When Asphales opened his eyes, he knew he had not awoken. He stood amid black. His feet treaded water. Stars and eons rushed by in a quiet river of light. He stepped through as gold and silver streaks flitted past him and into the infinite horizon.

The river was soothing, and for a moment, it was as if all was reversed. The great, empty nothing was above him and he walked through the sky. Then a crushing weight suddenly fell upon his shoulders and Asphales was driven to his knees. There he saw it.

The face reflected in the water was not his own. Where the stream touched it, the light slowed and wilted. It muddied, growing blackened and rotten. Asphales dimly made out pale skin and charcoal hair beneath the surface.

And a dark and terrible gaze stared back at him. It caught him, seared him. The water began to boil.

How long will you be able to stand?

Asphales closed his eyes.

You will falter.

Asphales clenched his fists.

You will fall.

Asphales reached for his blade. His one anchor. It felt so heavy. He lifted it and drove it into the reflection. Puffs of black flame spit out in answer.

When your own soul is panged, you will lose everything…

A hand gripped his shoulder and Asphales was elsewhere. The horrid face was gone. The water and the dark were gone. Only his shallow breaths and constant shaking remained.

A steady hand held him. Asphales gazed up and took in his surroundings. Light engulfed him. He was in an unfamiliar room but the creaky wooden beams and aged window frames spoke of comfort. He focused and found Eltanin’s ruby eyes intently fixed on him.

‘Astera psallo. Astera terein te hupōnia.’ The man was mumbling. ‘Ho, boy,’ he finally called in a commanding whisper, ‘calm yourself.’

‘Where am I? What time is it?’ Asphales asked as he rubbed his eyes. ‘What am I—’

‘One thing at a time, lad. We are at Taeladran. Arrived this morning, but soon after we walked through the gates you nearly collapsed of exhaustion. The captain showed your company to these fine lodgings where you have been sleeping ever since. It is late afternoon now.’

Asphales sighed and leant back against a woollen pillow. The spinning stopped and that sickening feeling of being wrenched from another world finally faded. Eltanin released his grip.

‘Plagued by dreams, are you?’

‘Nightmares, yes,’ Asphales answered, closing his eyes.

‘More of a daymare, if you ask me,’ Eltanin said, ‘considering your choice of slumbering hours.’

Asphales chuckled softly. ‘It’s something of a habit of mine.’ He took a breath. ‘The dreams are growing more intense. Amaleron said I somehow see a realm between our world and the other, because I am an Elderchild.’

Eltanin looked pensive. ‘Yes, and for all I disapprove of old Antares’ habits, I know he is rarely mistaken. As for your visions… soon they will be more than dreams. We must prepare.’

‘How?’

‘Your starlight is in turmoil. It must be tamed and put to use.’

‘I’m not quite sure what that means.’

‘Well, this is the place for it. It is a day for learning. So, up you get, lad!’ He tapped him on the shoulder and strode off, expecting to be followed. His nightshade cloak trailed. Eltanin turned as he reached the door. ‘The others are already outside, waiting.’

Asphales heard the door click shut, and after a moment, rose up from his bedding. He looked around and found his possessions neatly laid out around the homely chamber’s sparse furniture. He reached for his sword, a motion which now brought familiar encouragement. He threw on his breastplate and its trailing crimson cape, and made for the exit.

Asphales reached the door and took a step into an unknown city as afternoon light broke through. He wondered what would await him here. It would be a day for learning, indeed.

* * *

Sanah’ël snaked her way through a crowd. She kept her hand planted on her blade’s pommel. Not only for comfort and defence, but also to keep her past instincts at bay. Her eyes could still pick out the pockets worth looting, the coats promising coin for another day’s slog.

But she was no longer that person. Riala. She was fortunate now.

She moved along, not meeting the eyes of those who were sizing her up. Sanaros was not a pretty place, so at least here she would not stand out too much. Everyone carried a sword, or a scar at least, and skulked with shady steps.

