A Song of Wind and Crystal

The Gods came to us first. Their warnings whispered in our dreams, and commanded we find the Empty One to unite us and the world together against Dakath.

- Fragment 5

The flames were hot and choking, blinding and harsh. Smoke billowed in the air, churning, turbulent and thick with soot.

The boy, Aphalion, coughed. A blackened handkerchief was pressed to his mouth to filter as much of the smoke as possible, but it barely made any difference. He still choked on the fumes that permeated the rippling air, wavering with scorching mirages.

Aphalion’s parched throat burned. His tongue felt too large for his mouth as it swelled with arid dryness. His chest ached with each cough. His head pounded. His eyes watered from more than just the smoke stinging them.

They were tears of confusion, of panic and fear. They streamed down his face, clearing away lines of black soot and charcoal to dust his pale skin.

Elion held his hand, pulling Aphalion behind as he ran. Both hurried after their Guard Captain, who led the way through the crumbling passages and corridors of the collapsing castle. It was up in flames.

The ceilings creaked, the walls cracked. Aphalion stumbled over the rubble.

“Aphalion! Watch your step!” Elion said, gripping his hand harder to catch the younger’s fall. His voice was harsh and hoarse, a result of an equally parched and scratched throat.

“I’m sorry, brother,” Aphalion croaked. “I –”

Cracks vibrated through the ceiling and both Aphalion and Elion gasped, looking up. The fine stone-work of the stonemasons fell through the plaster.

Elion pushed Aphalion against the wall and stood over him, using his body to shield him from the pummel of rocks that tumbled down.

Sound and blackness engulfed Aphalion. Panic and horror sealed the cry of shock in his throat. Aphalion’s body froze in terror. His eyes were squeezed shut.

“Your Highnesses!” Luvon shouted.

The rain of rocks died down and Elion pulled away with a stagger. He was breathing heavily and Luvon caught the adolescent’s shoulders.

“I’m fine, Luvon,” Elion panted.

Aphalion’s vision cleared and he stared up at his brother with dismay. Blood dripped down one side of his face, seeping through his white hair.

“E-Elion, you’re hurt,” Aphalion stammered, reaching out tentatively.

“You need to be stronger than that, Aphalion,” Elion said, catching his hand and holding it. “It’s just a graze.”

There was immense strength in those grey eyes, despite the pain and dizziness Aphalion could see clouding them.

Elion turned back to Luvon. “Quickly, there is no time to lose. Luvon, lead the way.”

Luvon’s expression hardened with a nod and he turned, hurrying down the corridor again, Elion following closely behind and towed Aphalion with him. How could Elion be so strong? How could he stay controlled while their entire House fell to ruin around them?

They ran together, stumbling around corners, leaping over boulders, jumping through fire which parted before them. The Sunstone of Luvon’s wristband glowed brightly like a tiny sun.

The three of them passed through to an intersection. Aphalion looked left, down to where the hallway would have led out eventually into their kitchen. Even now, despite the chaos and confusion, old and familiar thoughts returned to him of wandering down there to see if the servants, maids and cooks would give him a snack to eat.

None of the staff would be there now. They were either dead or had fled.

Instead of the familiar white aprons that would drift up and down the passageway with purpose, masked individuals took their place, wielding weapons that glinted sharply in the flickering, angry light. There were three of them, the first of whom dashed up quickly, raising his twin daggers.

Aphalion gasped. Elion pulled him behind his back. Luvon leapt in front of both boys. His arms spun around him and the fire of the hallways drew to him, swirling around his body like a spirit of no form, like the waves crashing around a rock in its centre.

Its heat magnified. Its light intensified. It was like a force, one which pushed the two Princes back down the other corridor behind them which was empty and open.

Luvon swept his arms out before him and the fire rippled outwards like a wave against the oncoming attackers. The first attacker slowed abruptly and ducked, while a second flipped over his back and swept his hands out to meet the flames. He pulled his hands out to the sides where the wave of fire parted before him.

A Sunstone also glinted at his wrist.

