I’m tellin’ ya man, I was thair. I've sheen it meself. The cobbles were shathered. Shathered? Shat-tured. Severing spells be nasty things I tell ya. War ain’t ever gunna be the same, I reckon.

  -nameless drunk, Bear's Tap,

  Akira's face burned from the heat. It seared her scales, soaking into her skin and making her acutely aware of the cold that winter gently caressed the back of her body with. She clutched at Lira's pant leg unconsciously, staring with wide, gleaming eyes as Silas unleashed Desolation upon the monsters.

  Moments later, too quick for her to follow, and yet seemingly taking a lifetime to come to pass, Morag appeared. He killed the queen. Seemingly without a hint of fear. Unlike her.

  Oh.

  Yeah.

  Because Akira was scared. Not just scared. Terrified. She stared at the fighting with unblinking eyes as her mind latched onto the image of that one bisected child like a dog worrying a bone. Despite herself, Akira couldn't help but fear the same fate would befall her.

  For the fifth time, Akira swallowed thickly, forcing down the tension in her core as she bravely glanced up at Lira. Silas' mom watched the fighting with a keen eye, her attention taking in every detail, yet never straying far from Silas.

  Akira opened her mouth, but words failed her as the battlefield abruptly shifted. The bugs changed. Their auras twisted, turning inward in a dark facsimile of the empowerment ritual Silas conducted on the yawm twins. Akira instinctively knew that such a spell couldn't last long. None of the bugs would survive the storm of mana burning their insides.

  Apparently, she wasn't the only one who recognized the threat because a second later shouts roared above the noise of fighting and the shield wall closed in. More mana surged through the magical defenses as bodies pressed in tight to hold off the assault.

  Akira swallowed her words and thrust her hand out to help as best she could. Her mana flowed out, joining with Silas' mom's powerful flow as she leaned her weight against the bastion that the adult woman represented.

  Insectoid bodies crashed against the distorted barrier of steel and force. Men grunted and were pushed back as mana reinforced chitin impacted with unbelievable power. Mana enhancement on the scale she had never seen burned fractal lightning bolts across their armor causing the chitinous defense to flake and crack all on its own.

  Akira flinched at the noise. It was deafening, and for a brief moment her concentration faltered. The steady stream of mana she channeled into the conglomerate ritual shield wall waned. Not that she was helping much. Somehow. Despite everything. Despite being 'as talented as Silas' she was nowhere close to being as useful.

  Which made her mad.

  Akira scowled mightily, twisting her aura out of that frightened slump it had assumed, and glared at the bugs. This was stupid! This wasn't her! She angrily shoved back that terrible image of death that haunted her. Her eyes alighted on Silas.

  He was mad too.

  Oh yeah.

  The others probably couldn't tell, but Akira could. Silas was mad. Furious, despite the placid surface of his aura. It was in the way his eyes narrowed dangerously. And the way his small feet claimed the earth as if he were an emperor from the story books, marching boldly forward without any fear.

  It made her want to help.

  Though.

  She didn't know how. Her magic wasn't as great as she thought it was. When she'd shot a lightning bolt into the crowd earlier, the magic had simply been swallowed up by the horde, making no appreciable difference. That scared her too. That feeling of weakness.

  But Silas wasn't weak! He could fix this. All of this.

  Mustering her bravery, Akira uncurled her white knuckled grip on Lira's pant leg, and shuffled up to Silas. He glanced at her, before returning his attention to channeling mana into the defenses.

  "Silas!" Akira screamed into his earhole. "What can we do to help!"

  "Support the defenses!" Silas shouted back, barely acknowledging her as he did just that.

  Akira paused, unable to help feeling a little disappointed. That's it?

  "Couldn't we do more?" Akira shouted, flinching as the wall buckled briefly as men were shoved from a particularly violent assault. Both of them staggered back, nearly tripping in the sudden press of bodies. Before they could be trampled, Akira found herself lifted up into Lira's arms. Silas had likewise been raised in Rikara's.

  "What else?" Silas shouted at her, recovering from the abrupt transition.

  "I don't know!" Akira shouted, grinning as Silas turned his full attention on her. "What about the dance! Can you do that here?"

  "The dance?" Silas repeated, his head tilting in that uniquely Silas way of showing thoughtfulness. Akira's grin widened, barely noticing as Lira and Rikara started jogging backwards to get them away from the frontline.

  Before he could respond however, the shield wall buckled. A pair of militiamen flew through the air, leaving a gap in the formation as a molten skeleton of a formican drone charged through. Its armored skull kicked up earth as its legs churned like mad.

  In an instant, cloaked figures descended, blades flashing with black mana as Morag's team worked to close the breach. Akira tried to help too, launching a piercing bolt of lightning at the closest monster, but it was too late. The break in the line halted the smooth flow of mana, embrittling the rest of the formation and causing propagating failures to spread all across the line.

  "Reform the defenses!"

  The cry rose up as soldiers turned inwards in little pockets to try to hold back the empowered bugs. But there was only so much they could do. Each bite tore through mana and steel like they were paper. Whatever spells the monsters had laced their systems with had granted them an unnatural density that allowed them to simply bowl over the unprepared.

  Still, somehow the leaders managed to create some semblance of order. Three distinct pockets of resistance formed, new defensive bubbles of force formed before the loss of life could escalate.

  "Let me down, Rikara," Silas said. His voice was raised to be heard over the din, but there was a calmness there that caused both Rikara and his mom to halt.

  "What are you going to do?" Rikara asked. To Akira's surprise, the guard didn't seem the least bit skeptical.

  "I'm going to need Akira for this," Silas bared his teeth in a smile. "And I’m gonna need to stand at the front."

  His mom hesitated, but amazingly set Akira down and nudged her forward. She glanced back, surprised when she found the twin expressions of hope on both of the women's auras.

  "What are you going to do?" Akira asked Silas, unable to stop her hand from trembling as they stepped closer to the raging violence of the bugs.

