Interlude A1.III
Six Years Ago...
The sky above Calmarsh was a blanket of dull gray, choked with ash and smoke that swirled in the wind like specters. The ruins of the town sprawled out beneath it, a desolate landscape of charred buildings and smoldering wreckage. The once-thriving settlement was now a wasteland, the aftermath of a cataclysmic event that left nothing but destruction in its wake. For the first time since the establishment of the Crown Coalition, an Angel had appeared behind the Front.
Captain Vitomir Ratnik of the Crown Coalition Forces stood at the prow of his assault ship, his eyes narrowed as he surveyed the scene below. The vessel, a sleek craft built for speed, skimmed through the air with the grace of the dolphin-like skyfin that bore it aloft. Other ships, identical in design, descended alongside his, each one unloading squads of soldiers armed with aether rifles and grim resolve. The Soulsingers of the Third Division had already cleared the area of the remaining hordes of Maldrath, but the ordinary troops were needed to search for survivors among the ruins.
Vitomir’s squad disembarked, their boots crunching on the blackened earth as they fanned out across the outskirts of the town. The captain’s hand gripped his aether rifle with the familiarity of long years in service. His steely gaze flicked from shadow to shadow, searching for any sign of life amid the death that saturated the air.
“Keep sharp,” he ordered, his voice a low rumble beneath the howl of the wind. His soldiers nodded, their expressions hard beneath the visors of their helmets. Vitomir had trained them well. They knew the horrors that could still lurk in the wake of an Angel’s passage.
The main portion of the town yielded few results. Scattered among the rubble were the broken bodies of the handful of the fallen that were left behind, their faces twisted in terror. What was even more unsettling was the simple absence of bodies. It was as though most of the town’s population simply vanished amidst the destruction. The only living souls they found were a handful of children, barely clinging to life, their wide eyes filled with fear and confusion. Infants cried weakly in the arms of soldiers as they were lifted from the ruins, their voices lost in the vast emptiness.
Vitomir clenched his jaw as he watched the scene unfold, a knot tightening in his chest. This wasn’t the first time he’d seen such devastation, but it never got easier. The briefing had warned them about the destruction, but nothing could have prepared him for the sheer scale of it. And there was still one place left to search. The manor.
It stood on the outskirts of the town, perched atop a small hill that overlooked the devastation below. According to the intel they’d received, this was site zero—the place where the Angel had first appeared. Vitomir doubted anyone could have survived being so close to ground zero, but he was thorough in his duty. He couldn’t afford to leave any stone unturned in case there were any additional survivors.
“Aleks, take Jelka and Boro and sweep the buildings in sub-sector C,” Vitomir commanded. “Focus on the basements and cellars. There may be survivors hiding below.”
Aleks saluted, his helmet reflecting the dim light. “Understood, Captain.”
Vitomir turned to the two soldiers who remained at his side. “Lovre, Mia, you’re with me. We’re checking the manor on the hill.”
The three soldiers moved in unison, their footsteps crunching on the gravel path as they approached the hill. The wind seemed to die as they neared the manor, leaving an unnatural silence in its wake. The building loomed before them, a menacing structure of black stone.
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They entered the manor through grand double doors, each door at least twelve feet tall and made of solid, dark wood. Inside, the silence was even more oppressive. The halls were dark, save for the faint light filtering through the curtained windows, casting long shadows that danced across the walls.
It was as if time had stopped within these walls. There were signs of life—plates still set on tables, chairs pushed back as if their occupants had only just stood—but no people. Just like in town, it was as though the inhabitants had simply been plucked away, leaving behind only the echoes of their presence. It was even more evident in the manor, which seemed untouched compared to the town. Had the intel reports been correct when they said this was ground zero?
Vitomir’s pulse quickened as they made their way through the manor, checking room after room, finding nothing but emptiness and decay. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong here.
Finally, they reached the center courtyard of the manor. The space was open to the sky. A garden, meticulously tended, filled the space, the flowers still vibrant in their defiance of the destruction that took place just down the road.
And there, in the very center of the courtyard, huddled and cowering among the flowers, was a small figure.
Vitomir froze, his eyes narrowing as he took in the sight. The figure was a girl, no older than ten summers he’d imagine, with dark skin and dark hair that hung in tangled strands around her face. She sat on the ground, her knees drawn up to her chest, her arms wrapped tightly around an object that she clung to as if it were the only thing keeping her tethered to the world. A sword, he realized.
The weapon was massive, far too large for the girl to wield, with a blade of jet-black metal that seemed to drink in the light around it. But the blade was broken, severed in a clean, diagonal line that spoke of immense power. Even in its ruined state, there was something unmistakably ominous about it.
Slowly, Vitomir lowered his aether rifle, signaling Lovre and Mia to do the same. The girl looked up at him with wide, tear-filled eyes, her gaze filled with a fear so deep it tore at his soul. For a moment, neither of them moved. The silence stretched, heavy and oppressive, until Vitomir finally spoke, his voice gentle despite the grim situation.
“It’s alright,” he said, taking a cautious step forward. “We’re here to help.”
The girl’s grip tightened on the sword, her knuckles white. She didn’t respond, didn’t move, as if she were afraid that any motion might shatter the fragile world she clung to.
Vitomir’s heart ached as he watched her, a profound sadness settling over him. He had seen too much in his years of service—too many battles, too much death—but this was different. This was innocence shattered, a life scarred by something far beyond the understanding of a child. He didn’t know who she was, or what she had seen, but he knew one thing for certain.
She was a survivor, just like him.
And he would make sure she stayed that way.
Gently, Vitomir knelt down, his hand resting on the ground a few feet from the girl. “What’s your name?” he asked softly.
The girl blinked, her lips trembling as she tried to form words. “M-Magdalena,” she whispered.
“Magdalena,” Vitomir repeated, nodding slowly. “That’s a strong name. My name is Vitomir. I’m going to get you out of here, alright? But I need you to trust me.”
For a long moment, Magdalena didn’t move. Then, with a hesitant nod, she loosened her grip on the sword, her small hands trembling as she let go. Vitomir reached out and gently took the broken weapon from her, feeling the cold weight of it in his hands. There was something unsettling about the sword, something that made his skin crawl, but he pushed the feeling aside. There would be time to think about that later.
Right now, his priority was the girl.
Vitomir stood, offering his hand to Magdalena. “Come on,” he said softly. “Let’s get you somewhere safe.”
She stared at his outstretched hand for a moment, then slowly reached out and took it. Her fingers were cold and fragile, but there was a strength in her grip that belied her small size. Vitomir helped her to her feet, then turned to lead her out of the courtyard.
As they walked through the ruined halls of the manor, the silence hung heavy around them. But in that silence, Vitomir felt a sense of purpose, a resolve that had been forged in the fires of war and tempered by the lives he had sworn to protect.
He had found a survivor, and he would not fail her. Not this time.