“Go!” Luvon yelled behind him, drawing his sword to meet the third attacker who clashed against him with a flurry of sparks.

Aphalion stared at the fight before him as weapons clashed and fire roared around the four men, dancing to the will of the two Soulstone Casters.

Elion was as frozen as Aphalion was.

“Get out of here! Now!” Their Guard Captain commanded. Aphalion jolted. Elion flinched.

“Damn it!” Elion hissed under his breath. It was pained.

His grip tightened on Aphalion’s hand, before he turned and dashed down the free corridor behind them, with Aphalion running to keep up. But Aphalion’s mind could not keep up with the pace.

He could not process the sudden realisation they had left their Guard Captain behind them.

“We can’t leave Luvon behind!” Aphalion finally managed to cry once his young mind had gathered itself together enough to speak. “Elion! We have to go back!”

“We can’t.” Elion kept running. “We have to get out.”

“But, Luvon –”

Elion stopped abruptly. “If we go back, we die!” He snapped.

Aphalion jumped in shock. Elion never lost his temper.

His brother made a visible effort to reign his emotions back under control and knelt down to grip Aphalion’s shoulders.

“Aphalion,” he said, more gently. His voice cracked. “Luvon has given us a chance to escape by opening a path for us. If we go back, we will get in his way and our enemies will take advantage of that. You are only eight. You cannot fight like he can. You are too young, and so am I.”

Aphalion stared at him with disbelief.

“Look around you, Aphalion. Our castle is in ruins. Our family is dead! As the only survivors, we have to escape. I’ll be damned if I let them take you from me too. I’ll fight the Masked One Himself before they reach you.”

Aphalion sobbed quietly. “Why? Why does this have to happen to us?”

Elion bit on his lower lip. It was trembling. “I don’t know.”

The castle itself seemed to groan as the fire whittled away at its strength. Both boys glanced up with wariness. Aphalion wished he could just hide in a corner, close his eyes and press his hands against his ears. He wanted it all to stop. He wanted it all to go away.

This was just a bad dream.

“Hurry,” Elion said with a grunt as he rose back to his feet and took Aphalion’s hand again.

Aphalion sniffed as he stumbled after his brother. What a sight he must have looked. He was covered in black soot, charcoal and blood. Tears streamed his face, his nose ran heavily. His Royal attire was dishevelled and his hair had been cut unevenly, courtesy of narrowly missing a sword that had tried to behead him barely a few hours ago.

His father would not be pleased by his state, nor of Elion’s.

I need to clean myself, Aphalion thought stupidly with numbing shock. He could not think straight at all, not even when their path ahead was blocked by two men at the end of the corridor.

The two boys came to a halt. Aphalion’s eyes flickered back up the way they had come. Should they turn around?

But the fire was spreading. What if those assassins who fought Luvon, followed?

“Stay close behind me,” Elion said under his breath, holding one hand out to the side, as if ready for something. His Soulstone bracelet glinted in the light. All seven crystals were present on the silver chain.

With that free hand, he wiped the blood from his forehead.

Their enemies pointed at the brothers and arrays glowed at their palms. The surrounding fire gathered and condensed, swirling and whistling.

Elion’s hand flashed out. The blood on his fingers snapped out like red and bloodied lightning. It cracked down the corridor in a heartbeat, striking one of the assassins through the head.

His scream was brief as the force of the hit snapped his neck back and pierced his skull. The blood of his head splattered over the stone and floor of the chamber yonder. The fiery attack he had been building was let loose at an angle, striking the ceiling, while the second assassin fired more accurately.

Elion wiped his hand over his bloodied head again and with that same motion, turned it into a slice, wherein the blood elongated like a whip and followed his path, slapping the spitting star of fire out of the way to explode against the walls.

Elion then dashed forth. Aphalion followed by instinct. Elion drew the fire of the explosion towards him, before curving it around to roar back towards their assassin like a cloud of burning, golden energy.

The assassin swiped his arm up and sliced through the cloud of fire, parting it on either side of him to diffuse away like mist burned by the rising sun of dawn. However, the darkness of the chamber that they dashed towards, was dark. No sunlight streamed through the windows.