  "We are going to kill them all. You remember the dance of the moon fairy?" Silas asked rhetorically. "I'm going to need you to control the strands."

  "Okay," Akira blinked, excitement welling in her once more as Silas waved his hand and the first strand of the dance manifested. She didn't know what was going to happen, but it was guaranteed to be awesome.

  The mana filtered out, coalescing into a thin strand, but Silas wasn't satisfied with just that. He compressed the mana further, then formed it into a hollow cylinder with a refined force shield spell. Oddly enough, the shield was facing inward, holding the air tightly in a very thin line. A moment of careful examination refined the thread, tightening it. Then Silas nodded to himself, seemingly satisfied.

  "What?" Akira asked, then fumbled as Silas tossed her the strand. Thankfully it was the same as controlling the regular strands of the dance so she had no trouble uncoiling the whip up in a helix above her head.

  "Don't let it touch you," Silas said casually as he methodically extended the strand. It grew foot by foot, until a hint of strain was evident on Silas' face. His braid hummed with power as he poured an immense amount of energy to force the several dozen micro-shield generators to compress ever thinner.

  None of it made sense. Really. None of it. But Akira wasn't about to start doubting Silas now. If he thought this singular weird magic was going to save them, then that is what it was going to do.

  So when Silas casually gestured for the militiamen to step aside and open the shield wall, Akira quickly guided the languidly flowing strand into the breach.

  The maddened drones didn't waste a second. As soon as the militiamen stepped aside, one of the dark creatures poured through the gap. Its body threw up clods of earth as its carapace throbbed with molten heat. How the creature was still alive underneath the aura of death was unknown.

  But it was. It raced toward them. Toward her. The fear came back.

  She threw the strand of mana at the creature, suddenly immensely grateful for the range Silas had afforded her. The strand shot out, drifting lazily into the path of the beast. It charged through it, blind to the magic as its black gemstone eyes remained locked on her.

  To Akira's utter horror, the strand of mana draped over the creature's head and back, doing absolutely nothing to the creature.

  "SILAS!" Akira screamed, jerking the strand instinctively as death approached.

  The strand grew taut, and then something strange happened. It caught on some spike of chitin, and Akira's pull induced a tension across the length. Then, in complete defiance of everything Akira understood about magic or the physical world, the strand went through the beast.

  The nearly invisible strand of mana vanished beneath the creature's hard carapace like the world’s sharpest knife. Geysers of blood erupted from the circuitous cut all across the creature's back.

  The creature's momentum took it forward. Two more steps crashed into the earth, then it slowed, the life and mana leaving its body as its body fell into giblets.

  Everyone gaped, unable to process the chunks of meat arrayed before them. That and the languidly flowing strand of mana floating menacingly above them.

  "Mhmm," Silas hummed in satisfaction, as he critically examined the construct. His braid rippled, sending distortions in the air around his head, as he made micro adjustments to the severing whip. "It works better than I expected it to."

  "How?" Akira said. It was all she managed to get out. She didn't understand.

  "Hmm?" Silas raised an eyebrow, then pointed at the gap. "Watch it!"

  Akira frantically redirected the severing whip into the breach. Another bug charged through. Just like before, it tangled blindly with Silas’ magic. For a second nothing happened. Then, the string tensed and sliced through its body as if it wasn't even there. Chunks of formican cascaded to the ground, causing guardsmen to leap back as blood splattered everywhere.

  All their strength. Physical power. Speed. None of it mattered. It wasn't as if they weren't channeling defensive mana. They were. But the increased toughness was nothing against Silas' spell. The severing whip sliced right through the enhanced chitin like it was made of paper. Easier even.

  "I think I can manage two more," Silas murmured softly as he quickly formed a second, then a third strand for Akira to control. She caught them easily, dumbfounded as three more bugs killed themselves on the razer threads. It didn't make any sense. She wasn’t even doing anything.

  "How?" Akira asked again, a hint of despair tainted her voice. She barely noticed. Her mind was in turmoil.

  "How what?" Silas asked. He nudged her forward, calmly guiding her out from the dubious safety of the militiamen and into the open. "This? It's a sigh figh thing."

  "Sigh... Figh?" Akira repeated dumbly. Those were made up words.

  "Sigh yense fick shun." Definitely made up words. "It's a mon-oh mohlek-yooler fil-ughment. A strand so thin that it..." Silas trailed off at her confused expression. "You know what. I'll explain later. Look out!"

  Akira flinched, instinctively pulling the three strands in her control. They shot inward, slicing through an unlucky formican drone in the process before rocketing straight toward her face. She screamed, her hands shooting up defensively despite how useless the gesture actually was.

  "Careful," Silas said calmly, his braid thrummed, sending a pulse of mana outward that gently pushed the scary whips away, like an ocean wave guiding flotsam to shore. "Focus, Akira. Surround us. Let's push into the crowd. Every bug we get rid of is one that doesn't hurt our people."

  Akira nodded mutely, following Silas dumbly as she manipulated the three strands into a defensive spiral around them. Dozens of bugs charged their formation. A horde. An army. A seemingly endless tide.

  For a time, Akira's world descended into chaos. She maintained the perimeter with all of her attention. Maintained those three fragile looking strands with a religious zeal, for she knew if her concentration dropped for even a second, they would be doomed.

  The bugs charged them mindlessly and died. It rained blood as bodies emptied their heartsblood upon the parched and frozen earth. The cuts bled more than reasonable, but at this point it was just another strange aspect of the magic. She didn't know if it was because of their physical enhancements, but within seconds, Akira was frantically wiping ichor from her eyes.

  Thankfully, she could see mana independent of her eyes. No amount of blood could truly blind her. The bugs burned to her myliria, while the three deadly whips pulsed with a sinister light. At times she stumbled over the rapidly shifting battlefield, but didn’t have the time or inclination to figure out what it was she tripped over.

