡°Pray to the gods for them to be healed. Say the word and have faith that they will be.¡±

    Ilya had tried praying before, after sitting in on her first sermon- after being told of the mercy the gods gave to those who asked for it. The prayers she made weren¡¯t to any specific god, she was just throwing her desperate pleas for something better into the sky for any being that might listen or respond. To her knowledge, nothing ever did, and she eventually stopped trying, but if this was what it took to cast a spell, she would try again.

    In her mind she called out into the nothingness, asking the vague concept of a god to take the magic she had gathered and give her the power to heal or cure. She couldn¡¯t think of anyone she wanted to help or heal except herself, but she hoped the image of herself broken and beaten was sufficient.

    ¡°[ Heal ].¡±

    A tiny golden light appeared between Ilya¡¯s palms, no brighter than a single star on the night of a full moon. She felt the warmth against her skin, but it was barely distinguishable from the warmth that Annabelle¡¯s hands left behind.

    ¡°W-What?¡± Annabelle breathed, sounding very confused, like she expected a different outcome from a magic novice¡¯s first spell. ¡°That¡­ that can¡¯t be right. Why is it so weak?¡± She was talking aloud, and with an uncharacteristically curt choice of words.

    Ilya looked down at the tiny thing, it was terrible and small, but it was her first spell- proof that it was possible for her. ¡°I don¡¯t have much faith in any gods.¡± She said truthfully. ¡°Maybe that¡¯s why it¡¯s weak.¡±

    ¡°What do you have faith in then?¡± Annabelle replied, seeming like she was grasping at mist.

    ¡®My Lady¡­¡¯ Ilya thought instinctively. Someone she truly wished to serve, someone who had granted her wishes without ever hearing them; someone she could sing praises of endlessly if only the people would listen.

    In the next second the spell mutated, ballooning from a point the size of a pinhead to a ball the size of a melon; it¡¯s colour morphing from a soft gold to a dark green.

    Ilya cried out as the ball of darkness quickly tore the flesh of her palms and fingers apart, taking layer after layer of skin until the pain broke the girl¡¯s focus and stopped the spell. She was left with raw and bloody red hands, shaking from the speed and severity of the damage inflicted on them.

    Annabelle immediately jumped into action, taking the girl¡¯s palms into her gentle grip, glowing with soothing sunlight. The healing spell was so much brighter and warmer than the one she had managed, and within seconds the damage was gone.

    Looking up from the smooth new skin, Ilya saw Annabelle¡¯s expression: her eyes blown wide in a severe panic, her lips quivering as she inhaled shaking breaths. The saint eventually closed her eyes and took in two slow, deep lungfuls, bringing herself down into something resembling calm.

    Bending forward, the saint pressed her forehead into their joined hands, taking another deep shuddering breath. ¡°Please¡­ never try casting that spell again.¡± She sounded like she might be crying.

    Ilya stared silently at the top of Annabelle¡¯s head as she sniffled, her face blank.

    Time passed slowly after that.

    The saint eventually pulled herself together enough to return to her work, curing the rest of the patients in the sick house before leaving to help with the line. Ilya remained inside, whittling away at sticks she found next to the building¡¯s fireplace until shavings covered the floor.

    An hour or so of waiting later, Annabelle came to pick her up, lingering sadness replaced by amusement when she saw the mess in the sitting room.

    ¡°Let¡¯s go. The adventurers have likely returned by now.¡± She said, offering both hands to help the girl to her feet. ¡°Someone else will clean this up.¡±

    Spine straightening at the thought of finally getting the information she needed, Ilya hopped off the chair on her own, tossing her half finished craft aside shoving her Lady¡¯s scale in her pocket.

    She grabbed one of the saint¡¯s hands with both of hers, dragging the woman out the door.

    <hr>

    They returned to the guild in record time, mostly thanks to the simplicity of Annabelle¡¯s directions and her long legs allowing her to keep pace with a jogging Ilya.

    The street rat burst through the entrance, a grin splitting her face as she took in the sight.

    Just as Annabelle had suggested it would be, the place was packed, every table filled with adventurers and even more standing around together near the front desk.

    ¡°Here¡¯s your chance, Ilya.¡± Annabelle murmured, gently pushing the girl forward as she stepped through the door behind her. ¡°Speak with some of the adventurers, I have to give my report to the staff.¡±

    Waving brief goodbye to Annabelle, Ilya looked out excitedly at all of the potential teachers drinking, laughing and talking with one another around the guild. Who should she start with? There were so many.

    Her manic back and forth scan of the room was halted when she spotted a familiar figure a short distance from her.

    A grumpy looking young woman sat alone at one of the tables, glaring into her mug. Her eyes were a deep crimson, sharp and focused- punctuated by a small beauty mark beneath her lower eyelid. Her brown hair was rough and unkempt, bound in a half ponytail that still left most of it to fall to her shoulders. Sheathed daggers were strapped to her thighs with leather belts, easily accessible at all times, like if she needed to threaten someone.

    ¡°It¡¯s you!¡± She exclaimed, pointing at the adventurer.

    Realizing she was being spoken to, the red-eyed woman looked up only for her brow to sink and her eyes to widen in utter disbelief.

    ¡°You.¡± She growled, pointing back.

    ¡°Miss thief!¡± Ilya beamed, arms opening wide as if she was greeting a long time friend.

    ¡°I¡¯M NOT A THIEF FUCK OFF!¡±

    from the sketches of the author:

 Dreams of Damnation - Chapter 8

    The adventurer Lucia was of the solitary sort.

    Repeat encounters were rare for her- in fact something she actively tried to avoid. She moved from town to town, doing enough commissions to pay her way, talking to few and never looking anyone in the eyes if she could help it.

    And yet.

    Twice now had this little street rat accosted her, appearing from nowhere to call her something she was not. Twice now had Lucia been forced to glare into those glassy grey eyes and raise her voice.

    ¡°Why are you following me?!¡± She demanded, before suddenly closing her eyes and shaking her head when an even better question arose to replace the first. ¡°How did you even get here??!¡±

    ¡°I hid in a box.¡± The girl explained simply, expression blank as if that was a normal, everyday occurrence. ¡°The traders carried me on their cart- it was actually pretty easy.¡±

    The fire of Lucia¡¯s anger suddenly sputtered and died at the admission. This kid really didn¡¯t give a shit about anything, did she? Lucia remembered their first meeting in Bearwood¡¯s guild; she was equally blas¨¦ about her crimes then.

    ¡°Getting down here from the highlands costs a good chunk of cash.¡± She stated grumpily, feeling the empty coin purse hang at her hip. ¡°Stowing away like that¡­ you got guts, kid.¡±

    ¡°Of course I do???¡± The girl seemed confused, placing both arms around her stomach protectively ¡°I mean- I haven¡¯t seen them b-but you¡¯re not supposed to, right?¡±

    There was a brief bout of silence as Lucia struggled to comprehend just what the fuck the girl was talking about. When the realization finally came, an exasperated sigh came along with it.

    ¡°¡­All guts and no brains, huh?¡± Lucia pressed a hand against her face, dragging it downward and stretching the skin around her eye. ¡°What are you even doing here, kid?¡±

    The girl seemed to actually stop to think about what she was about to say, a rarity from what Lucia had experienced of her. Her eyes dropped to her fingers, her right hand fiddling with the pronounced bones of her left before moving her gaze back up to meet Lucia¡¯s again.

    ¡°¡­I always wanted to leave that town- even just for a little while.¡± The admission was quiet- restrained, so much so that Lucia struggled to hear it over the sounds of the guild. ¡°I wanted to learn about the world outside.¡±

    ¡°I have so many questions, and someone told me that adventurers could answer them.¡± She looked out at the rest of the guild, eyes hopping from person to person.

    Lucia sighed, closing her eyes and rubbing at her temples. ¡°If I help you; answer your stupid questions, will you leave me alone?¡±

    ¡°Yes! Yes I promise!¡± The girl hopped up on the chair opposite of her, a determination igniting behind those dull glassy eyes, akin to a fisherman, finally reeling in a catch after a long day on the water.

    The questions came fast. Lucia tried her best to answer each as they were fired off, but they were relentless.

    Was the Hero-King alive? If he was, they would be celebrating more than just ten years.

    Had she met any heroes before? Probably not? Heroes didn¡¯t look any different from normal people though, so she couldn¡¯t be sure.

    How many elves had she seen? A few? A bunch if you counted half elves. There weren¡¯t as many as humans or orcs, but they were around.

    Were there more kinds of beings in Louterre? Yes. But not all of them played nice with humans so you wouldn¡¯t see them around human cities.

    How many adventurers were there? A lot? It¡¯s really hard to-

    Was the adventurers guild bigger than the military? She didn¡¯t-

    Which one was stronger? That¡¯s-

    How strong was the current king?

    ¡°I don¡¯t know!¡± She finally snapped, throwing up her hands. ¡°You know what, help revoked! Get lost!¡±

    ¡°But I still have-¡°

    ¡°Noon quests!¡± The thump of a heavy stack of papers and the sound of a woman¡¯s voice pierced through the rumble of conversation, bringing all attentions to the back of the guild.

    Many guild workers stood in front of the quest board, the quest assignments themselves placed on a table nearby.

    In a practiced motion, the guild workers split the stack, a synchronous click against the table¡¯s surface straightening the new smaller piles. Employees carrying a stack of papers paired up with employees carrying a cushion filled with pins and together the pairs rapidly covered the entire quest board with new commissions.

    When at last every quest was posted, the employees lined up together in a row. ¡°Thank you for waiting!¡± The woman in the middle announced, then the guild workers all bowed as one before breaking ranks to return to their posts.

    Lucia took the showy procedure as an opportunity to escape from the table, power walking across the hall before the street rat could continue to badger her.

    She reached the board before anyone else, free to scan across its entirety for something suitable while the rest of the guild was scarfing down the last of their meals.

    Her eyes drifted to the lower threat side of the board; after the mental strain of the last ten minutes, the idea of doing anything actually difficult made her headache throb.

    Taking a quest paper from the low threat side at random, Lucia slowly read through the handwritten description.

    <blockquote>

    SCOUT AND REPORT!

    Outlet flow of city sewer system abnormally dirty, sudden decrease in population of water treatment slimes likely.

    Suggested causes in order of decreasing likelihood:

    - Increased territoriality and aggression in sewer rat populations due to social changes such as the rise of a new direrat alpha.

    - Infestation of foreign creatures aggressive or predatory to common slime species.

    - Illegal dumping of material harmful to common slime species into city sewer system such as non-neutralized alchemical wastes.

    - Purposeful sabotage of city water treatment by malicious actors.

    Accepting guild member(s) will confirm the population decline, confirm the cause of the population decline, and eliminate any and all threats to sanitation workers so that stabilization/restoration of slime populations may begin. Facial masks will be provided to prevent exposure to toxic fumes.

    </blockquote>

    It went on to discuss the exact rates of pay based on what exactly the cause of the problem ended up being. The most likely reward wasn¡¯t a huge payout, but she just needed enough to pay her room fee for the next few days. Lucia also worked solo, meaning she wouldn¡¯t have to split it with anyone.

    ¡°Sewers¡­ just like old times.¡± She mumbled to herself, stepping back from the board so that the mob of other mercenaries approaching wouldn¡¯t trample her. It had been a long while since she graduated from sewer quests, but the adventurer still held a certain respect for their role in shaping her into a real fighter.

    A head of black hair suddenly leaned in to partially block her view and interrupt her reminiscing. ¡°What does it say? I can¡¯t read.¡± The little stowaway had followed her to the board.

    Her head throbbed again.

    ¡°I thought I told you to get lost!¡± Lucia growled, turning to shove the annoyance away. ¡°I can¡¯t help you!¡±

    ¡°I promised to leave you alone if you answered all my questions.¡± The girl stated with a small frown, stepping back towards her to try and make sense of the letters on the quest sheet. ¡°I still have questions, so I won¡¯t go.¡±

    ¡°What kind of quest is it?¡± She asked when she got too lost in the length of the sentences. ¡°Is it hard?¡±

    Lucia blew air through her closed teeth. ¡°Pssh, no. It looks like pest control- rats. I¡¯ll be done this in less than an hour.¡± Even when she was a weakling starting out, rat culling wasn¡¯t a massive time investment.

    ¡°If it¡¯s easy then can I come?¡±

    ¡°What?¡± Lucia felt her face scrunch up. ¡°Fuck no. I¡¯m not gonna babysit you.¡±

    ¡°But I¡¯ve got armour and a weapon and everything!¡± The kid protested, pointing to her dirty leather chest piece with one hand and holding up what looked like a sharpened chunk of obsidian in the other.

    ¡°That looks like rock. You¡¯re gonna defend yourself with a rock?¡±

    ¡°How dare you!¡± The girl suddenly cried, holding the rock to her chest; seeming genuinely offended. ¡°This is far more precious than any rock- it cuts better too.¡±

    A woman in white approached the arguing pair before Lucia could retort. ¡°Who¡¯s this Ilya? Did you make a friend?¡± The colour and decoration of her robes made her identity unmistakable.

    Lucia¡¯s teeth clenched together tight, her eyes widening. What the fuck was the Saint of Amasur doing here?! This had to be a nightmare: the two individuals she had wanted to see the least, together in one place.

    ¡°Yes!¡± Ilya, as she was apparently called, nodded to the priestess with a smile. ¡°We¡¯re gonna go on a quest together!¡±

    ¡°A quest? How wonderful! I¡¯ll come with you then.¡± Saint Annabelle looked down at the girl with warm eyes, causing Lucia¡¯s grasp of reality to slip further. How did such an open and unrepentant criminal get a servant of the god of justice to look at her like that?

    Her confusion twisted into anger when she registered what the pair had actually said. ¡°Fuck you aren¡¯t! Either of you! This is my quest and I¡¯m running it solo.¡±

    ¡°You go on quests without a party?¡± Annabelle quizzed, her expression turning moderately concerned. ¡°What possible reason could you have for that?¡± This was bad. Playing 20 questions with the stupid kid was bad enough, doing it with a saint could only end in her being smote.

    ¡°Because I don¡¯t want to split the reward with anyone.¡± She grumbled, hoping the reason sounded convincing enough to prevent an inquisition. ¡°None of your business!¡± She added when the saint¡¯s expression refused to change.

    ¡°Why does a saint want to go on a sewer quest, huh? You¡¯re complete overkill! Don¡¯t you have more important shit to be doing with all that power?¡± She was shouting now, drawing attention from other members of the guild.

    Annabelle¡¯s eyes gleamed with curiosity, her short eyebrows slowly rising. ¡°Ahh. So you¡¯ve picked up that quest. I was just speaking with the staff about it: there may be a relation between the problem and a recent outbreak of illness.¡±

    She continued, pressing her right hand against the street rat¡¯s mid back. ¡°I was simply going to follow along to watch over Ilya, but this gives me an additional reason to see the quest through.¡± Fuck. Fuck her and her big mouth and her need to always have the last word- now the saint was invested.

    The saint placed her left palm on her chest, her head tilting down in a slight bow. ¡°Do not worry about my abilities; I will only be present in a supportive role. Any spell I cast will be purely for the sake of Ilya¡¯s safety, you have my word.¡±

    ¡°Do not worry about the reward either, we have no need of it. I want for nothing, and so long as Ilya is in my care, neither will she.¡±

    Lucia¡¯s tongue pressed against the back of her teeth. There really wasn¡¯t any way out of this- she was fucked. The saint wasn¡¯t afraid of her and definitely couldn¡¯t be hurt by her, so her usual bluster and threats would be useless. Her last resort of letting the quest go and picking another was also shot down, as when she turned desperately to the board, she found the entire low threat side had been picked clean.

    A strained sound forcing its way past her clenched teeth was her last form of resistance before she finally relented. Lucia, defeated, made her way through the long line to the front desk, and when the guild girl asked for her total party size, for the first time in years, she answered. ¡°¡­Three.¡±

    <hr>

    ¡°What are these for?¡± Ilya asked as Annabelle helped her tighten the mask so that it properly hugged her nose and chin in the right way. The newly formed party was stood in the middle of a nondescript street in the Midgate District, a heavy stone manhole cover at their feet, ready to be lifted out by a nearby worker.

    ¡°They¡¯re enchanted with [ Clean ]. It does exactly as the name suggests.¡± The worker explained, resting his weight on the tall, hoe-like implement he had brought with him. ¡°Wizards and the like use it for household chores, but those masks use it to clean the air before you breathe it in.¡±

    Seeing the mask was snug, Annabelle patted the girl¡¯s covered cheeks before moving to put on her own. ¡°Sewage systems are filled with terribly foul air that is also dangerous.¡± She continued where the worker left off, her voice becoming slightly muffled as the tightly woven fabric covered her mouth. ¡°These masks will keep us safe.¡±

    The adventurer Lucia stood off to the side, tapping her foot impatiently. She had her mask on within seconds, but the worker wouldn¡¯t open the cover until all party members were ready to enter. Annabelle had tried to placate her on the walk over, but the woman remained standoffish and rude, vocal in her desire to complete the commission as quickly as possible and then never see them again.

    It wasn¡¯t the most optimal environment for Ilya¡¯s first quest, socially speaking, but she hoped the experience would still be valuable.

    When at last everyone was ready, the worker hooked a heavy chain into the manhole cover, attaching the other to the end of his tool. ¡°Stand back.¡±

    Stepping on the slightly curved head of the tool to anchor it to the ground, he yanked the handle back like a lever, pulling the cover out of its hole.

    ¡°This will also be your exit point.¡± The worker informed the trio as they descended into the hole. ¡°When you¡¯re done, just follow the map back here. More of the guys will be here soon to watch over the entrance and your stuff.¡±

    The stone pipe they landed in was just tall enough for Annabelle to stand up straight and just wide enough that Ilya could stand beside her without either of them pressing against the walls. Leaving her bulky top layers on the surface had been a sound decision; as much as she loved her full regalia, it would have been a hindrance in such cramped confines.

    The daylight coming in through the manhole lit up the pipe slightly, but the brightness it provided only spanned a few feet, quickly giving way to darkness in either direction.

    ¡°[ Guidelight ].¡±

    With a word, a warm glowing ball popped into existence, its lazy movements matching the direction of the saint¡¯s finger. She dragged a fingertip through the air, guiding the light directly above Lucia so she could read the map better.

    ¡°If we follow this it should link up to the main line somewhere.¡± Lucia mumbled, more to herself than to her party. ¡°Then we can follow the main line to a filter chamber and see if the slimes are all dead.¡±

    ¡°Out of my way.¡± She shoved past rudely, eyes glued on the map as she walked out of the range of any light source, vanishing into the blackness.

    After a brief moment of staring after her, the saint looked down at Ilya. ¡°Dealing with unfriendly people is an unavoidable part of living life.¡± She spoke softly so that her voice wouldn¡¯t echo down the pipe to Lucia. ¡°They always have their own reasons and circumstances, even if it doesn¡¯t seem like it.¡±

    ¡°Okay.¡± Ilya replied simply, accepting her teachings without comment. The saint smiled- she didn¡¯t understand, but she was trying to, which was what mattered in the end.

    Raising a finger to control the light, Annabelle took the smaller girl¡¯s hand in hers. ¡°We should try and catch up with her. She has the only map after all.¡± Ilya nodded silently, shifting her grip on the priestess¡¯ hand but not pulling away.

    The pipe turned and twisted as they walked, passing many holes in the wall where much smaller pipes emptied their contents into the larger one.

    ¡°I¡¯ve never seen a sewer before.¡± Ilya spoke up suddenly, looking from side to side at the carefully fitted stones. ¡°I think the east side back home had one, but near the alley I slept in they just dumped stuff out onto the street.¡±

    Annabelle had guessed that Ilya was a gamin from the way she carried herself- the saint had seen many like her before -but that didn¡¯t make it any easier. Children deserved to be loved; to live in a warm and clean home, safe from danger. They deserved justice.

    She gripped the girl¡¯s hand tighter. Though the innocence of childhood was long gone for this one, the saint had been guided to her nonetheless. Lord Amasur had surely seen the injustice from on high: that one so blessed would be left to rot in the gutter, her potential unfulfilled and her holy gifts tainted.

    The image of Ilya¡¯s palms, bloody and broken, flashed behind Annabelle¡¯s eyes.

    Her jaw set. She needed to stop thinking about this.

    ¡°Sewers are an important step in building a proper city.¡± She explained, hoping to distract herself with her role as a mentor. ¡°Poor management of waste can lead to all kinds of diseases.¡±

    ¡°You said that this quest might be related to those people who got sick.¡± Ilya replied after a moment of silent thought. ¡°Is that because these sewers are broken? That thing that man said about rats before?¡±

    ¡°A very good connection!¡± A smile returned to Annabelle¡¯s face; her student was such a clever girl. ¡°It¡¯s the easiest explanation for the disease, yes. As for what the ultimate cause is, that remains to be seen.¡±

    Ilya nodded in understanding but said nothing else after that, allowing herself to be guided along by the arm.

    The pair eventually caught up to Lucia, standing at what seemed to be the end of the pipe with her twin daggers in each hand. The stained blades glinted in the warm orange glow of the guidelight, brightening one half of her body while the other half darkened in shadow. At her feet was a large red splatter, the moving water slowly cutting a line through it as it washed the blood away into the next room.

    ¡°Did you kill something?¡± Ilya seemed rather excited at the prospect, freeing her hand from the saint¡¯s grip and running up to the other woman.

    ¡°Yeah, a fuckin¡¯ rat.¡± Lucia confirmed with a grunt, expression bored. ¡°We¡¯re in a sewer, there¡¯s rats.¡±

    Ilya moved to the very end of the pipe and looked over the edge, opening her eyes wider to adjust for the lack of light. ¡°Oh, wow.¡± She breathed, blinking twice. ¡°Why is that rat so big?¡±

    Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.

    ¡°They¡¯re dire rats.¡± Lucia¡¯s brows knitted together with annoyance. ¡°I thought you were from Bearwood, you¡¯ve never seen a direbeast before?¡±

    ¡°I know they exist and people hunt them sometimes.¡± Ilya replied, looking up from the bloody corpse to meet Lucia¡¯s eyes. ¡°I was too busy trying to not starve to go out and see one.¡± The way the shadows hugged her gaunt features was proof enough of that.

    Annabelle caught the way the roguish woman¡¯s expression softened in pity: an almost imperceptible relaxing of the jaw and brow. It didn¡¯t last long, replaced soon after by her usual scowl and scoff, but for a brief moment the saint and the adventurer were on the same page.

    She walked forward to join them, frowning as the smell of human waste became perceptible even through the mask. Directing her guidelight out of the pipe, the saint illuminated the area it spilled out into.

    Stone maintenance pathways ran alongside a dark and foul stream, other pipes similar to their own dotted around, adding fresh sewage to the flow. There was a cut in the pipe¡¯s wall to their right, where a narrow set of steps allowed them to descend safely.

    Lucia forwent the stairs, walking off the edge of the pipe and letting the direrat¡¯s corpse break her fall with a wet crunch. Stepping off the crushed body, she kicked it a few times, rolling the rat into the river to be carried away into the blackness.

    ¡°There¡¯s probably a filter chamber down that way¡­¡± The adventurer hummed to herself. ¡°¡­but the water¡¯s already so fucked up here...¡± She turned her neck to look up and down the waterway before sheathing her blades and pulling out the map. If the system was failing this badly, even this far up the main line, the earliest chambers must have been completely lifeless.

    The slimes used in sewers weren¡¯t especially durable, but one had to make a dedicated effort if they wanted to clear out a whole filter. Populations tended to scale with the amount of gunk there was to eat, so a filtration chamber in a bigger city like Flavenport should have hundreds of the fuckers. Not so easy to exterminate.

    ¡°Hey, Lucia?¡± Ilya¡¯s voice interrupted her train of thought before she could speculate further. The girl had made it down the steps and was now hovering next to her, another question waiting to be fired.

    ¡°I¡¯m busy.¡± Lucia grumbled without looking up from the map. ¡°What do you want?¡± If she got their current position right, the pipe spit them out midway between two filter chambers, making it no faster to go upstream or downstream.

    ¡°Can I kill the next rat we find?¡± Ilya asked, her enthusiasm audible. ¡°Annabelle says I should practice defending myself and I also really want to use my knife.¡± There were a few swishes of air as she swung at nothing to demonstrate.

    Again, the adventurer didn¡¯t look up from the map. ¡°Be my guest.¡± As long as the kid didn¡¯t slow her down and as long as she got paid, Lucia couldn¡¯t give a shit about who killed what.

    ¡°She says it¡¯s okay!¡± Ilya relayed loudly, rushing back to the saint¡¯s side. Lucia cringed at the way her voice echoed, reverberating through the tunnel and alerting anything that lived to her presence. At least their targets would come to them now.

    Lucia tucked the map away once more with a sigh, gesturing upstream. ¡°We¡¯re heading that way, towards the source. Mind the pipes overhead unless you wanna get just fuckin¡¯ covered in actual shit.¡±

    ¡°Thank you for the reminder, Miss Lucia.¡± The saint was making some sort of face at her from under the protective mask. ¡°I will forgive your¡­ crass word choice.¡±

    She made a face back. ¡°How generous of you.¡±

    They didn¡¯t have to wait long for the consequences of Ilya¡¯s shouting to manifest. A few minutes of walking and the party found themselves face to face with a swarm of normal rats and another direrat. The hound sized creature looked a little worse for wear, patches of its body blistering and hairless, but that didn¡¯t seem to deter it from attacking them.

    ¡°Oh! My turn!¡± Ilya cheered, jumping in front of the two older women. She stood with her feet shoulder width apart, ten fingers wrapped around the leather bindings the blade had in place of a real handle. It was a decent enough stance for a first timer; Lucia was almost impressed.

    The direrat did not seem to share her sentiment however, immediately charging forward and shoving its body weight into the girl¡¯s gut. Ilya let out a rather pathetic cry of surprise as she was tossed back, landing in a heap on the filthy stone floor.

    Annabelle hurried to her side, kneeling down to check her head and torso for injury.

    ¡°Wow.¡± Lucia sputtered a laugh, the mixture of amusement and disappointment bubbling past her lips. ¡°Taken out by a single rat- you fucking suck!¡± She didn¡¯t even care that the saint was glaring at her, it felt too good to say it out loud.

