In Death and Shadows: The Druidic Tales, #2

By R.B. Ellis

War has come!
All of Faerungarth has gone up in smoke and ruin as the Elven Imperium and its daemon army runs rampant across the Free States. The last strongholds Druifae and Twinscove wait for the inevitable. It is left to Elladen and her new acquaintances to bring the Free States together to defeat their deadly foe. All the while shadows press not only on the battlefield but in her mind.

And while Elladen fights, Garrett must conquer his own war in a strange land. The war in his mind and his soul are not so black and white.

• Language: English
• Publisher: R.B. Ellis
• Release date: Jun 4, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201565510

R.B. Ellis

Born in the mountainous state of Colorado, you quickly understand the strange land that is Faerungarth. With its large plains, deep forests, and sky-shattering mountains. I started this book series back when I was twenty-one, but never really thought it come to anything. My life has been full of fantasy all my life; J. R. R. Tolkien, Andrzej Sapkowski being the biggest influences in my world-building. Outside of books, my chief passion for fantasy worlds came from video games. This is why I love to leave easter-eggs and heavy lore. I write now, not for myself, but for my son and any future children I may have. And of course, for my fellow nerds, book lovers

Book preview

Chapter 1.

It filled her eyes with red. Hues of orange and dismal black flickered and danced between. But the rest was red. Blood. The snow drank the last of the life from each of the fallen. Elf, satyr, human. Even the stray sell-swords. They all lay dead or dying. Her mother covered her eyes, but not before she saw a fleeing soldier break through the wintered forest. And the thing that followed. Lengthy, bat-like. A nightmare, a daemon.

Despite her mother’s hand bringing darkness in the chilly night, she still heard his scream. A pitiful cry for mercy. No doubt the man soiled himself. His scream fell short, replaced by gargling. It didn’t matter if her mother tried to protect her; she had seen it before.

Bodies and daemons, a mess of entrails and screams. She had seen what nightmares were... what they did. That was only one week ago.

She turned to a bush as it rustled. Her mom held up a shaky sword, determined to slay whatever it may have been. She waited in anticipation. Then, let a sigh out as her dad–an elf emerged with her brother.

Valene! the young girl cried, pulling from her mother and embraced her brother.

Annice, not so loud! A daemon still stalks. Her mother hit atop her head and pulled in close. Jarold, my love, they kissed. Her brother and she stuck their tongues out.

"Mildred, l’amour de ma vie."

Her father still had that nasally sound. He said it was the proper way to speak Elven and despite being a half-breed born in the Free States; she needed to learn both. But Annice didn’t see the use. The Imperium was going to win, or daemons would destroy the world.

What did you two find? her mother asked.

Why not ask our young boy here? He saw it before me. He patted Valene’s head and he smiled.

There’s away through, just off to the west, about uh... the boy paused and looked at his father for the right term.

Five miles, their father said.

As dad said, five miles, the lake’s frozen over with thick ice. The kind we used to skate on before– Velene paused again, this time troubled. His eyes glassed over. Their father pulled him in close.

Very good boy. The fighting has not yet reached there. If we hurry– he cut himself off. His eyes drifted past them.

They turned to see it, the daemon. It crawled on all fours. Its scrawny, bat-like appearance made more nightmarish as it heaved, and its tongue whipped frantically. A thousand hooked barbs meant to rip flesh and bone. It crawled towards them; a shifting presence pushed under its skin. Almost like–Annice screamed. A face pressed against the skin, gray and bloody scales distorted the face, but even she could see the lips moving. As if in response to the face, the daemon spoke.

No, it is my body, not yours. The thing fell, blood pooled as it bent over and let loosed its mouth. 

Since when do daemons speak? Mildred asked, gripping Jerold’s arm tight.

Only Sins can. We need to run! her father shouted.

The Sin spoke again to the face in its skin.

Not yours. It is mine! I want it, so it is mine. You have no control. No more! The Sin looked up and saw them back up. Its pale-yellow eyes narrowed. I’ll show you, watch as I will slaughter them! The Sin raised a hand–claw more like swords glinted in the light of the fires, blood dripped from the last soul it butchered. I am Avaritia, I want everything! And I want to kill them, to feed on the innocent. I will!

The parents grabbed and shielded the children. Annice saw her mother flinch. But the blow never came. The claw held mere inches from them. The daemon’s head low, its breath deep.

Run. A voice echoed from within. Run!