  Then. Amazingly, It started to be fun. An incredulous laugh burst from Akira's lips as she closed her eyes and simply enjoyed guiding the threads of mana in patterns that felt beautiful to her and her alone. She vaguely noticed militiamen guiding the rest of the creatures toward them. Not that it mattered. Silas' magic didn't care how many bodies attacked him. The damaging aspect of the spell didn't require mana.

  Which was impossible. It went against everything she understood about magic. Everything anyone understood about magic; if you want to destroy more things with magic, you needed to put in more energy to achieve the effect. But apparently not. She so desperately wanted to ask Silas how. How! Just... how?

  But as the bodies piled and Akira wiped the blood from her eyes once more, another incredulous bubble of humor burst from chest.

  Did it matter how?

  This was Silas. He was always going to do this. Sakra and the others all said they were equal. Talented children. But Akira knew better.

  Silas could do things with magic she would never be able to dream of. Dreams! That was it. Silas could imagine magic she couldn't hope to understand. And he could act upon his dreams in the heat of the moment.

  She couldn't do that.

  But Silas could. And he did. All she could do was stay by his side.

  So that is what she did. Akira maintained those three menacing whips of mana until there were no more bugs left to attack them. She held them tight, watching their hypnotic swaying patterns as a silence descended upon the cemetery. The whips were dangerous. Lethal, but inside their little bubble, Akira knew that she and Silas were safe.

  The people of Chikarun watched from outside. It didn't take a genius to see the fear in their expressions.

  But there was hope there as well. And awe. Especially awe. They all looked at them. At her and Silas.

  The silence stretched, becoming awkward and scary as Silas gently relaxed his iron grip on the severing whips. They faded away without further fanfare. It seemed wrong how quietly they faded away.

  And yet, Silas' magic wasn't flashy. It simply worked.

  That's when the cheering started. People roared, a veritable wall of sound that made Akira want to curl up and find someplace to hide.

  Silas accepted the attention stoically. He stood with his hands clasped behind his back, examining the carnage with a critical eye. A tiny figure half her height, standing atop a pile of meat.

  And yet.

  In that moment.

  He appeared a giant.

  Chkiriziki lay upon the cool earth. The cave dug by her drones encapsulated her in warmth. It was tiny, and could barely be considered 'underground' given its proximity to the surface, but despite all that, Chkiriziki was comfortable.

  Several drones attended her, standing ready on their powerful legs and eager to complete any request she might have. Idly, she gestured for one to move closer. A prebattle snack would do her nerves a lot of good. Combat was normally exciting, but recently it had been too real.

  Too... dangerous.

  She delved into the eyes of her brood, lending her mind to her sister's engagement. Their combined hives charged, and fought, and for a time Chkiriziki was lost in the simple practicality of combat. As the fighting escalated, she found her excitement for the tactical complexity of battle rejuvenated.

  Then the upright-walkers sallied out from their walls and murdered Zkitchitzi.

  Chkiriziki froze. It was only as her sisters hive went Rampant did Chkiriziki's shock abate. She sent the order. To join her sister's drones in revenge. The mindless creatures ignoring everything in their rush to mete justice.

  Somehow, even after all the death, Chkiriziki had not believed the upright-walkers capable of such a sin. She'd forgotten. Or maybe she'd simply refused to believe.

  But somehow the upright-walkers surprised her once again. The smallest one yet stepped forward and met her hive's charge. And... stopped it cold.

  A maelstrom of blood circled the tiny creature of five braids. Some terrible spell so insidious that she struggled to even smell the presence of mana in the air.

  And yet, it killed. Brutally. Indiscriminately.

  Far too efficiently.

  Chkiriziki abruptly lifted her bulk. This was dangerous. Far, far too dangerous. She ordered the retreat. The signal propagating in a ripple through the ethereal connection to her brood. Those few retainers standing beside her shifted nervously, sensing the insecurity in the order.

  Another drone died.

  Chkiriziki didn't know what drew her attention. Perhaps it was how the spider-like upright-walker first disabled it before jamming both palms into the drone's head. Or maybe it was the black miasma coursing from the enemy's hands and into her child. Not pneuma. Some dark, black magic that scoured her drone's systems and shot straight to its core.

  And pointed at her.

  Chkiriziki shivered as she saw the presence behind the black mana. Almost... intelligent and definitely malicious. It swirled around her connection to the drone, as if curious, and then dove in.

  Before Chkiriziki could do anything the hostile mana coursed across her web and slammed into her spirit.

  Agony blossomed. Chkiriziki screamed. Dimly, she noticed her limbs twitching as those of her brood trembled with anger. A large portion of her army charged the hateful spell caster, but they were cut down in the vortex of invisible death.

  Somehow, Chkiriziki managed to collect herself. Through the pain. Through the chewing, biting, skittering agony, she focused and shoved the spell out of her spirit. It spit and hissed, scouring her mana channels as she shunted it onto her brood.

  But the thing seemingly had a mind of its own. It settled in the heart of one of her children, swirled once, then dove back through their connection and bit!

  Chkiriziki gasped, pheromones clouding her small cavern to the point it was difficult to see—the result of her screams. She shoved the dark spell onto another of her brood, but it simply festered in response. Duplicating madly before rushing back.

  This wouldn't work.

  Still she tried again, and it was only on the tenth attempt did Chkiriziki do something truly drastic. With the nervous jitters of panic clouding her mind, Chkiriziki severed her connection to her brood.

  Silence.

  Terrible. Horrible. Complete silence.

  And yet, the silence allowed her to think. It pushed the panic to the background, if only temporarily.

  She was safe. The spell hadn't jumped to her again. Though she didn't dare reconnect to her brood. Not even the few retainers that had gone unnaturally still around her. What if they were still infected?

  She needed to escape. To run. There was no way the upright-walkers weren't marshalling a squad of their drones to hunt her down. She'd even kindly left a stink bomb of her screams for them to find.

  Idiot!