The same assassin held his hand towards the body of the dead man beside him. His hand was cut, and the blood dripped down to join and mingle with the pooling red liquid of the fallen assassin. The blood zapped back to his fingertips and Aphalion felt his heart rise to his throat. This assassin could use more than one Soulstone.

Elion grunted, unsheathing his dagger in a flash and threw it. It flew true and fast, faster than it should have. The assassin hissed as he was too slow to dodge and the blade impaled itself within his reaching shoulder, temporarily preventing him from using the arm that controlled the blood of his fallen comrade. His other hand whipped around and gripped the hilt to pull it out at the same time Elion and Aphalion reached him.

Aphalion felt his brother’s arm wrap around his waist. “Hold onto me!”

The assassin pulled the dagger free with a spray of scarlet droplets and swung the dagger towards them. The blood that flew, joined together like a line connecting dots together across a page, like crimson lightning drawn across a dark sky. Aphalion felt its sizzle, he felt the buzzing Aether of its life-force that would shock his own from him if struck.

He and Elion suddenly jolted up at an angle, as if they were pulled into the air and flew over the assassin’s head. Aphalion gripped Elion’s torso as they soared metres into the air into the open chamber. The chandeliers above them clinked.

The pulling force was let go and they fell back down to the ground. The air rushed up around them as they fell and Aphalion felt an odd sensation overcome him. It was a temporary moment of freedom, of flight, of exhilaration.

Elion twisted them in the air as they fell, slowing their descent with another sharp jolt, his arm still above his head as if he held onto an invisible rope connecting them to the metal chandelier above them. But then he let go and reached towards the assassin, motioning a pulling gesture while still falling to the ground, and the dagger was ripped from the man’s hand.

It swung around the chamber, as if tied by string between Elion’s hand and the dagger.

As the dagger came free, so did blood still coating its blade.

Elion let go of Aphalion, and the boy landed on his own with a pained grunt upon landing. Pain shot up his ankles and he fell onto one knee with a silent wince.

Elion landed with a tumble which looked strikingly practised in comparison to Aphalion’s. The dagger swooped around the chamber with Elion’s tumble who directed its Swing with one hand, while the other swept out in opposition to bring the blood to life.

Only half obeyed his command while the other half of blood zig-zagged back to the assassin. The assassin’s bloodied lightning strike thundered the returning dagger off balance entirely. It clanged against the walls, torn from Elion’s mental grasp.

The assassin’s crimson lightning boomed across the hall to the two brothers, stray arms striking the walls and floor, some even deviating up as far as the chandeliers which clinked sharply upon being shocked. Some of its crystal decoration fell to the floor like glittering hail.

Elion’s own blood was thrown out to meet the crackling strike with a blast that vibrated Aphalion’s teeth.

Through the smoke, the assassin leapt out with remarkable speed and Elion inhaled sharply under his breath. The Bloodstone on both Princes’ bracelets hummed in warning. Moonlight glinted against the darkness of the attacker’s eyes.

Empty. So empty.

How could anyone look so emotionless when destroying an entire family, an entire Kingdom? Why would anyone be so evil? Why would someone want to kill them?

Aphalion’s parents, uncles and aunts and cousins were all dead. Luvon was probably the same, engulfed in the flames pouring from the passageway they had just emerged from.

Elion and Aphalion were all who were left. And Elion was fighting for their lives.

Aphalion could hear the grief, rage and panic in Elion’s staggered breath. He could see it in his brother’s expression as he desperately fought to stay one step ahead, against an opponent who was far older and quicker than them. The two were only still alive now because Elion had always been a protégé. But at only fifteen, Elion could not fight and protect at the same time. He did not have enough life experience. He was not old enough.

With tears of desperation, Aphalion’s eyes darted to the fallen dagger. While bloodied lightning thundered through the chamber, Aphalion was disjointed from the fight as it became a battle between Elion and the assassin.