    ¡°It¡¯s a very big rat¡­¡± The girl whined in defence, lifting her head from Annabelle¡¯s lap to glance warily at her assaulter. The rat wasn¡¯t pressing pursuit, simply sitting there and hissing vulgarities at the skinny little orphan it had successfully beaten down.

    A single knife was drawn from a sheathe on Lucia¡¯s chest, one closer in length to the girl¡¯s obsidian shard. ¡°Watch and learn.¡± She announced, flipping the blade to hold in reverse grip.

    The rat, seeing its territory was still under threat, stood back on its hind legs, hissing louder and puffing out its fur. Lucia continued approaching with her dagger, unaffected by its attempts at intimidation.

    Eventually realizing violence was the only option, the direrat returned to all fours, barring its teeth and pouncing at the adventurer. A quick sidestep moved Lucia out of the rat¡¯s way, her bicep curling until her fist almost touched her ear before twisting to forcefully stab the blade down into the animal¡¯s neck.

    Hot blood shot out of severed arteries, splattering her arm and face and chest in red. Lucia didn¡¯t even blink- she was used to it.

    The beast squirmed wildly as life drained from its body, but she held the blade firmly in place until it stilled.

    ¡°With a short knife like this, opportunities to attack are limited.¡± Lucia explained, placing a boot on the corpse to yank her weapon free. ¡°You have to either wait for an opening or create your own.¡±

    ¡°I doubt you could pull off any slick feints or dodges, so you¡¯ll have to hang back and look for chances to-¡± Lucia suddenly pursed her lips shut, frowning as she realized just how genuine she was being; how real her advice had been. When her red eyes shifted sideways toward her party members, she found Ilya staring back with rapt attention and Annabelle raising a brow questioningly, both waiting for her to continue.

    She did not continue. Wiping the edges of the dagger clean, Lucia silently slipped it back into its sheathe and turned to continue walking, muttering to herself all the while. ¡®Stupid, stupid, stupid.¡¯

    <hr>

    The trio eventually reached the end of the path, a wall of stone separating the tunnel they stood in from the filter chamber on the other side. A large grate allowed sewage to pass through the wall, though a dark gunk was beginning to build up between the bars, putting a timer on the liquid¡¯s continued flow.

    Off to the side, a tar treated door marked ¡®access¡¯ allowed them to go around the obstruction and into a cramped storage room.. A long crate lying flush against the wall held equally long staves with metal hoops affixed perpendicularly at the ends, as well as what looked to be very long fishing nets. There were other barrels sitting around the room as well, and by their labels they were said to be filled with different substances for nurturing newborn slimes.

    Lucia walked past all of the containers, stopping before another treated door, this one heavily reinforced and secured with multiple metal bars that would have to be unlatched and pushed aside before it would open.

    ¡°Behind this is the filter chamber.¡± The adventurer explained, more to Ilya than to the saint, but Annabelle still offered her attention.

    ¡°The slimes are probably all dead, but the quest says we still have to check.¡± As unhappy as she sounded about having to do it, Annabelle was still impressed at the woman¡¯s adherence to their task¡¯s instructions.

    ¡°I¡¯m opening it.¡±

    A few quick motions and the screech of metal against metal were all it took for the door to be unlocked, and with a forceful two handed tug at the handle, the door slowly swung open.

    The room was even more foul smelling than the river of sewage outside, causing the saint and the adventurer to turn their heads away and retch, though Ilya seemed totally unaffected.

    ¡°What¡¯s fucking wrong with you?! Why are you fine?!¡± Lucia snarled at the girl, though another gagging fit stole her attention away again.

    The enchanted masks kicked into overdrive, cleansing the air enough to allow Annabelle to inhale without her lungs objecting. The saint brought a hand to her chest, feeling the rise and fall slow as her breaths normalized.

    Beside her, Lucia coughed up the last of the toxins into her own mask. ¡°Let¡¯s just get this over with.¡± She angrily threw the door the rest of the way open, stepping across the threshold and into the room.

    The chamber was large and boxy, four walls of equal length holding up a square ceiling, with a circuit of metal and wood scaffolding allowing one to walk the perimeter. Apart from this perimeter of platforms, the room was an open pit, filled with dark sewage that bubbled slightly as gas escaped its depths. Lucia peered over the edge and into the pit, looking for any movement that indicated the filter was even slightly active.

    ¡°Like I guessed, it¡¯s no fuckin¡¯ party down there¡­¡± The adventurer grumbled, squatting down to bring her eyes a little closer to the target of her scrutiny. ¡°There might be one? Maybe?¡±

    ¡°Might just be the current, that movement was too¡­¡± Lucia trailed off, her eyes widening after a second, suddenly stumbling back onto her butt. Ilya looked like she was about to ask what she saw, but the sound of something surfacing interrupted her.

    A large mass rose out of the pit, displaced water rolling down its gelatinous form to return to the pool below. Lucia¡¯s sentence went unfinished, but the saint could guess what the final word would have been.

    Big.

    It was far too large to be a normal sewer slime, it¡¯s round body almost touching the scaffolding on all four sides of the room. Despite its size, it did not look healthy, the typical pastel greens of a common slime darkened to such an extent that it¡¯s outer membrane looked almost black.

    The skeletons of numerous direrats floated within its lighter internals, some with remnants of fur and flesh still attached, others digested completely into a loose collection of pure white bones. The slime let out a low gurgle and one such collection was forcefully expelled from its body, flung towards the party like a rain of very blunt arrows.

    A thrust forward of Annabelle¡¯s open palms and a wall of light flashed into existence before them. The bones bounced off of its shimmering surface harmlessly, tumbling into the muck below.

    Lucia¡¯s blades were drawn in an instant and the adventurer broke into a sprint, running along the scaffolding and dragging the edge of each dagger across the slime¡¯s membrane. Annabelle remained rooted in place, eyeing the aura of sickness and disease that wafted off of the monster before bringing her hands together to pray.

    A pulse of light leapt from her skin and the golden glow of [ Purity ] filled the room, rapidly melting away every trace of corruption before it could fill the room entirely and seep into their bodies.

    The plagued slime seemed angered by this, letting out a low warble as its membrane deformed, growing into multiple large arms. Annabelle watched one of the slime¡¯s new appendages reach out for the adventurer slicing at its side, but Lucia was far too quick, easily dodging to the side.

    ¡°Fucking die! Why can¡¯t I cut you!?¡± Lucia growled, her violent attacks leaving only minor scratches on the slime¡¯s tough exterior. Jumping over another slow sweep of the monster¡¯s arm, she shot a silent glare across the room at the saint, as if she was somehow to blame for this.

    Annabelle had little time to think on the odd look, for another large arm raised above her head to fall on top of her. Another thrust of the saint¡¯s palms and the barrier was reinforced, catching the attack before it could harm her or her ward.

    At the reminder of Ilya, Annabelle¡¯s head snapped right to check on her, but found only empty space. She looked around frantically, and for a brief horrible second the thought arose that she had already been taken. ¡°Ilya?!¡±

    She could only see Lucia and the slime, the adventurer¡¯s blades swiping uselessly against the monster¡¯s body. A body that the saint reminded herself was translucent; if Ilya had been eaten she would still be able to see her.

    If she wasn¡¯t inside the slime, then where-

    Suddenly, a loud piercing sound echoed in the square chamber, followed immediately by the slime bursting like a bubble, splattering all of its insides against the walls.

    Annabelle was spared from being covered in slimy insides by her barrier, but Lucia was not so lucky. She had at least turned her head in time, as to not get any in her eyes.

    ¡°Oh! That worked pretty well.¡±

    Snapping her head to the voice, the saint found Ilya, standing directly behind where the slime had been. She was completely covered in green, her arm still outstretched from when she had apparently stabbed the slime with her dagger, killing it instantly.

    ¡°What???¡± Lucia stared dumbfounded at the girl they had both seen be beaten down by a rat not fifteen minutes earlier, now standing victorious over a much stronger enemy. ¡°W-What did you do?!¡±

    ¡°I waited for a chance to attack, and then I did- just like you told me to.¡± Ilya answered, tilting her head. The goo on her face mask vanished quickly, but the rest of her body remained covered in it, making the whites of her eyes stand out amidst the green.

    ¡°With that thing?!¡± Lucia asked incredulously, pointing at the sharp chunk of obsidian in the girl¡¯s hand.

    Ilya nodded proudly. ¡°Yes. It¡¯s very good at cutting things.¡±

    The adventurer just stared for a few seconds, before a puff of air escaped her chest, followed by another and another, until she was genuinely and openly laughing. ¡°Yeah, I guess it is.¡±

    Annabelle released a breath she didn¡¯t even realize she was holding, walking the circuit around the room until she could place her hands on the girl¡¯s shoulders. ¡°Well done Ilya.¡± She praised, casting a quick [ Clean ] before the jelly covering Ilya¡¯s hair and forehead could drip down into her eyes.

    ¡°Miss Lucia, please come here- oh.¡± She was about to offer the same service, but when she turned her head, the adventurer had taken off her mask and began wiping herself down with it, the enchantment in the fabric leaving no residue behind. She looked like she was holding her breath through the whole task, an impressive feat given how long the mask was off for.

    Once her face was covered once more, Lucia allowed herself a long inhale. ¡°Well fuck, that answers some questions.¡± The slimes weren¡¯t dead, they were changed; instead of cleansing the water of filth like they were supposed to, they were adding more.

    ¡°Is the quest done now?¡± Ilya asked, looking between the two women.

    ¡°No.¡± Lucia¡¯s breath came out as a deep sigh. ¡°Something fucked up this slime; we need to find out what it was and get rid of it.¡° The knuckle of her thumb pressed into the space between the bridge of her nose and her brow bone as she groaned. ¡°We should probably check out all the other filters too.¡±

    And so, a quest that was supposed take an hour ballooned into a massive multi-hour undertaking that spanned the entire length of the sewer system¡¯s main line, involving each of its connected chambers.

    Through numerous encounters with rats, slimes, and even a giant roach, the party of three fell into a comfortable strategy of distraction and stalling. Lucia¡¯s aggressive attack style forced any enemy to focus their attention on her, instead of the tiny girl sneaking up behind them with a knife. The saint remained in the supportive role as promised, keeping her spell use constrained to lighting the way, purifying corruption, and protecting Ilya when something went awry.

    The final chamber to clear was the intake basin, where the large stream the sewer was built on top of constantly fed water into the system. It was a large, shallow, and vaguely triangular chamber, tapering from the width of the original water source to that of the rest of the sewer. it seemed to have been built with the rainy seasons in mind, able to hold much more water than was strictly necessary. As it was now, the water level was very low, allowing them to stand in the basin without getting anything wet beyond their boots.

    Something sat in the centre of the basin, the freshwater pouring in from behind it darkening as it passed by. The same foul aura that billowed from the corrupted slimes shrouded their new foe as well, blurring its silhouette into a dark fuzz unbreachable even with Annabelle¡¯s guidelight.

    Two green dots of light suddenly appeared in the black cloud. They stared at the party from across the room, jittering ever so slightly as the creature within looked from one member to the next.

    ¡°What the fuck is this?!¡± Lucia groaned in exasperated disbelief. This was not low threat level; the front desk would be receiving some choice words from her soon.

    As if responding to her words, the pillar of shadows receded, revealing the source of the city¡¯s recent woes. It was humanoid in form, much of its skeleton exposed to the open air as the rest of its flesh seemed to be in the process of sloughing away. It knelt in the shallow water of the basin looking like an abandoned doll, each of its joints bent unevenly and both of its arms hanging open at its sides.

    ¡°Lucia, I think that¡¯s a zombie.¡± Ilya helpfully provided, and Lucia¡¯s headache returned.

    ¡°How do you even¡­¡± She started before deciding to give up entirely. ¡°Whatever! Fuck it! I don¡¯t care!¡± A throwing knife was pulled from its sheath and Lucia angrily hurled it across the room, embedding it deep in the undead¡¯s drooping face.

    The creature¡¯s head bent back from the force, and it would have toppled over entirely had its body not suddenly righted in a motion too quick and precise to be natural.

    Its pinpoint eyes flared, locking onto Lucia. She drew her daggers in response. ¡°You wanna go asshole?! Come on then!¡±

    The adventurer dashed in, swatting a claw swipe aside with one blade and carving up the tendons of the offending arm with her other. She had to quickly back step to avoid a second swipe as the undead didn¡¯t falter a second to react to its new injuries.

    ¡°This was supposed to be a quick quest!¡± Lucia roared, stabbing the zombie in what remained of its lungs. ¡°You fucking wasted my afternoon!¡±

    She ducked out of the way just as the monster¡¯s arms closed around where she once was, its teeth clacking together instead of into her flesh. A few quick slashes at its legs and she backed a safer distance away to catch her breath.

    A spurt of something flying past her head informed the adventurer that it was not a safe distance after all. Toxic bile spewed from the zombie¡¯s throat, the same black gunk that now filled the whole main line and made her hack up a lung earlier from its stench.

    Even more reason to want this thing dead.

    Closing the gap once more, Lucia traded swings with the undead, choosing to focus her efforts on its face as those were the only injuries it actually reacted to. Multiple times it tried to sink its rotten and jagged teeth into her, and multiple times she fed it only steel.

    As she continued fighting the creature head on, Lucia caught a glimpse of a small shadow out of the corner of her eye, something creeping around behind their foe. She was on a timer now: either beat this thing before Ilya got to it, or let the violent little rat girl steal the final kill.

    That brief moment of distraction was enough for the undead to finally land a hit on her, its claws slicing savagely through the skin of her arm. Lucia didn¡¯t flinch, thrusting both daggers forward into its chest before lifting her arms to slice up through its throat.

    She was running out of meat to carve into- she had done so much damage to the thing, but it would not stop, attacking just as fiercely as if she had done nothing.

    ¡®If only there wasn¡¯t a saint watching me¡­¡¯ She grumbled in her head.

    Inky black mist spilled out from between its ribs, forcing Lucia to back away as the toxic aura returned, empowering its strikes with unknown levels of poison and disease. After minutes of straight aggression, she was pushed to the back foot, her exhaustion finally catching up with her as she was forced to dodge a flurry of attacks in sequence.

    Lucia glanced over its shoulder again between swipes, the little shadow was closing in; she was out of time.

    The creature¡¯s chest suddenly jolted forward as the black blade hit home, but instead of slumping over dead like everything else they had faced, the zombie twisted its head entirely around to glare at a surprised Ilya.

    ¡°¡­You¡¯re very tough.¡± The little orphan complimented as she shuffled in retreat, slipping on the submerged bricks and falling onto her back just as the creature lunged to bite her.

    A translucent wall of golden light flashed into being, blocking the attack before it could get anywhere near landing.

    ¡°I¡¯ve humoured your existence this far to honour an agreement.¡± Annabelle spoke, her voice uncharacteristically hard. ¡°But now you force my hand, sinner.¡±

    The saint turned to look at her, blue eyes glowing in the dark chamber. ¡°Miss Lucia, I apologize, but I¡¯m stepping in.¡± Lucia wanted to argue, she really did, but the scariest thing in the room was no longer the fetid melting corpse risen by hatred.

    Another spew of bile shot across the room, but it too met a glowing barrier, the blonde woman standing behind it slowly bringing both hands together to pray.

    ¡°Repent and be at peace. [ Daybreak ].¡±

    The next thing Lucia knew was all encompassing, all devouring light, as if the sun itself had been pulled from the sky and placed before them. She bit back a pained hiss as the blinding rays seared her skin, but calling it pain was surely a disservice to the agony of the spell¡¯s true target.

    The creature of Chaos screamed and thrashed as judgment came down from on high, the full might of a saint focused entirely on dolling out its decreed punishment. The creature¡¯s flesh boiled and sizzled under the glory of the dawn, its cursed bones burning away until everything that it once was became nought but sinless ash.

    Overkill indeed.

    <hr>

    ¡°Well ladies, I would say it¡¯s been fun, but that would be a fucking lie.¡±

    The soon to be disbanded party stood victorious back on the surface, faces finally free of masks, wounds healed, and their bodies and clothes repeatedly purified with [ Clean ].

    ¡°I had fun!¡± Ilya replied, excitedly raising two fists in front of her. ¡°I killed so many things!¡±

    Lucia just shook her head. ¡°You¡¯re fucked in the brain, you know that?¡± Her gaze shifted up to meet the saint¡¯s frown with her own. ¡°You really know how to pick them.¡±

    ¡°Miss Lucia, why must you be so derogatory towards others?¡± The saint asked with a hint of frustration.

    ¡°Hey, you barged in on my quest! You don¡¯t get to dictate how I talk!¡± The adventurer retorted, looking away angrily before opening her arms to shrug. ¡°Plus I¡¯m fucking hungry; everyone¡¯s rude when they¡¯re hungry.¡±

    ¡°Then return to the guild and buy a full dinner for yourself with the reward.¡± Annabelle¡¯s suggestion was more like a scolding demand. ¡°Tell them everything that transpired below and tell them I will corroborate everything tomorrow morning. The things we faced are more than enough for the maximum reward.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m hungry too¡­¡± Ilya mumbled, looking sadly into an empty pouch that must have at one point contained food.

    Annabelle placed a comforting hand on her head. ¡°You will be returning to the convent with me for dinner and a bath.¡±

    ¡°A bath? Didn¡¯t that spell clean us?¡± Ilya looked very confused.

    ¡°We may be physically spotless, but it is the belief of many faiths- including mine -that a good bath is cleansing for the soul as well.¡± The saint paused afterwords to watch the gears turn in the girl¡¯s head.

    ¡°Okay.¡± She finally accepted in that non understanding way of hers.

    ¡°Well you two have fun with your fancy church bath.¡± Lucia snarked. ¡°I¡¯m gonna go use the guild¡¯s like the peon I am.¡± Then the adventurer walked away and the trio became a duo once more.

    ¡°Shall we?¡± Annabelle offered, holding out a hand for her student to take. Ilya silently agreed, letting the saint guide her back through the sunset bathed streets of Flavenport towards the church.

    There was a flurry of activity when they entered the abbey, nuns young and old moving from their rooms to gather in the dining hall. Many of them stopped to greet the saint when they saw her. ¡°Annabelle, welcome home! I haven¡¯t seen you since morning service!¡±

    ¡°Much has happened.¡± She replied vaguely. They seemed to want to ask her to elaborate; to explain the girl standing beside her, but when Annabelle gestured for them to hurry to the table, they obeyed.

    Dinner was at once lively and quiet. Lively, as many of her sisters were eager to get to know the little urchin she had brought home; quiet, as all of their questions for Ilya were met with mumbled one word answers that quickly dampened the energy at the table.

    The bath following the meal was more on the quiet side, just the two of them relaxing in the saint¡¯s private bathtub and sharing very few words other than a ¡°Is it nice?¡± and an affirmative hum. The last twelve hours had been the most eventful in the saint¡¯s recent memory: signs from her god realized, a gifted girl taken under her wing, hundreds of people saved, evil slain, all ending in a moment of quiet bliss and reflection.

    For the moment, Annabelle was content. Everything was right in the world.

    At least until Ilya turned to allow the saint to wash her hair, revealing her bare back for the very first time.

    ¡°Ilya¡­ w-what are these?¡± The saint¡¯s fingers ghosted over the rough red scars, disturbing droplets on the girl¡¯s skin which slipped down her back and disappeared into the bubbly water. The cuts were deep, as if carved by the claws of a devil or the whip of a slave driver, and the way they curled and connected looked like a mockery of the written word.

    ¡°How do they look?¡± Ilya asked with a strange tone, trying to turn her head enough to see for herself. ¡°I can¡¯t really look at my own back.¡±

    ¡°¡­They look like they hurt.¡± By instinct, a gentle healing light flowed from her hand, but no matter how much faith she poured into the spell, the shadows of those grievous wounds remained. One particularly jagged cut looked almost like a tight lipped grin, mocking the saint for her helplessness in the face of Ilya¡¯s pain.

    ¡°They did at the time, but they don¡¯t anymore.¡±

    Annabelle wanted to ask who had done this, what vile monster had dared to lay a finger on such a lovely girl, what sinner would she have to subject to the glorious light of justice¨C

    She took a deep breath, swallowing her rage.

    Ilya would tell her when she was ready, prodding her with questions when she was not would only dredge up more unhealed scars.

    This evening was about relaxation. For now, Annabelle would gently pour warm water over the girl¡¯s shoulder, run soapy fingers through her hair, wash away her troubles and the stresses of a long day.

    When the bubbles had all popped and the water began to cool, Annabelle removed herself from the bath, wrapping a fluffy white towel around her body before stepping out of the room.

    Ilya was staring blankly into the water when she returned with clothes, her thin lips mouthing something too minutely for the saint to read.

    ¡°Ilya.¡± She spoke softly, seeking to break the girl out of whatever trance she had fallen into without spooking her. ¡°Are you ready to get out of the bath?¡±

    Her ward slowly looked up at her with no expression before nodding. She rose out of the water with little fanfare, carefully stepping over the rim of the tub with the assistance of Annabelle¡¯s offered hand.

    The saint helped her towel off, patting the girl¡¯s hair until it was acceptably dry before dropping the nightdress over her head. As expected, the hem of the sleepwear extended much further on Ilya, covering her ankles and feet entirely, leaving the remainder to pool on the floor.

    It took some effort due to the new tripping hazard but eventually the two made it across the room to sit in front of the saint¡¯s vanity. Ilya was immediately entranced by her reflection, her gaze never leaving the mirror- watching her double replicate every tilt of the head, every open and close of her mouth. Annabelle saw her own reflection begin to smile just as she felt her lips part, quickly brushing through her golden tresses with practiced motions while her eyes remained locked on the innocent display.

    As soon as she was done her own hair, the saint lifted from the bench to stand behind Ilya, brush still in hand. She looked at the Ilya in the mirror, the girl¡¯s eyes slowly drifting down as they seemed to do whenever she was deep in thought.

    ¡°¡­I¡¯ve never seen myself this clearly before.¡± The girl finally murmured, allowing Annabelle into her mind. ¡°I¡¯ve only ever gotten glances in sunny windows or still puddles.¡±

    Annabelle listened patiently to her words, gathering a bundle of charcoal black hair and beginning to gently brush through it.

    Ilya looked herself in the eyes again, taking in every detail. The nose that tilted up slightly at the end, the thin eyebrows that shifted with every emotion, the strands of black hair that always stuck up in that one place. ¡°Do I really look like this?¡±

    ¡°You do.¡± The saint leaned her head over Ilya¡¯s shoulder to purposefully meet her gaze in the mirror. ¡°In my humble opinion, you have all the makings of a very beautiful young woman. All you need is a little love and care.¡±

    Her ward bashfully averted her eyes. ¡°Thanks Annabelle¡­ you¡¯re really nice.¡± The edges of girl¡¯s lips quivered like she was trying to suppress the smile that wanted to form.

    ¡°Treating the unfortunate with kindness, it¡¯s just what my faith asks of me.¡± Annabelle replied, continuing to brush Ilya¡¯s hair.

    It might have sounded like she was waving off the compliment, but it was the truth. The Amasur Sect taught the pursuit of justice in all aspects of society, and to her, none in society were owed more than the downtrodden and left behind.

    ¡°The priests back in Bearwood aren¡¯t as nice as you.¡± Ilya refuted, her eyes drifting down once more. ¡°They¡¯re always kicking me out.¡±

    Annabelle felt her hand pause its brushing motions- felt, not saw, for in that instant all the saint could see was red.

    ¡°...What.¡±

    Ilya elaborated, the tone of her voice becoming low and tired. ¡°They let me hide from the rain if I listened to them talk about stealing being wrong and stuff, but they never helped me, even when I asked. They never let me stay the night either.¡±

    Molten gold surged through Annabelle¡¯s veins, the searing fury tearing her capillaries to shreds and leaving nothing but slag. She tried to continue brushing the girl¡¯s hair by feeling alone, but her hands were shaking, the crushing grip she had on the brush making her motions rigid.

    Annabelle knew she could have a temper at times, she knew she could be strict, but she had never known she could be so wrathful. It physically hurt to be so angry, like she could burst into flames at any time and take the whole abbey with her.

    She blinked rapidly to try and clear her blurry vision, forcing herself to return focus to the Ilya of right now: safe and sound and receiving the care she was denied.

    Her hair was less tangled than the saint expected, likely due to active effort on her part. Even after all she was forced to endure alone, Ilya still took care of herself in whatever small ways she was able. That fact was enough to hold Annabelle together through the rest of the task, removing what few tangles there were and bundling the hair together in a loose ponytail so that new ones wouldn¡¯t appear while Ilya slept.

    When the two were finished with the vanity, the saint again helped Ilya across the room to the bed. The girl stared at the soft mattress with curiosity, prodding at it like some kind of test before climbing in and curling into the fetal position.

    ¡°It feels a little like laying in mud.¡± She murmured, sleep already beginning to take hold. ¡°I¡¯m sinking...¡±

    ¡°Just let yourself relax.¡± The saint hushed, sitting down next to Ilya on the bed. ¡°You¡¯ve¡­ you¡¯ve done a lot for one day.¡± She was about to reach out and gently rub her shoulder, but paused when she reminded herself of what lied beneath the thin material.

    Those terrible scars, that corrupting darkness that clung to her soul and turned spells of love and healing into those of pain, did they come before or after she sought help from the church- before or after she was betrayed by those sworn to protect the helpless?

    Annabelle didn¡¯t know which was worse.

    She felt the righteous indignation roil beneath her skin, the bindings of self discipline that held the feelings back beginning to fail. Before she allowed herself to fall apart completely, the saint carefully lifted the blankets over Ilya¡¯s body, tucking her in for a well earned rest.

    ¡°Sweet dreams.¡± She bid, and after casting [ Silence ] on herself to not disturb her sleeping ward, the saint finally let go.

    There would be no peace for her that night, her furious screams and shouts of hate shared with none but the void.

 Dreams of Damnation - Chapter 9

    The light of dawn filtered through the many windows of the abbey, brightening hallways and washing away the chill of the night. Annabelle walked through the sunny corridors, pausing to stifle an unladylike yawn before continuing. Sleep had evaded the saint for most of the night, even after exhausting herself with a lengthy rampage and subsequent cleanup.