There was no hesitation in her parent’s eyes. They were not ones to look a horse in the mouth. Nor a chance given by the gods. Her mother swept her up and ran past the daemon. Her father spoke with a winded breath.

Firstlanding may be the only place we can reach! Let hurry! Jarold yelled, pulling on Valene.

They ran, the daemon left atop the hill. Annice glanced back as her mother carried her. She saw the daemon arch its back, then bend over and scream as it boiled, burned and ripped its flesh away. Revealing something... something else entirely.

⁕

The room hung above; encased in granite teeth, held there by the tip of the cave’s fangs. It dangled helplessly over the gaping maw of the pit below. The cavern squirmed. It raved and squealed, and every inch that moved, slithered, and snorted... was a daemon.

The glass room waited to fall. The dust settled, and the dark thrived in every corner. A table which only days before was filled with delectable berries, fresh muffins, and wines, was now molded over and covered with fruit flies. Shadows and decay conquered the vacant room. It took the rug that laid in the middle of the glass floor, the cold candles, and the dried blood that covered the stained glass.

A burst of light, a spark, smoldering ash.

The room filled with an eerie, red glow. As the light grew, the cold candles sparked to light, and the glass glowed. The reds and blues transfixed on the yellows and greens of every inch of glass. More light. The room filled, flooded with the ashen glow, and a scream followed.

Ah! the voice came quiet at first, then louder, harsher. Violent and malevolent.

A hand, then a wrist, followed by an entire body. The long black hair smoldered. The skin boiled, while other parts were burned. Skin flaked and fell in chunks, followed by bloody and oozing meat. The hand grasped for the table and tossed the contents to the side. The body heaved and swayed, still the flesh smoked and cooked.

Damn it all! the voice spat. Blood caked the table, black and tarred. Damn it! So close... too close. Breathing hurt, but she calmed down and sunk to the floor.

Her breast heaved and more of her cracked, tore, and disintegrated before her. She swore, her eyes; once dead coals flickered under her eyelids and revealed one sickly green and the other purple. They crossed the room. The dust drifted and fell like lite snow. The dim rays that found a way through gave her a strange sense of calm. Slowly but surely, she tamed her breathing and heal herself.

That was far too close, I hope it was worth it, a dark voice came from the void of a corner. The voice crawled the wall and stayed close to the shadows.

Yes, if I were anyone else, I would be dead, she said, her voice raspy.

The woman stood up after a moment and peeled the burned and tattered red corset from her skin. Although, at that point, it was part of her skin, just another dead black smoldering piece she had to peel off her. Strands of sticky rosy slime came away with it, and she gritted her teeth. Her bare body had taken on a pale orange in the dim glow. Compared to the blackened state she was in mere seconds ago; it was a vast improvement. She placed a hand to her stomach, a permanent black scar, nearly rotten from the look. That souvenir did not want to leave. It was a grimace to look at and even a worse reminder.

Kaithian... my goddess. This matter seems to be more dire than you thought. What will you do? the shadow asked.

If you must know, I have already thought about it. The aether is a timeless place, mere seconds here is an eternity there. Still... damn! She slammed her fist on the table, and the cave below reacted to it. The floor squirmed and became more active. He got away, and the damned Elders almost killed me! I cannot be that reckless again. I am far too close to my goal to make mistakes like that.

I think you got cocky being so close. The shadow visibly flinched at her gaze. I am sure my lady will achieve god... I am confident. It reiterated.

That I know. I must, but there are far too many loose ends for my desire. She strode the room, not caring that she was naked.

The shelves, which seemed outside her reach, found their way to her. A step brought them within reach. It was lined with oak shelves, phials, books, scrolls, and many other unsavory items cluttered the wall. One of which held a blue vase. Decorative will-o’-the-wisps and wolves ran across it. The wisps were the prey–literally. The art moved from the foreground and back. Over hills that sprung the artwork and forests that grew out of nowhere. The thing in whole looked more like a horn. She walked over to a solitary table with a knife and a chalice on it.

I will release the Wild Hunt on him, Dria said.

My lady, you surely couldn’t. That man... that thing, he will kill you, the Umbrae quivered.

Not if I offer him a deal he can’t refuse. She smirked.

He is from the School of the Nyx, not to be trusted. The shadow climbed over the walls and placed a hand on hers.

Your opinion matters little in this regard. I suggest you silence yourself. She removed the decorated brass seal.

A burst of mist and frost fell forward from the inside chamber. A dreadful howl came forth along with five wolves. They surrounded Kaithian. Their growls and teeth did not stop her.