Aphalion focused on the dagger and the Magnetite of his Soulstone bracelet shimmered ever so slightly, like an oily sheen as he tapped into its power. The lines of green light became visible to his eyes only, and connected him to every bit of metal that was close by. They spanned out from him like webs of emerald lines, all diverging from the centre point that was him.

All of the lines were loose, waiting for him to pull them taut.

He was only interested in one line, and that was the one which connected him to his brother’s fallen dagger. Aphalion gulped. It was a painful action, feeling like he swallowed nails scratching down his dry throat.

He knew what he had to do. He was trained to do it, because he was a Prince after all. He had to be prepared for anything. But he didn’t want to kill. He could not kill. He barely understood the concept.

What did it mean to kill someone? Aphalion cringed just to see someone in pain. But this assassin wanted to hurt them. They all wanted to hurt them. Elion was hurting right now.

Aphalion gritted his teeth, and with a heaved sob, he Pulled the string taut and then swung the string with the motion of his arm. The dagger flew.

The assassin saw it come, leaping back from one of Elion’s lightning strikes in time to whip out a blade of his own to ping the dagger away. Aphalion’s expression fell with doomed determination. The man had deflected it so easily.

Elion shouted, slamming his hand down against the floor.

The assassin grunted unexpectedly, freezing where he was. It was a strangled sound of pain and his breath was staggered.

Confusion flitted across Aphalion’s mind and he looked between Elion and the individual who had come so close to them. The shadows were deep surrounding Elion, wafting around him and over the floor like low, black mist.

It was as if that darkness had come to life around their assassin, rising up in the form of needle spires which materialised from his very own shadow, turning against him and impaled him from half a dozen angles.

Aphalion gazed across in horror and amazement.

The assassin glared back at them with hatred in his eyes. His mouth moved, gurgled sounds came out. He was trying to say something.

Aphalion crawled to Elion in fear.

“The . . . E-Empty Guard –”

The assassin’s words were swallowed. He tried to gasp, gulping air, but even from where Aphalion clung to Elion’s arm, in the moonlight he could see the man’s lips turn blue and the life fade from his eyes. His body sagged against the needles.

Calm settled back over the hall.

Only the fire continued to crackle and burn. Smoke poisoned the air. Flames lit the floor and made the shadows dance in the corners.

Elion pulled his hand back from the floor and the black needles disintegrated away like ash. The body fell to the ground.

Aphalion shook. Elion shivered as he panted for breath.

“Thank you, Aphalion,” he breathed, squeezing Aphalion’s shoulder.

Aphalion felt safe at last. He felt warm. He wanted to cry.

A soft thump sounded behind them. Both boys paused. But it was not out of confusion.

Aphalion could not breathe. A suffocating terror smothered him as if a sack had been pulled over his head. It stilled his breath, it silenced all sound, it darkened light. His blood ran cold.

The two of them turned around.

A towering, elongated humanoid figure loomed behind them, dressed in ripped and torn robes. Shackles bound its wrists and ankles, the chains were broken. Its feet were bare, its hands were claws, its skin was a pasty grey and wan with decay.

But Aphalion did not see the face, for the face was masked. It was not a cloth mask nor even a masquerade mask. This was a full face mask, a skeletal mask of white, smooth as bone and sleek with sharpness. Intimidating lines and patterns marked its surface, rolling as if they were alive with tiny mites writhing along its shapes.

A violent wave of nausea struck Aphalion and he almost fainted with dizziness. But he did not gag nor wretch. He could not.

Terror held him like a puppet in its master’s hold. An incomprehensible presence of sheer power, of pure, destructive energy, wafted from this . . . this thing like visible waves of physical force. Its eyes . . . in the voids of those narrow orbits were no eyeballs, nor even a blackness of shadow. A swirling, sickly green and yellow light was in its place.

It may have worn the humanoid body of a tall man, but this was no human.

This was a monster.

Its arm swiped across. Elion cried out in horror. A barely materialised shield of shadow was shattered like knives raked through a silken curtain.

Blood splattered.

Elion fell back into Aphalion’s unsuspecting arms.

It all happened so fast Aphalion barely noticed. When did the monster raise his arm? How did Elion end up lying against Aphalion with a chest that had been ripped open?