  Chkiriziki dragged her bulk out of her hidey hole, profoundly relieved to find no upright-walkers nearby. That her safe haven had remained secret.

  With trembling knees, terror in her heart, Chkiriziki ran. A slow, yet inexorable, waddle that carried her far, far, far away from the hateful upright-walkers.

  She managed her panic, diverting to the last known position of her sister queens. Surely their quest had gone more favorably. Except, when she arrived at the spot, no drone stood vigil. There was no way to contact her sisters carrying the birthing crystal. Surely, they hadn't required literally every last drone. Right?

  She couldn't know. She could only hope that there was some not-awful reason for the absence.

  So she marched, changing direction once again. Farther north this time. Along the dull valleys of the mountains. Without her drones she couldn't travel through the earth, and neither could she afford the more direct path. Discovery at this stage could be lethal.

  It wasn't easy. Not even close. Her body wasn't designed for this sort of forced march. Her legs were weak, and her abdomen heavy. Her egg sack was engorged with life, but this was not the time or place to lay.

  The weather turned worse. Chkiriziki's eyes turned skyward as black clouds emptied their frozen payloads upon the earth. Her carapace glittered with stars of frost and for the first time in her young life, Chkiriziki felt cold.

  Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  She pushed on. Not daring to rest as the snow piled higher. She carved a long furrow in the snow, leaving an inevitable trail, but didn't slow. Refused to.

  That was, until a snap twinged her soul. Her brood was gone, but her connection to the birthing crystal of her people had survived it all. It was how she knew in what direction to travel. But with no warning, that shining light vanished.

  Chkiriziki lay in the snow for a long while. Being buried by it. Beyond words or feelings but with a terrible knowledge. Her sisters were dead. Nothing else explained the birthing crystal's destruction. They would be of no help to her now.

  But she needed help. So once the snow abated, Chkiriziki shook off the dusting of powder and headed in a different direction. To a place so inhospitable that even her sisters hadn't dared trespass.

  But Chkiriziki was beyond caring. A sick black hatred simmered in her heart. At those who had taken everything from her. All her curiosity was gone. Replaced with a single image. Of a small creature with five braids, stepping forward implacably as it culled her children. So she marched. Through day and night until she came upon the line of ice separating the land.

  The pervasive, domineering aura of the place bore down on her. Arrogant. Powerful. Deeply uncaring if she simply lay down and died from hypothermia.

  It would have to do.

  Carefully, Chkiriziki called out for help. Not with pheromones, but with her spirit. She formed a connection to the atmosphere as if it were her drones. Not subservient. Equal. A request to converse.

  The connection snapped into place, but before Chkiriziki could convey a word, an iron maw snapped shut. The tether shivered, just as Chkiriziki did, only barely able to withstand the presence on the other side.

  The presence examined her like a bug, stripping her of what little pride she had left. And yet, held the tether such that she could not reciprocate until it had finished.

  Then, and only then, did it release her. Chkiriziki buried her misgivings. She firmed her resolve and collected her hate and grief. That which the upright-walkers had saddled her with. And she sent it to the presence with as much desperate, pleading force as she could muster.

  Silence reigned.

  Chkiriziki couldn't help but shiver as the cold settled around her. She could not tell if the presence was examining her proclamation, or simply ignoring her. All she could do was wait in the deep snow, and hope.

  Power crushed her spirit. Chkiriziki stiffened, belatedly realizing the source as heart-stopping cold leached the life from her limbs and stole the breath from her lungs. The Presence returned its attention to her and despite herself, she couldn't tell if it was happy.

  But she refused to back down. She forced her body upright, staring defiantly up at the sky in lieu of a physical target. Her spirit firmed, not allowing The Presence to batter her down as she clutched desperately to her last shred of dignity. She would not kneel. She was a queen. Brought low, yes, but a queen nonetheless.

  To her horror, The Presence chuckled. A rolling, rumbling laughter that echoed through the land and disturbed snow drifts atop the far mountains. As if The Presence found her resolve as amusing.

  The bite of winter retreated following the laugh. Her limbs warmed unnaturally fast as a thread of mana coalesced as if from nothing along her path. It led up the side of the great mountain. To a cave that promised warmth and safety. The cost for which was implicit in the bargain.

  Chkiriziki eyed the path for several long moments. The image of the upright-walkers flashed.

  Then she followed it.

  "Done. Finally." Captain Indulus declared, drawing a ragged cheer from the men.

  Sakra released the long sigh she had been holding. Her captain's words washed over her, bringing a relief that she hadn't known she needed. The culling of the formican queens had been a longer campaign then she had been expecting. All told. She was well and truly ready to return home and relax for a season or two.

  Her company was likewise exhausted, though that didn't stop them from professionally cleaning up the area. Stragglers were hunted down and far reaching transitory manalith scans were conducted to confirm the destruction of all formican spawners. The whole routine, though necessary, chafed.

  When all safety precautions had been taken, the company set out for Chikarun once more. It had been over a season since any of them had seen and experienced the comfort of the walls. The weather had changed in that time and the snow made it slow going.

  But soon enough, they arrived, only to find their home burning. Well. Not literally, but several black columns of acrid smoke drifted lazily over the idyllic snow dusted city. Sakra immediately called for double-time, and in record time, the whole company was rushing through the open gates to a celebrating populace.

  "Report! What happened?" Sakra barked at Milo as the company fragmented to aid the recovery efforts.

  "You missed the excitement, my lady," Milo greeted her politely. A small smile uplifting the corners of his lips as he quickly and concisely recounted the events of the last two days.

  A pit opened in Sakra's gut as she realized she had somehow failed to contain the threat. Despite her company's constant scans, Chikarun had still fallen into danger. Thankfully, there were few casualties, though this failure wouldn't be great for her house's reputation.

  Before Sakra could interrogate Milo further, a furious young alten woman stormed out of the keep and marched upon Ranger Medlas. Lira's aura blazed loudly with indignation, an expression that caused a silence to fall over the courtyard as she approached her husband.