    Rounding the corner, Annabelle was blinded by the tall window at the end of the hallway. It felt like blasphemy to cringe and squint at the benevolent dawn, but she was only human and her tired human eyes shied away from stimulation.

    ¡®If only I could set time aside for a nap¡­¡¯ The saint thought, moving through the hall towards her door. ¡®But ahh, there¡¯s so much that needs doing.¡¯

    Annabelle was about to place her hand on the doorknob and enter her room, but she paused when a voice became barely audible through the sturdy wood. It was Ilya¡¯s voice- it seemed her ward had awoken in the time she was gone.

    ¡°¡­when I¡­¡­ ¡­okay¡­¡­my¡­¡± Though the saint could only pick out a few words, Ilya seemed to be speaking full sentences- but to who? Annabelle frowned: had someone entered her room without permission?

    Opening the door, the saint found no one but Ilya, sitting atop the bed with the blankets and sheets pooling around her. She had jumped when the door opened, staring wide eyed at the intruder until recognition unfroze her body, letting it relax somewhat.

    ¡°Dawn warm you Ilya, I¡¯m sorry for startling you.¡± Annabelle greeted apologetically before looking around the room. ¡°Were you¡­ talking to someone just now?¡±

    The girl shifted in place, looking down to her lap to nervously fiddle with her fingers. ¡°¡­I- I talk out loud when I¡¯m alone sometimes.¡± It wasn¡¯t a lie exactly, but it obviously wasn¡¯t the truth either. Regardless, the room was empty, and Annabelle was too tired at the moment to question her behaviour further.

    ¡°I brought something for you.¡± Annabelle lifted the two sets of clerical habit that had been draped over her arm. ¡°Some new clothes that should fit you nicely.¡± They were the garb of the church, intended for sisters setting out on pilgrimage or hoping to gain experience as an adventuring healer. Not a perfect match to Ilya, but close enough.

    ¡°I found the same habit in two colours; you get to pick between white or dark grey.¡± Annabelle had to dig quite deep in the abbey¡¯s storage to find a dusk set small enough to fit her ward, but it was important to her that Ilya be given choices.

    The dark haired girl perked up at the decision before her, shuffling on her knees to the edge of the bed to take a closer look. Annabelle met her half way, watching as her eyes bounced between the two colours for a few moments before holding on the tunic of dusk and locking in on its soft purple embellishments.

    ¡°That one.¡± She said resolutely, reaching for the garments. ¡°I like that one.¡±

    ¡°I think it will suit you nicely.¡± Annabelle replied with a warm smile.

    Placing the dawn set down amongst the sheets, she offered her now empty left hand to help Ilya down from the bed. ¡°I¡¯ll help you put everything on; it can be tricky on your own.¡°

    Ilya remained still as a statue as the overly long nightdress was quickly replaced with a tunic that fell around her calves. The girl stretched out her limbs to admire the form fitting sleeves and the lavender cuffs that hugged her forearms, looking down at the rest of the article to watch it swish around as she moved.

    Stepping behind her ward and lifting dark hair up and out of the way, Annabelle brought the guimpe up to Ilya¡¯s neck, shifting the light grey fabric to sit properly on her shoulders before fastening it at the back. ¡°Too tight? Collar too high?¡± She questioned, looking over Ilya¡¯s shoulder.

    A shake of the head signalled Annabelle to continue.

    She helped Ilya step into a pair of black stockings next, letting her pull them up before wrapping a leather belt around her waist. ¡°You can hang little satchels off of this.¡± The saint explained to her ward, tightening the belt so the tunic cinched like a proper dress. ¡°We can even get a sheathe for your dagger and attach it here.¡±

    Ilya silently rushed towards the nightstand where her old clothes were neatly folded. Her scarf was sitting atop the pile, wrapped around various items that the saint fished from her pockets: a broken bone, an empty satchel, and of course, her prized blade, tightly bound in leather to protect her from its deadly edge.

    The girl carried the bundle of things to the bed, stuffing the bone into the satchel and tying it to her new belt before picking up the dagger and turning back to her mentor. ¡°Can I just¡­ stuff this between the belt and my waist for now? Will it stay there?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t think so. Here-¡± Reaching an arm into her robe¡¯s right sleeve, Annabelle felt around for the pocket that contained her extra hair tie. Pulling the blue ribbon out of her sleeve, she tied it into a simple slipknot and tightened the knot around the dagger¡¯s bindings. ¡°This will keep it in place until we visit a smith.¡±

    Attaching the ribbon at her hip, Ilya spun around on her feet to test the setup, smiling wide when the motion caused her skirt to flare out. Annabelle let her lips curl upward, her weary body regaining some of its life- her efforts had been worth it.

    ¡°Do you want to put on the headdress?¡± She asked when the blade was proved secure, holding up the coif and veil. ¡°It¡¯s up to you.¡±

    It was technically part of the required habit, but Ilya had taken no vows and was thus not beholden to the rules of the church.

    Ilya grasped the ponytail hanging behind her, moving the bundle to sit on her shoulder where she could see it. She regarded the black locks for a few seconds before flipping her hair back again. ¡°I¡¯ve never worn something on my head before.¡±

    ¡°Would you like to keep it that way?¡±

    Two nods.

    ¡°Then this is last piece of the set.¡± A caplet was wrapped around the girl¡¯s shoulders, a dark basalt grey like the tunic underneath, trimmed with the same lavender and embroidered with pale yellow thread. A brass brooch punctured through the fabric to clasp closed over Ilya¡¯s sternum, keeping the garment in place.

    Annabelle took a step back when her work was done, taking in her ward as she spun again and took in her new attire. The girl paused her spinning to grab her scarf, wrapping it around her neck before zipping to the vanity to look at herself from the outside.

    It had been a long time since Annabelle had seen someone so excited to look like a nun. Some of the young girls who joined the convent understood the garb¡¯s meaning and treated it as a solemn honour, some were roped into the clergy in some way and resented it, consciously or not. Either way, it wasn¡¯t common for an acolyte to ogle themselves so joyfully.

    ¡°Is this¡­ mine now?¡± Ilya asked aloud, not turning away from the mirror or her reflection.

    ¡°There are not many devoted of dusk in Flavenport; certainly no one else who would fit that size. It¡¯s yours.¡± Annabelle was interested in what the abbess would say, a fledgling cleric garbed in grey for the first time in years.

    Eventually Ilya seemed satisfied enough with her appearance to look away from the mirror.

    ¡°Ready for breakfast?¡± The saint asked, stepping close to her student to quickly brush down a bit of stray hair with her fingers. ¡°We have some time before morning service.¡±

    ¡°I get more food?¡± Ilya had a surprised look on her face, as if the dinner last night was a one and done thing.

    ¡°Of course.¡± Annabelle replied as she pulled the tie from Ilya¡¯s hair, arranging it neatly over her scarf. ¡°¡®For as long as you hunger, the gods will provide.¡¯¡± She recited the scripture passage automatically, forgetting in that second just who she was talking to and the severe irony of such a statement.

    ¡°The gods never provided me anything before.¡± Ilya reminded her with a frown. The words were filled with a quiet frustration that struck Annabelle square in her chest, yanking her from her waking dream and dumping her back into harsh reality.

    The saint felt her exhaustion reassert itself. ¡°I¡­I know.¡± She stumbled, gaze briefly dropping to the floor, before she forced herself to look Ilya in the eyes. ¡°I apologize, that was thoughtless of me.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t have faith in the gods or their promises and I understand: words without deeds are empty.¡± Annabelle gently took both of Ilya¡¯s cold frail hands into her own, lifting them to hold up meaningfully between them. ¡°But please, have faith in me, let my deeds prove that you should.¡±

    ¡°Okay.¡±

    <hr>

    Once the two were fully presentable, the saint guided her ward down to the abbey¡¯s first floor and through the hallways towards the common dining area.

    A stout old nun in grey reached the doorway at the same time as them, eyes brightening when she saw the saint.

    ¡°Ah, Annabelle my dear. Blessings of the rising sun upon you.¡± Mother Superior Ruth greeted them, the wrinkles on her face creasing as she smiled warmly. ¡°I hear your yesterday was filled with right and just work.¡±

    ¡°Mother Superior. The dawn honours you.¡± Annabelle gave a respectful bow, Ilya did not, offering the abbess a blank stare and a slight tilt of the head.

    ¡°This must be the girl the sisters have been whispering about.¡± The elder priestess mused, tucking her hands beneath her scapular. ¡°Greetings child, I am Ruth, loyal servant of the setting sun.¡±

    ¡°Ilya. S-¡° She introduced in kind, beginning to say another word before cutting herself off abruptly. Seconds passed as the two priestesses stared at her, waiting for the girl to continue until eventually accepting that she would not.

    ¡°I see you are garbed in the greys of dusk as I am.¡± The abbess noted. ¡°Has Saint Annabelle explained the significance of that shade? The long night and the promise of dawn?¡± Annabelle met Mother Ruth¡¯s eyes as the old nun casted a glance toward her, slightly quirking a brow the same way she used to when questioning the completeness of a younger saint¡¯s chores.

    Annabelle shook her head, placing a hand on Ilya¡¯s shoulder. ¡°No, Mother Superior, I haven¡¯t. I didn¡¯t want to overload her with stories when she¡¯s still adjusting.¡± The world ¡®adjusting¡¯ was doing some heavy lifting there: Ilya was consistently surprised by acts of simple kindness and the concept of regular meals seemed to baffle her. Theology was very far down on the priority list.

    Mother Ruth didn''t frown, but her voice was stern. ¡°I won¡¯t question how you mentor a personal apprentice, but if your hope is for her to join us here, she must be treated the same as any acolyte. Knowledge of scripture is a basic requirement.¡±

    Annabelle''s thoughts turned inward- was that her plan? To turn Ilya into another sister of the church? She hadn¡¯t thought that far ahead yet.

    She had only met the girl yesterday, and though she had accepted her divinely mandated task to guide Ilya and foster her growth, the exact path she would have to take was unclear.

    Annabelle had initially assumed her role was a simple one: to pass down her knowledge of holy magic and the teachings of Order, but her attempts to do so had revealed a deep and troubling darkness that would take work to understand and fix.

    There was also the matter of what Ilya wanted: it was very unlikely she wished to join the church- so what then?

    The saint¡¯s sleep deprived brain groaned at her for thinking too hard, begging her to save her energy for morning service. She tried not to yawn.

    ¡°Her future hasn¡¯t been decided.¡± Annabelle eventually replied. ¡°But she¡¯s a curious girl; the story of the ashen vestment may be interesting to her even if she doesn¡¯t wish to stay here.¡±

    Mother Ruth hummed, closing her eyes for a moment to ponder. ¡°I see.¡± When her eyes opened again she offered Ilya a slight smile and gestured towards the many tables just through the door. ¡°Come then child, you may eat while I recite the story to you.¡±

    <hr>

    <blockquote>

    This tale speaks of a time of great suffering long ago: an endless night that stood to devour all creation.

    Life perished beneath a sky devoid of stars, love dwindled against fires of hate, and Chaos grew fat on the despair of the just.

    When all hope seemed lost, and the last hour of man approached, the gods descended in glory to push back the darkness. The Sun¡¯s holy rays were a beacon of hope, calling all the peoples of Order to bask in the warmth of dawn and shelter under the protection of the divine.

    The gods led their faithful across the black seas to safety, their every step met with the most foul beasts Chaos could conjure. The Sun flared against the shadows, The Hunter pounced in defence of his flock, The Mother bundled the innocent in her embrace.

    By the time the blessed of the gods finally touched the soft soil of sanctuary, The Sun¡¯s pure white vestments were stained grey with ash and soot and the blood of the guilty, His light dimming, as if filtered through the endless path toward the horizon.

    ¡°Look upon me, my children.¡± The Sun said. ¡°See the daylight fade to dusk. Night will always come, and the sun must always set.¡±

    ¡°You endured the long night for you had faith dawn would come, and so it shall be. As night will inevitably fall, so too shall the morning always return- this is the promise I make to you.¡±

    </blockquote>

    <hr>

    Annabelle had heard the tale hundreds of times, preaching it herself thousands more over the years, to tens of thousands of people. Despite being the furthest thing from a new experience, she had listened respectfully anyway as she ate her oats, occasionally looking to Ilya to gauge her understanding. Her ward had taken the story in without a sound or change in expression, slowly picking at a small bread roll with her finger and thumb, much like a crow would with its beak.

    ¡°Differing perspectives on the meaning of Lord Amasur¡¯s words are the basis behind the differing colours of this clergy¡¯s garments.¡± Mother Ruth continued to explain, gesturing to her robes, then to Ilya¡¯s. ¡°This habit represents the acceptance of darkness¡¯ inevitability, the will to weather hardship and evil, and the forethought to prepare for the coming night.¡±

    Ilya looked down at herself, brushing away a few crumbs that had dropped into her lap and regarding the colours with new context. She blinked once, twice, before nodding approvingly. Annabelle hoped that meant she understood how relevant the concepts were to her situation.

    ¡°The colours Saint Annabelle wears represent Lord Amasur¡¯s promise of dawn, the hope and warmth the sun brings, and the strength of heart necessary to protect and maintain that hope in an ever darkening world.¡±

    Ilya didn¡¯t make any motion after the second explanation, but the churn of her thoughts were visible on her face.

    Eventually she spoke. ¡°If the gods took all their own followers and brought them here¡­ what happened to everyone who didn¡¯t have a god? Were they left behind?¡±

    Mother Ruth looked unprepared for Ilya¡¯s line of questioning. ¡°¡­The scriptures we have don¡¯t say; not much remains from so long ago.¡± Annabelle knew this to be true, but it wasn¡¯t the answer Ilya wanted to hear.

    The saint placed a hand on her ward¡¯s shoulder. ¡°The wood elves aren¡¯t a blessed people but they still live, albeit in small numbers. Perhaps that means some of the godless were saved.¡±

    Ilya didn¡¯t respond to the suggestion, retreating back into her own thoughts; remaining silent for the rest of the mother superior¡¯s tales and the rest of their morning meal.

    She stayed that way until most of the abbey filed into the church to prepare for morning service and Annabelle sat the girl down in a pew.

    ¡°I¡¯m going to have to leave you here for a bit while I do my job. Is that alright?¡±

    Ilya nodded, pulling out her knife as well as the bone she had shoved in her satchel earlier.

    Remembering the state of the floor in the sick house from the other day, Annabelle called for one of the other sisters to fetch a bucket. She would support Ilya¡¯s interests and would not stand between her and what she wished to do, but the house of god was not a workshop; it had to remain clean and clear of shavings and powdered bone.

    ¡°Everything in here please.¡± She requested with a smile. ¡°When I¡¯m done we can go to the guild, alright?¡±

    Ilya nodded again, still silent but no longer ignoring the world outside herself.

    The service went well, as it always did. Going through the motions automatically, Annabelle let her mind take a backseat as her body and soul performed the service for her, exactly the same as she did every morning. Only when it came time to give sermon did her three aspects meld back into one, allowing her to preach with her whole self, extolling the virtues of common charity and the familial bond shared by those who live in the light.

    As she spoke the truth she looked out over the sea of worshipers before her, quickly zeroing in on the back of the hall where Ilya sat whittling away. It seemed to be a genuine hobby of hers, both something to fill the time and a skill she wanted to improve at.

    A gruff looking orc man sat next to the girl, watching her hand motions and whispering occasional pointers throughout the service. It had only taken a change of clothes for people to start acknowledging Ilya¡¯s existence, a fact that simultaneously enraged and encouraged the saint, stoking the fire beneath her sermon.

    ¡°Brothers and sisters, a sliver of dawn¡¯s warmth lives within each of you. It is within your power to share that warmth with another, and in effect, kindle a flame that extends the reach of light.

    Share the joy and love of day with those who are lost in darkness: offer a hand to the forgotten, a shoulder to the despairing, a shield to the weak, and the sun shall never truly set.¡±

    <hr>

    With morning service concluded, the saint and her ward departed for the adventurers guild, hoping to find Lucia for their next errand of the day.

    It was rather simple to find Lucia.

    The adventurer¡¯s voice stood out amongst the thinning crowds of the post breakfast guild, angry and filled with spite as she shouted at another adventurer stood inside her personal bubble. ¡°What¡¯s it matter to you?? Fuck off!¡±

    ¡°Can you do anything with that knife other than stab? I saw you take a rat quest the other day like a newbie.¡±

    ¡°Fuck you care about what quests I¡¯m taking?!¡±

    There seemed to be a dispute.

    ¡°You always sit there alone, scowling at everyone like you¡¯re so above us, but no one knows what class you are, except ¡®not a thief¡¯ apparently.¡± The man smirked but the expression was short lived, the amusement sliding off his face all on its own.

    ¡°Not everyone¡¯s as obvious as you meathead!¡± Lucia leaned in closer, twisting her head to glare at the adventurer¡¯s face from an odd angle. ¡°You get tired of working on daddy¡¯s farm? You wanted to be a big strong knight like in mommy¡¯s stories?¡±

    A vein pulsing in the warrior¡¯s forehead suggested Lucia had hit the mark. ¡°There¡¯s being subtle¡­ and there¡¯s being mundane.¡± He spat.

    The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    Lucia¡¯s face twisted into a furious snarl at the accusation. ¡°You¡­¡± Her right hand began to reach for a weapon.

    ¡°Enough.¡± Annabelle spoke, summoning two light walls between the pair and using them to pull the seasoned fighters apart before they could kill each other.

    ¡°Miss Lucia.¡± The priestess greeted dryly, returning the brunette¡¯s furrowed expression as their eyes met through the barrier.

    ¡°¡­Saint.¡± Lucia huffed, equally unenthused. Her eyes flicked to Ilya, standing beside the priestess in her grey and purple habit. ¡°I see you¡¯ve started converting the kid. She even get a say in it?¡±

    The idea of forcing Ilya into anything made the saint frown, the dull ache behind her tired eyes causing her to squint slightly. ¡°Of course she gets a say. Ilya needed new clothes and an abbey has only the garments of nuns and priests to offer her.¡±

    ¡°I like it.¡± Ilya stated, holding her arms out to show the outfit off. ¡°It¡¯s comfy and the colours are nice.¡±

    Annabelle looked to the party Lucia had been about to draw a knife on. ¡°I will be taking Miss Lucia with me, we have a commission to turn in. I assume that won¡¯t be a problem?¡±

    Their leader¡¯s jaw shifted as he ground his teeth together, but he eventually bowed his head. ¡°No, Saint Annabelle.¡±

    She then turned to address the circle of gawkers that had formed around the feud, a stern motherly glare drifting from person to person. There must have been a smooth talking bard or a charismatic knight among them, and yet no one had attempted to diffuse the situation before she had. If she wasn¡¯t so completely bereft of energy she would have been more vocal in her disappointment. ¡°The show is over. Go, you have jobs to do.¡±

    The crowd obeyed and everyone dispersed, a rumble of whispers and murmured apologies trailing behind them.

    Annabelle sighed heavily, gesturing towards the front desk. ¡°Come Miss Lucia, let us finish our report.¡±

    ¡°Finally. The guild wouldn¡¯t give me the whole reward.¡± Lucia grumbled, shoulders hunched as she crossed her arms over her chest. ¡°Fuckers said they wanted to wait for you.¡±

    The saint paused, looking at the adventurer. Was the story of what they fought so hard to believe? Perhaps it was. ¡°Is that so? Then let us not keep them, or you, waiting any longer.¡±

    With no lineup to slow the process, the trio was quickly shepherded into a small meeting room where a few cushioned couches and chairs surrounded a short table. Ilya immediately moved ahead to sit down on the couch, shifting around as if to test the furniture¡¯s worth. Annabelle sat down beside her, taking the opportunity to rest, however briefly. She heard Ilya speak beside her, complimenting the couch on its softness, and the saint had to agree. She supposed a crown funded institution could afford to splurge a little on seating. So very¡­

    There was no sense of time passing but Annabelle suddenly found herself snapping awake at the sound of a door closing. She had dozed off at some point.

    Looking up, the saint saw a guild worker had entered the room with a clipboard in her hands and a large book under her arm. Her light brown hair was styled in a straight bob that was cut level with her chin and poking out from between the strands on either side of her head were two sharp ears.

    Ilya jumped to her feet, shooting her finger forward to point at the woman. ¡°Elf!¡±

    The guild girl looked up from her clipboard, hazel eyes meeting grey. ¡°Uh- yes? Yes I am. Hello there young miss.¡±

    ¡°Are you a wood elf?¡± Ilya asked with excitement.

    ¡°¡­I believe so, yes.¡± She answered, looking at the other two women in the room as if to ask why she was being questioned instead of the other way around.

    Annabelle reached out and slowly pushed the girl¡¯s pointing arm back down to her side. ¡°Ilya, I know you¡¯re curious, but we have a job to do.¡±

    Off in the corner of the room, Lucia snorted loudly, letting out a breathy laugh from her spot against the wall. Annabelle felt her face scrunch in a irritable scowl, shooting Lucia a glare fierce enough to immediately kill the adventurer¡¯s amusement and seal her lips.

    ¡°Wow grumpy¡­¡± The brunette mumbled quietly, but Annabelle refused to waste effort by responding further.

    ¡°Please, let¡¯s start as soon as possible.¡± Annabelle sighed for what felt like the tenth time today, pressing the heel of her palm into her brow bone.

    ¡°Very well.¡± The wood elf nodded, stepping around the table to sit on the couch across from her and Ilya. The heavy book was placed down on the table between them- it looked to be a bestiary.

    ¡°I don¡¯t think the exact moment to moment sequence needs to be recounted.¡± She began, writing a few things on her clipboard. ¡°But please describe briefly the condition of the sewer system and then in detail the threats you engaged within.¡±

    Annabelle did just that, describing the relatively clean peripheral pipes they walked through before reaching the far filthier main line. ¡°Direrat aggression was not noticeably worse than expected, though most seemed to affected by some kind of skin lesion.¡±

    The interviewer hummed, writing another sentence down while mouthing the words ¡®evidence of relation.¡¯ Annabelle was thankful the connection with the recent outbreak was intuited so quickly- these girls really were professionals.

    She continued ahead, describing the state of the filters- the black goo that had corrupted a tiny docile treatment slime into a very large and very violent foe. The interviewer lifted the bestiary into her lap, using one of the many ribbon bookmarks to open to a previously saved page.

    ¡°A greater plague slime. Found in stagnant swamplands, sites of improper mass burial like monster refuse piles, and in some cases abandoned settlements.¡± The guild worker took up her clipboard and after flipping through the pages made a quick checkmark next to a block of handwritten text.

    Ilya raised her hand as if to ask permission to speak, only to do so anyway without waiting for a response. ¡°A sewer isn¡¯t any of those places.¡±

    ¡°No, I suppose it isn¡¯t.¡± The interviewer replied. ¡°But slimes are highly sensitive to their environment, both magical and mundane, and so cases of transformation aren¡¯t uncommon. I assume this is one of those cases.¡±

    She silently read through something on the one of the later pages on her clipboard before speaking again. ¡°Miss Lucia¡¯s report mentioned a possible cause for the slimes¡¯ transformations in the last threat you faced.¡±

    Annabelle¡¯s tired expression fell further. Right.

    The sinner, the unquiet one, the contemptuous perversion of life that sought to inflict the suffering of the departed upon those who remained.

    Her face was stony as she described the undead in detail: from its almost melting flesh to its unnaturally fluid movements, to the toxic black mist that lived within it, darkening the water beneath its feet and corrupting everything downstream. She described the thing¡¯s vast constitution, able to shrug off countless brutal slashes from Lucia, and even a sneak attack from Ilya that had hitherto slain all others.

    The interviewer turned to another bookmarked page, frowning down at the drawing of the monster for a second as if to try and will it to become something else. ¡°A Putrifier. One of the stronger variants of the common plague zombie- much stronger.¡± With a regretful sigh she again flipped through her clipboard to make an unhappy checkmark next to a different block of text.

    ¡°So many dangerous creatures on a low threat commission¡­ What was it doing there?¡± She repeatedly ran her index finger from the base of her ear to its pointed end- some kind of stress tick, Annabelle mused. ¡°It¡¯s clear the guild needs to update threat assessment policies in regard to unknowns and raise the minimum. Any party actually meant for this level of commission would have been butchered.¡±

    Her head shook, as if to toss that dark possibility away. ¡°Nevertheless, the two stories match perfectly, as expected.¡±

    ¡°As expected? Why not give her the full reward immediately if you trusted her report?¡± Annabelle knew she was the one to initially suggest two reports, but that was only to assuage any doubt about the dangerous creatures they had slain. If they already believed Lucia¡¯s report from the start, then there was no reason for her to be here- she could have been laying down in her bed by now.

    ¡°It¡¯s¡­ not really about the report.¡± The interviewer said hesitantly. ¡°While it¡¯s nice to have confirmation on the Putrifier, Miss Lucia¡¯s file is spotless when it comes to completing and accurately reporting on commissions.¡±

    ¡°The actual reason we withheld the full reward is that- well¡­ you must know better than I what she¡¯s like?¡± The wood elf let out an awkward laugh, devoid of any actual humour.

    Lucia drew close, arms crossed and expression sour. ¡°What the fuck is that supposed to mean?¡±

    The interviewer held up her hands placatingly, leaning back. ¡°It¡¯s just- you don¡¯t get along well with other adventurers. This is your first party in many years, and so we wanted to speak with the other members just in case-¡±

    ¡°In case I was trying to steal their share!? I told you they didn¡¯t want it!¡±

    ¡°Look. I just need verbal confirmation and maybe a signature. Then we¡¯ll go get you what you¡¯re owed.¡±

    Exhausted, irritable, and eager to just get it over with, Annabelle suddenly leaned forward and snatched the clipboard and pen from the guild girl¡¯s hands. She rapidly wrote out a wavier of reward for herself and Ilya before signing off on both of them and tossing the clipboard back.

    ¡°There. Now go.¡± She commanded. It took everything she had left to stop herself from shouting at a woman only doing her job.

    ¡°Uh, yes, Sister Annabelle! Right away!¡± The wood elf bowed her head in submission, swiftly picking up her things and fleeing from the room as if the saint¡¯s wrath would set it aflame.

    A ridiculous notion, she was far too tired for [ Solar Flare ].