She followed suit, trudging through endless alleys of featureless brick structures, each accompanied by equally unflattering scents. The island’s denizens milled about, the clever ones quick and quiet about their undoubtedly unsavoury business.

The rest… well, their dejected look said it all.

In Sanaros, no one looked each other in the eye and no one asked questions. Secrecy and discretion were as much the currency of the island as the clinking coins which guilty hands exchanged. To pry could cause offense with dire consequences.

Sanah’ël intended to do precisely that.

For here rumour was the lifeblood, spread through countless intertwining channels. She understood why the Order manipulated Sanaros’ information networks to advance its own cause, even if she did not like it.

Sanah could no longer stand the crowd’s veiled attention. It was a vague sensation, where everyone took heed but dared not speak out. A fog of whispers and distrusting looks. She ducked into an alley to escape.

Deeper into Sanaros, its true heart was revealed. It was not a beautiful thing which festered under its mask. The island’s sinister wares were on display. Women sold their bodies and men their blades in service. They hung around the shanties, haggard and harrowed. Pleasure or pain, Sanaros enticed with remedies.

Here, the eyes were fewer but the gazes sharper. Sanah ignored them. But she did not overlook the figures huddled in the corner. Hazy-eyed and gaunt-faced children watched her pass. Her heart broke for the hapless beggars and the orphans, victims of misfortune and reckless greed.

She approached. They tensed, wishing to scamper but lacking the motivation. They must have figured whatever she could do to them would be no worse than what they had already suffered. Bruises showed through the tears in their tattered, dust-ridden clothes.

Sanah stopped a few feet before them. She bent down and laid out the coins she had stolen from the ferryman. She reasoned the remorse from taking them could be alleviated by this act. Then Sanah reached into her coat and drew out a couple of small daggers. She placed them by the coins.

‘For you,’ she said, pointing to the money. ‘Don’t squander it.’

Her finger moved to the daggers. ‘For others. Never on those next to you. Protect each other.’

The children gave a curt nod, their first sign of life. Sanah stood up and walked on. She heard shuffling in the dirt as barefooted urchins made their way over to collect their treasure.

Sanah tore herself away from the children, satisfied yet hollow. She knew it was hopeless. Like trying to snuff out a fire with a single teardrop. She hoped that one day the riches of her new world would spill over and swallow up this cursed place.

Further in, bricks and boulders choked out what little plant life grew in patches. It was a labyrinth, traversed only by those who truly abandoned themselves to an empty existence in the pits of this island.

But she was not lost. No, she knew how to navigate this world. And she knew when she was being watched.

Time-tested reactions kicked in and Sanah spun just in time to see a figure emerge from a crevice in a wall. Another hopped down from above to join it. Scrambling footsteps behind her announced the presence of a third.

She looked at them, not with fear but with pity. Three young men, barely older and fitter than the children she left behind, accosted her. Sanah knew they would not be so easily appeased. Time and circumstance forced the young to do foolish things in order to prove their worth.

One of them took a step forward. It was a barebones attempt at leadership. The scruffy-haired boy pulled out a dull blade.

‘Hand it over,’ the boy said unsteadily.

Sanah took a step toward him. ‘You’ll have to be more specific,’ she said. ‘You don’t seem to know who I am.’

‘Stop! Or I’ll cut you.’ The youngster wiped his forehead nervously. ‘The money. We saw you drop those coins back there.’

Sanah walked on, unconcerned. The boy in front of her made a quick gesture with his eyes, but Sanah caught it. Before the one behind her barely started to run, she turned and grabbed him by the arm. He yelped as he was thrown over and knocked to the ground. His flimsy weapon flew out of his hand.

Scruffy-hair took a step back but then composed himself. ‘Grem, take her!’ The tall, scarred one beside him bared his teeth and made for Sanah, a crude but vicious club in his hands.

Sanah’ël unfurled her coat, revealing her blade. She drew it, producing its matching shield at the same time. Grem’s club came down but was swatted away by Sanah’s shield. Then she brought the hilt of her weapon up and caught the young man in the jaw. Sanah finished off the dazed boy with a kick that sent him crashing into the wall.