  "Where! Have! You! Been!" Lira yelled, punctuating each word with a harsh slap on Medlas' broad chest. "Dragons take me, Medlas! You’re gone right exactly when I need you most. A crisis developed while you were gone!"

  "I wasn't—What? Huh?" Medlas flinched as he grabbed her wrists to stop her assault. "Do you mean the bugs because—What crisis?"

  "’What crisis’, he asks," Lira rolled her eyes as she dragged him unceremoniously into the keep. "Silas. Your son. He is slipping away from us right under our noses while you've been gallivanting off doing who knows what..."

  Lira's voice trailed off as they disappeared into the keep. Sakra raised a skeptical eye to Milo, only for him to awkwardly shift in place, unwilling to meet her gaze.

  Huh?

  That's when Sakra really took in the atmosphere. The celebratory atmosphere. And how everywhere she looked people were cleaning gore or lifting rubble while chatting amiably about her wards. Which only made her protective instincts flair up.

  "Milo," Sakra said slowly, causing the normally stoic steward to twitch in place. "What happened here?"

  Milo nodded with equal gravitas. "Well. A lot has developed while you were gone. Silas has... come out, so to speak. I do believe his defense of the city during the crisis has firmly undone our efforts at anonymity. My lady."

  "I see," Sakra replied, despite not precisely understanding. What had Silas done? And what of Akira? "Are the children okay?"

  "Physically?" Milo started in what was most definitely not a good sign. "Yes. I don't believe either Silas or Akira sustained any injury during the incident. Emotionally, however, both young ones will need some support in the coming weeks."

  Sakra let her gaze wander as she kept a firm grip on her expression. She spotted Akira and two unfamiliar yawm girls watching the commotion from the balcony. Those must be those maids Silas had obtained recently. Akira waved at her. The sight was a relief, though didn't entirely assuage the tightness in her chest.

  "Why?" Sakra asked simply, her hands waving broadly as if to encompass the breadth of her question.

  "That, I cannot say, my lady."

  "I see. And where is Silas now? I don't see him around."

  "He is on the roof, my lady."

  Sakra didn't waste any more time mincing words. She marched into the keep, taking the stairs three at a time and bursting into the room adjacent to the balcony housing her older ward. Akira greeted her gamely as she entered, and outwardly she appeared fine.

  Her guard however was less sanguine.

  "Rikara," Sakra nodded curtly.

  "Yes, my lady!" Rikara threw a stiff salute. She was nervous. Why?

  Instead of asking and getting what was most likely a non-answer, Sakra walked out onto the balcony and levered herself onto the roof with a flash of empowering mana.

  Unfortunately, Silas' presence wasn't immediately obvious. Not having the patience for hide and seek, Sakra channeled a quick pulse of mana in each direction. The wave returned two signatures, surprisingly enough. A small familiar presence hanging off of the edge of the far side of the roof and a second, closer, cloaked signature.

  Sakra stiffened, her mana instinctively coiling in an offensive stance as the air rippled in front of her. Agent Blackadder appeared, leaning casually against a chimney with those dead-fish eyes of his. He tipped his head toward Silas, then carefully reformed the cloaking field around himself and vanished from sight.

  It seemed as if every new step spawned several new questions without offering any relief. Hopefully, speaking to the source would answer some of them.

  "Hi, Silas," Sakra said quietly, having made her way over to the edge. Her ward was curled up on the side of the building. His small body lashed to the monolithic gray bricks by thick webs of mana while a wool blanket was wrapped tightly around his thin shoulders. To her consternation, he hadn't tied off the spellwork. Choosing to maintain the effect on willpower alone.

  She spotted his five-stranded braid.

  Well. That answered a few questions. Sort of.

  "Hi Sakra. Welcome back. Did the hunt go well?"

  "It did." Sakra paused, thinking on how to approach this. "May I join you?"

  "Sure."

  Sakra climbed down, copying Silas' spellwork to hold herself to the side of the building. To her embarrassment the whole thing was faintly more difficult than it should have been. While not impossible, it was definitely a workout. She blamed her general exhaustion from the long campaign.

  Unfortunately, Silas didn't seem keen on speaking. Seemingly content to look out over the city with contemplative eyes as he pulsed his mana. Did it mean something that he was facing the undamaged side of the city?

  "You don't have to worry about me, you know," Silas suddenly said, knocking Sakra out of her brooding.

  "Don't I?"

  "Nah," Silas waved his hand carelessly. "If anything, Akira needs your attention more. I think she was shaken by the deaths."

  "That doesn't mean you don't need my attention."

  "Doesn't mean I do either."

  "Maybe," Sakra said slowly. "But what if I want to help?"

  Silas' lips pulled back in a surprisingly feral expression similar to a drider’s toothy smile. A moment later his aura twitched into a sarcastically amused expression.

  "Fair enough."

  Sakra waited a moment, but when Silas didn't respond, she prompted, "So what is bothering you?"

  Silas pulled his blanket tighter. “Does it matter?”

  "Humor me."

  Silas shot her an impassive look, then shrugged and looked away. "Do you think it's weird that yawm have their butts on the back of their bodies?" He asked.

  "Their... butts?"

  "Yeah," Silas nodded, not a hint of childish humor in his tone. "You know. How they are different from us and all that."

  Ah.

  Sakra took her time in responding. Clearly the strict discipline she demanded in her men had rubbed off on the boy. Or perhaps the attention of the people had broken his nerve. They had been trying to subtly groom him for leadership, but this was a big change.

  "Well," Sakra eventually broke the silence. "Biologically, it isn't as strange as you might think. The shoulder and the hip joints have roughly the same anatomy underneath it all. So if you really think about it, our chest is kind of like a butt for our upper bodies. The yawm have that out front too."

  Silas' eyebrows did a cute little wiggle, then a faint smile touched his aura. "You know. I've never thought about it like that. That's funny."

  "I'm glad you think so," Sakra said. "Are you repulsed by their appearance?"