    Lucia was the first the break the silence that followed, and she was blunt. ¡°You look like shit. What¡¯s wrong with you?¡±

    ¡°...I didn¡¯t sleep much last night.¡± Annabelle admitted bitterly. It wasn¡¯t like she could hide it; her body felt like it was weighed down by mountains of rubble.

    Her temper burned at the realization of her all too human limits; she was one who moved mountains, she was Saint Annabelle of Artorra.

    Her attempt to stand in defiance of her limits was cut short as her legs buckled and failed her. She would have collapsed entirely for her hubris had Lucia not caught her and summarily shoved her back onto the couch like a sack of flour. ¡°Don¡¯t get up! Fuck!¡±

    ¡°You didn¡¯t sleep after a whole ass quest and then thought you could just go about your day? Are you actually retarded?!¡± Lucia¡¯s rage, once directed at the guild, shifted to Annabelle instead.

    ¡°I said I would take Ilya to-¡±

    ¡°And how the fuck are you gonna do that, huh?!¡± Lucia continued to shout her down, the adventurer¡¯s hands clenched into fists against her hips. ¡°You can¡¯t even stand!¡±

    Annabelle huffed a frustrated breath; she had no answer.

    ¡°I can go with Lucia.¡± Ilya spoke up, having stood at some point to quietly watch the growing argument from near the opposite head of the table.

    ¡°¡°What?¡±¡± The two older women exclaimed in unison.

    ¡°You¡¯re too tired to help me, and Lucia¡¯s cool.¡± Ilya shrugged, meeting Annabelle¡¯s eyes. The matter of fact way her ward described the situation felt as much like a shove as the one Lucia had just given her, but the truth tended to hurt.

    Lucia visibly tensed as she worked the suggestion over in her mind, but eventually a deep sigh of surrender escaped her lips. ¡°You¡¯d still stalk me even if I said no, wouldn¡¯t you?¡±

    Ilya nodded shamelessly.

    Both women knew then that there wasn¡¯t much anyone could do to stop her.

    So when the guild girl finally returned with Lucia¡¯s reward, Annabelle locked eyes with the adventurer. ¡®I am trusting you with her.¡¯ The intense stare said. ¡®I allow this because there is no other option.¡¯

    Lucia held her gaze, blindly snatching the coin pouch from the wood elf and tossing back an empty one. ¡°Let¡¯s go kid. Make sure to keep up.¡±

    Nodding her head, Ilya fell in step behind the adventurer and the two vacated the room without any other words. The two that remained looked at each other for a second before the elf nervously bowed to the saint and followed them, closing the door behind her.

    With no eyes but those of Amasur left to judge her, Annabelle tilted over and collapsed on the couch, laying her head down on the soft cushions.

    ¡°¡®Action and consequence are the driver of all things¡­¡¯¡± The saint recited sleepily. If she hadn¡¯t wasted so much time and energy on anger, she wouldn¡¯t have had to allow another to take up her responsibility; she wouldn¡¯t have had to feel so useless.

    She supposed this was her punishment.

    Those were the saint¡¯s last thoughts as the blackness of sleep took hold.

    <hr>

    Flavenport¡¯s streets were just as busy as ever, the river of people rushing through the city strong enough in current to force all things to conform to its flow.

    Lucia fucking hated it.

    As much as she tried to sweeten it with metaphors about the movements of water, she was still stuck walking in a stuffy crowd of people. Obnoxious, fake, judgemental people.

    The saint¡¯s stray followed close behind her, constantly making slight movements to dodge aggressive shoulders or avoid crushed toes. Her opinion of the girl had mellowed over the past 24 hours: first impressions of a buzzing nuisance giving way to the image of a deeply strange but amusing character.

    Reaching the end of the street that opened out into the city¡¯s central market, Lucia felt something tug at her cloak. Looking back she saw Ilya had stopped, scanning the stalls with an appraising expression on her face. ¡°Can you stay here and watch my back?¡± Ilya requested.

    Lucia¡¯s eyebrows shifted, the edge of her lip curling upward. ¡°What, you gonna go rob someone?¡± She joked, only to be met with a serious answer.

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    No matter how much time she spent with Ilya, Lucia felt she would never get used to the little thief¡¯s disinterested honesty. Maybe having nothing to loose from the start gave the girl no reason to learn a fear of reproach? Wouldn¡¯t that be nice.

    Lucia crossed her arms and leaned back against the brickwork. ¡°I¡¯ll keep a lookout, but if you get caught I¡¯m pretending to not know you.¡±

    A few moments of silent thought followed by a silent nod and Ilya stepped away from the wall of buildings to mix with the crowd. Lucia tracked the girl¡¯s movement across the market the best she could but it only took a single blink of the eyes for Ilya to vanish entirely, like she was never there.

    ¡°How am I gonna watch your back when I can¡¯t see you?¡± She grumbled. ¡°Fuckin¡¯ stealthy types¡­¡±

    For a time she just stood there against the building, enjoying the experience of being apart from the teeming hordes, unnoticed and unbothered.

    That was until someone did in fact notice her.

    That same meathead and all his friends from the guild, back to belittle her for no reason.

    ¡°You again.¡± She spat. This was the largest number of repeat encounters Lucia had ever had in one week. Did someone stick a sign on her back that said ¡®please keep bothering me!¡¯?

    ¡°Come to get your ass whooped? If not then step the fuck off.¡±

    ¡°Where does all that ego come from?¡± The annoyance huffed, shaking his head slowly. ¡°How does someone like you think themselves such a big shot?¡±

    ¡°Because I¡¯ve got the blood on my hands to back it up.¡± She glared at the warrior, pressing her fist into her palm to crack the knuckles before doing the same with the other fist. ¡°Want yours on them too?¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ve tried for months to get Saint Annabelle to join us on a quest and she suddenly picks you?!¡° For once one of his party members actually joined in, the ranger, her shrill voice rattling Lucia¡¯s eardrums with their grievances. ¡°Why you? You aren¡¯t special!¡±

    So that¡¯s what this was about: someone was actually jealous- of her. Hilarious.

    ¡°It wasn¡¯t my fucking choice, the kid does what she wants and the saint follows.¡± If they were fans of Annabelle, they weren¡¯t very good ones; they didn¡¯t even know she¡¯d adopted.

    The explanation seemed to only fill the warrior with scorn. ¡°How lucky for you, you get to leech off of someone so powerful. She blows through all the monsters and you get paid for it.¡±

    A quick pull upwards and a skilled twist and Lucia¡¯s twin blades were glinting in the sun. It was clear by now what direction this was going to turn.

    They drew their weapons in kind, their bodies flashing in colour as multiple buffs strengthened them for battle. Lucia did no such thing.

    ¡°Arrogant enough to not set up? Or is it because you can¡¯t?¡± She didn¡¯t reply to the taunt or make any move. She knew what they wanted: a reaction, an outburst, something to justify themselves or entertain the growing crowd- she wasn¡¯t going to give it to them.

    ¡°Fuck, you really are mundane aren¡¯t you?!¡±

    Lucia¡¯s eyelid twitched at the M-word. ¡°I don¡¯t need anything to pulp you, shithead.¡±

    The warrior¡¯s club rose to attack. ¡°We¡¯ll see how you feel after-¡±

    He froze mid sentence, a shiver shooting though his body at the sensation of something pointy gently poking into the skin of his back. A feeling that should have been impossible given his torso was wrapped in multiple layers and covered in platemail.

    The other members of the party and the gawking crowd looked at the warrior when he suddenly grew silent, jumping when they noticed someone standing directly behind him.

    A little shadow- a short girl with black hair and black robes, her right hand holding something sharp enough to pierce through steel and leather without a sound. She held the blade against the man¡¯s spine, the slight twitching of her inexperienced hand carving the shallowest divot into his skin. At no point had anyone seen her slip past them.

    ¡°Lucia, I¡¯m done.¡± Ilya said with her normal tone, as if she was simply greeting a friend after stepping away to the latrine and not holding someone at knifepoint. The girl¡¯s head leaned out from behind the man to look at her temporary guardian. ¡°Who are these people attacking you, are they enemies?¡±

    Lucia was conflicted.

    On one hand, this was extremely funny. Serves these bastards right for fucking with her- for once in her miserable life she had backup.

    On the other hand, Ilya¡¯s stupid rock knife was the most dangerous improvised weapon Lucia had ever seen; one wrong move and this man would be dead. Not that she cared about his life- he could choke -but there was an entire circle of witnesses around them to scream and point fingers. Lucia wasn¡¯t keen on facing an executioner¡¯s block, or worse, Annabelle.

    Still, if she was going to save this asshole¡¯s life, she decided to have some fun with it.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know, are you my enemy?¡± She questioned, her words dripping with smug derision even as she handed the warrior a lifeline. ¡°I remember you being pretty fucking rude to me earlier.¡±

    The druid of the party was the quickest to understand the situation they were in, floundering to make use of her generosity. ¡°That¡¯s¡­ that¡¯s why we came to apologize!¡±

    ¡°Oh really?¡± They all knew it was a lie, and yet they all had to play along, lest the saint¡¯s charity case became subject of a murder case. Lucia could see the ranger¡¯s teeth grit as she forced out an unconvincing ¡°Sorry.¡±

    Another scrape against the party¡¯s leader spine was enough to activate his self preservation instincts, joining in on the grovelling. ¡°Uh, r-right! We don¡¯t want to be e-enemies!¡±

    ¡°Well apology not accepted!¡± Lucia shouted, pointing back in the direction they came with the tip of her blade. As satisfying as this all was, she still had shit to do today and would rather never see any of these fools ever again. ¡°If you don¡¯t want to be my enemy then get the fuck out of my sight!¡±

    ¡°Kid.¡± She signalled Ilya with what she hoped was a ¡®come here, let them go¡¯ motion and not a ¡®make them never walk again¡¯ one.

    Thankfully for all involved it was interpreted as the former and Ilya came to stand at her side, allowing the hostage to escape.

    ¡°That goes for all of you!¡± She snarled at the surrounding bystanders. ¡°Fuck off, or you¡¯re next!¡± She swung her knives through empty air in a few showy arcs that sent the crowd scampering.

    ¡°You showed up at a pretty decent time.¡± She said after a minute, standing next her temporary charge, blades sheathed as they watched everyone flee in different directions. ¡°They were probably trying to get me to attack first so I would get blamed. I don¡¯t know how many strikes I get before they kick me out of the guild.¡±

    ¡°So¡­ thanks, I guess.¡± She stumbled, awkwardly scratching her elbow. The genuine gratitude tasted weird in her mouth; she almost felt like gagging.

    Ilya held up three or four different coin purses in reply, each weighed down by an ample amount of gold. ¡°It was a good diversion.¡±

    Lucia slapped the stolen goods down quickly before someone still watching could put two and two together. ¡°Idiot! Don¡¯t show it off like that!¡± She whisper-shouted.

    Ilya continued explaining regardless, smiling at her haul. ¡°I mostly just wanted the bags, so the money is bonus.¡±

    Stealing from strangers, almost killing a man, all while wearing the robes of the church. What would the saint say if she knew about this? Her sweet child was a stone cold criminal.

    Lucia would certainly not be the one to tell her when she awoke.

    ¡°Come on kid, let¡¯s get out of here before the guards show.¡±

    <hr>

    The smithy was empty when they walked in, though many empty spots on the weapon racks showed it wasn¡¯t from lack of business. The blacksmith himself sat a distance behind the counter, slamming his hammer down repeatedly on a red hot ingot. His dark green skin was covered in a thin sheen of sweat, showcasing both the intense heat of the forge beside him and just how long the orc had been working away.

    ¡°Yo, smith.¡± Lucia greeted, pulling out her daggers and tossing them haphazardly on the counter. ¡°Got some shitty scrap for you to sharpen.¡±

    He gave a sideward glance at two humans in his shop but said nothing, continuing to work the metal before him into a longer bar. Once the red hot glow of the iron finally started to cool, the smith ceased his blows and placed it back in the forge, only then approaching the counter.

    ¡°Chip my fang, these are scrap. The fuck is this?¡± The orc exclaimed, examining her blades with the same look someone gave to carrion left on the side of the road.

    ¡°I fuckin¡¯ told you they were, unplug your ears next time, lardass.¡±

    His yellow eyes flicked to her from where they had peeking across the face of the blade and checking for warp. ¡°Not everyday a human wench says something important.¡± The clusterfuck he had for teeth revealed themselves as his lips curled into shiteating grin.

    Lucia made a face in return before they both let out matching amused huffs. Orcs were fun.

    ¡°Gods, this is shoddy work.¡± The smith sighed, looking at her again with an expression approaching concern- or the closest an orc face could manage. ¡°You sure you want them sharpened? Not melted down into something new?¡±

    Lucia was aware how much she could have improved her main weapons, but their quality hadn¡¯t been an issue before and a travelling mercenary had travel expenses. ¡°I don¡¯t have that kind of time or money to spend, I just need something that can gut a man.¡±

    ¡°If you insist.¡± The orc grunted, carrying the daggers over to his grinding wheel. ¡°If you ever want a real pair of twin blades, head up to the highlands, blood brother of mine in Krod still smiths in the old ways.¡± With that he spun up his wheel and got to work, sending a hail of sparks shooting across the shop.

    ¡°They¡¯re allowed to have weapons up there?¡± Lucia asked, crossing her arms and shifting her weight to one hip. ¡°I thought the strongholds were demilitarized.¡± It was half small talk and half a genuine question.

    ¡°They lifted that decades ago.¡± He answered. Every few passes he made against the grindstone, the smith raised her weapon to check its edge before continuing. ¡°Even if there wasn¡¯t a fort of soldiers right next door, there aren¡¯t enough of us living in the holds to bother worrying about. A few hunters with swords aren¡¯t gonna do shit.¡±

    Lucia supposed he was right: no matter how much rage you have against the world, on your own, all a person can do is survive.

    ¡°There¡¯s soldiers near Krod?¡± Ilya suddenly asked, ending her previous ten straight minutes of silence. ¡°I live in Bearwood, but I¡¯ve never seen any soldiers ...only the town guard.¡± A hateful expression briefly washed over little street rat¡¯s face before being consumed by her trademark blank stare.

    "A highland girl, eh?" The orc quirked a large brow, taking a second, real look at Ilya before returning to his work. ¡°You probably wouldn¡¯t¡¯ve in Bearwood though; the soldiers at the fort are for invasions or rebellion. I hear most of the real military is further east, near the border.¡± Seeming satisfied enough with the first blade¡¯s edge, he swapped to the next, pressing it against the rough spinning stone.

    ¡°That¡¯s what adventurers are for, after all: scrawny kids like you take care of all the day to day monster slaying while the army is off measuring hogs with our neighbours.¡±

    ¡°If you¡¯re gonna kill each other or fuck each other, just do it!¡± He barked. ¡°This foreplay is getting boring.¡± Lucia snorted a laugh for the second time that day, flicking her eyes right to see Ilya¡¯s reaction. As expected her face was blank, but she nodded a few times as if in agreement- to what part, Lucia couldn¡¯t say.

    ¡°That should do it.¡± The smith hummed, quickly wiping the edges of Lucia¡¯s blades with an old rag before handing them over. ¡°Don¡¯t expect the edge to hold though.¡±

    Lucia pressed the knife flat against her forearm, slowly dragging it towards her wrist to watch how it cut through the delicate hairs. When both blades passed her test, Lucia slid them back into their sheathes, pulling out her hard earned reward to pay with.

    ¡°Um, do you have ash resin?¡± Ilya asked, suddenly again. ¡°I want to put these two together.¡± She unwrapped and held out her dagger as well as a white handle that looked to be carved from bone. It wasn¡¯t a master craftsman¡¯s work, but the groove made to fit the blade was cleanly cut and looked to be shaped decently well.

    ¡°Finally attaching an actual handle?¡± Lucia said, lightly jabbing the girl with her elbow. ¡°About time, that shitty leather hack job was pissing me off.¡±

    The smith stared at the weapon, something like recollection in his eyes before he blinked it away and scrunched his brows. ¡°A homemade dagger? And I thought your friend¡¯s knives were sketchy.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t underestimate that thing, she almost killed a guy with it today.¡±

    He pulled a disbelieving face, gesturing towards Ilya. ¡°Really? Little church girl like her?¡± It was amazing what a difference in wardrobe could do.

    ¡°She¡¯s kind of a freak.¡±

    The blacksmith burst out laughing, slamming a hand the size of Ilya¡¯s head down on the counter. ¡°Well shit, guess I have to then; arming budding psychos is my job.¡±

    He disappeared into the back of the shop, returning with a large jar of something. The jar was slightly blackened on the bottom and sides from regular exposure to heat, and from the way the smith placed it so close to the mouth of the forge it was easy to see why.

    After a minute or so of warming, the smith shoved a stick into the jar, stirring around the contents before scooping out a blob of gooey resin. The warm tree blood spread easily on the bottom side of the blade and the inner groves of the bone, sinking into cracks and pores where they rapidly began to solidify. Once the handle and blade were one, the smith wrapped the hilt tightly in leather to ensure it stayed that way.

    ¡°There you go kid.¡± He said, slipping a tough looking sheathe over the blade proper. ¡°Keep it wrapped up like this for a few hours and then you¡¯re free to kill whoever.¡±

    Ilya¡¯s eyes sparkled at the finished dagger, excitedly hooking it to her hip with a ribbon that someone had tied into a decent knot- probably Annabelle. ¡®Slipknots aren¡¯t permanent though, by definition.¡¯ Lucia instinctively found herself criticizing the saint¡¯s choice of knot before dropping it when she realized that Ilya hadn¡¯t paid. Another, much harder, elbow to the side reminded the girl that she had recently ¡®come across¡¯ more than enough gold to cover the fee.

    Counting up the two humans¡¯ coin, the orc swiped up the whole pile in his fist and stuffed the payment into a pocket on his apron. ¡°Pleasure doing business. Now fuck off, I have work to do.¡± With that the green skinned smith returned to his forge, pulling out the red hot bar of metal, picking up his hammer, and beginning to swing anew.

    The pair exited the shop onto the busy street, a little more dangerous and a little lighter on gold.

    ¡°¡­Maybe I should go back to the highlands.¡± Lucia mused, idly juggling one of her newly sharpened knives. ¡°I left because it was a dead end, but maybe that was fine.¡±

    Ilya eyes grew wide, as if her half hearted decision was a bigger deal than it actually was. ¡°You wanna go back?¡±

    ¡°It was quiet; people didn¡¯t bother me there.¡± Lucia explained with a shrug, pausing by the end to lightly kick the girl beside her. ¡°Except you.¡±

    ¡°The highlands have monsters to kill; merchants or gatherers that need escorts¡­ There¡¯s way more orcs, and they¡¯re less annoying than humans or elves.¡± Maybe she had gone far enough, maybe she could stop and just¡­ live again.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know- thinking aloud.¡± She concluded lamely, resuming her forward march without looking back. If she had, Lucia might have noticed the girl had not yet followed.

    If she had, she might have seen the glimmer of madness in the little shadow¡¯s gaze, fully trained on her retreating form.

    If she had, she might have heard the quiet giggle that passed through Ilya¡¯s lips; the conspiratorial whisper to something unseen.

    ¡°Bonus.¡±

 Dreams of Damnation - Chapter 10

    ¡°You want to leave?!¡± Annabelle cried, her voice reverberating off the walls of the empty church.

    Ilya sat in the frontmost pew before her, looking vaguely surprised, as if she didn¡¯t expect the request to be received so poorly.

    ¡°It hasn¡¯t even been a week- I don¡¯t¡­¡± Ilya must have had only bad memories of that town, she must have hated it with all her heart, and yet she wanted to return so soon? ¡°Why?¡±

    Ilya fidgeted with her fingers, their shared gaze breaking. ¡°¡­The city is loud and there¡¯s too many people¡­ plus I have stuff I still need to do back home.¡±

    ¡°What ¡®stuff¡¯!? What could be possibly so important?¡± The saint¡¯s confusion spilled over into the spoken word, the sound of her outburst returning to her ears and making her cringe internally. She didn¡¯t want to shout at Ilya, but she couldn¡¯t calm her spinning mind.

    There were so many questions she could ask- so many bargaining pleas she could make or things she could do to get Ilya to stay.

    She could appeal to emotion: the short but meaningful few days filled with kindness and new experiences and companionship.

    She could appeal to practicality: remind her that there was no guaranteed support system anywhere else, no stable shelter or food she could rely on.

    She could just say no: she could forbid Ilya from going anywhere near that town- force her to stay in the abbey for the rest of her life.

    But would any of that even work?

    Ilya had no emotional attachment to anything in the city apart from exactly two people, and those attachments were newborn and fragile. Imprisonment would only twist their bond into a set of chains, a thing to be broken and escaped from. She was a sneaky and clever girl, and everything she owned could fit on her person at once; loss of stability be damned, if Ilya wanted to escape, she would do so. For the slight against her freedom, Annabelle would never see her again.

    ¡°There¡¯s nothing I can do to deter you, is there?¡± She asked her ward sadly. Ilya shook her head, causing a lock of black hair to fall into her eyes. Of course there wasn¡¯t.

    At such an impasse, the only way forward was flexibility. If Ilya wanted to go, Annabelle would have to let her and figure things out from there. Perhaps she would ultimately have to follow, leaving her flock of many behind to better shepherd one lost lamb.

    ¡°Are you wanting to leave immediately?¡± She hoped for a negative response; there was so much she would have to do to ensure Ilya¡¯s success and prevent a return to squalor. There was even more to do to were she to indeed follow: the process to request an extended leave of absence would take a week at the very least, not to mention the issues that would arise regarding morning service.

    ¡°Soon.¡± Ilya confirmed with two slow nods. ¡°¡­Today.¡± She specified a few seconds later.

    Annabelle sighed, her eyelids falling shut. There went that hope. ¡°Then¡­ at least let me prepare some supplies and find someone to escort you.¡±

    Slowly stepping down from the altar¡¯s chancel, Annabelle placed a hand atop the short wooden wall that kept her from crouching in front of Ilya like she wanted. ¡°I know you can take care of yourself, but it would make me feel better at least.¡±

    Ilya¡¯s eyes flicked from her own fingers to Annabelle¡¯s, holding there before slowly making the journey up to the saint¡¯s face. ¡°I know someone I could go with.¡±

    <hr>

    Lucia awoke to the sound of knocking at the door of her rented room- someone here to bother again her no doubt. Why couldn¡¯t everyone just leave her alone?

    She laid there for a moment, eyes closed, listening to the occasional rapping of knuckles against wood and feeling an utter lack of the rejuvenation that was supposed to follow sleep.

    She never found out why Annabelle was so tired the other day. Maybe they had something in common after all.

    When the knocking resumed, Lucia rolled out of bed onto her hands and knees, casting a rude remark towards the door to let the person behind it know she was alive. Staring at the floor for a few seconds longer than necessary, Lucia finally rose to her feet, shuffling to the door to lambaste whoever interrupted her terrible unsatisfying unconsciousness.

    ¡°What.¡± She greeted with a grumpy scowl, a nun was standing at her door, hands folded primly in front of her.

    ¡°Miss Lucia correct?¡± The sister asked and Lucia confirmed with a slow nod.

    ¡°You have been summoned by the Saint of Amasur. I ask you to please come with me.¡±

    Her heart dropped an inch in her chest. For a brief few seconds Lucia worried the church had somehow sniffed her out- that this nun was here to escort her towards judgment. But she had gone through all that effort to hold back in the sewers hadn¡¯t she? Not even a saint was that good.

    ¡°What does she want?¡± Lucia grumbled, pushing down her anxieties to focus on the irritation instead. ¡°I was trying to sleep.¡±

    ¡°Saint Annabelle has a job for you specifically. The church is prepared to compensate you for your trouble.¡±

    ¡®Yeah, you better be.¡¯ Lucia thought. She hadn¡¯t charged for the saint¡¯s last favour, but she wasn¡¯t her little fucking errand girl to be called up anytime.

    The sister and the adventurer locked eyes for a while, indignant glare versus disciplined stoicism. Behind the nun Lucia could see rays of sun shining through the windows; by the amount of light alone she knew it had to be around noon. As useless and unfulfilling as it was, she had slept in.

    She focused back on the sister. ¡°Make yourself useful and get me breakfast, then maybe I¡¯ll see what your saint has to say.¡± Then she slammed the door in the nun¡¯s face.

    Lucia turned back from the door to look over her small room, staring first at her bed and then at the pile of clothes and leather belts on the floor. If it was just one of those days, it was just one of those days; trying to sleep more would be a waste of time. But was she really going to voluntarily walk into a church, just because they said they were going to pay her?

    Kicking the rest of the pile aside, she found her brown shorts and white shirt, pulling the shorts up to her hips and replacing her overly large sleeping shirt with the more fitted, cuffed one. Her extra pair of socks was hanging over the back of the room¡¯s only chair, her brown cloak folded haphazardly on the seat and her similarly coloured footwear standing tall next to it.

    Lucia picked up the cloak and tossed it over onto the bed, sitting down and beginning the slow process of putting on and lacing up her knee high boots.

    What could the saint possibly want from her that she couldn¡¯t get elsewhere? It couldn¡¯t have just been because they had worked together before; a saint surely had countless paladins at her beck and call, ones she had known far longer than a few days.

    ¡°Tch.¡± She hissed, grumbling to herself. ¡°She¡¯s probably wants to make me fight some ridiculous monster and then steal my kill again.¡±

    When her boots were laced up all the way, Lucia stood back up to attach her many belts and sheathes, the ones around her legs first and the one across her chest last. She felt across the bandolier of throwing knives, one slot still empty from the fight in the sewers.

    Maybe she should make Annabelle buy the replacement, since it was the saint¡¯s fault the old one was irrecoverable. ¡®Stupid brightass attack.¡¯ There was no way she was going to locate and take it back from the undead¡¯s corpse when the corpse no longer existed and she couldn¡¯t know where exactly it used to be.

    When she opened her door again, fully dressed and cloak billowing behind her, the nun was still there. For a second Lucia thought she hadn¡¯t moved at all, but then the nun raised her hands to offer a rather appetizing looking sandwich.

    ¡°You¡­ actually got me breakfast.¡± Lucia stated, surprised and confused but nonetheless pleased.

    ¡°I have strict orders to convince you by any means necessary.¡± The sister replied, handing over the meal.