Why was Aphalion sitting in a growing pool of his brother’s blood?

Aphalion did not blink. His mouth opened and closed like a gaping fish. Elion stared up at him, but his eyes were not seeing. His expression was frozen in a state of shocked horror.

Elion was dead?

Sound returned to Aphalion’s ears. The crackle of the fire was louder. Its heat was stronger, scorching. But Aphalion’s body was as cold as ice.

The thing in front of him breathed. It was a rattled sound, like a rasping, enraged animal. Its attention focused on Aphalion, and Aphalion fell into those terrible glowing eyes. He fell deeper and deeper, feeling the horror, and grief, and defeat swallow him, like freezing water over his head as he drowned.

The monster threw its head back and opened its mouth. A dark maw rolled within, and it screamed.

It was a terrible sound, a sound of two voices, one which screamed, and one which roared, filled with fury and bloodlust. The air vibrated. The glass of the windows shattered. Stone cracked. Splinters rained down over the hall like a hail of fine shards that split the orange glow of the fire into a rainbow of colours.

How strange it was, that there was beauty in something so horrifying.

Was this the last thing Aphalion was going to see, to hear and experience?

No . . .

The wind sighed, as if it spoke, as if a spirit flitted along its currents.

A person materialised in the air before him from out of the wind itself, a thin and sleek spinning mass of grey and white, tinted with the faintest of lilacs, and a leg whipped out, catching the monster around the waist.

It was a strike so hard that the monster was propelled to the side and crashed into the wall. Cracks resounded through the stone from the crater at its impact source.

The person in front of Aphalion flipped something into the air. It appeared like a vial, an open one.

Water spun out and the figure twisted around, arching their arms with flowing motion and the water followed, curving through the air which cooled ever so slightly as it transformed into an elongated spear of ice.

The spear shot towards the monster and impaled against the wall.

However, the monster leapt away into the air with inhuman strength, cracking the wall further from its propelling force. The ice spear smashed into the crater, missing the humanoid creature by only a split second. The tinkling sound of shattering ice was a very light sound in comparison to the crack and rumble of dancing flames.

An arm flashed out from the unexpected protector, swinging round and Elion’s fallen dagger pierced the air so fast that it whistled to where the monster had leapt. The monster’s leap through the air met the trajectory of the dagger, and its jaw smashed down over the blade, splintering the metal and destroying it with mortifying ferocity.

The creature landed on the ground with a vicious snarl that ripped through the air between it and Aphalion’s protector.

“Get up, Aphalion.”

The voice was low and deep, but it was feminine. The person who protected him was a woman, a strikingly elegant one once the flowing silks had settled.

Aphalion gaped, his mind too stunned from everything around him to act on the command.

The monster flipped backwards with great height, landing against the far wall, before it then propelled itself off it with a howl.

A ripple coursed through the hall, as if the propulsion had been a shock-wave in itself. It shot through the air towards them, reaching forth with a clawed hand. Its fingers were dark red, as if they had been dipped in and stained with blood, over and over again.

Aphalion was frozen with terror. He cried out.

Metal sang as the woman unsheathed a sword. Aphalion didn’t even notice she had one, but now that he had, he noticed it was unlike anything he had ever seen. He did not recognise its straight shape, nor the style of her attire. But two grey tassels hung from the pommel. The blade was such a pale metal that it almost looked white, like ice. Mist wafted from the length of the body, as if it seeped from the very blade and hilt itself.

The wind whispered, swirling around it and her.

She stepped forward. Sword sliced through the air. Clawed hand slashed. There was a clang and a rip. A sharp shriek pierced the chamber as the monster flipped overhead to land behind them and in the fire.

The woman withdrew from her stance, quickly pressing against her bleeding neck. But it was not her who shrieked.

An arm thumped not too far away, writhing like a spider being burned as it shrivelled away into smoke.

The monster stood in the fire, hunched over with its free hand held out to its side as it roared in fury. The other shoulder possessed only a stump which dribbled blood, congealing fast already. It pointed at them, and a light grew from its pointed nails, growing and whistling with its nauseating Aether at an alarming rate.