  "No, no. Nothing like that." Silas waved her off. "It's just hard to treat them normally, you know? Or I guess I noticed I don't treat them normally. I mean. They have purple tentacles on their face and too many eyes. They don't look normal at all." Then quieter. "None of them do."

  That was... surprisingly mature of him.

  "You know," Sakra said softly. "Everyone feels that way. At least a little."

  To her surprise, Silas snorted. "Yeah," he said. "I know."

  Sakra hesitated again, not sure how to interpret that, then decided to bull forward. This was what Milo called 'a teachable moment'.

  "It is the burden of leadership. Not everyone feels that way, but I think that those that do are the ones most suited for it."

  "Sure, but that's not the problem is it?" Silas met her gaze. His steel gray eyes pierced her to the cold stone of the castle walls. "Not really. You could have the best intentions in the world, but worrying about the problem doesn't solve it. What happens when we inevitably fail to notice our biases? Because we will. We are only—" Silas froze, then shook his head. "Never mind."

  Sakra was struck once more by how adult Silas sounded. Not just his high grammar, but the broad perspective. More than she might have expected from a five year old. She tried to remember how Akira behaved at his age, but it had been a few years. Besides, nothing this drastic had happened back then, so who was to say Akira wouldn't have shown more maturity in response.

  It would all require unpacking. Just... not quite yet.

  "We try our best," Sakra replied firmly, meeting her young ward's stone-faced gaze. "That is the best we can do. But that doesn't mean we have to do it alone. You put too much weight on your own shoulders, Silas. Why do you think I keep Milo around? Or Morag? It's not just their expertise I value."

  "Right," Silas said, turning back to the dark horizon. "Life goes on, and all that. I'm just being stupid. It will pass in the morning."

  "Not stupid." Sakra nudged his shoulder with her own. "Inexperienced. That's why I'm here. Lean a little on me, Silas. Or even your new maids. Tell them what you are working toward and listen to what they have to say."

  "They're children." Silas curled his lip in dark amusement. "Do you think they could meaningfully add to the conversation?"

  "So are you!" Sakra laughed, she couldn't help herself. "But no. Sometimes it isn't the value of what they say, but rather how it helps us engage more deeply with the problem."

  "Alright."

  "Try it out." Sakra smiled. "It's about sharing the load. Being part of a community. And yes, we are the leaders, but that doesn't mean the weight of the world is on our shoulders."

  "Partnership," Silas said.

  "Exactly. It's like what I have with Lord Domas. I'm better at fighting. He, administrative tasks. But anyway," Sakra groaned, lifting herself up to the lip of the roof. Her will tingled in relief at the release. A workout, indeed. It didn’t help that she was wearing half her weight again in leather and steel. "I'm going to go find him. See if we can't organize the repairs. Come down soon, okay?"

  "Okay."

  Sakra nodded to the bundle of blankets lashed to the side of the parapet. Then turned away. Agent Blackadder's silhouette flickered as she passed. She didn't acknowledge him. Her mind immediately filled with the ten-dozen other tasks she needed to catch up on since her return.

  And for that, she would need to speak to that errant husband of hers. Where was he, anyway?

  Domas ran.

  He ran like his life depended on it. His feet slammed into the ground, pressing the bimetallic treads of the Seven League Steps into the frozen earth. The artifact of his forefathers sang to his senses. It vibrated on a subaudible frequency as it siphoned mana aggressively from his core. Domas barely managed to contain the might of the artifact with each of his strides.

  The wind chilled him, but still he did not slow. How could he with the events that recently tore through his fief. Not the monster attack, by and by. The reputation hit was tragic, but barely a footnote in his ledger compared to the opportunities the event had bubbled to the fore.

  That being: the discovery of Silas' true potential. Such a sensitive topic should have been revealed slowly, and yet some things simply had to be taken in stride.

  It wasn't like they weren't prepared. They had been grooming Silas and his unexplainable strength for years now. The child would serve as a perfect keystone. A symbol that the people could rally behind. The perfect figurehead.

  The reveal was planned. It would have always happened. They just hadn't expected it to occur not on their terms or in such dramatic fashion. That it had, wasn't the end, but it certainly wasn't ideal. There were things that needed to happen before the world learned of the coming of a second Dragon Slayer.

  So Domas ran to Colefallow. Faster than the wind. Faster than the other messengers. Faster even the elusive spread of gossip such that their agents could act first. Could take advantage of the discovery before any of the other noble houses could muscle in on their rightful prize.

  Some part of Domas wondered what the child would think of all this. Those troubles of a banished lord. Would Silas care for the sudden notoriety? Would he thrive under the pressure? Only time would tell, though one aspect of the child's personality reassured Domas.

  The kid was loyal. It wouldn't be hard to ask him to help.

  Domas crested yet another rise, feeling the air warm against his cheeks. Ice turned to mud as he put distance from Raith's cursed domain. The roads were empty, of traveler and monster both. The latter was not a given this close to the Wilds. Domas quietly thanked the stars for his good luck as nothing stood in his way—

  Pounding footsteps crunched to his side. Domas dodged on instinct, tumbling to the snow. Wind rushed across his scalp as nearly three tons of scale and horn slammed into the spot where he had just stood.

  Domas rolled, coming up to behold the predator.

  The Bearded Draffer was an enormous specimen with an impressive pair of lateral tusks erupting from its feral maw. The creature was basically all chest and tail running parallel to the earth and covered in hard scales. From tip to tail, the creature was longer than four men were tall, though its two legs that rippled with power didn’t seem to have any trouble moving its bulk. A long furry beard travelled across the underside of its body giving the oversized reptile an overgrown look.

  Domas cursed, but he wasn't about to start running now. For one, this particular breed might actually be able to keep up with his Seven League Steps. For two, it was in his way. Though this was also a perfect opportunity to test out that little spell Silas invented.