    Lucia puffed in amusement, brining the sandwich to her mouth. ¡°Well I¡¯m glad you chose this instead of blasting me with a light beam.¡± The lettuce made a satisfying crunch as her incisors sliced it apart- she could almost taste the soil it was grown in.

    ¡°My orders are to convince you, not to antagonize you.¡±

    She took the nun in again as she chewed, scanning her red eyes up and down before eventually swallowing her bite. ¡°¡­Fine. I¡¯ll at least go and hear what the job is. But we¡¯re walking slow, I want to finish this.¡±

    The nun bowed in acceptance. ¡°Very well, Miss.¡±

    <hr>

    The walk over was a peaceful one, much of the stress and annoyance of crowded streets alleviated by the care many people took to avoid roughing around the nun leading her. It was less than the parting of the seas that occurred when she walked behind Annabelle, but the power of the church in Flavenport was still felt, even from a simple sister.

    By the time Lucia stood in front of the double doors of the Church of Amasur, the peaceful feeling had given way once again to vague anxieties. She wasn¡¯t going to burst into flames as soon as she entered, was she?

    ¡°Saint Annabelle is waiting for you.¡± The nun pressed, opening one of the doors for her and gesturing inside. ¡°Please be respectful in her presence.¡±

    Lucia let out a single huff of air, mouth twisting into a frown. ¡°Let¡¯s get this over with.¡± The less time she spent here the better.

    The cathedral was just as opulent inside as it looked from the outside, marble and gold and brass everywhere she looked, light reflecting easily off of polished surfaces to jab her in the eye.

    Ilya and the saint were sitting together at the other end of the hall, the former listening intently as the latter quietly explained something to her.

    The sound of the door closing behind the adventurer alerted Ilya to her presence, those doll like grey eyes flicking to the side and locking in on her instantly. ¡°¡­Lucia¡¯s here.¡± She announced pointlessly, the saint definitely already knew that.

    Annabelle gracefully slid from the pew to stand tall in the centre of the aisle, the sun spotlighting her form through the church¡¯s great windows. The veil covering her hair seemed to melt into the light of day, giving the saint a heavenly aura that only increased Lucia¡¯s unease.

    ¡°Welcome, Miss Lucia. Thank you for coming.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve answered your little summons, now start talking.¡± She snapped at the priestess, no longer in the mood to humour her with pleasantries. Annabelle for her part didn¡¯t seem to mind, getting straight to business. ¡°Ilya tells me you¡¯re thinking of heading for the highlands.¡± She began. ¡°If this is still the case, I have something important to ask of you.¡±

    Lucia broke eye contact with the saint, shifting to the subject of their discussion, stood on her knees atop the pew and leaning over the top of the backrest. The street rat stared at her unblinkingly, expression unreadable.

    The saint matched her glance towards the girl before returning to centre. ¡°Ilya has revealed a desire to return home. I ask you to be the one to escort her there and watch over her until I can relieve you.¡±

    Lucia crossed her arms and breathed in slowly, glancing around the cathedral at random objects while she thought. ¡®More babysitting, huh?¡¯

    It was an easy sounding job: doing something she was already planning on doing, just with an extra 50 pounds of baggage. Ilya would also be leagues less whiny and annoying than the merchants she had escorted in the past; all the girl needed to be satisfied was an occasional explanation and maybe a bit of bread.

    Her company wasn¡¯t too bad either.

    A sigh let her held breath finally escape. ¡°You¡¯re paying for the transport I assume? All her supplies?¡±

    Annabelle nodded once. ¡°When I sent Sister Janine to fetch you, I sent others to hire the boat and purchase everything Ilya will need.¡±

    ¡°How long am I responsible for her?¡± She asked next. ¡°What¡¯s the timeframe?¡±

    Hanging around with the kid was fine for a while, but she doubted Annabelle would want her bundle of joy going on any dangerous quests without her, meaning Lucia would be out of work until the saint arrived.

    ¡°One week minimum, three at the latest. You will be paid by the day, starting now.¡±

    ¡°Fee increase every day over that estimate.¡±

    ¡°Done.¡±

    Annabelle was really serious about this, immediately answering all of her questions and instantly accepting all of her conditions.

    The kid didn¡¯t even know how good she had it; she had found someone who seemed to really care about her, enough to go through all this trouble.

    ¡°Fine, I¡¯ll do it.¡± Lucia huffed, dropping her arms. There really wasn¡¯t any reason to refuse.

    The saint actually bowed in response, her blonde braid hanging down beneath her. ¡°Thank you, Miss Lucia. This means a lot to me.¡±

    ¡°We going as soon as possible?¡± She turned to Ilya who began to nod rapidly before shifting back to Annabelle who looked less sure. ¡°It will¡­ still take some time to prepare everything. Tomorrow morning would be best.¡±

    ¡°Enough time to cut my rental agreement and pack my things.¡± Lucia hummed, fighting back a smirk as she watched Ilya shuffle over to impatiently poke at her caretaker¡¯s shoulder.

    ¡°I know Ilya, I know.¡± Annabelle soothed, running her fingers through jet black hair. ¡°Can I make it up to you somehow? Maybe we can go to the library and I can read to you.¡±

    It took the girl a few seconds to process the concept, but once the suggestion went through, her enthusiasm returned full force. For once the excitement reached her eyes, the tiniest sparks flaring behind dull glass.

    The saint allowed herself to be pulled by the arm towards the doors, meeting eyes with Lucia on the way. ¡°We¡¯ll meet back here at dawn.¡±

    <hr>

    Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.

    Lucia was no stranger to leaving town on short notice. Over the course of her life, she had been required to do so many times, but the process was normally more panicked and rushed. The latest link in the chain was almost relaxing by comparison: neatly packing everything with precision, getting a solid eight hours of actual sleep, and handing her room keys directly to the landlord instead of throwing them during a mad sprint.

    The trio met outside the church as planned, Annabelle wearing a solemn look and Ilya saddled with a brand new rucksack, heavy with supplies for the journey ahead. The girl wobbled on her feet initially, unused to the weight on her spine, but as they crossed the still setting up central market her steps gradually became more steady.

    Watching for a moment as Annabelle helped Ilya down the stairs, Lucia looked up and out over the city¡¯s lower level; then beyond to the harbour, its waters sparkling in the morning light.

    ¡®A whole day spent out there, huh.¡¯ She thought, feeling herself brighten a little. ¡®Been a while.¡¯ She hadn¡¯t set foot on a boat in years, but hopefully her sea legs hadn¡¯t left her.

    The vessel Annabelle had hired was a modest thing: large enough to carry cargo in addition to human passengers, but small enough that the helmsman could keep both port and starboard waters comfortably in view.

    As the trio approached the boat, they could see the crew running back and forth across the deck, making final adjustments. The captain was stood on the dock before his vessel, holding his hands out to the hull which began glowing a deep blue.

    ¡°What¡¯s he doing?¡± Ilya inevitably asked.

    Lucia knew exactly what he was doing, and it killed her good mood. ¡°Hydromancy.¡± She should have expected it.

    When the girl¡¯s wide eyed expression begged for elaboration, she reluctantly continued. ¡°He¡¯s setting up [ Countercurrent ]- it counters currents. Sea vessels use it to ignore big ocean swells or choppy waters, but around here they¡¯re probably focused more on the flow of the river and lake.¡±

    ¡°Wow, you know a lot about this.¡± Ilya commented, sounding impressed.

    Lucia huffed a joyless laugh in reply, looking away from both the girl and the boat. ¡°Yeah. I guess I do.¡±

    ¡°Ah! Saint Annabelle.¡± The captain sauntered up to the trio when he noticed them, removing his wide brimmed hat in greeting. ¡°The ship¡¯s as ready as she can be. Is this here your ¡®valuable cargo?¡¯¡± He beamed down at the little lady stood between the two taller ones.

    Annabelle placed a hand on the top of her ward¡¯s head. ¡°This is Ilya, and yes, she is quite valuable- priceless in fact.¡± As she emphasized the word her expression became severe, her bright blue eyes drilling into the captain¡¯s soul before introductions suddenly continued.

    ¡°Miss Lucia here has been hired to escort her home.¡±

    Lucia said nothing in response, stepping past the captain and onto the ship¡¯s deck, feeling the slight shift and give of buoyancy beneath her feet.

    Vestigial habit had Lucia¡¯s eyes scanning the vessel for faults in the rigging or docking lines, stopping herself before she could go around and critique every single knot.

    ¡°Let¡¯s get going.¡± She said, turning to the girl who was now her responsibility. ¡°No more waiting around; there¡¯s a long trip ahead.¡±

    Annabelle regained that solemn look on her face. ¡°Yes, I suppose you¡¯re right.¡± It was time to say goodbye.

    After a moment¡¯s pause the saint caught her ward in a tight hug, her billowy sleeves draping over the girl¡¯s shoulders and surrounding her in softness. Ilya didn¡¯t reciprocate, standing there limply with a puzzled expression on her face as if she didn¡¯t fully understand what was happening to her.

    ¡°Be safe.¡± The saint murmured next to Ilya¡¯s ear. ¡°I¡¯ll come for you as soon as I can.¡±

    When she finally pulled away from the hug, Annabelle set her hands on Ilya¡¯s shoulders, squeezing gently as she looked the girl straight in the eyes.

    ¡°You¡¯re not alone in this world.¡± She declared, the tug of her lips small yet no less warm. ¡°Not anymore; not ever again.¡±

    ¡°¡­Okay.¡± Ilya accepted, nodding to herself. ¡°Bye, Annabelle.¡±

    When the saint finally let Ilya go, Lucia helped the little waif onto the ship, lifting her by the back of her bag when she almost tripped. It was shocking just how easy it was to carry her, even with the added weight of her supplies.

    With all passengers and cargo safely aboard, the captain began shouting his commands. ¡°Cast off! To open waters!¡± The crew was quick, untying the boat from the dock in less than a minute, setting the vessel free floating out into the harbour.

    As they drifted from the dock, Annabelle¡¯s waving figure slowly shrank into the distance, further and further until she eventually blurred and became one grain of sand among many.

    ¡°Set sail! To Grannford!¡±

    <hr>

    Greater Lake Rollant, sometimes just called The Great Lake, was the largest single body of water in Louterre, fed to its monstrous size by snowmelt and rain flowing down from the upper reaches. It was the heart of the northwestern kingdom, countless vessels crossing its waters yearly, connecting the many cities and villages that bordered its shores in trade and in travel.

    There was no scent of salt in the air as Lucia leaned against the ship¡¯s railing, watching the waves part beneath her. The absence was tragic, but the feeling of being on the water again was enough for her to let it go.

    ¡°Whoa.¡± Ilya¡¯s exclamation drew Lucia¡¯s attention away from the waves, first to her face and then from her eyes to the object of her stunned awe.

    The sheer cliffs of the highland were visible on the opposite shore, walls of stone hundreds of metres high towering over everything. As their vessel drew closer to the river¡¯s mouth, the cliffs seemed to grow ever taller until the pair had to tilt their heads back to view the whole thing.

    ¡°I live up there?!¡± Ilya pointed at the cliff face, eyeing the grey branches that poked over the edge.

    ¡°You don¡¯t live anywhere, you¡¯re homeless.¡± Lucia snarked in reply, before her brain helpfully reminded her that she didn¡¯t live anywhere either. Even though she had the money to rent a roof over her head when she needed it, Lucia was, in the most literal sense of the word, also homeless.

    ¡°I was in a box the whole first ride so I didn¡¯t get to see them¡­¡± Ilya continued, having either not heard or just completely ignored the adventurer¡¯s jab.

    As the boat continued into the river, the cliffs crept closer and closer until their sides sloped and slid into the water of the left bank. The steep terrain was just flat enough for small shrubs and grasses to take root, but the shoreline was littered with the slowly decaying remnants of overachievers that had tested the limits.

    A large bird perched on the debris, eyes focused intensely on the water below. In a precise and deadly motion, the creature¡¯s long beak jabbed forward into the river, yanking out a sizeable fish. Violently shaking its prey to cease its struggling, the heron looked up at the two humans, regarding them for a few seconds before unfolding its four wings and flying away upriver. The boat followed, but eventually lost sight of the bird when it banked right and disappeared into the untouched wilderness.

    With the minor distraction gone, all that was left to pass the time with was watching the scenery go by, sometimes conversing about it, sometimes not, and occasionally picking at the food Annabelle had packed into Ilya¡¯s bag.

    Eventually getting bored of the cliffs she had been previously awestruck by, the grey eyed girl had begun to whittle, repeatedly cutting into a bit of wood that she had seemingly materialized from nowhere. With no equivalent hobby, Lucia could only watch, intermittently lulled by the sound of waves into naps that never lasted.

    A few hours later the boat reached the calmer waters of Lesser Lake Maria, the stone wall that had been always at their side finally bending away. The cliffs wrapped around the lake¡¯s northwestern shore, tapering off in the east as its multiple tributaries eroded the earth and turned a sheer drop into a gradual incline.

    ¡°Why does the cliff have a hole in it?¡± Ilya spoke, pointing across the water with her knife, a misshapen wooden carving held at her side.

    ¡°Uhh¡­ looks like a shore cave.¡± Lucia answered, bringing a flat hand to her brow to better see the dark recess in the rock. The fact that they could see it at all at this distance told her the opening was incredibly large, which in turn put the enormity of the cliffs into further perspective. ¡°A fuckin¡¯ big one.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s in it?¡±

    The adventurer shrugged. ¡°Water? Fish? I don¡¯t know, I¡¯m not from here.¡± The last one she had seen contained a boat and a weird hermit, so anything went.

    A deckhand that had been passively listening to their conversation spoke up. ¡°Rumours between seadogs say it¡¯s home to some kinda monster. One that doesn¡¯t like visitors.¡±

    ¡°Adventurers couldn¡¯t handle a mystery like that.¡± Lucia commented, stepping aside to let him adjust the sails. ¡°Surely a party¡¯s already gone in to take a look?¡± She added afterwards.

    ¡°Aye, a few. But when you ask ¡®em, they can never remember what¡¯s inside.¡±

    ¡°So what, a siren? That sounds like they got hit by a spell.¡± She had never personally heard of a spell that wiped someone¡¯s memory, but it wasn¡¯t like they all got blackout drunk in there.

    The sailor made a face. ¡°Why would a siren be sending a meal away? You sound like my old quartermaster- that fool always said it was a dragon.¡±

    ¡°What other spellcasting monster do you know that likes sitting in soggy caves!?¡± Lucia shot back, throwing up her arms. She pointed a finger accusingly when he was about to give an answer. ¡°Don¡¯t say naga, those are even less likely to let someone go. At least a siren can be talked to.¡±

    When she looked to Ilya for her input, Lucia found the girl still staring at the cave in the distance, the same as she had left her. What wasn¡¯t the same was her expression, an uncharacteristic glare marring her usually blank face.

    ¡°Hey, you good?¡± Lucia offered, nudging the girl with her elbow.

    ¡°Annabelle says I am.¡± Ilya instantly replied, whatever emotion she was feeling dissipating as she turned away from the curiosity.

    ¡°Wha- That¡¯s not...¡± Once again Lucia found herself stunned by the girl¡¯s twisting and all too literal mind. ¡°What?¡± She had to replay their exchange in her head before it made sense.

    Scoffing in irritation, the adventurer pressed a palm against the girls face and lightly pushed it away. ¡°Never mind- just shut up. Go back to carving.¡±

    There was still a long way to go.

    <hr>

    By the time the duo finally entered the town of Bearwood, the sun was beginning to set, the golden light of the waning day slowly sinking beneath the distant treeline. Townsfolk were still rushing about, gathering last minute ingredients for dinner, heading home from work, or preparing to spend time with friends. The streets were busy, yes, but it was a far cry from Flavenport¡¯s claustrophobic sea of bodies.

    A pair of women standing outside a closing shop ceased their conversation when they noticed the strangers approaching, whispering between one another just quiet enough to be drowned out by the rest of the shoppers. Lucia was more than used to the scrutiny, and was about to instinctually snap at them before she realized they weren¡¯t even looking at her, they were looking at her charge. Glancing around the street as they walked, Lucia found a few more pairs of eyes fixated on the thin girl beside her- a few more faces being made.

    Ilya was an incredibly strange person to be sure, and there were many things about her that warranted stares, but for the moment she was displaying none of them. To an untainted observer she should have looked completely normal.

    ¡°Do people usually stare and whisper about you like this?¡± Lucia asked as soon as the street was comfortably behind them.

    Ilya shook her head, eyes dropping to her feet as they slowed to a stop. ¡°They¡¯ve never even looked at me before.¡± The honest admission had the exact tone of voice as the one back at the Flavenport guild: a familiar world weariness that made Lucia¡¯s old wounds ache.

    The adventurer stood beside her charge, shooting a scowl backward. ¡°Don¡¯t let it bother you too much. They¡¯re lucky enough to have uninteresting lives, and that turns them into annoying gossips.¡±

    ¡°...Let¡¯s just go find dinner.¡± She sighed, scratching her brow with a thumb. ¡°¡®You know anywhere? I doubt you can sneak into the guild a second time.¡± Especially since it seemed the girl was now an object of interest.

    ¡°There¡¯s one place I wanted to try¡­¡±

    Lucia raised her eyebrows. ¡°Really?¡± She found herself surprised even though she really shouldn¡¯t have been. Despite the fact that Ilya could never afford it herself, she obviously would know where the rest of the town went to eat. ¡°¡­After you then.¡±

    The little street rat led Lucia through her streets, down roads and around corners, catching a few more stares from those they passed by. Fitted stone paths of the east side eventually gave way to the rough cobblestones of the west, grungy old buildings casting deep shadows against the sunset. One more left turn and they stopped in front of a open door with a sign hanging just overhead. ¡°Oh, it¡¯s this place.¡± Lucia remarked- she remembered overhearing the name a few times at the local guild.

    Ilya nodded before glancing to the side at a nondescript spot on the ground. ¡°The owner is the one who told me to go to that city, he said adventurers knew lots of stuff.¡±

    ¡°Then I have him to blame for reuniting us.¡± Lucia deadpanned in reply.

    ¡°I never got to eat anything before, but he gave me really nice water.¡± Ilya commented as they passed through the entry hall, spinning around and walking backwards to do so.

    Finding an empty table not too far from the door, the pair sat down, removing their rucksacks and finally relaxing.

    The tavern was cozy- homely- a lot of wood and warm lighting. There was a bard performing a soothing tune in the corner, casting some kind of magic effect over the whole establishment.

    A tall elf behind the bar was hard at work filling mugs with alcohol and handing them off to his server. He was much paler in general palette than any elf Lucia had ever seen: frosty blue eyes, pale blonde hair, snowy white skin- if she weren¡¯t so jaded, she would find him hot.

    The elf eventually noticed the two new customers, quickly filling up one mug before looking up again and realizing who exactly had paid his tavern a visit.

    ¡°Heeyy¡­ you¡¯re back.¡± The barkeep¡¯s words were stretched as he approached the table to greet the street rat. ¡°¡­Why are you back?¡± He placed the drink down in front of Lucia without looking.

    ¡°I live here.¡± Ilya stated, tilting her head.

    ¡°No, I mean-¡° The elf squeezed his eyes closed before opening them. ¡°Weren¡¯t you going on a ¡®great quest for knowledge¡¯ or something?¡± He held up his hands for emphasis.

    ¡°I learned stuff, now I¡¯m done. Lucia wanted food, so I brought her here.¡± Reaching down to her hip, Ilya raised her coin pouch, letting it drop to the table with a thump and jingle of coins. ¡°I even brought money this time.¡± She sounded very proud about that fact.

    ¡°¡­Welcome back then.¡± The elf sighed. ¡°I¡¯d be happy to serve you.¡±

    Lucia had seen enough fake smiles in her life to recognize one on the spot, but when his lips curled upward at the little street rat, she was caught off guard. It seemed different than the usual service worker¡¯s chipper mask: it was a little bit more... personal.

    Lucia didn¡¯t know what this guy¡¯s deal was, but she hoped any secret disdain he held for Ilya wouldn¡¯t spill over onto her as well. She didn¡¯t enjoy spit in her food.

    ¡°What¡¯s with the new clothes?¡± He asked, gesturing at Ilya¡¯s dark tunic.

    Ilya was happy to tell him, showing off the garment. ¡°I met a priest lady named Annabelle; she gave them to me. She¡¯s really nice.¡±

    His head leaned forward and down in disbelief. ¡°Annabelle. As in Saint Annabelle?¡±

    Lucia worked on her drink as Ilya began telling the barkeep- apparently named Issnur -all about her new guardian and the things they had done. They were things the adventurer had been mostly absent for, so most of it was news to her.

    About halfway through the mug and halfway through the story of day one, a buzz took hold over Lucia''s body. She looked down into the drink with squinted eyes, it must have been some kind of orc mead, those fuckers had strong livers.

    ¡°And then we went on an actual quest as real adventurers! Lucia was there too, she fought a really strong zombie all by herself for a long time- she was so cool!¡± In her slightly inebriated state, the rare words of praise hit Lucia even harder, bringing out a bashfulness she hadn¡¯t felt since she was a kid.

    ¡°I can do a lot better than that¡­¡± She grumbled vaguely, turning her head away from them both. ¡°¡­stupid saint¡­¡±

    By the end of Ilya¡¯s tale, Issnur¡¯s expression was that of mild confusion, either doubt that such things had taken place at all or just doubt that the little street rat had been a part of it. ¡°That¡­ sounds like a lot of good you¡¯ve done.¡±

    He opened his mouth to say more, but a loud growl interrupted him. Ilya looked down at her stomach blankly as if to judge it for breaking the flow of their conversation.

    ¡°Barkeep!¡± Lucia¡¯s slammed her mug down onto the table to break Issnur out of his surprised silence. ¡°We¡¯re getting hungry, what d¡¯you have for us?¡±

    Like flipping a switch, the snow elf shook away his worries to focus on his job. ¡°Oven roasted highland game, caught and killed just today.¡± Out of his apron came a card, covered front and back with the establishment¡¯s menu. ¡°We also have soups and salads if meat isn¡¯t your thing today.¡±

    Even though she couldn¡¯t read it, Ilya looked over the card with interest, focusing on the drawn images of various roasts. After viewing both sides she retreated into her own head, the turning cogs visible on her face as her eyes burned a hole into the table.

    Finally, she decided on her order.

    ¡°¡­Do you have any deer?¡±

    <hr>

    The moon was out when they left the tavern, the pale eye of divinity gazing down on the quiet streets below. They had eaten well, Ilya devouring her venison like a ravenous hound and Lucia enjoying her pork at a more even pace. With nothing left on the agenda except finding a place to sleep the two decided to take a walk around town to digest.

    ¡°People eat like that every day...¡± Ilya let her thoughts free as she eyed her gaunt reflection in the windows they passed. ¡°There¡¯s so much I¡¯ve missed out on.¡±

    Lucia, pacified by multiple mugs of mead, patted the girl on the back. ¡°We have a week or more to kill, so we can go wherever you want. More bars, a cafe, dress store- I don¡¯t care, I¡¯m getting paid for this.¡±

    Their walk took them into and out of the eastern districts, the loop taking them past a large and bougie manor surrounded by a high metal fence.

    ¡°Big fucking house¡­¡± Lucia whistled, making the two guards at the gate flinch and grip their spears tighter. ¡°That the lord¡¯s place?¡± She asked the girl walking ahead of her.

    ¡°Mm.¡± Ilya hummed in the affirmative, noticeably picking up the pace to leave the gate and its watchers behind.

    ¡°He tried to get me killed once.¡± She added offhandedly, once the guards could no longer hear her.

    ¡°No shit?¡± Lucia brows raised with surprise. Ilya was a criminal sure, but she was a petty thief- one among many, not special enough to warrant special treatment from the town¡¯s highest authority. ¡°What did you do? What happened?¡±

    ¡°...I don¡¯t wanna talk about it.¡±

    ¡°Fair enough.¡± Lucia accepted- they were similar in that regard.

    The two continued away from the manor, crossing an empty lumberyard to the worn dirt road that led out of the town proper, past farmer¡¯s fields and into the woods. Occasionally along the route, sweet smelling fixtures were placed atop wooden poles, attracting swarms of fireflies that lit the path below.

    It was at the end of this path that the duo¡¯s wandering ended, slowing to a stop a hundred or so feet from the forest¡¯s edge, with only the glow of the moon to guide them back.

    ¡°Hey Lucia?¡± Ilya suddenly spoke up, a few paces ahead of her and faced towards the line of trees. ¡°You and me¡­ we¡¯re friends right? I¡¯m your only friend?¡±

    It had been a long, long time since Lucia last thought about calling someone a friend; it had been even longer since she actually did so. Somewhere along the way she had subconsciously accepted that friends weren¡¯t something she was ever going to have.

    Yet here- now, staring at this dumb fucking kid who thought the two of them were already at that stage, Lucia considered it. Did she want Ilya to be her friend? Was Ilya someone who could be her friend?

    The street rat was quiet and curious- a good listener. She was someone who wanted to hear what Lucia had to say and someone who respected the life experience years of adventuring brought. It felt¡­ kind of good to be looked up to like that.

    She was a quick learner too, Lucia didn¡¯t have to repeat herself endlessly before the girl would understand. With just a bit of guidance, Ilya could take care of herself; she didn¡¯t need a babysitter, as much as Lucia compared their relationship to that.

    Most importantly, Ilya was a blank slate. She was a know nothing kid who hadn¡¯t had all of the false civility or lopsided morals of mass society drilled into her. Even if someone like Annabelle eventually tried, she wouldn¡¯t internalize them the same way; they would forever remain ¡®stuff everybody else thinks.¡¯

    Ilya just didn¡¯t have the ability, nor the want, to judge her like the rest of them did.

    If that was the case¡­

    ¡°I guess¡­ maybe you can be.¡± Lucia muttered hesitantly, scratching her elbow and looking away at nothing. ¡°It¡¯s not like there¡¯s anyone else remotely close.¡±

    ¡°¡­That¡¯s good.¡± Ilya said breathily, slowly turning around to reveal a smile so wide that it almost split her cheeks. ¡°I¡¯m really glad.¡±

    Lucia still remembered her first time seeing Ilya¡¯s eyes. She remembered her first thoughts upon looking into those strange grey irises, searching for signs of a prankster¡¯s amusement or an actor¡¯s cunning, only to find¡­ nothing. It was like they were fake- the eyes of a doll, made of glass or crystal instead of flesh and cartilage.