The scruffy one panicked but didn’t retreat. He let out a ragged breath and swung. It was futile. Without effort, Sanah twisted his wrist and tore away his dagger. Then she pulled up behind him, her arm firmly held against the boy’s throat. She kicked at his knees to bring him down.

‘As I see it, I don’t think you’ll be doing any cutting.’

The gangly boy managed to spit at her. Sanah’ël sighed. A leashed dog didn’t even know when to quit struggling.

‘Do you see this?’ she asked, leaning down and forcing the boy’s head to face the bronze insignia that tied her cape. ‘You know what it means. Now, here’s how this is going to work. I will ask you a question, you answer, and you and all your friends get off with barely more than bruises and embarrassment.’

Scruffy-hair nodded furiously, choking back a cry. Sanah released her grip slightly so the boy could speak.

‘You boys seem to know your way around,’ she said. ‘You’ve surely seen a few interesting things. What do you know of the Empire’s presence?’

The boy swallowed before he answered. Hesitant. ‘There’s a ship—’

‘I know that, you fool,’ she cut him off. ‘I need more.’

‘An old man is prowling about. He’s got two ladies with him, real pretty like. Bloody fool’s asking questions about you… about the Order.’

‘Where?’

‘Up at the Hunched Dragon. They wasn’t gonna stay long, but I figure you might still catch ‘em.’

Sanah’ël huffed and threw the brigand against the wall. ‘That wasn’t so hard, was it?’ She walked over and placed two shelehi in the fallen boy’s hands. Honest information was worth honest pay. The boy groaned softly.

‘Sorry, Empire’s coin is all I have,’ she said as she leant over him. ‘And I have another task for you. Spread the word. There’s work out at the Eye. Might suit you boys better, too.’

Sanah’ël stood, put away her shield, and sheathed her sword. Drawing the coat over herself again, she hid her weapons, made herself unassuming once more.

‘Show this to the boatswain,’ Sanah said. And before she turned to head toward the Hunched Dragon, she tore the Order’s brooch off her shoulder and threw it away. The eagle-crested piece fell to the ground with a ring.

* * *

Asphales breathed in the icy afternoon air. Taeladran was just as impressive on the inside. Slate-grey stone melded with the mountain, as if the city’s structures grew off naturally. Craning his neck, Asphales noticed crystal-like protrusions on the heights of the mountain.

With his eyes on the blue gemstones above, Asphales nearly bumped into a civilian. The tall woman barely avoided him, expertly keeping hold of the wares she was carrying. Asphales flushed and bowed in apology, keeping his gaze forward from then.

He had emerged into a relatively busy market-like courtyard at the base of the mountain. Dozens of men and women bustled to and fro, accompanied by the mess of sights and sounds native to a place of business. Higher up, guards could be seen patrolling on rocky archways. Both civilians and soldiers wore thicker outfits to fight the chilly mountain breeze. Fur-lined coats and long, woollen garments were common. And while the fashion seemed to be comprised of muted colours, almost everyone was adorned with trinkets or jewellery—little chunks of the same sapphire gems embedded in bracelets, necklaces, and even sword hilts.

It did not take long for Asphales to find the others, seated at an outdoor table by a shopfront. Adélia’s scarlet hair stood out starkly against her silver armour. Darius’ black blade was unmissable, and Valinos… well, Asphales had long ago learned to spot him in a crowd.

It was El’enur who noticed him first, however. The archer looked up from the card game they were enjoying and called out. Asphales waved and hurried over to them.

‘I never thought I would see this,’ Asphales said as he laid a hand on Valinos’ shoulder. ‘Since when are you into card games or anything, well, fun?’

Valinos shrugged off Asphales’ hand. ‘Since Amarant Darius promised he’d instruct me if I win,’ he said, determined.

Darius played a card down. ‘You have to remember I play with Guldar. The man would be a cardsmith if he were not a soldier.’

‘I’m pretty sure that man breathes cards and bleeds coffee,’ El’enur said, setting down his own card.