  Domas kicked back, power coursing through his boots and launching him skyward. The beast charged beneath him, deceptively quick despite its bulk. Domas landed, and spun. His mana unspooled from his core, forming the simple layered internal shielding spell in the shape of a whip.

  It wasn't all that complicated, but the Draffer didn't allow him the time to organize the spell for the first time. It charged at him again, forcing him to scramble around a copse of trees at the expense of a good chunk of mana to avoid it.

  But he managed, and even better, the severing whip settled just as he rounded the bend.

  "Take that!" Domas screamed.

  The strand of severing light ripped out, taking a chunk out of its right tusk and drawing a profusely bleeding scratch down the side of its body. The beast recoiled, releasing a bellowing groan as it rapidly changed direction.

  Unfortunately, as the creature eyed him with two suspicious, beady eyes, it became clear that Domas severing whip wasn't on the same level as his ward's. The cut across the side of the Draffer's body was uneven, and it hadn't sliced as deeply as it should have.

  Unfortunately, Domas didn’t have a single clue what was wrong. He tightened his grip on the spell, massively increasing the arcanic flux to try to stabilize it, but strangely, that made the whip entirely lose its edge so he hastily reverted the change.

  The Draffer, having seemingly decided the threat was manageable, charged with no warning. Ice crunched under its spread claws as it lunched at his face. Domas cursed as he jumped straight up. He flew over the Draffer, lashing out once more with the whip, but was disappointed with the damage he inflicted.

  Then, before he could land, the Draffer's tail spiked up and slammed into his hip. Domas screamed as pain blossomed and he was thrown bodily through the air. He crashed against something cold and wet. A snowdrift, and barely managed to trigger his boots in time to blur out of the way of the Draffer's next attack.

  Domas staggered as the Seven League Steps deposited him far from the beast. He straightened, realizing that he had lost control of the severing whip in the transition.

  Humor bubbled up out of nowhere as Domas shook his head ruefully. He supposed it was fairly arrogant to think he could master a new technique of such power with no training whatsoever. Silas probably spent months experimenting with that in his free time to get as good as he was.

  He would have to set aside the whip for now. That didn’t mean he was giving up on it. Just, that he would require some more practice before it would be usable for him.

  But that was alright. Domas was under no delusions regarding his combat proficiency. He was no Sakra Krii-ari and he wasn't ashamed to admit it. So, when the bearded Draffer sinuous body snapped to face him once more, Domas didn't bother with anything fancy.

  A beam of flame and force crashed into the creature's face with punishing power. The beast roared—a mistake that revealed its soft insides to his spell. It barreled forward, surprisingly tenacious as it absorbed the damage. The flames licked across its tough scales, singing its rugged beard and curling the strands.

  The flames also blinded the beast, so when it finished its charge, it didn't find Domas. He'd repositioned easily using his mobility granting boots and continued pouring mana into the incineration beam.

  This continued twice more, before the dumb predator got the message. It bellowed to the sky, turning tail and sprinting madly into the snow-capped conifers. Its partially blinded eyes didn't make travel easy and it crashed into trunks twice before vanishing into the treeline.

  Domas released a heavy breath as a quiet settled on the road. The cold pierced his lungs as he let his will relax from the strenuous exercise. Then, knowing he couldn't dawdle, he continued on his journey.

  Thankfully, no more creatures bothered him. At least none that could threaten him in a serious way.

  Before night could truly fall, he arrived at Colefallow: The city of a thousand lights.

  Unlike Chikarun, the streets of Colefallow were illuminated by countless streetlamps. A brief stab of envy curled in Domas' gut at the sight.

  He buried the feeling, donning his usual smile, as he approached the gate. The guards recognized him and—despite their confusion—quickly organized for him an escort to the keep. Their path took them through the main thoroughfare; lively despite the late hour.

  Domas' smile remained plastered on his aura as couples ambled by. Children begged their parents for sweets while street performers entertained bored pedestrians for copper.

  Chikarun would never have something like this. The blessing of the capital. Of wealth. Technology. It was sad, but true. A backwater town like his wasn't even worth mentioning compared to the height of power displayed here.

  Domas dismissed the thought, tightening his practiced smile as the guards deposited him in the keep. This was why he was doing all of this. This was the point. The reason for all the subterfuge and planning and false smiles.

  Not just to regain his honor, but also his deserved wealth. The riches, stolen from him by the accursed crown.

  But those dreams were still a ways away. For now, he couldn't let his inner thoughts slip. Despite how it might appear from the outside, their little revolution wasn't nearly as cohesive as some believed. Many groups hated the crown. Or rather, there were many groups who saw the benefit of bucking the yoke of the royals.

  The guards left Domas at the bottom of a long staircase with polite nods. The underground room opened up to a large antechamber, the cool of the earth replacing the sharp bite of winter. A dozen crafters lined the space in two parallel lines, their desks cluttered with glass and iron as they carefully manufactured the streetlamps Colefallow was so famous for.

  Domas ran his eyes over the industry, then dismissed them as he made his way to the rear of the room where Lord Omnilas was conducting the most important part of the process.

  Lord Omnilas reached into a glass and iron cage surrounding a shimmering spawning crystal. His large hands formed a cage around a blue butterfly glowing brightly enough to hurt Domas' eyes. The lord then gently guided the tiny insect into a small jar which he handed to an attendant.

  "Lord Omnilas," Domas greeted the man with a short bow. "I come bearing news."

  The large man tossed him a genial smile, before closing and locking the harvesting cage. His thick, seven-stranded braid hung low on his back. All the way to his knees and swung gracefully as he gestured for Domas to follow him to an adjoined office.

  "Welcome, welcome. Please, enjoy the refreshments," Lord Omnilas opened his palms wide as he gestured to a crystal decanter and a set of comfortable couches. "I dare say I was not expecting this. Did I forget your arrival in my old age?"

  Domas smiled thinly as he leaned his chest into the plush pillows of the couch. Lord Omnilas was in the prime of his life. Hardly old.