The woman brought her hand away from her neck, bringing it back before thrusting it forth with her stance. Her Soulstone bracelet glinted from the silks of her wide sleeves.

Strange. It had eight crystals.

The blood boomed out at the same time the creature released a sizzling pillar of Aetheric energy which burned the air with its pure heat.

Blood and energy met at the centre of the chamber with a deafening explosion, whipping Aphalion’s hair back and forced him to shut his eyes. Flying dust stung his face like tiny needles, and he turned his head away, raising his hand to wipe his face. His hand was wet with warm liquid that he barely noticed, and smeared it over his forehead and cheeks.

Aphalion blinked and squinted against the aftershocks of the blast, desperate to see what was happening so he would not be taken by surprise. He wanted to curl up into a ball, but not knowing made him more afraid.

However, with his eyes open, he could see everything once again through the blur of tears and smoke and gasps of his breath. Elion did not move in his lap, still staring sightlessly at the ceiling. The fire was spreading along the rims of the vast hall.

The smoke of the explosion seemingly parted to make way for the monster who bolted through it with a speed Aphalion could not keep up with. It howled, its remaining hand reaching with another violent swirl of light gathering at its palm.

The woman – standing between Aphalion and the creature – twisted her sword behind her and with her other hand, stabbed ahead with her two fingers pointed like a blade, directly against the oncoming creature.

Something which Aphalion had never seen before, happened next.

The monster was flung away instantly, as if a force collided against it and pushed it back with a blast of wind that bellowed over the chamber, swinging the chandeliers and almost blew out the inferno itself from its gust.

She sheathed her sword with a practised twist of her wrist as the monster landed with animalistic agility. The woman knelt down, placing one palm against the stone floor.

The darkness of the hall rolled deeper, slithering towards the monster where tendrils of it curled around its ankles like brushing fingers. The monster barely noticed, stalking forward, and shadows flicked up around its ankles like fallen leaves.

But more shadows rose. They snaked up its legs, coiling around them and its waist like reaching hands. More tendrils and arms of darkness wavered out from the shadows the flames cast against the people standing, even from the nooks and crannies in the broken stone. The monster began to slow as the shadows thickened. It tried to tear itself free, partially succeeding, but more darkness took its place.

The monster ground to a near halt and it screeched in rage, thrashing against the binds that frayed along the edges.

The woman then rose to her full height and held one hand out horizontally to the side, where a single, pale blue sphere blinked into life at the tips of her fingers. Its light was cold, yet it felt surprisingly soft.

Aphalion felt some of his fear fade away, replaced by a strange sense of calm. It felt like there were more than just the four of them in the hall.

Lines of glowing blue light drew across the floor between the cracks, circling the monster with a great array plate of Aether, shining brighter and stronger. Its glow streamed up from the floor like rays of blinding moonlight. The air chilled, and even the harshness of the surrounding inferno was dampened.

“Rise, my allies of old,” the woman commanded.

Her voice was clear. It was as if it came from everywhere at once, welling up within Aphalion’s very bones from the power within her words.

From within the light of the array, four humanoid masses materialised. It was if they were composed of mist and faint light, for they were translucent and ethereal. Their details were not clear, but Aphalion saw the misty figures were armoured and armed.

“Defend against our ancient enemy,” she instructed.

They drew their swords in unison. Their weapons were similar to what the woman possessed. Their armour was layered and they also wore a sash type scarf around their waist, as she did.

She lowered her hand, but the sphere remained suspended in the air. The Celestite of her Soulstone bracelet glowed constant and steady.

She brought her hand back to her bleeding neck and then swept that hand in front of her as if she drew a circle. The blood trailed in the air after her motion, and zapped out over the cross-section of the chamber, weaving a web of blood in only a few seconds.

What a magnificent and giant structure it was as it continued to spread and thicken between the spirits and monster, and Aphalion and his saviour.

It became a webbed wall of blood, a wall that divided the chamber in two.

The woman spun around, and finally Aphalion saw her face clearly as she reached down to take his arm.