    The eyes that bored into her now were very much real, filled with more life and manic joy than Ilya had ever shown before. The light of the moon caught her at just the right angle to shadow her face yet illuminate her irises, making it seem like they were glowing.

    A gentle breeze drifted down from the mountains, filling the long silence between them with the sound of creaking branches and rustling leaves.

    ¡°Let¡¯s be friends forever.¡±

    In the next second, Lucia found herself staring into the palm of a giant hand, time slowing as it burst forth from the sea of trees to steal her away. She tried to scream, but her cries were cut off as the wooden fist engulfed her entire body and dragged her into the forest.

    Darkness.

    Disorientation.

    Vertigo.

    Bark pressing down against her.

    Thorns cutting into her.

    ¡­

    Weightlessness.

    Suddenly freed from her prison with a downward throw, Lucia was assaulted by the taste of filth in her mouth and a foul stench in her nose not dissimilar from the sewers of Flavenport. She scrambled to her hands and knees as to not drown in defilement, coughing and sputtering the whole time. Where-

    ¡°Welcome, lost soul, to my menagerie of discarded and despairing things.¡±

    The adventurer¡¯s blood ran cold, her muscles freezing as she stared into the dark shallow water beneath her. A tiny voice deep inside Lucia¡¯s soul begged her to not look, it begged her to run and hide, but her head was already moving.

    Creaking her neck slowly upward towards the malicious voice, she was met with the face of absolute evil: a colossal monster of black scales and green eyes grinning down at her with glee.

    ¡°I think you will fit in quite nicely.¡±

 Dreams of Damnation - Chapter 11

    Experience could grant an adventurer many things: physical strength, mental fortitude and flexibility, comfort with a favoured weapon, new abilities both magic and mundane. Given enough experience- enough quests under the belt, an adventurer would eventually develop the most important tool of all, the gut instinct.

    The gut was a store of more wisdom than could fill an entire dusty bookshelf, knowledge that had never been learned directly and yet one just knew was true.

    Lucia¡¯s gut told her she was going to die.

    The being towering over her might as well had ¡®The End¡¯ written on each of its scales like the back cover of a children¡¯s book- her own story coming to a close as abruptly as a turn of a page.

    She wanted to run; her instincts continued to scream that she should, but her legs just wouldn¡¯t move. They were rooted to the spot, sinking deep into the toxic black mud of the swamp.

    ¡°You know this face¡­ though you have never laid eyes on it.¡± The bass of the beast¡¯s voice caused Lucia¡¯s insides to vibrate in the most uncomfortable manner. ¡°Your body knows to feel fear even as your mind squirms in ignorance.¡±

    As if by command, she shivered, an involuntary chill up the spine that grew into a trembling that would not stop.

    The creature of Chaos rumbled at the sight, a sneer joining the cruel smile on its leathery lips; revealing endless rows of ivory. ¡°Even one such as you, shunned by Order, cannot escape the screams of your ancestors, trapped within your very bones.¡±

    This was all a nightmare, it had to be. She was still asleep on the boat; Ilya would shake her awake anytime now and ask another silly question about simple things.

    Curling its massive wings around the clearing, the beast gained an aura of smug satisfaction, soaking in its victims fear with delight.

    ¡°I am Visnavik¡¯drok¡¯sahrot.¡± It announced, the name spoken like a threat all its own. ¡°I am the black dragon, the death of hope; the rightful ruler of this land.¡±

    It leaned in close- she could feel its breath on her face. ¡°And you, little Lucia, have the honour of serving me until the end of time.¡±

    ¡®Wakeupwakeupwakeupwakeupwakeupwakeupwakeupwakeupwakeupwakeupwakeupwakeupwakeupwakeupwakeup-¡®

    The feeling of bark and thorn against her flesh returned as a serpentine vine burst from the ground below her, wrapping around her torso and pinning her arms to her sides. Like a splash of cold water to the face, the meaning of the dragon¡¯s words and the reality of the situation hit the adventurer all at once. She was not going to be waking up from this one.

    A mixed scream and sob ripped from Lucia¡¯s throat as she began to thrash in her bonds, desperately trying to reach for her knives and free herself.

    ¡°Ahh~ this is so exciting!¡±

    Ilya was suddenly there, palms pressed together in front of her mouth while her eyes sparkled with genuine joy. ¡°¡®Until the end of time!¡¯¡± She repeated the dragon¡¯s words, a mad giggle spilling from her lips. ¡°We¡¯re going to have so much fun together!¡±

    Lucia flinched back as the little shadow drew close, her knife drawn and ready. ¡°G-Get away from me!¡± She cried, tears flowing free as she struggled harder to escape. It was no use; it was like she was caught in tangling seaweed, drowning beneath the surface where no one could hear her scream.

    Instead of ending her life with a jab to the throat, Ilya cut one of the sleeves from the adventurer¡¯s damp shirt, exposing her shoulder to the air.

    ¡°This is going to hurt a lot, okay?¡± She warned, stepping back. ¡°But then everything will be better, don¡¯t worry! You¡¯ll be like me!¡± The attempt at reassurance had the exact opposite effect, sending Lucia into a blind panic.

    ¡°Poor little Lucia.¡± The dragon mocked, relishing her sobs as it willed the vines to bring her in. ¡°So tired of life and yet too afraid to end it.¡±

    ¡°Know that you have forever lost that chance. May the regret sting eternally.¡±

    Lucia shrieked as the beast¡¯s claw pierced through the flesh of her arm, past the thin layer of fat and the scar tissue of lesser wounds to dig into hard earned muscle. It dragged the claw in different directions, carving her up like a slaughtered pig while its terrible laughter echoed all around.

    Her fighter¡¯s constitution quickly became her worst enemy: every time she thought she would pass out from the pain, adrenaline would slap her back to lucidity, forcing her to feel every second of agony.

    Blood filled her mouth somewhere along the way; maybe her throat had finally torn under the strain of her wailing, or maybe her gnashing of teeth had finally sliced through her tongue. Regardless of its source, she clung to the familiar taste of iron and the warmth from her beating heart. As long as the blood was hot, she was still alive.

    Lucia¡¯s suffering reached its peak as the violent slicing of dissection was replaced with the harsh burn of magic. For the briefest second it felt like her skin had been set ablaze, but an instant later, it was gone.

    She was cold.

    The vine that had ensnared the adventurer loosened its grasp, letting its captive splash back down into the sludge. Her body was shaking as she lay there on her hands and knees, choking down stuttery breaths that wanted nothing more than to tumble back out as sobs.

    ¡°You did it!¡± Ilya was before her again. She lifted her head to stare at the hem of the girl¡¯s dark grey tunic, stained pure black by the filthy water it had absorbed. ¡°The first one hurts the most, but the second one is a lot easier. I hope I¡¯m lucky enough to get another soon!¡±

    ¡°Ilya¡­ why?¡± Lucia breathed, two words that held hundreds of questions. Why did you do this? Why are you capable of doing this? Why did it have to me? Why does it always have to be me?

    Ilya tilted her head slightly. ¡°What d¡¯you mean?¡°

    ¡°It¡¯s a fucking monster!¡± Lucia cried out, pushing off of the ground to look up at Ilya directly, teary eyes pleading, begging her to understand.

    ¡°Don¡¯t call her that.¡± Ilya¡¯s chipper attitude and friendly energy suddenly evaporated, her smile curling into a scolding frown. ¡°She¡¯s your Queen too now, you have to be respectful.¡±

    Lucia shook her head, slowly at first but growing ever faster with each turn. She just couldn¡¯t take this.

    The former adventurer shuffled back in the mud, taking one last look between the ancient dragon and her minion before scrambling to her feet and sprinting out of the clearing.

    ¡°Hey!¡± Ilya reached a hand out as her new friend fled into the darkness. Why was she running? They were friends now; friends were supposed to stick together. At least that was what she thought; she had never had a friend before.

    Lady Visnavik slapped her tail against the ground. ¡°Leave her.¡± She ordered, a dry laugh on her breath as she licked the blood from her claws. ¡°Once branded, there is nowhere in this world she can run to where I cannot find her.¡±

    Ilya knew it was only a statement meant to stop her from running off as well, but the way her Lady worded it made the girl smile.

    They could never get lost or go missing, nor could they ever be taken away and hidden. Lady Visnavik would always know exactly where they were, and if they had proved their value, always collect them. It was a comforting thought.

    When her claws were finally clean, Lady Visnavik brought her index finger down to draw a circle into the dirt of her islet. ¡°That is one of the tasks I had given you complete.¡± The dragon hummed. ¡°Now the other- your report.¡±

    This was the moment of truth: if the information she had gathered was good enough, she would be proven worthy of the trust her Queen had placed in her.

    Lady Visnavik would be pleased, she would praise her again; those wonderful warm feelings and electric sparks would shoot through her body.

    Ilya shook herself from her daydream, quickly rushing to sit in the indicated space before her mistress could grow impatient.

    ¡°U-Um, where should I begin, my Queen?¡± She stuttered once in position, tilting her head back to look up at the dragon¡¯s harsh and ridged face. There was so much she had learned, but she wasn¡¯t sure how to sort it into important and unimportant parts.

    ¡°The existence of this kingdom itself intrigues me.¡± Lady Visnavik replied, her claws tapping in that familiar thoughtful rhythm. ¡°The grandmaster chieftains and war shamans that paid me tribute were far stronger than any human. How could they have been toppled so completely?¡±

    ¡°The first king of Louterre was¡­ was a hero.¡± Ilya answered, the novelty of responding to someone else¡¯s questions for once sitting odd in her chest. ¡°They call him the Hero-King. He fought all of the strongest guys on his own and then his really big army came in and took care of the rest.¡±

    ¡°Um¡­ at least that¡¯s what one of the books in a library said¡­¡± At the last moment she poisoned her definite explanation with doubt, her confidence faltering under her Lady¡¯s attention.

    ¡°Of course.¡± Vibrations tickled Ilya¡¯s right ear as a low growl rattled through Lady Visnavik¡¯s chest. ¡°The cosmic fluke, beloved hunting hounds of Order, the spring of strength eternal¡­ a hero.¡± The word was hissed like a curse, spat to the wind like bile.

    Her Lady¡¯s snout twitched with agitation as she looked down upon her servant. ¡°This¡­ Hero-King¡­ his line holds the throne to this day?¡±

    Ilya nodded. ¡°Yes, my Lady. I heard they aren¡¯t as good as he was though, I don¡¯t know if the king of right now could do it again.¡±

    Lady Visnavik let a puff of warm air blow through her nostrils and teeth- a scoff. ¡°Even if his descendants inherited the power, the stress and strain of many battles are needed for a hero to reach such heights. Without bloodied hands a hero is in name only.¡±

    It took a moment for Ilya to digest the explanation, her unattended gaze slowly sinking over time. Though the stories went on and on about the great feats of the gods¡¯ chosen heroes, she realized looking back that they failed to mention anything about how someone could get so strong in the first place. They all made it seem like a hero came out of the womb with the ability to conquer the world- something that apparently wasn¡¯t true.

    ¡°Then¡­ it¡¯s best to kill heroes early, right?¡± She asked, gripping the handle of her dagger tightly. If heroes started at the same place as everyone else, it should be simple to smother them in the crib. ¡°If they die before they can get strong enough, they can never be a threat.¡±

    ¡°Your enthusiasm for bloodshed pleases me.¡± Lady Visnavik praised with mild chuckle, sending a delicious shiver through Ilya¡¯s limbs and leaving her pleasantly numb. ¡°But before you go slaughtering fledgling heroes in my name, answer me this: how will you know who is a hero and who is not? By what method will you know where they will be born?¡±

    Ilya deflated, looking back down at the dirt. ¡°I¡­ I don¡¯t know. I don¡¯t have one.¡±

    Lady Visnavik puffed again, shaking her head. ¡°Because one does not exist. Heroes are nonsensical beings, the entirety of their lives from beginning to end, without design.¡±

    The dragon¡¯s tail began to swish behind her, creating ripples in the water with each irate movement. ¡°Born from random occurrence, they awaken to their abilities by pure chance. Who grows strong enough to be noticed by the gods and who dies nameless in a hole is based on nothing.¡±

    A sigh escaped from giant lungs. ¡°A kingdom built on a foundation of luck could not have survived this long through luck alone. I assume their military forces remain sizable?¡±

    Ilya mentally scrambled, rapidly stuffing away the new information and trying to remember everything she had seen or heard on her journey.

    ¡°Um¡­ I never saw any soldiers at all.¡± She realized. ¡°All I saw out there were normal looking guards and a bunch of adventurers.¡± Ilya had no clue if the amount of adventurers in Louterre was more or less than normal as she had nowhere else to compare it to, but it felt like a lot.

    ¡°There was a smith that said adventures take care of monsters and Chaos stuff.¡± She recalled, thumbing a bead of resin that had leaked out from her dagger¡¯s handle and solidified there. ¡°He said it¡¯s because all the soldiers are at the border or watching the orcs.¡±

    Lady Visnavik turned her head in a very specific direction, staring past the wall of trees and shrubs surrounding the clearing to the lands beyond. ¡°Mm, I remember overhearing mention of the stronghold of Krod. I had thought them wiped out entirely when regular tribute stopped, but it seems they were merely occupied.¡±

    There were a few moments of silence before a rumble came from the great dragon¡¯s chest. ¡°Humans, conquering the land and lording over their fallen foes; orcs cowering under the thumb of a martial force and penned like cattle, how the roles have reversed¡­¡± Her upper lip curled back. ¡°It makes me sick.¡±

    Ilya wasn¡¯t too happy about it either: it was bad enough that the Kingdom of Louterre pretended to own her Queen¡¯s highlands, trying to back up the claim without a hero was even more insulting.

    The orcs who lived here before seemed much smarter in comparison, recognizing Lady Visnavik¡¯s greatness and bringing offerings to show their fealty. The more Ilya heard about the highland tribes of old, the more she wished she could meet them- any who lowered their heads to the black dragon were friends to her.

    Maybe she could go to Krod one day. Maybe with Lucia; she said she liked orcs.

    ¡°What of these adventurers then?¡± Lady Visnavik continued questioning, moving the report forward and away from things that irritated her. ¡°Any of note?¡±

    If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    ¡°There¡¯s Lucia, but we have her already.¡± Ilya said redundantly. ¡°From what I saw I think she¡¯s one of the strong ones.¡±

    On the surface, Lucia didn¡¯t seem that strong, there were other adventurers that looked more impressive, but while they always had to form parties to get the job done, Lucia always worked alone. She was capable enough on her own to have a good record with the guild, despite how little everyone in it thought of her. The wood elf lady said it herself: other parties would have been slaughtered by that zombie, but Lucia held her ground.

    ¡°There were a bunch of adventurers that kind of sucked in comparison. Like this one warrior that I snuck up on really easily and could have stabbed.¡± Lucia had been distracting said warrior at the time, but the idea that Ilya could be at any advantage whatsoever, over anyone, didn¡¯t reflect kindly on his abilities. ¡°I¡¯m not strong at all so he must not be either.¡±

    ¡°Annabelle¡¯s¡­ kind of an adventurer?¡± She continued when her list of proper adventurers quickly ran dry. ¡°I don¡¯t think I could stab her though, she¡¯s way stronger than everyone else.¡±

    ¡°I like Annabelle, she¡¯s nice.¡± Ilya¡¯s thoughts suddenly made a complete 180, from thinking about the saint as an enemy to thinking about her as a mentor. ¡°She gave me these nice clothes and taught me a lot of this stuff I¡¯m telling you and- oooh ooh!¡± Ilya interrupted herself, hands motioning excitedly. ¡°She taught me how to cast a spell! I actually did magic!¡±

    ¡°Yes, I felt it.¡± Lady Visnavik said to her surprise. ¡°When I peered through you to see what it was, you were casting [ Harm ] on yourself.¡±

    A mocking smirk formed on her Lady¡¯s lips, long neck curling so she could lean close. ¡°Try pointing it at someone else next time.¡±

    Ilya looked down at the dirt bashfully. Her Lady had felt her cast her first spell? She remembered thinking about her mistress just before the magic changed, did that have something to do with it? Maybe Annabelle would know, but she would also probably freak out again.

    ¡°But my, that saint of yours¡­¡± When Ilya looked up from the ground, Lady Visnavik¡¯s head had pulled back to a more comfortable position. ¡°How well she knows her place and how perfectly she plays the role assigned to her.¡±

    ¡°After all of the aberrants I have been forced to stomach in this changed world¡­ to find one so true to their nature, it is refreshing.¡±

    Vibrations again tickled Ilya¡¯s ears as Her Queen chuckled darkly. ¡°I eagerly await the day that loving smile crumples into despair. How delicious her tears will taste.¡±

    Ilya¡¯s thoughts pulled her back in- it was good to know that she wasn¡¯t wrong in liking Annabelle. The saint was different to the other preachers she had met: warm, giving, closer to the ideal that all their stories said one should be. She had been a great help and guide, and Ilya hoped to continue taking advantage of that kindness.

    ¡®What one should be¡­¡¯ Her own thoughts echoed around her head to return to the forefront.

    Her Lady was very adamant that everyone and everything had a way of being that was right, that everyone had a role to play and a set of rules that should never be strayed from.

    Annabelle followed the rules, Lady Visnavik liked her.

    The orcs and humans didn¡¯t follow the rules, Lady Visnavik was disgusted by them.

    Heroes had no rules to follow, Lady Visnavik hated them.

    ¡°Is that the extent of your report, then?¡± Her Lady interrupted her thoughts once again. ¡°Was all that time wasted?¡±

    ¡°Well, um¡­¡± Ilya panicked, scrambling to produce more intel so as not to disappoint her Queen. ¡°There were a lot of different kinds of people out there! I saw humans, and orcs, there are a few wood elves too but I only saw one of those¡­¡±

    ¡°What about the dwarves?¡± Her Lady asked suddenly, surprising her with an unknown.

    Ilya blinked. ¡°The what?¡±

    Her Queen pointed a single claw, holding it straight and level a few feet off the ground to suggest height. ¡°Puny bearded things with ale for blood.¡±

    ¡°I¡­ I didn¡¯t see anyone like that.¡± Ilya replied. ¡°I didn¡¯t hear about them either.¡±

    Having alcohol for blood sounded interesting though. Would stabbing them count for using her Lady¡¯s scale properly? Could she open them up when she was thirsty? When she was older, of course.

    Lady Visnavik resumed her thoughtful thrumming. ¡°The cowards must have retreated into the depths to hide.¡± She said. ¡°A shame, dwarven crafts are always a welcome addition to my hoard.¡±

    ¡°Oh! I saw a snow elf though!¡± Ilya remembered, hoping to ward off Lady Visnavik¡¯s disappointment. ¡°His name was Issnur, he told me how to get out of town and where to go so I could learn things for you!¡±

    Her Lady¡¯s head slowly pulled up and back with suspicion. ¡°That is not an elven name. Where did you find this¡­ snow elf?¡±

    ¡°He owns a bar in town.¡± Ilya answered innocently. ¡°The Silver Dragon.¡±

    Visnavik¡¯s pupils shrank into thin slits, head leaning all the way back in. ¡°The what.¡±

    <hr>

    It was the dead of night, and the Silver Dragon Tavern was closed. Seats were up on the tables, the floor had been swept and scrubbed, the lights were low, and Issnur stood alone behind the counter, cleaning the remaining mugs. He had kicked the last drunkards out an hour ago, waking the humans from their stupor with a puff of icy air and locking the door behind them.

    It was an average day all in all, steady profit with the added bonus of a new face he had never served before.

    Lucia seemed like the upright sort, escorting a little orphan all the way back to Bearwood at the church¡¯s behest, but that was also why Issnur worried for her. For as mighty and capable as the adventurer seemed, as long as she stayed by the girl¡¯s side, she was in an unknown amount of danger.

    Those four still hadn¡¯t turned up, nor had their bodies. Ilya was not to be trusted.

    ¡°Mister Issnur, Sir.¡± A young voice broke the silence of the empty bar, sounding too chipper to be sincere but too lifeless to be a joke.

    The snow elf flicked his eyes towards a dark corner of the room that the light over the bar couldn¡¯t reach. A small silhouette stood in the darkness, arms held behind the intruder¡¯s back innocently.

    ¡®Speak of the devil¡­¡¯

    ¡°We¡¯re closed.¡± He stated, the warmth of his ¡®on the job¡¯ persona nowhere to be found. ¡°How did you get in here?¡±

    ¡°My Queen has a message for you.¡± Ilya replied, acknowledging his question with a smile but refusing to answer it. She stepped out of the corner as she spoke, taking two- three steps closer to the bar before revealing the object she had been hiding behind her.

    A skull.

    A half-orc skull.

    The little monster held out the head of her victim, necrotic energy spilling out of its eye sockets and gathering around its fleshless maw. A symbol glowed hot like a cattlebrand on its forehead, familiar script pulsing like a heartbeat.

    Then, on its own, the foul totem spoke.

    ¡°Foolish scion of Order, hiding away in domains already claimed, is it cowardice or malcontent that compels you? Donning the guise of your lessers- has the pride of silver lost its lustre?¡±

    The shadows of the tavern seemed to to writhe and twist as the accusations spilled out, the low venomous tone commanding them to life. ¡°I have not lost sight of my lineage, nor the respect I am owed as Ancient. By any metric, your arrogant trespass of my lands warrants a response.¡±

    Issnur felt something inside him twist, a discomfort he hadn¡¯t felt in a century, not since he last stood before the Brilliance of Gold.

    ¡°But you must know as well as I what a clash between true dragons entails. The attrition, the stalemates, the collateral damage¡­¡± The voice let the thought linger for a moment. ¡°How terrible it would be if such strife found its way to your site of solace.¡±

    The creature of Chaos continued. ¡°A single disrespectful elf is beneath my notice; the glimmer of metallic scale, however, would be much harder to ignore.¡± The skull in Ilya¡¯s hands couldn¡¯t change its expression, but she could, the girl¡¯s mouth setting in an unhappy frown.

    ¡°So stay in your little bar; enjoy playing pretend¡­ but if ever you show your true face, know that all you hold dear will wither and die.¡±

    After a long silent pause to allow the threat to sink in fully, the ancient concluded its message with one more cruel joke. ¡°I leave you with a token of my sincerity: the very first victim of the black dragon to have his remains sent home.¡±

    ¡°This can¡¯t be the end¡­¡± The voice coming out the defiled head suddenly changed, from sadistic and feminine to one more familiar.

    ¡°It hurts¡­¡± The tortured soul of the paladin cried. ¡°Help me¡­¡°

    Issnur¡¯s fingertips instantly shifted form, magical winds swirling around his claws as his arm readied to strike down the servant of evil and end the suffering of a good man.

    ¡°Wait!¡± Ilya shouted, diving under a table before she could be obliterated. ¡°Don¡¯t kill the messenger!¡±

    Peeking up above the edge of the table, the street rat shot him a dirty look. ¡°You¡¯re not supposed to do that.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re no mere messenger.¡± The silver dragon snarled. ¡°You killed him, didn¡¯t you? You killed them all, and now you parade around his skull like a trophy.¡±

    ¡°Is Lucia next? Where is she?!¡± The power in his fist intensified threateningly.

    He heard a shift of cloth- Ilya might have shrugged. ¡°I don¡¯t know, she ran off.¡± The street rat said, like Lucia¡¯s current whereabouts didn¡¯t concern her.

    ¡°If she¡¯s escaped your clutches, then all the more reason to deal with you here and now.¡±

    ¡°No!¡± Ilya ducked back under the table. ¡°My Lady is watching and listening to everything right now! She¡¯ll be really mad if you kill me!¡± The words rushed out quickly but their content was clear enough to make Issnur freeze mid-swing. The mark on the skull flashed behind his eyes- a rune.

    As much as he hated this little monster; hated every crime she had committed, he couldn¡¯t risk her mistress seeing him retaliate. His silver scales could save him from the ancient¡¯s wrath, but they wouldn¡¯t be able to protect the town.

    ¡°If not me, it¡¯ll be someone else.¡± He warned. ¡°There are other dragons of Order in this world, all more dogmatic than I.¡±

    ¡°Like that one in the cave by the lake? Are they a friend of yours?¡±

    Issnur flinched.

    ¡°Get out.¡± He spat, his draconic fist clenching tight at his side while his remaining elven hand pointed toward the exit. ¡°Get out!¡±

    Ilya again peeked up from her hiding spot, glancing around to make sure no more dangerous things were being aimed at her. Finding nothing, she emerged, placing the defiled skull of Darius down on the nearest table. ¡°This is yours now.¡± She stated.

    ¡°LEAVE! NEVER COME BACK HERE!¡±

    Without another word, the servant of evil turned and scurried out of the room like a roach. Issnur heard the front door swing open but not closed.

    All was silent for a handful of seconds before the slam of a fist on wood caused all the glassware on the bar to clatter. ¡°No escape, huh? Even all the way out here.¡± The silver dragon huffed, gritting his teeth. ¡°What a mess.¡±

    He eventually looked up from the counter, across to where the skull the ancient had spoken through sat, still overflowing with necrotic mist. Carved into the forehead with brutal precision was the draconic character for ¡®to mimic¡¯ or ¡®to perform in kind.¡¯

    A hatchling learning how to hunt, dancers following the same rhythm, a puppet on lowly strings; the same character was used to describe each.

    When Issnur picked up the grim totem, the only thing he could feel was the cold pulse of necromancy- whatever spell the Chaos dragon had infused into the rune, it was gone.

    There was no rune of scrying anywhere on the skull, but he wasn¡¯t so naive as to think that meant there wasn¡¯t one elsewhere. Had it been carved into something else? Into an object on Ilya¡¯s person¡­ into Ilya herself? What a sickening thing to consider.

    Shifting his perspective away from the skull as an object of evil, stewed in curses, Issnur looked with fresh eyes upon the servant of good whose head he held. No one should have to experience such suffering; no one should have their suffering extended beyond death.

    Holding the underside of Darius'' skull with one hand, Issnur pressed the other atop the crown to release his tortured soul within.

    ¡°[ Order¡¯s Absolution ].¡± Pure white light emanated from Issnur¡¯s palm, banishing that which tainted the paladin¡¯s remains and bound him to accursed un-life.