  "It was a surprise to me as well," Domas said. "As I said out in the hall, I come bearing critical news. I felt it necessary to deliver it myself."

  "Oh? As much as I appreciate your dedication, young Domlas, but such hasty actions are precisely the type of thing we are hoping to avoid. It draws eyes, you see."

  Which just pissed Domas off and made Domas want to shove his news right in the smug bastard's face. He wasn't that young. In the same way Lord Omnilas wasn't old. The rebuke was utterly ridiculous. As if he couldn’t keep his travel secret. If anything, it was Omnilas’ people who were most likely to leak his presence.

  But instead of saying anything that he would regret, Domas held his polite smile and inclined his head. Despite his outward geniality, Lord Omnilas was a dangerous, dangerous man.

  "Oh, I assure you that nothing has been closer to my mind than ensuring the sanctity of our mutual goals." Domas said. "The news I bear risks several of the plans you yourself have set in motion, and I find the content of the information sensitive enough that I wouldn't dare rely on a mere messenger to transmit them to you. As you can see, I bear my family's boots for this very purpose."

  Lord Omnilas hummed softly to himself, eyeing the Seven League Steps, before rolling his wrist to indicate that he should get on with it.

  "The news pertains to my ward, Silas." Domas continued.

  "Silas?" Omnilas took another slow sip of his whiskey. "That ‘child prodigy' of yours?"

  Domas stopped his eye from twitching. Barely. Though his smile grew a little stiffer. "Indeed, Lord Omnilas," he said, then carefully recounted the story of the prior two days. The bones of the story came easily, him having practiced silently on his journey here, but the details he improved.

  Domas took smug satisfaction from Lord Omnilas' steadily rising consternation. It was truly lamentable that Domas had to hide Silas' true abilities from the revolution. He had known all along, of course. It was why he'd pushed so ardently for their inclusion for years now. Now that the child had accidentally revealed himself to the world, Lord Omnilas could understand why.

  He didn't share Silas' new severing magic. That particular tidbit, he kept to himself. It might help convince the man, or even do the opposite. Besides, keeping bargaining chips close to the chest was simply good practice.

  "I see," Lord Omnilas eventually said. His incredulity had slowly been replaced with a calm thoughtfulness as his various questions were answered and Domas' tale grew in complexity and believability.

  "Now you understand why I personally ran all this way to share this news. Letting this fester would have been the worst possible outcome." Domas couldn't help but point out smugly.

  "You are absolutely correct, Lord Domlas," Lord Omnilas nodded firmly. "You made the right choice in bringing this to my attention with utmost haste. We will have to move the boy to Colefallow as quickly as possible."

  Wait what?

  "His education will need to be carefully monitored. And... hmm. It is unlikely we will be able to fully contain the rumors, but it should be trivial to poison the well. No noble, and especially none of the royals will take any of this seriously."

  "Hold on," Domas said weakly as Lord Omnilas began outlining a plan that completely sidelined Domas in favor of Omnilas becoming Silas' new mentor. An uncle-figure, so to speak.

  "Hold on," Domas repeated. More firmly this time and successfully cutting off the flow of words from the excited Lord. "I believe you are missing some crucial bits of information. This plan you are proposing will never work."

  "Oh?" Lord Omnilas' expression twitched in amusement. "Pray tell, what did I miss?"

  Domas swallowed, frantically organizing words as he struggled to maintain his outward calm. "Well. You see, Silas has already experienced being relocated once, and even at his young age, strongly rejects being separated from his parents."

  "Then we will bring them along," Lord Omnilas waved his hand flippantly.

  "Ahh, but you see," Domas smiled knowingly. "The lady Sakra and I have also grown very close with the boy. I'm afraid it will be very difficult to maintain positive relations with the boy if he discovers you are responsible for removing him from his home."

  "Please," Lord Omnilas said, exasperated. "The boy will cope. In fact, if he is as strong as you say. It will be good for him to learn to take orders every now and then. Besides, at his age, there are uncountable distractions that could occupy him here."

  "But what if we can take advantage of this personality quirk of his to the utmost,” Domas raised a finger, putting on a teasing smirk he knew was quite rakish. “And poison his relation with the royals in... shall we say, a permanent manner?"

  "Go on." Lord Omnilas' eyes narrowed.

  "What if we don't suppress the news? What if instead, we inflame it? Hype up Silas to the extreme. We encourage the royals to discover and—no. Not just the royals. What if we make every Noble House and Guild in our lovely kingdom of Echseim salivate at the thought of getting him in their good graces. What then will the royals do?"

  "They will be forced to adopt him. Into the army at the very least," Lord Omnilas said slowly.

  "Precisely. They will adopt him. Forcefully, if they have to," Domas smirked. "Which they definitely will. We will make sure of it. And then he will hate them. Which is where you come in. I can introduce you. Favorably, of course."

  "I do have an estate in the capital," Lord Omnilas mused. "Though this whole elaborate plan seemingly hinges upon the reaction of a five year old child. What if the boy is enamored by the glittering jewel that is Tychria?"

  "It won't happen," Domas grinned outwardly, letting his excitement bleed into his voice. "The only thing that impresses the kid is magic and he is loyal to a fault. He is far too young for either gold or girls to confuse his loyalty. You have literally nothing to worry about.

  "Hmm," Lord Omnilas murmured hesitantly, though Domas knew he'd gotten him. He could see it in the way his finger was unable to stop tapping the armrest. Tap. Tap. Tap. Come on. Where is that greed you so deviously hide.

  "I see you've thought deeply about this."

  "I have."

  "Then I shall cede to your judgement." Lord Omnilas decreed. He waved his hand and the door snapped open. An attendant slipped in. "I can begin preparation immediately, though there are many details we will have to discuss. All of us."

  Domas nodded firmly, rising with the larger man and clasping his hand to seal the deal. The coming days would be hectic, to say the least. But it would be worth it.

  It would be so, so worth it.