I summon you, Wild Hunt! Call off your wolves–your mates and let us bargain! She grabbed the knife and slit her palm open.

The blood trickled forward into the chalice. A fowl voice laughed and screamed in pleasure. The room disappeared in the mist and the frost thickened as a spectral being rose from the vase. He was merely a blue specter with a formless face, but Kaithian bowed to the skilled hunter and offered her blood. The specter outreached itself and absorbed the life. It then laughed again and groaned, as if waking up. Suddenly the frost and mist came rushing back to the ghost and made the hunter was whole. Before Kaithian stood the embodiment of the Hunt, the Wild Hunt. The thing went by nothing else in his day. He stood tall, at least seven feet and his layers of coats were a mesh of furs, skins, and bone attachments... some from creatures she had never seen. The wild man stood with a full beard and a graying hairline. The Wild Hunt kneeled and kissed one of his mates she did the same.

Oh, I’ve missed that. Yes. Hm, he moaned. 

Kaithian did not push. She waited. Not wishing to anger the specter, she strained patience. Finally, the Wild Hunt sat with his wolves–his mates, petting each one. Still, Kaithian waited. The man finally stood straight and look down at the women who had summoned him.

What’s this now; a poor lass has summoned me to get back at her lost lover or something.? Or perhaps you wish to frighten the neighboring populace by spreading word of my return? Hm? Well, speak lass, before I decide I want your skin for boots and your hair for string! His voice was harsh, deep, and wicked.

No man had ever laid eyes on the Wild Hunt and lived to tell. No man. But women, that was another story. Kaithian smiled and took a deep breath. The word lass sparked a fire in her, and she wished to lash out at him. But with her current power, and her body still healing, she needed to keep her cool and play the man-beast.

Oh lord of hunts, hunter of realms, and Beastmaster. I summon you in my time of need to help me, she said with no mocking.

"Enough of the flattery and bowing. Stop it. I am no man nor lord. I am the hunt, and by the looks of you, have come from an enormous battle. Did you really summon me to fight in a war? You should know I don’t and can’t. Not as a ghost. Speak! Speak to me as one master to another!" his voice rumbled, and the very walls seemed to shake.

Of course, Wild Hunt. Kaithian got up. She had started to wonder if this was a good idea. Here before her stood the greatest hunter of all time. A master of a wolf pack, and one of the few trackers to survive the Faelands. She didn’t even truly know if he was from Faerungarth. She had heard stories of the man as a child. Some claimed he was a half-daemon from the aether born of a woman. Others claimed the Wild Hunt was a title passed down from one master hunter to another. One story: he was a god. She found that one hard to believe. But for all the stories told, one thing stood true through all of them. The Wild Hunt supposedly came from a land called England. Or was it Scotland, Ireland? She remembered the name ended with the word ‘land’. That was beside the point. What stood before her now was only a shell of the thing from a time before... and it scared her.

I come to you to make you an offer for a hunt.

Oh, now you have my attention. What kind of beast, lupin, vampyre, myr? Dria shook her head. No, hmm, a dragon? Tell me, and I might let you live. If not a vampyre or myr, then what? I don’t just hunt any old beast.

A human and his lover.

One of your own! I don’t hunt men, I’m not a mindless mercenary, you know. My patience grows thin, girl, he growled.

Wait but a moment, Wild Hunt. This is no ordinary man, nor is his lover. He is the Druid.

Oh, killed plenty of Druids in my day–like weeds they were in my homeland. Yet you say it like he is the only one; which he is, now isn’t he? So I am back in Faerungarth, he said mindlessly, then turned back to her. Tell me how many years have passed since my last visit?

Last visit? So, you’re not from Faerungarth?

God, no! My lands are far better, rolling hills, lush forests, and white cliffs. Not some land of lakes with no veritable sea.

I see, Dria said.

You don’t see, you’re forgetting I don’t hunt humans, nor can I in such a state. He gestured to his specter form.

Not to worry. He is no longer a man, but a hybrid. His powers have turned him into a monster. I wish for him to be stopped, she lied. The Druid was in her way. And she would do whatever she had to.

Oh, must have been powerful magic to do that. Okay, but how can I hunt him in this form? You know I can’t leave my vessel for too long, even now I grow weak.

Indeed, but I also know of a way for you to take flesh and bone once more. Blue moons are one way to do so. Lucky for you, our world has two moons, and both have a three-day blue moon cycle coming soon, before spring, Dria said, assuredly.