    ¡°Thank¡­ you¡­¡± Darius spoke his last, everything that he once was soaking into the skin of the world to disappear forever.

    ¡°Rest in peace, valued patron. It was a pleasure to serve you.¡±

    <hr>

    When Ilya once again reached the end of the path outside town, she brought a flat hand to her brow. It didn¡¯t seem to actually help her see any better, but Lucia did it once, so it must have had some use.

    As for what she was looking for, it was a very specific and very special tree.

    It was the same tree that had whisked Lucia away from her old life of purposeless wandering and the same tree that had ferried her toward a better one. It would ferry Ilya back there too, if only she could find it again.

    Eventually, she gave up on finding it visually. Retracing her steps, Ilya walked toward the treeline until she stood in the spot where she had secured her very first friend. Closing her eyes to remember the scene, Ilya focused on the sight of the giant hand, retreating back into the forest.

    Opening her eyes again; seeing where a hand was not, Ilya made a beeline towards her target.

    The trunk of the lesser ashwood rippled like water when she drew close, the illusion of rigid bark melting under her fingers when they brushed against it. Twice before had she passed through, and yet her instincts still cried that she was about to hurt her nose by walking face first into a wall.

    Sucking in a breath and closing her eyes, Ilya let her blind faith in Her Lady¡¯s magic guide her.

    The feeling of weightless nothing crept up her arm as it sank into the tree up to the shoulder, her right leg numbing shortly after when she stepped forward. Before she could chicken out or hesitate, Ilya dunked her head beneath the surface, pulling the rest of her body in behind her.

    In an instant she was suddenly somewhere else, hours away, emerging from a much larger tree deep within the heart of the black dragon¡¯s swamp.

    Lady Visnavik was sitting upright waiting for her, claws digging trenches in the mud irritably.

    ¡°There is another.¡± Her Queen stated, not as a question, but a truth she had been denied.

    ¡°How many more usurpers den in my lands without my knowledge?¡± She asked rhetorically, teeth clenched as a vicious growl rumbled under her words. ¡°How many more maggots writhe within my soil, ignorant of the name that should echo in their nightmares?!¡± As the black dragon¡¯s fury grew, the forest began to die around her. Boughs of trees curled back in fear, their leaves turning brown, then black, before crumbling into nothing. Chunks of bark rotted and peeled away from heartwood, falling from the disintegrating canopy to become one with the muck below.

    ¡°When were you planning on gracing me with this information?¡± Visnavik demanded, pressing the full weight of her baleful gaze upon the tiny human.

    Ilya dropped to her knees, grovelling before her mistress in a panic. ¡°During my report my Lady- all part of the report! B-But you wanted me to go to-¡°

    ¡°Are you blaming me, slave?¡± The dragon interrupted, the clearing growing darker with each syllable, rejecting the moonlight that should have been flooding in.

    Any sentence Ilya could form collapsed into a string of fearful apologies, an endless stream of ¡°I¡¯m sorry!¡± with the occasional ¡°please don¡¯t throw me away¡­¡±

    Visnavik disregarded the slave¡¯s tears, slowly stepping off of her islet and into the water. ¡°It seems my long rest here has bred disrespect and confidence among the vermin. It has fostered complacency in my habits and secrecy in my slaves.¡±

    ¡°No more. This next message I shall deliver personally.¡±

    The black dragon¡¯s great wings flapped forcefully downwards, violently disturbing the water of the swamp with rolling waves that swept Ilya away and out of her sight. With steadily increasing strength, the wings flapped again, and again, and then again until the last beat successfully pushed her up off of the ground. She rose into the air, breaching through the devastated lattice of branches above until the stars were the only thing that could contain her.

    The moon was full and bright, spotlighting her ascension and casting her gargantuan shadow upon the land for the first time in centuries. Children of Order used to cower at clouds passing before the sun, terrified to delusion by the thought of her in the skies above, waiting to swoop down and claim them. It was how the world was meant to be- how it would be again.

    If the lessers had forgotten their fear, she would simply have to remind them.

    Flying ever higher into the night, the black dragon breathed deep of the cold alpine air, filling her lungs to capacity before letting loose a long and dreadful roar, loud enough to shake the heavens. The voice of the Absolute reverberated across the entire highlands, reflecting off the mountains, blowing through forests; waking the living and the dead alike.

    Visnavik¡¯drok¡¯sahrot had awoken. The world would never know peace.

 Dreams of Damnation - Chapter 12

    The crisp night air flowed across the membrane of the black dragon¡¯s wings as she circled high above the lake, her spinal fins angling the wind in whatever direction she pleased. The body of water had not changed much over the years, the few new settlements lining its shores and the ever growing and dying vegetation on its flats the only indication that time had passed at all.

    A stray thought drifted through her mind as she eyed the lake: a memory of swimming in the depths, the pleasant feeling of water slipping between her scales and parting around her fins just as air did now. It had been many mortal lifetimes since she last felt such sensations.

    Visnavik let the brief desire fade. Recreation could wait; she had business to attend to.

    The lair of the interloper was simple to find: such a sizable littoral cave could not be hidden by vegetation and the fool had not even bothered to mask its opening with illusions. Whether they were ignorant of her existence or just arrogant enough to not respect it, the black dragon cared little; the result was the same.

    Banking right and downwards to adjust her angle, Visnavik folded her wings close, shifting into an aggressive dive. Like a comet of fell omen she descended from the sky, an aura of darkness shrouding her form and leaving a trail blacker than night.

    Pulling up just before impact, she swooped low over the verdant coast, causing everything beneath her wings to shrivel and die, their husks blasted away by the force of her wake. Dropping her altitude lower, Visnavik¡¯s claws met the ground at speed, digging deep furrows in the mud to bleed velocity and rip out the roots of whatever life remained.

    The trail of devastation led her right up to the mouth of the cave where she finally stopped, the crash echoing on to announce her arrival.

    Without waiting for a response or sign of acknowledgement, Visnavik stepped from the ravaged mud and grass of the shore to the shallows that led into the den of her prey. Slight waves washed in alongside her, repeatedly flooding and draining the grotto with the clear waters of the lake.

    At the end of the passage was a circular chamber, filled with glowing moss, lichen- all manner of vegetation that thrived on moisture and minerals. In the centre of the chamber, rising from a bed of stones and shells and shaking off the weight of sleep, was a blue dragon.

    It bore passing similarity to herself, six limbs, large fins running from the tip of its tail all the way to the top of its head, but that was as far as the resemblance went. It was a smooth and pathetic thing: the lines of its face gentle, horns flowing up and over its skull, its scales small and delicate looking- built for speed in the water.

    ¡®Easily pierced.¡¯ Visnavik thought.

    ¡°Such a racket. Who dares-¡± The beast of Order froze when they looked up. Were such a thing possible, the sapphire colour would have drained from their face at the sight before them.

    ¡°L-Lord Elder.¡± The youngling stuttered in surprise, shrinking in on themselves. ¡°I¡­ I didn¡¯t realize someone of your stature was nearby.¡± Their voice struggled to remain steady, words chosen with the care of a being who knew exactly the danger they were in.

    Visnavik took one threatening step forward, her irises flashing a brighter hue. ¡°Yes. That is exactly my grievance.¡±

    The interloper scrambled to their feet, fear palpable as they backed away. ¡°I-I¡¯ve been extracting information from the mortals all this time; had I heard word of your presence from them I swear on my hoard I would¡¯ve-¡±

    ¡°Irrelevant.¡± Visnavik interrupted with another step. ¡°The insult has already been inflicted. I come seeking repayment.¡±

    ¡°I¡­I can give knowledge!¡± The opportunity to bargain gave the worm a smidgen of hope, easily seen in their eyes. ¡°You must have been sleeping for a long time, yes?! The world has changed over the centuries, so you must-¡±

    ¡°Unneeded.¡± A second interruption, smothering the feeling in its nest.

    ¡°My servants have already obtained what I wish to know.¡± The black dragon elaborated. ¡°How do you presume I discovered your presence?¡±

    When no answer came, she took her third step, her vile aura causing the light granting vegetation to crumble to dust.

    ¡°My hoard! You can take what you wish from it!¡± A desperate last plea- an abandonment of everything a dragon valued in exchange for their life.

    Visnavik turned her snout up at the offer, side eyeing the meagre pile. ¡°Shells, pearls, and coloured rocks? Do you take me for a hatchling? Do you have no shame?¡±

    Finally accepting words would not save them; knowing in their core that a fight would be hopeless, the lesser dragon took the only option left, fleeing for their life.

    Visnavik¡¯s clawed hand jutted out with the speed of a passing shadow, grasping the coward by the tail as they attempted to slip by. With monstrous strength she swung her prey around like a bolas, making multiple revolutions before launching them against the cavern wall hard enough to crack stone.

    ¡°You insult me further. To think you can escape your responsibility.¡±

    The dragon struggled to rise again, summoning a tidal wave in an attempt to flush their attacker from the grotto. The surge of water was met with a forceful wingbeat, overpowering the spell and slamming its caster into the wall a second time.

    ¡°Look at you, wallowing in the shallows like a beached eel.¡± Visnavik sneered as she approached her prey. ¡°How can one so weak call themselves a defender of Order¡¯s principles?¡± Weakness, cowardice, readiness to give up treasure. Her slave¡¯s saint became more of an exception with every individual she met. Disappointing- disgusting.

    A wet cough came from the crumpled blue pile, blood spewing from their mouth to dirty the clear waters they lay in. ¡°W-Weak I may be- a scout meant to hide away and listen, but my partner is mighty silver¡­ he will stand against you, I know it.¡±

    A joyless laugh echoed around the cave, creating ripples in the water¡¯s surface from the sound alone. ¡°Your beloved partner will make no such stand.¡± She informed them. ¡°Like you, he has discarded his pride, bowing his spine in favour of lesser beings.¡±

    ¡°You were right about one thing.¡± Visnavik continued as the echoes faded, willing giant tangling vines to sprout from the stone, blocking the exit behind her. ¡°I have slept for a long time- long enough to grow simply famished.¡±

    All the ambient light in the cave was sucked out, darkness drowning everything save for two glowing slitted eyes. They shone down like the moon, spotlighting her trapped prey.

    ¡°It has been some time since I last disassembled a dragon of Order.¡± The ancient remarked sadistically, leaning close with her claws curled like the shadow of a lingering nightmare. ¡°You will have to forgive me for being out of practice.¡±

    Come morning, the waters of the northmost shore were dyed a bright red.

    <hr>

    Ilya awoke cold and alone, the light of day streaming in through the brand new hole in the forest¡¯s roof and directly into her eyes. No matter how hard she tried to return to unconsciousness, the clearing was no longer dark enough, and trying to sleep anywhere else carried the risk of drowning.

    Rolling onto her side, the little orphan gazed sadly across the clearing to the empty islet at its centre. Lady Visnavik had yet to return, leaving her servant behind with no instructions and no guarantee that she was coming back.

    The cold feeling intensified at the thought, concentrating in the middle of her chest like there was a chunk of snow where her heart should have been.

    What if she didn¡¯t come back? What if that was the last time Ilya would ever see her face?

    Ilya squeezed her eyes shut tightly before opening them once more. She was coming back- she had to be, her hoard was still here; she wouldn¡¯t just abandon it.

    ¡®She wouldn¡¯t just abandon me¡­¡¯ A tiny voice in her head added, desperate wishful thinking backed up by nothing.

    Beyond the collection of treasures centuries in the making, this whole land was Lady Visnavik¡¯s possession- as much a part of the hoard as the glittering gold coins or the silver swords hilted within. It was half the reason she had been so enraged in the first place.

    ¡®The other half being my fault¡­¡¯ Curling up in a tight ball of misery, Ilya groaned into her knees. She had to make it up to her Lady somehow.

    Maybe more sacrifices? More servants? More gold for the pile? She was little match for Issnur or any of the other squatters, so ridding her Lady of them directly was out of the question.

    ¡®I have to go back into town.¡¯ Ilya thought to herself, more of a direct command than anything. The swamp held only corpses and plants, resources only her Lady could take advantage of, Bearwood would have more she could work with.

    It was a situation she knew well: wanting so badly to lay there and mope, but knowing she couldn¡¯t. No one was coming to help her- a day off was a day hungry.

    Rolling onto her hands and knees, Ilya gathered her few possessions and rose from her nest, shuffling across the swamp to the special tree. She was still getting used to the process of magical transport, but the disorientation of suddenly being somewhere else was lessening with each pass through.

    Ilya could see the lumberyard was empty when she drew closer to the town. It was less sorted and packed away than usual, with numerous saws strewn around and planks left on work tables like a group had arrived, cut whatever wood they needed, and then left without a second thought.

    Wandering into the middle of the yard, Ilya kicked a discarded cube of ashwood, watching as it made a trail in the sawdust.

    As she stood there amidst the piles of wood, absentmindedly looking around, she tried to separate the background drone of Bearwood into layers. There were a lot more loud sounds today than usual, the lowest layer that came from day to day speech missing completely. In the place of any basal rumbling, a fuzzy roar sat above it all like torrential rain.

    The noise became clearer as she walked out of the lumberyard and up the hill. Shouting- angry shouting, many voices all lashing out at someone who wasn¡¯t listening.

    A mob had formed at the gate to the lord¡¯s manor, struggling against his personal guard who desperately tried to keep them out.

    ¡°Where is he?!¡± A man with a pitchfork demanded. ¡°Why is he hiding away?!¡±

    ¡°Why isn¡¯t he doing anything!?¡° A woman added. ¡°That monster could come back any minute!¡±

    ¡°This big gate and that fancy house won¡¯t save him!¡± Another man declared, a makeshift battering ram partly held in his arms. ¡°Not from us, and definitely not from that thing!¡±

    ¡°Good people, I ask you to please calm yourselves!¡± One of the guardsmen shouted over the noise. ¡°There is no reason for alarm!¡±

    ¡°No reason for alarm!?!¡± One of the other men carrying the battering ram replied in disbelief. ¡°There isn¡¯t a soul alive who didn¡¯t hear that roar- didn¡¯t feel their home shake apart when a DRAGON flew over the town!!¡±

    The cries of the mob grew louder in furious agreement, their battering ram swinging home against the iron gate. Ilya stood idly by, feeling mild satisfaction on her Lady¡¯s behalf. It seemed she had paid Bearwood a brief visit, taking their sleep, their feelings of safety, and pieces of their houses as a fee for Issnur¡¯s trespassing.

    The tiny smile was wiped from Ilya¡¯s face when she spotted a familiar guard on the other side of the fence. A barrel chested man in layered armour, fighting the crowd with the blunt side of his spear, jabbing at arms that tried to reach through the bars. She had forgotten his name, but she would never forget his face, nor his voice.

    ¡°Hey there kiddo, I hear you¡¯re looking for work. Lucky for you I¡¯ve got just the thing, straight from the lord himself.¡±

    ¡°It sounds scary, I know, but you look like a crafty girl, I really think you can beat it.¡± Liar.

    ¡°There we go, fits well doesn¡¯t it? This will keep you safe from that nasty beast.¡± Liar.

    ¡°When you get back, a warm welcome will be waiting for you.¡± Liar.

    LiarLiarLiarLiarLiarLiarLiar.

    On the orders of his lord, a guardsman crept into a dingy alley in search of Bearwood¡¯s next offered sacrifice: a little orphan girl who just didn¡¯t know when to quit.

    He buttered her up with words of encouragement, flattery, everything she had been wanting to hear her whole life.

    He fed her a story of a job that needed someone small and sneaky, someone who was a survivor and could come out on top against all odds.

    He equipped her with garbage gear already destined for the dumpster and a shining silver sword meant to sweeten the deal made with an unknown devil.

    With a smile and a reassurance of success he sent her on her way, knowing full well they would never meet again.

    That was his plan anyway.

    Ilya had mixed feelings for the man. On the one hand, hatred for dangling false hope in front of a girl who had never known the real thing; on the other hand, gratitude for setting her on the path towards servitude and the endless joy that brought.

    As if sensing the intensity of her gaze, the guardsman turned his head, their eyes meeting. It took a few seconds for him to recognize her face, but when he did, his eyeballs bugged out of their sockets, features draining of blood to match her skin tone.

    He stared at the street rat, shocked, glancing down to her clothes before snapping back to her eyes.

    Ilya waved.

    Blindly tugging another guard close and shoving the spear into their hands, the lord¡¯s kindly executioner spun around to sprint up the hill towards the manor. She didn¡¯t stick around for his return, slinking away from the guards while the mob still blocked them from finishing the job.

    Heading in the opposite direction from the manor, Ilya wandered down well trodden streets, making a mental note whenever someone reacted to her presence.

    It was such a strange experience, to be noticed. Where before she could scream or cry in the middle of the street and draw no attention, now the simple act of silent walking drew long stares and fearful looks.

    Those who had not joined the mob were no less on edge for it, hurrying from essential task to essential task, fighting among themselves; constantly checking the sky for dark shapes. A mother who spotted the dark robed figure approaching took her child¡¯s hand and fled, dropping some of her groceries in the process.

    When no one moved to claim the precious morsels, Ilya stepped forward, picking up a fallen plum and biting into the flesh. It was a little sour.

    She continued her stroll as the lucky meal was consumed, pit dropped behind her with little care when it was over. Her wrap around the district led her to the market square, less empty than the last time she had seen it, but not a big improvement. There weren¡¯t any active stalls, and the only townsfolk present were in the middle of some kind of shouting match.

    An elderly woman sat on a box near the wall of a building, gaze calmly fixed on the sky, her serene expression contrasting harshly against the chaos all around her. Many seconds passed before she noticed the little shadow staring.

    ¡°Ah¡­ the rumour burning through the town had some merit after all.¡± She noted aloud. ¡°You must be her, that cultist everyone is talking about.¡±

    The servant of Chaos tilted her head, she wasn¡¯t a cultist, she was just Ilya. ¡°What rumour?¡± Ilya asked.

    The old woman let her eyelids fall closed, smiling. ¡°It started a week or so ago, street kids saying an older girl was skulking about in the Bowl, offering a deal and promising salvation.¡±

    ¡°It spiralled out of control from there, tying in missing people and nightmares. I thought the stories of a stranger in black were similarly embellished- until now at least.¡± She gave the corrupted church habit a once over.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know about nightmares, but that first part was me.¡± Ilya confirmed with scrunched brows. A second later they shot upwards, her face brightening with hope. ¡°Wait, wait- did you want to join!?¡±

    Cataract clouded eyes returned to the sky, watching- waiting. ¡°What I¡¯d like is for that beautiful dragon to grace us with their presence again.¡±

    Ilya leaned in close, her excitement obvious. ¡°Me too! I also want that! That was my Lady. She¡¯s really mad and I¡¯ve been trying to think of ways to calm her down.¡±

    ¡°Your Lady?¡± The lenses of the woman¡¯s eyes almost seemed to clear slightly. ¡°Then it¡¯s as we wished for¡­¡±

    ¡°¡­A dragon priestess, as I live and breathe.¡±

    Inhaling deep and blinking away some sort of emotion, she tapped her cane against the paved ground. ¡°Well, young priestess, what have you come up with so far?¡±

    Ilya¡¯s thoughts split like a creek, one half working on responding to the question while the other turned the words ¡®dragon priestess¡¯ around and around in her brain. ¡°Uhh, I was thinking about gathering more gold to offer to my Lady, she really likes coins and shiny things.¡±

    ¡°In that case¡­¡± The old woman reached into her pocket, pulling out a simple gold locket that she then placed into Ilya¡¯s upturned palm.

    ¡°You take this to your Lady.¡± She said, closing the little priestess'' fingers around the necklace, gently shaking their clasped hands for emphasis. ¡°You take this and you tell her that old granny Greta made the first offering.¡±

    ¡°My family remembers the power and majesty of dragons.¡± She explained with a wistful expression that then turned hopeful. ¡°We revered it once, long ago, and we are ready to revere it again should she be willing to have us.¡±

    Ilya¡¯s eyes widened further, stars sparkling in the lightless void of her irises as every other thought process was thrown out. A new servant? Multiple new servants? An entire family who wanted to worship her Lady like she deserved? It felt too good to be true.

    ¡°Yes, I- I would love that- She would love that!¡± She cried, excitement growing stronger with each second longer she thought about it. ¡°My Lady is the only worthy master in this world, it¡¯s only natural to bow to her- it¡¯s right!¡± Ilya¡¯s fingers slid up to cup her own face, feeling the wide grin in her palms. ¡°Ahh~ to know there are those who feel the same!¡±

    ¡°Life in this world is so lonely and painful, filled with danger and hardship, but those who serve Her faithfully know only bliss! Free from disease, free from hunger, free from the emptiness of a purposeless life! Visnavik¡¯drok¡¯sahrot is our one true Queen: powerful and fair, worthy of every tribute, every sacrifice and worship!¡± Ilya was shouting now, the feelings that she had once kept to herself overflowing from her heart to flood her arteries with a powerful mania.

    Her hands fell from her face to clasp at her chest, dilated pupils staring longingly into the sky for any sign of the black dragon¡¯s return. ¡°This land and everything in it belongs to Her: the trees, the water, the stones and mud! They have since before this kingdom was born! Her anger comes from this simple truth being forgotten; from her subjects not revering her as they should!¡±

    ¡°Give yourself to Her and all will be made right again! You will never know fear! Her wings will surround you, her magic will protect you, her desires for this world will guide you!¡± It was the loudest and most energetic Ilya¡¯s voice had ever been, fueled by a burning passion for her Queen and channelled by skillsets she didn¡¯t know she had.

    When the haze of her madness and euphoria cleared, Ilya snapped back to the present, dropping her gaze from the sky to check her immediate surroundings. A small crowd had formed around her at some point, hopeful faces, interested faces, skeptical faces, all looking her way.

    She should have felt uncomfortable from all the attention, but all other feelings were currently being overwritten by confusion and vague satisfaction. What was that? It was like she had suddenly become Annabelle, preaching the good word to a packed church.

    The words ¡®dragon priestess¡¯ resumed their turning motions. Maybe she was a cultist after all.

    Before she could think further on her sermon, a young man at the front of the crowd spoke up, nervously tearing at his nails. ¡°If no reverence angers her, will worshipping her spare our families her wrath? How do we convince her we¡¯re sincere?¡±

    Ilya stared at the man for a silent second, causing him to break his gaze and stare at the ground.

    ¡°My Lady is a dragon; she likes precious metals best.¡± The new priestess eventually explained, remembering her orders from what felt like forever ago. ¡°Give up what gold and silver you have, take from others if you have neither. If you make an offering to our Lady, she will be pleased.¡±

    ¡°When our Lady is pleased, she is generous. From her generosity, everything good comes.¡±

    Shifting her attention to include everyone else, Ilya clapped her hands together in front of her chest. ¡°We will all be rewarded when the day is done.¡± She assured them.

    ¡°Let¡¯s get to work!¡±

    <hr>

    Over the following hours, the town continued to fall apart.

    Chaos in the east centred around a near-riot at the adventurer¡¯s guild, where dozens and dozens of wealthy residents attempted to post a quest at the same time, desperate to find a group of heroes to save them. The guild refused every one of them, citing the extreme threat level of the quest and the lack of suitable teams to take it, things that only heightened the crowd¡¯s anger.

    Chaos in the west was widespread, fear igniting a metaphorical tinderbox that had been building for decades. The town¡¯s poorest lashed out at everything, attacking random guards in the streets, breaking into shuttered businesses and homes, stealing anything they could, up to and including ripping crops straight from farmer¡¯s fields.

    The mob at the lord¡¯s manor had grown to an uncontrollable size, and with the town guard spread too thin to assist it was only a matter of time before they broke through the gate and into the manor proper.

    Ilya and her new recruits were quick to take advantage of the situation, entering behind the mob to ransack the building while their cover struggled with the lord¡¯s guard further inside.

    The manor was somehow more fancy than the east side cafes or the church of Amasur, places that had until recently been as high as Ilya thought luxury could go. It seemed like even the most basic things were decorated with valuable materials, from the chairs to the doorknobs, giving the little priestess and her dagger lots to do.

    Maids and other servants of the house made no attempt to stop her, cowering when she entered the room and escaping when it became clear the cultist only cared about the platinum rivets in the furniture.

    This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

    In one of the many sitting rooms she had taken apart, Ilya found a large painting of a man with a moustache wearing incredibly colourful clothes. The hair on his head was long and white and very curly, while the hair above his lip was brown and pointy; his lips looked to be painted with something like blood. A wide brimmed hat completed the look, stuffed with a frankly ridiculous amount of coloured feathers.

    ¡®This is probably him¡­¡¯

    For all the trouble he put her through and all the insulting offerings his family had made to Lady Visnavik, Ilya found herself unable to think of Bearwood¡¯s ruler as a real person. He was more of a concept or force, something that she knew affected her life and her Lady¡¯s lands, but that wasn¡¯t a physical thing she could see and touch.

    Looking up at his painted appearance somehow didn¡¯t change that feeling.

    Ilya should have hated him, but she just¡­ didn¡¯t? She didn¡¯t feel much of anything. His guard could successfully push the mob out and restore peace or they could string him up on the tallest tree and she wouldn¡¯t care either way. The bags full of shiny things she would leave with were enough to balance the ledger between them, and that was all that mattered.

    Just as her pouches were nearing capacity, Ilya began to hear screams: the mob had lost their first member, and the reminder of mortality would likely cause many more to flee. It was just as well, the outburst of anger had made it easy to enter, and the wave of fear would make it easier to leave.

    She called her followers back to a room before the main entryway, and when the rush of people came, they let themselves be carried all the way to safety.

    The fledgling cult reconvened at the edge of town, pooling their gains, ill gotten or otherwise, into a single shipping crate taken from the market square. It was almost completely filled with precious metals: goblets, silverware, coins, accents, weapons, and heirlooms of all kinds.

    ¡°Yes, this is perfect!¡± Ilya beamed with pride. ¡°Our Lady will be so happy when we give this to her!¡± She looked up at her followers and their families, overjoyed to see so many gathered in the black dragon¡¯s name.