‘Sounds impressive,’ a voice said, ‘but I’m just here for the moonglint chips.’ Asphales realised there was another man present. Nathariel, the guard who had greeted them at the gate, had joined in the game. The man gave him a quick nod and returned his attention to the table. Asphales looked over and saw little gems scattered about, acting as the price the players had wagered.

‘Thank you, I heard what you did this morning,’ Asphales said, appraising the russet-haired man at the table. Nathariel shot him a short glance and smiled.

‘Good afternoon, Asphales,’ Adélia said. She was not involved in the game, but she watched on. Occasionally, she would brush a windswept lock out of her eyes and Asphales caught a glimpse of emerald more brilliant than any gemstone.

‘Good afternoon,’ he replied. ‘It seems I’m developing a knack for waking up in strange and wonderful places.’

‘At least I didn’t have to carry you this time,’ Adélia said with a smile. Those around the table laughed and Asphales distracted himself by picking up one of the chips. ‘What are these?’ he asked.

‘Moonglint,’ Nathariel said. ‘One of Taeladran’s wonders. Naturally-occurring crystal from up on the mountain. It’s our main trade and we set it on everything as a symbol or something like that.’ Nathariel flashed a moonglint-dotted bracelet beneath his sleeve as a demonstration.

‘Doesn’t look like any piece of the moon to me,’ El’enur said.

‘No, but at night when the moonlight hits the stone, it shines like a blaze. It’s the most beautiful thing you’ll see… and enough to make any woman swoon.’

‘I’ll keep that in mind,’ El’enur said.

Asphales set down the intricate stone and looked around. ‘Where did Lord Eltanin wander off to?’

‘If I had a chip every time I’ve asked that,’ Nathariel said, ‘perhaps I would own the moon.’

‘Planning to turn my absence into a lucrative business?’ Eltanin boomed.

All heads turned toward the voice. Eltanin appeared with a wineskin in his hand and a guard by his side. He sauntered as always, garbed in finery and with a step unconcerned for the crumbling of the world. The guard beside him looked more serious, immaculately uniformed and carrying himself with such collected authority that even the scars on his bald head seemed to have their set place. Another captain, perhaps.

‘Black Banner,’ Valinos called suddenly and swept the cards on the table toward him. Apparently, he had won.

‘Look at that,’ Nathariel commented, setting down his cards in defeat, ‘the little gloomy princeling’s actually done it.’

‘Can we split the winnings?’ El’enur asked sheepishly. ‘You were playing for Darius after all, not the chips, right?’

Valinos grinned. ‘I may see fit to bestow some meagre grace upon you, El.’

‘Don’t let this get to your head, boy,’ Darius said. ‘But I will hold up my end of the bargain.’

At that moment, the guard who had arrived with Eltanin walked over to the table. His displeasure was evident on his face and in his posture. ‘Shirking your duties?’ he said chidingly toward Nathariel. ‘And gambling, no less.’

‘Kas, you gamble every time you go out looking like that. Eventually someone will put you out of your misery.’

The man named Kas did not flinch at Nathariel’s comment. He merely stood expectantly. Nathariel sighed. ‘This is Captain Kasil,’ he said. ‘The other half of Taeladran’s captainship, in charge of the Talon Guard. I have the dubious fortune of serving beside him. But if anything may be said, it is that the law of contrast assures my beauty is enhanced in his company.’

‘I’d rather be a freak than a fool,’ Kasil said.

As their bickering went on, Darius turned his attention to the Elder. Eltanin was swigging the wineskin. ‘Don’t mind them,’ he said between mouthfuls of wine, ‘they carry on like brothers.’

‘I wasn’t concerned about them,’ Darius said with a raised eyebrow.

‘Ah, master Inidirōn, if you must know, I was out to purchase a drink. I simply could not afford to miss today’s special. But let us move on to other matters, now that we are decidedly well-rested and well away from any more porcine assailants.’

Asphales looked at Eltanin strangely. He is so different, he thought. Could this really be one who fought against the darkness? Somehow it seemed difficult to picture this man beside the likes of Amaleron, or even the imagination of his own father. Only the spectacle Asphales had witnessed the previous night assuaged his doubts.