Oh? This is good, makes for easy tracking under a full moon. Very well, and what is your payment? the wild Hunt asked, more than interested in her proposal.

I have a fair and hefty reward for you, she said.

A different payment is required. No money, he sneered. An offering.

But of course, and the offering will be the once Druid. More exact... his body. When you kill him, you can have his body and return to this mortal world once more.

Say it again and make a blood pact! he demanded.

Not yet, Dria said quickly, holding up her hand. Remember, I asked for his lover to die as well. She is a draconic, a dragon. Kill him, wear his skin, and you can get close enough to make a killing blow.

So I get to kill a hybrid, kill a dragon, and return to the mortal plane? You, lass, have a deal, he laughed deeply. But I still need a blood pact. That way I have full permission to take his corpse and make it mine. Without it, the body will rot, and I will be forced out.

Ah yes, but of course. Completely right. She grabbed the dagger from which she used earlier, slit her palm once more, and they shook. By my word: if you kill him and– Dria emphasized her next words "–and the dragon, you can have his body. That is your payment, Wild Hunt."

Agreed. He shook her hand, licking the blood off of his hand when they separated. Very well, come the full moon I will hunt your... offering then his lover. His memories should be useful. He sneered and laughed under his breath.

Indeed, Dria smiled. Till then I will leave your vessel upon a hill in a forest. There must be young birch and aspens and a place where your vessel can be touched directly by the moonlight until then– she bowed, the dagger still wet with blood.

The Wild Hunt’s frost shook the room as he vanished back into the horn. His wolves howled and the room went silent and damp.

The room stayed quiet for some time. Only the sound of dust and the occasional settling stone were heard. It was even more time before Kaithian let loose a breath. Her body shook and her heart fluttered. She made a deal with the Wild Hunt, and came out alive, well alive in her sense.

My goddess, that was– the Umbrae shivered and its grinned plastered the wall adjacent the fire.

Easier than I thought it would be, she said.

Yes. Will you truly give him the Druids body, and what of the draconic? Will it be that simple? the shadow asked.

Why not? Garrett is a nuisance and needs to be dealt with. If he will not join us, he is against us; as the saying goes. And once the Wild Hunt takes his prize... well, perhaps a being like you won’t understand, but love makes one do crazy things. It dulls the senses and mind. Weakens the heart.

As if you would know. The shadow shook under her piercing gaze.

I would, she said seriously.

Shall I make preparations? it asked, changing the subject.

Yes.

The Umbrae snickered, and his shadow followed him with the horn. No doubt the Umbrae would put the horn in the Free States. At least that’s what Kaithian thought. It made sense, and to her, the Umbrae was... predictable. She stretched out an arm and let loose a sigh. After which she snapped her fingers and all the candles lit at once. The stained-glass room was filled with shifting light. Each flicker of the wick reflected off a piece of glass, depicting different beings in vast colors and shapes. They danced on the floors and walls as Kaithian walked to a wall. From a bookshelf, she picked out a book and flipped through the pages. On the page she was looking at, it showed a stitch. A gruesome amalgamation of limbs and thread.

She cleared the long table of its contents, and with a simple wave of her hands, random appendages and decomposing body parts fell to the table. She made quick work of them, using an enchanted thread and needle to sew the mess of death together. It was not pretty, not something she would call art. Though there would be those who would see it as a masterpiece. A masterpiece that embodied death, pain and torture, the ultimate end for all things. The sewn heap of flesh and bones, blue, black, and bloody, was not something even she wished to look at. The head was on wrong, and its five arms and hands made Kaithian squirm, its open cavity crawled with maggots and festered with plague and rot.

It was the perfect torture device.

She murmured a spell, a dark spell, one she had never used. So, she was careful. Made sure her index fingers were curled just right, her thumbs were outstretched, and her ring fingers protruding outward. One wrong mistake and she would end up in the stitch. She chanted the spell. The stitch glowed with a red hue, and it twitched, first the fingers, then the eyes. The milk in the eyes faded, and they became an unsavory black. Jam-like liquid oozed out of the orifices around the eyes and the tongue hung loosely from the stitches body. The thing twitched more and more until an ungodly howl and scream came from the dead thing. It cried and moaned and bellowed as it felt every blister popping, every bone shard stabbing and every maggot biting.

It was the perfect torture device.