    ¡°You guys did good.¡± She affirmed directly. ¡±I¡¯ll make sure to tell our Lady that you¡¯re all worth keeping around.¡±

    There were many sighs of relief and a few smiles, some recruits turning to speak with their spouses and children who still wore worried expressions. They would come to understand, everyone would, and together they would serve Lady Visnavik for the rest of their lives.

    What a future that was promised to them¡­

    The sudden calls of dozens of birds drew the cult¡¯s attention to the forest, where entire flocks fled from something within.

    ¡°What¡¯s got them so riled up?¡± One of the members who had followed her into the manor asked, watching the birds as they dispersed in all directions. ¡°Has your Lady returned?¡±

    Without any further thought on the suggestion Ilya excitedly ran out into the field, looking between the sky above and the forest in front of her for the sight of black scales. The trees shifted like something was moving between them but nothing was knocked over and nothing withered, lowering the likelihood it was her Lady and shrinking her smile in kind.

    Eventually the bushes at the edge of the forest rustled, and a figure burst out from the foliage, sliding backwards as they tightly gripped their twin blades. They were covered in blood, a shirt that might have been white once now completely stained red by the fluid of life and death.

    ¡°Eh?¡± Ilya¡¯s eyes widened slightly in recognition. ¡°Lucia?¡±

    The black dragon¡¯s newest slave dodged back again, avoiding the swing of a giant rotten fist as large as her head. The fist¡¯s owner emerged from the brush after her into the farmer¡¯s field, covered in the proof of Lucia¡¯s fierce resistance. Its skin had been sliced to ribbons and countless long grooves had been cut into its flesh, the most prominent travelling from its hip to below the opposite shoulder where an arm had been until very recently.

    ¡°Hhh¡­¡± The adventurer wheezed, stumbling over her own feet, visibly exhausted.

    Drawing the last of her strength Lucia dashed in with an enraged cry, using her momentum to drive both blades deep into the undead¡¯s neck before forcefully opening her arms and ripping the spine apart. Without its anchor to the rest of the body, the creature¡¯s head was sent sailing off in an arc to land somewhere among the crops.

    The zombie brute¡¯s body teetered, then toppled, landing on its back with a loud thud.

    Stumbling back from her kill, Lucia did the same.

    Some of the men in the cult ran forward with their priestess to check on the fallen woman. ¡°What happened to you, girl?¡± One asked, carefully lifting her up while keeping her neck secure. ¡°Undead¡­ tons of them.¡± Lucia got out, her eyes struggling to stay open. ¡°¡­they¡¯re coming.¡± With that her body went limp.

    ¡°Luciaaa~ Hey!¡± Ilya called, clapping repeatedly in front of her friend¡¯s face. ¡°It¡¯s not time for sleeping!¡± But Lucia did not respond- she was out cold.

    The others anxiously looked between one another. ¡°Did she say there were more of them than just that big guy?¡±

    ¡°I thought something like this might happen.¡± Granny hummed as she slowly approached, her wrinkled face creasing further with a frown. ¡°When a dragon leaves, nasty monsters always appear to fill in the gap.¡±

    Ilya thought on the new information for a moment. The area around her Lady¡¯s swamp was completely devoid of non plant life; for an hour in every direction not a single animal or monster could be found. She supposed it made sense that her Lady leaving would cause them to return.

    ¡°Maybe we should get out of here then, at least to the other side of town.¡± She suggested, looking from Lucia, to the forest, and then to her followers. ¡°Our Lady would be mad if her servants all died.¡±

    ¡°Is this girl here one too?¡± Greta asked. ¡°You seem to know her.¡±

    Ilya nodded with a smile. ¡°Yeah, Lucia¡¯s like me. Look at the top of her arm here.¡± She pointed to the fresh scars that formed a draconic word. ¡°We both have this, it marks us as belonging to Lady Visnavik. This one-¡±

    Horrific shrieks interrupted Ilya from explaining further, bringing all attentions back to the forest. In between the many trees, pinpricks of light could be seen illuminating empty sockets; burning with hatred.

    The recruit that was holding Lucia- his name might have been Thomas? -quickly stood up, carrying the fallen adventurer in his arms. ¡°I¡¯ll take her. We need to go now.¡±

    ¡°Come on, Granny.¡± Another member offered, allowing Greta to hop up on his back, and together the cult started to run, Ilya shouting for the others with the precious crate to do the same.

    <hr>

    Issnur sat in the middle of his tavern, staring up at the ceiling as loyal patrons taking shelter alongside him burned holes in their tables.

    He rarely drank from his own stocks, but the events of the last day were as good a justification as he had ever gotten.

    He hadn¡¯t even finished purifying his bar of necrotic miasma when the ancient¡¯s roar washed over the town, and it wasn¡¯t too long after when the monster herself flew low enough to scrape the rooftops. There were still shards of glass scattered around the bar counter.

    He didn¡¯t want to think that what happened next was inevitable, but it definitely wasn¡¯t surprising. Mortals, by their very nature as such, valued their lives above all, and the fear of losing their lives could make them do terrible things.

    So much destruction and misery was taking place just beyond his doorway, but there wasn¡¯t anything he could do to stop it.

    He couldn¡¯t tell the innocent and guilty apart in the chaos and he didn¡¯t have the authority or presence to reestablish order, not in his current form anyway. And yet to change forms would draw Death¡¯s ire, bringing the metaphorical hammer down and dooming them all.

    There was nothing he could do- about any of it. So he sat there with what few he could protect, listening to the shouts and cries outside as they blended together into fuzzy static.

    As his ears began to numb to the sound, rapid thumping suddenly filled the tavern: someone knocking at the front door in a panic.

    ¡°ISSNUR!¡± Came the desperate voice. ¡°Come on man, open up! There''s undead! You gotta open up!¡±

    The snow elf jolted up from his slumped sitting position, running over to the door peek outside. One of his regulars was visible through the glass, frantically checking between the tavern¡¯s entrance and somewhere down the road. ¡°Come on, come on, come on¡­¡± He was repeating to himself.

    ¡°Francois?¡± Issnur greeted, ushering the dark skinned human in with his much paler hands. ¡°What¡¯s going- shit!¡± He pulled his patron inside just as the answer to his question caught up, slamming the door in its dripping face.

    ¡°Praise the gods!¡± Francois sighed in a mix of panic and relief, pressing his back against the wood. ¡°There¡¯s tons of them, they just showed up out of nowhere, out of the forest!¡±

    ¡°HEY!¡± The bartender yelled into the tavern to the rest. ¡°COME HOLD THE DOOR!¡± She had something to do with this, he knew she did. He should have known better than to think a creature of Chaos would uphold their word.

    When his patrons did as instructed, Issnur closed every latch and lock before running in the direction they came from, vaulting over the bar to the other side. He shoved mugs and mixing implements to the side to reveal a rarely opened secret compartment.

    Quiet whispers and a glow of magic caused the wood covering to disappear, allowing the knight of Order to take up his armament once more.

    A brilliantly crafted partisan of the highest quality sat in his hands, decorated in silver and plated in gold; infused with blessings that banished evil. The familiar weight of it brought back all manner of memories, both the good and the bad.

    He had no armour to wear, nor did he need any, so Issnur donned his apron in its place. Defending the establishment from threats wasn¡¯t something he expected from employees, but cleanliness certainly was, and as the employer it was up to him to set an example.

    ¡°Thank you, loyal customers.¡± He said, bowing his head when he once again stood at the tavern¡¯s entrance. ¡°Please return to your seats while making a barricade out of any unused tables. I will take care of this.¡±

    His patrons gaped at his weapon, then at him once they realized what he was saying. But his expression was stern, and they soon obeyed, allowing him to unlock the door and swing it open.

    As soon as the wood and glass was out of his way, Issnur burst forth from the tavern, rushing through the skeleton with enough force to shatter into tiny pieces.

    Before he did anything else, Issnur raised his finger, drawing a circle in the air in front of the door. With a gust of air and a click, the door swung shut; Issnur could hear all of the locks re engage. The glowing outline of a circle now floated just above the surface of the wood, containing within it the outline of a generic looking lock. Issnur nodded to himself, satisfied that his customers were safe.

    When he turned back around there were more coming down the road, the same skeletons as before, slow and lumbering; dripping with black sludge. He rushed forward once again, the air parting around the tip of his spear, creating a visible cone of wind around his advance.

    The sound of cracking bone and splattering fluid filled Issnur¡¯s ears as he barrelled through his enemies, continuing down the road and toward the lumberyard. Just as his loyal patron had said, dozens of risen creatures flowed from the treeline: normal skeletons, skeletons covered in sludge and corpse wax, zombies, and even a few wisps. The undead were predominantly human and orc, but the bodies of many different animals were sprinkled in, from deer to direbears.

    His partisan jabbed forward at them as they approached, golden afterimages attacking alongside him. Nothing survived more than a single hit, the corporeal exploding into their component pieces and the incorporeal scattering into motes of light.

    Out of nowhere, a bolt of lightning descended from the sky, striking the earth where Issnur was only a second ago. Sliding to a stop from his dodge, Issnur looked up, very quickly locking in on the attacker.

    Hovering in the air a few metres above the trees was a spirit of some kind, formed around the bottom half of a skeleton. Its spectral form was a very light purple, contrasting against the green of the forest and the fading colour of the sky. Its ghostly appearance was feminine, a very large mage¡¯s hat on its head, long straight hair spilling down like curtains to reach past its knees.

    ¡°...Eleanor.¡± He breathed, staring into her empty white eyes. After being gifted Darius¡¯ head last night, his hopes for her survival weren¡¯t high, but his jaw clenched tight anyway.

    The deceased aeromancer didn¡¯t say anything, instead slowly raising a sparking finger to point in his direction.

    He dodged out of the way as another larger bolt came down, continuing to spear down undead as he did so. There were still so many skeletons streaming in from the woods, enough that Issnur began to question how there were enough bodies to fuel their creation. Bearwood was not a large town and its graveyard was in the exact opposite direction.

    Eleanor¡¯s ghost did not have breath to catch, rotating into the next spell immediately and without pause, her arms flowing through its somatic components.

    Dark grey clouds swirled into existence just overhead, crackling with fury that was begging to be discharged. The air came alive with static, making Issnur¡¯s platinum blonde ponytail start to frizz and float behind him.

    ¡°So you finally figured it out.¡± The barkeep remarked, a little proud. ¡°...I hope you got a good hit in with it before the end.¡±

    The inverted crown of electric devastation descended in a flash of light, upturning the fields and incinerating the remaining crops that hadn¡¯t already been stolen. Waves of energy from the ghost¡¯s spell washed over the land, carelessly blowing other undead apart in its attempt to chase down the lone living being.

    Before the wave could touch him, Issnur leaped into the air, weaving the wind to guide him ever higher. His left hand gripped tightly to his spear as he closed in, his right hand gently reaching out to the corrupted memory of a gifted woman.

    ¡°[ Order¡¯s Absolution ].¡±

    At the point where his fingers brushed Eleanor¡¯s chin a bright light erupted, devouring the spectral figure and sending her soul on its way.

    Densifying the air beneath them to slow their fall, Issnur took hold of Eleanor¡¯s remains and hovered down to the ground, laying it out with respect.

    Screams of fear rang out behind him as he stood there- he had protected this entrance to town, but the undead had gotten past him anyway. As much as Issnur wanted to advance into the forest to find the missing pieces of his customer¡¯s bodies, the living out prioritized those already gone.

    Spinning around, he dashed back up the road towards the cries. He couldn¡¯t defeat all the evils that threatened the world or even that threatened just this town, but undead? That he could do.

    <hr>

    The horde entered the town from the west and slowly pushed eastward, rolling over the distracted and unsuspecting poor, ripping to shreds any who didn¡¯t have the strength or will to run. Riots and mobs were snuffed out the instant their participants spotted lights in dead eyes, morphing angry unrest into panicked stampedes as people tried to flee in any direction they could.

    While the undead that were weighed down by black muck were slow, and the zombies were slower, the skeletons were not. They were able to move just as fast as any person, chasing their targets through the streets until the person was slain or until they escaped into a building with a functioning door and latch- a rarity on the west side.

    The wisps hovered silently over all of this, soaking up the fear and chaos like leaves in sunlight.

    Word eventually reached the adventurers guild and the crowd of indignants that stood around it, piercing through the worries of a future threat with the announcement of a very close one. The shouts warned of an undead swarm, a horde that counted one of the guild¡¯s own in its numbers and would take many more if not halted.

    As the guild members mobilized, the prospective quest givers swiftly ran for safety. East side homes and businesses were built sturdy, with strong doors and thick shutters that could cover windows, allowing those with the money and the means to lock themselves away.

    With his manor devastated and his front entrance blown wide open, Bearwood¡¯s ruler could not do the same, forced to flee alongside those who had done the damage. Many in the same position made a break for the church, the last definitive safe harbour in town- a place that would surely accept just citizens like them, but when they arrived, all were met with magically sealed doors and silent stone walls.

    Had the gods abandoned them? Was that why such terrors came within the span of a single day? The forsaken had little time to grieve their situation as a skeletal direboar rounded the street corner and charged, chasing them further east.

    On the other side of town. Issnur saved as many as he could, opening paths for those trapped in the west to evacuate in the same direction as the rest of the town. He was far stronger than any lone elf but he was still a lone elf, limited in his abilities by the small form he had been locked into. Eventually the number of different twisting roads and ways undead could subvert him became too much, and he had to fall back to assist the main defence.

    Anyone still living who had not or could not lock themselves in their homes were funnelled into the main street where their escape could be protected by the combined forces of the guild, the town guard, the lord¡¯s personal guard, and one very powerful barkeep.

    Noncombatant members of the guild helped in other ways, guiding people from the rooftops, relaying messages, and leading groups of civilians at ground level.

    One such guild member, Penelope, a girl who worked the front desk on most days, had just successfully escorted a number of civilians out of the town when she was met with an odd sight.

    A crowd of people were already gathered there, and seemed to have been there long before the first proper evacuees.They sat around a shipping crate with a small woman in black giving some kind of speech from atop it. Her face was lit up with excitement as she spoke, the joy in her eyes running counter to the bleak state of the town and its continued existence.

    Laying down in front of the crate was a person: another young woman, covered in blood but still alive as evidenced by the slow rise and fall of her chest.

    ¡°Isn¡¯t that¡­¡± The secretary murmured to herself, memories itching with familiarity. Then all at once, body and face matched name and file and she hiked up her skirt, running towards the circle of people. ¡°Miss Lucia!¡±

    The little lady on top of the box greeted her first. ¡°Oh, hey. I guess the skeletons caught up, huh?¡±

    Trying not to get bogged down in how this girl spoke so calmly about undead abominations and enemies of life, Penelope nodded. ¡°Yes, they¡¯ve taken over the west side of town and have pushed deep into the east. I saw Miss Lucia here and hoped we could get her back in the fight.¡±

    ¡°Lucia¡¯s sleeping right now.¡±

    ¡°Yes I can see that, but I¡¯ve seen her file; her help would save many lives.¡±

    The strange girl looked down at Lucia, nodding her head. ¡°Mmm, she¡¯s pretty strong.¡± When Penelope followed her gaze, she saw many scabs and scars covering the woman¡¯s body, like they had been left to heal naturally. It wasn¡¯t uncommon for regular folk, but it was rather rare for such a seasoned adventurer.

    ¡°Her injuries look like they haven''t been healed, why?¡± She asked the girl, who wore what looked to be a habit of dusk at closer glance.

    ¡°My [ Heal ] would probably hurt her.¡± The little priestess replied, causing Penelope to blink hard in confusion. ¡°What? What does that mean?¡±

    Behind them, townsfolk continued pouring out, joining the rest of the evacuees in the fields outside the shipping yard. Eventually the defenders fell back to the town¡¯s exits, trying to slowly whittle down the largest hordes with the help of the tighter streets and safer backing.

    Undead constantly spilled out of the town, the quicker skeletons chasing down stragglers while the slower zombie horde shuffled forward as a moving wall of rot. They were met with an equally constant flurry of attacks: weapons cleaving off limbs, magic incinerating flesh, projectiles of all kinds flying through the air, and the few individuals that knew it casting [ Turn Undead ] over and over again.

    Issnur was right at the front, thrusting his gilded spear forward at anything that drew close, obliterating their heads with precision. The line was holding decently, and the basic skeletons didn¡¯t put up too much of a fight, but there seemed like an endless amount of them, to say nothing of the larger skeletal creatures or the wall of zombies slowly approaching.

    The living could tire, the dead could not.

    When the largest horrors caked in grave wax caught up with the battle, the balance tipped, the barkeep¡¯s group very quickly becoming the only one capable of dispatching the enemy fast enough to not be forced backward.

    ¡°That looks kinda bad.¡± Ilya commented, though her tone was again very strange- like she was talking about fashion choices instead of life or death circumstances.

    ¡°Look, I know a little bit of healing, it might help in getting Lucia back on her feet.¡± Penelope offered. As bizarre as this group was, from the comfortable way the injured adventurer had been laid out it was clear that they wanted her to recover as much as the guild did.

    ¡°Do¡­ Do I have your permission?¡± She awkwardly added when the stares of the little speaker¡¯s audience made it feel like she needed to.

    ¡°Sure, if it gets Lucia up.¡± Ilya accepted, vague curiosity in her grey eyes. ¡°I wanted to talk to her anyway.¡± Kneeling down next to her friend, she watched the guild girl do the same and bring her hands together in prayer.

    ¡°Gods, I hope this works. [ Heal ].¡±

    The orb that appeared between the former cleric¡¯s palms was larger than Ilya¡¯s initial attempt, but smaller than the giant green ball that followed. Pointing the spell down at the target, warm gold magic properly closed up the many scabs all over Lucia¡¯s body, save for the ones on her shoulder which remained exactly the same.

    ¡°Huh? Why didn¡¯t that-¡± The guild girl was about to wonder, but she tossed it all aside when Lucia¡¯s chest rapidly expanded in a deep breath.

    ¡°What¡­ What happened¡­?¡± She mumbled, eyes creaking open.

    ¡°Miss Lucia, you¡¯re awake, praise Amasur!¡± The guild girl exclaimed, before bowing her hand and clapping her hands together like a prayer once again. ¡°Things are dire, please lend us your strength.¡±

    ¡°What the fuck are you¡­¡± The adventurer was about to sleepily mouth off, but her bleary gaze drifted to land on the little priestess instead, immediately clearing the haze from her mind and replacing it with anger.

    ¡°YOU!¡± Lucia¡¯s red eyes flared with fury, yanking herself up from her unconscious position to grab Ilya by her habit. ¡°You traitor!¡± She cried, simultaneously getting to her feet and lifting the dragon priestess off the ground. ¡°How could you!?¡±

    ¡°Lucia, what¡¯s up with you?¡± Ilya asked, sounding more confused and concerned than intimidated. ¡°Why did you run off last night? Where did you find all these zombies and skeletons?¡±

    ¡°I bet you know exactly where! Did she send them?!¡± Lucia¡¯s voice wavered, the spat pronoun sounding unhinged.

    ¡°You should have just stayed home with me.¡± Ilya said instead of answering, holding onto the adventurer¡¯s arms to relieve the discomfort of being held. ¡°I was in our Lady¡¯s clearing all night and nothing showed up there.¡±

    The red eyed woman shook her head in disbelief and anger. This little monster had ruined her life, just as she thought she was getting it together; just as she thought she had found her place to belong.

    The defensive wall of adventurers finally broke behind them, panic spreading as skeletons rushed through the gaps made by trampled or fleeing defenders. Any semblance of order or discipline broke down, and it was every man for themselves.

    ¡°Miss Lucia please! There¡¯s no time for this!¡±

    Surrounded by undead and screaming civilians, the guild secretary pleading in her ear, Lucia coiled back her arm, fingers clenched crushingly tight. If they were all going to die, she would make sure Ilya went down with them.

    Her fist and her eyes flashed together, synchronized in colour, and then her hips shifted, hand surging forward to-

    ¡°Stop.¡±

    A pulse of dark energy rocketed through the entire town and into the forest beyond, causing every being, living or undead, to freeze.

    All fell completely silent, save for the steady flapping of gigantic wings as a majestic beast descended from on high.

    Ilya was the first to move, squirming out of Lucia¡¯s grasp and dropping to her knees, bending forward to press her forehead against the dirt in supplication. Granny wasn¡¯t too far behind, her old bones and rigid muscles cooperating long enough to match the youngster¡¯s pose. More joined in after, those who had heard the little priestess¡¯ words and believed, those for whom seeing was believing, and those who believed whatever would let them live another day.

    ¡°Ilya.¡± Visnavik began, landing gracefully on her hind legs before her forelimbs lowered to the ground with a thump. ¡°What is this?¡±

    The black dragon¡¯s servant kept her head down, shouting her response into the soil. ¡°Lesser beings bowing before your glory, my Queen! As all things should!¡±

    Visnavik stared down at the back of her slave¡¯s head for a moment. ¡°...Yes, very good, but not what I am asking. Why is this town being attacked?¡± The words ¡®without my order¡¯ went unspoken.

    That got Ilya to raise from the ground, revealing a fresh splotch of dirt on her pale forehead. ¡°Oh- um.¡± She looked back at Lucia and the guild girl who were both still frozen in terror. ¡°I found Lucia a little while ago, she came out of the woods being chased by zombies for some reason.¡± Her attention returned to her Lady, head tilting. ¡°I guess they just like her?¡±

    Visnavik¡¯s jade green gaze swept over the scene before her, jumping from skeleton to human to human to zombie to orc, finally landing on a single snow elf at the back of the crowd.

    They locked eyes.

    A spiteful smirk slowly curled the black dragon¡¯s lips, an idea offering itself to her alongside it.

    ¡°Fearful children of the highlands. My¡­ unknowing subjects.¡± The great beast began, projecting her address far and wide. ¡°I, Visnavik¡¯drok¡¯sahrot, have heeded your cries for a saviour.¡±

    ¡°Fall in line.¡±

    With another pulse of darkness, every undead horror broke from their frozen states, turning away from their once targets and beginning to arrange themselves into neat military columns.

    ¡°Behold my power¡± She boasted, watching their pathetic faces turn from terror to awe. ¡°With only a few words the undead that threaten you become docile sheep.¡±

    ¡°That which seems certain extinction for mortals is but a minor annoyance for a true dragon. How lucky you are to live your lives so close to one.¡± Her eyes shifted back to Issnur poignantly. His jaw was clenched, fingers wanting so desperately to shift into claws as they curled against his weapon.

    ¡°Do not grip your spear so tightly, good sir elf.¡± She mocked, calling him out directly- not bothering to hide her malicious grin. ¡°My new pets here might mistake such actions as hostility. Who knows what would happen then.¡±

    Issnur let a stressed and frustrated breath through his teeth, reluctantly obeying by jabbing the blunt end of the weapon hard enough into the soil to plant it there. The helplessness was delicious.

    ¡°While I still have your attention¡­¡± The black dragon¡¯s gaze lingered on her enemy before sweeping over the rest of the crowd. ¡°Which one of you claims rulership of this town in my stead? The chieftain, lord, etcetera- step forward.¡±

    Rather than step, Bearwood¡¯s leader was shoved in Visnavik¡¯s direction by those he was supposed to reign over.

    ¡°That would be I, Y-Your Highness.¡± With only a minor stumble he composed himself and bowed, taking a complete guess on the honorific. ¡°Marquis Dubois, Lord of Bearwood and her surrounds.¡± Diversion from their assigned roles wasn¡¯t the only way humanity had changed, it seemed, their fashion had shifted to imitating birds.

    ¡°Then it was your family that fed me sacrifices all these years.¡± The black dragon mused aloud, making sure his people could hear every word. Some gasped, many broke their terrified gaze from the dragon to glare at the back of their lord¡¯s head; she could easily tell which reactions were fake and which were genuine. It was amusing how many already knew.

    A bead of sweat ran down the side of the little lord¡¯s once powdered face. ¡°Y-Yes, Your Highness.¡±

    ¡°I noticed the quality steadily drop as time went on, culminating in your most recent sacrifice, who was completely inedible. I had to make use of her in other ways.¡± A clawed hand raised to gesture at her slave.

    ¡°What am I meant to take from this?¡± She asked next, increasing the amount of displeasure in her voice and the intensity of her attention. ¡°Does your family no longer respect my rule? Do you not appreciate my protection? Did you believe me to be an old family tradition- one that needed not be taken seriously?¡±

    The marquis squirmed, breaking out in a proper sweat as he struggled to both explain himself to the all powerful creature in front of him while managing the ire of the people behind him. ¡°N-No! I- times have been tough for the highlands, our winter stocks-¡±

    ¡°Excuses.¡± Visnavik dismissed, feigning hurt and disappointment. ¡°I save you and this town and all I receive in return are excuses. Perhaps I should not have bothered.¡± She silently commanded all the undead to twitch, as if breaking free of her control.

    ¡°NO!¡± Dubois and many others screeched, before the marquis pulled himself together again. ¡°N-No, Your Highness- Your Most Benevolence! We of Bearwood are most grateful for your gracious aid!¡± He bowed his head, something many others copied.

    The dragon once more placed the entire weight of her attention on the little lord''s spine, intensifying the pressure right up until he would have collapsed before letting go.

    ¡°Then show it.¡±

    ¡°...Ilya. Lucia.¡± She commanded after a moment of silence.

    The little priestess perked up at the direct call, smiling bright while her bloodied and scarred understudy began to shiver like a beaten dog. ¡°Yes my Queen!¡±

    The black dragon pointed towards the forest. ¡°Lead the skeletons to my hoard and give each one as much of it as they can carry. You are to take it, and them, down the cliff to my new lair.¡±

    ¡°Make sure not a single coin is dropped, left behind, or stolen. Failure in this will bring consequences.¡±

    ¡°Of course my Queen! I will not fail!¡± Ilya obeyed, bowing her head for a second before yanking Lucia close and forcing her to do it with her. ¡°We will not fail!¡±

    ¡°Then I return to the skies.¡± Visnavik stated, spreading her wings once more. ¡°Should any of you wish to pay proper tribute, I have moved to a homely little cave just down the cliff to the south.¡±

    She spared Issnur one last smug look. ¡°Its last owner was¡­ taken care of.¡± He couldn¡¯t hide the pain in his eyes.

    With that taste of sweet suffering she took flight, commanding the slower zombies to follow her. She left behind a town battered physically and emotionally, deeply unsure of how to feel or how to move forward.