She was beautiful, and appeared younger than her voice suggested. Her expression was controlled, her black hair was long and its upper half was tied back and held in place by a long pin.

Her neck bled, but she did not seem to be in pain. Her eyes were as dark as her hair, but there was no malice in her gaze. There was strength, yet incredible age and wisdom, far greater than that of her youthful appearance.

“It is time to leave this life behind. Come with me, young Prince,” she said, hauling Aphalion to his feet.

Elion slid off his lap and Aphalion glanced down. His legs gave way underneath him.

“Brother . . . my brother . . .” he managed to croak. His words sounded slurred and dumb to his ears.

The woman’s eyes flashed to the fallen Prince, and something flitted past her eyes. Her expression softened ever so slightly.

“Your brother is gone. He is with your family now.”

Aphalion dragged his gaze up from Elion, to her. He did not understand what she was saying.

Vicious snarls and crashes vibrated from behind her, and the woman’s expression hardened again with a sharp glance backwards. A battle raged beyond the crimson web, rippling with each clash on the other side.

“I can’t leave,” Aphalion said, his voice ragged. “Elion! I won’t leave him!”

He reached down to take Elion’s wrist. However, the woman picked him up and held him to her torso like a parent held a child.

“It is not your fate to die with him tonight,” she murmured.

Aphalion squirmed in her arms, struggling to get free. But she did not release him.

He cried and shouted. He could not leave Elion. He could not leave his brother here where the fires kept growing and an unknown thing fought spirits in a chamber filled with blood.

His yells were swallowed by the violence beyond the bloodied web. He was turned away from his brother as the woman directed her attention to one of the gaping windows.

The wind surged around them and the woman bent at the knees.

Then, she – with Aphalion in her arms – soared into the air, cutting off Aphalion’s shouts with a gasped cry of stunned shock. They streamed through the window and into the freezing air of Donmur’s night. It was like a gush of frozen water was thrown against his face and body after from such a scorched environment.

The roars, screeches and crashes of battle were left behind him, including the crackle of flames. However, the sound that was replaced in his ears, was the howl of the wind and the deep rumble of straining stone.

Aphalion twisted in the woman’s arms to peer back over her shoulders as they ascended higher into the air. The castle that he had once called home was a dark structure of collapsing spires and destroyed halls, engulfed in fire. Smoke billowed into the night, and the night was illuminated a deep orange and sickly purple from the inferno raging below it.

There were no cooling blues of the moon’s reflection against the snow and ice of the surrounding landscape. The trees were alight like great lamps in the night, smoking their parched remains into oblivion with the surrounding city that was up in flames.

Screams came to Aphalion over the wind, swirling around them, haunting his ears, imprinting the sight through his eyes to the back of his mind where it would always remain.

Everything was on fire. Everything was being destroyed.

This was a nightmare. It had to be. His family weren’t dead. He did not leave Elion behind to that monster’s wrath. He wasn’t flying through the sky, away from the screams of the people following him into the atmosphere through the smoke.

“Close your eyes,” the woman said softly. “Block your ears. Listen to the wind and fall asleep. Let the nightmare go,” she said, her voice gentle as if she sang quietly.

The ruination and grief of the evening finally hit him. Tears slipped down Aphalion’s cheeks, and sobs of despair racked through his body. He wanted to press his hands over his ears. He wanted to shut his eyes.

But he could not ignore the rumble and thunder of the city falling to the inferno. He could not close his eyes to the destruction of his home.

The woman’s hand rested against the back of his head where she stroked his hair. Each stroke took more of his tension and energy. Each stroke lowered his head further until he buried his face in her shoulder and against her neck, where the warmth of her skin collapsed his guards and around his heart and mind.

Aphalion cried heavily, soaking her silk with his tears and smeared his dirty face over the fine cloth.

“Leave the monsters behind. Let the light of the moon and stars lull you to dream. Follow my voice on the breeze that clouds ride, over the realm of the Seat Protectorate,” she whispered. “Become like the Empty One . . . and return to the sky, my young Prince.”