Kaithian took a moment to observe the living mass of rotting flesh. She pitied the soul she stuffed into it. But only for a moment. She tired of the otherworldly screams of pain. She waved a hand, and a calming blue aura surrounded the creature. It whimpered softly as the pain was too much, even for the spell that Kaithian cast.

Did you really think that explosion would work, Therya? You tried to kill me once before and it did not work. Why did you think it would this time? She bent over to the face. Black tears ran down its contorted face.

Why did you bring me back? It tried to say, but it was more of a jumble of sounds. Kaithian understood.

Because, after your petty act at Eden Leaf, you pissed me off. You brought back the Druid, and because you have something I need.

Please stop the pain, it pleaded, the stitch’s tongue in the way of her words.

Where is the sphere? Dria asked.

I can’t– she was cut off by the pain returning in horrid fashion. Therya screamed so loud that the very walls shook.

Let’s try this again. Kaithian placed the blue aura on her once more. Where is The Sphere of Semma? Therya whimpered, but refused to speak still.

Very well, we will do this until you tell me what I wish to know, Dria snickered, as she let the pain flood over Therya. Her body writhed and contoured and twitched as her screams fill the caves.

⁕

H ere! Over here!

What is that?

I don’t know I’ve never seen a being like this before.

The fool, he ate some Grateful Mushrooms. Everyone knows those are poisonous. He will be lucky to survive till Nyphil day.

That’s only two days away!

Yes exactly, hey put that down. It is against your oaths as keeper to touch any weapon, you’re lucky you are out here with me, blood of mine.

How can this be a weapon? It is so beautiful?

Death often is. Come now, help me put this giant... thing of these leaves. I said put it down and help me!

Don’t you think he would want to keep his beautiful weapon? Yes, I shall put it in his lap.

Don’t just stare, help me! Watch out!

A drake, not just any. A lithain drake. I thought these creatures died out long ago?

Yes, well, apparently not. It seems this death bringer found one and tamed it.

Yes, he seems protective of him.

Too much, cast a sleep spell on him.

"Yes, blood of mine. Sorry, little drake, you sleep now. Dayrthna..."

Good, now put the drake on the leaf too. We need to help this... thing.

He radiates with magic, the likes I have never seen. Perhaps this death bringer comes from across the Sea of Storms?

Nonsense nothing out that way but sea and storms; hint the name. Blood of mine, I must remind you, that even though you are meant to keep records, being the Keeper means sticking to traditions and keeping our culture alive. Not bringing in nonsense ideas and dreams. Despite what Titiakka may wish of you and that ridiculous prophecy, your duty is to the people. Remember your place, Keeper.

Yes, blood of mine.

Now then, let’s take this stranger to Greffel. The healers there can help him... I hope.

Chapter 2.

The night sky was an irredentist blue, with layers of different purples. Few monoliths dotted the clouds and a scattering of flying creatures tailed them. They were, however, far on the horizon and gathered close to each other. The two moons lit up the empty gaps between the clouds, making the night overall... one of a kind. Any self-proclaimed patron of the arts would ask for this peaceful, picturesque scene to be painted and to display it in their halls. Any artist would paint it. For it was a simple yet delicate masterpiece. The only thing the artist could have complained about was the four ships set ablaze on the incoming horizon.

The two larger floatisa were caught with minor blue and red fires on their masses and sails, while the two smaller ships volleyed cannons and spells between them. Truly the wash of colors made the scene far better, a small, yet ever so important corner to the artwork with the details that were in the ensuing battle. Any painter would have gladly snuck in the fight. On the smaller of the vessel’s formless shapes skirted and jump on the deck, while a large black mass protected a fragile red hair human. A fireball hit the ship and splitters came rushing in at the two red and black forms.

If the painter so used a spyglass the scene would have looked more or less like so:

Goblins left and right ran the deck of the Flamed Rose. Impacts from spells and cannon fire rocked them back and forth. Many times the goblins dropped their supplies while teams of men, elf, and satyrs shot back with bows and spells. The enemy closed in on them as they ready to release yet another volley of fire and frost. Elladen did not know how much more the ship could take. Even though she knew the giants had reinforced the ship’s hull with brass and steel. The metal could only take so much damage.

Another stream of fire was set upon the floatisa and set fire to a barrel of magic powder. The goblin next to it, Bert, tried to run, but his little legs only got him so far. The barrel exploded. Throwing the poor goblin over the ledge and plummeting towards death.

Gods be damned, that’s two goblins dead, Elladen yelled, pushing Mintros away. Please go help them! She urged the minotaur to do so, and to her surprise, he agreed.

This one will protect you then. The lyat, Nakkitti said, and came up to Elladen, but she firmly pushed her away.

No, you will not! Go help Ladaia take out those mages, we can’t take much more. Promises be damned!

But–

–now, interrupted Elladen. I am the commander of this ship now, and you will do as I say! Nakkitti pounced off towards the Elven mage, who was doing her best, lacking the fingers to do more than novice spells.

Fire and frost tore the sky and ship asunder. Every volley of arrows meant another dead. Every spell cast was one more, till their certain demise. She bit her lip, clenched her hands hard enough to draw blood.

Elladen could not help.

That was a lie. She told herself she couldn’t, rather she shouldn’t. But Elladen was losing against herself. She watched as the paid muscle for Garrett walked off with two cannons under each arm. She had a sudden question; where had he found them? But the question was tossed as another fireball struck them. She looked back at the minotaur, his mouth steaming in the snowy night with lust for the action. Mintros was planning on doing something crazy. Suddenly, a goblin jumped on his back and loaded the two cannons and fired. The cannonballs shot off of Mintros’s shoulders and took out two mages whose wards had failed. Nakkitti was busy blocking arrows from taking out Ladaia. Her daggers matched her cat-like reflexes. One arrow after the other parried. In Ladaia’s case, she could not use a ward nor do massive damage to the enemy. All the while, lieutenant Makarov’s men did what they could to hold off boarders.

Elladen could help.

She knew very well she could, but at the risk of revealing herself. Very few knew who she was, and even less about her true powers. Nearly three hundred years of bottled up power could be released and easily destroy them. Was it worth it? Should she? What would the others:

Her thoughts were cut off by a bolt of lightning scraping the side of the Flamed Rose. The impact tore through the ship, the entire ship nearly capsized in the air battle. BIT struggled to keep the floatisa up. He then swung left and tried to leave the ships behind.

Lady Firehart, I don’t know how much more the ship can take. And we are nowhere near escaping these imperial bastards. What should we do? BIT said, struggling with the wheel.

I don’t know. Lieutenant Makarov? Elladen asked.

My lady, my men and I have done everything we can. I suggest we ready for boarding.

Damn, she muttered under breath.

Elladen looked on at the horror which was the ship. A lightning bolt took out yet another goblin, and a fireball found its home in one of the kirafalin driving the ship. It fell limp and the other two pulled harder in distress. With one mana-beast down, the ship’s speed slowed. She slammed her hand into the railing.

This is not how a commander leads, she said aloud. Her indecision was the reason they lost Eden Leaf, and the reason Garrett was gods know where. If she had only thought. Instead, she let emotions control her. Damn it all. A pox on me. I am worthless! She continued to think. Scenario after scenario flashed through her mind.

The ship shuddered as another blast hit the ship. One of the large floatisa’s loosed and this time they struck the Flamed Rose. The blast took out a sizeable chunk of the main deck. Siding and railing splintered, and the floorboards creaked and heaved. Before anyone could glance at their commander. She was gone.

Elladen plummeted towards the ground, her clothes on fire and shredding under the speed of her fall. For a time she was unconscious, but soon awoke. The ships were far above and getting further and further away while the ground, the mountains, they were getting closer. This was it, she thought. It was a momentary thought, but one that stuck. This is how she dies. Her indecisions, her weak heart, the inability to react properly. Her father was right. She was just a child. Not mature in the slightest.

She glanced around at the sky and the looming ground. Winter held Faerungarth in its icy hands. Snow covered everything, as it always did. The darkening sky was lit up by the white peaks, a dim purple and orange sunset and–the waging war. She realized where the largest part of the fleet was now. Everywhere.

Everywhere the ground below was a flood of fires and random spells. The snow reflecting the magic. Giving the turning night an early dawn feeling.

For magic, weather and time were mere obstacles. Enchanted lights filled the sky in random places, over villages on hills and towns on the horizon. Below, snow was pushed aside for a formation of troops... and their daemons. The tiny village stood no chance. And it was all her fault. If she had just listened to her heart. If she had heeded Ladaia’s words. They were true, after all. She may have not known the whole of it, but Garrett was telling the truth. If not for her, he could still be here. Childish, immature. Her father’s word rang loud. And they pissed her off.

Fuck it all! No more self-pity. It is time I let loose. Its time I took control! she