‘I have surmised the reason for your presence,’ Eltanin continued. ‘A contingent including some of Fara’ethar’s most powerful heading for my city? One could begin to think something large was afoot.’

‘It will not be your city for long,’ Darius said. ‘Shadows are on the move. If you had been at council when the steward called it, perhaps you would not act so frivolously.’

‘Perhaps you should treasure such light-hearted moments among friends, for they will be few in the coming days. But have no fear. I have not lain sequestered in this city, ignorant of what is out there. I may have no love for Antares’ meetings, but I assure you I care for the turnings of this world.’

‘Then you must help us,’ Adélia said, rising from her seat. Her earnest plea dispelled the mounting tension. Asphales was struck by the passion in her voice. He noticed then, in the silence, that the two captains had stopped arguing.

‘My dear, I will do all I can. You have my word. For I know who it is that stands before me.’ Something of a true smile appeared on the Elder’s face. ‘Hope. Those of light, born to do what we could not. Born to slay the shadow.’

‘How did you know to expect us?’ Asphales asked. ‘How did you recognise me that night at the Waypoint?’

‘My boy, you really must learn to keep to one question at a time. I became aware of you through songs and stories, as you would expect. And when I saw you that night, I recognised who you were. The resemblance was striking. Here was Hadar’s son, just as she had told. For you see, these songs have been carefully preserved and passed on by a silver-haired messenger.’

Asphales froze.

‘Her name is Thalassia Esélinor.’

* * *

All eyes turned to Sanah as she stepped through creaking wooden doors into the main hall of the Hunched Dragon. Decrepit but cosy, the tavern was the roosting ground for every kind of undesirable. A leery-eyed lutist stopped mid-strum, breaking the spell he held over his audience, and spat. Two women nearby with less clothing than wits began whispering.

Pipe-smoke and the smell of ale made Sanah’s eyes sting, but she walked on undeterred. It was not Sanah’s weapons that drew the gazes, for more than most around her were armed with cudgels, daggers, and other assorted blades. Nor was it her lacking beauty. This was a Sanaros tavern, where the uninitiated were beaten for ten shelehi and killed for less.

‘Wha’ cannae ge’ ye?’ asked a man behind the counter. He was missing more teeth than syllables. Blissfully, the tavern master’s greeting signalled the rest to return to their tables’ activities. The women’s eyes fell back to their cards and drinks, the men’s to the women.

Sanah leaned on the counter. It gave way and creaked like an old man’s hips. ‘Coffee, and news,’ she said in hushed tones.

The tavern master worked his lips soundlessly for a while. He finally settled on something in his mind.

‘Tha’ll be five an’ two. Gil!’ He yelled the last word toward the other end of the counter.

‘Five shelehi?’ Sanah asked.

‘No, girl, five dogs an’ two blis’ers. O’cours’ shelehi, y’git! Gil! Wha’ d’I pay y’for, y’oaf?’ The man seemed to be calling for a servant. Gil was a towering figure, a couple of heads taller than Sanah and several wider. He walked out of a back room and instinctively, Sanah visualised three ways to bring him down in the event proceedings turned unfavourable.

But the hulking, bald man went about his task amicably, with little more than a mutter for complaint. He was not the regular coffee-maker, but whatever surprise Sanah felt was quickly dispelled. In Sanaros, souls came and went. One quickly learned faces were forgettable and people were disposable.

‘Right. Tha’s taken care of.’ The tavern master’s voice turned business-like. Eyes expectant, unkind.

Sanah set the money on the counter and the master’s greedy hand gobbled them up before other eyes could spot anything.

‘Coffee’ll be brough’ t’ya table.’ A significant look toward the corner was all the confirmation Sanah received to indicate the information she was after had been given. Gil glanced up wordlessly as Sanah turned to find her seat in a sea of hostile people.

She made her way through to a table inconspicuously set up near the tavern’s only windows. Music picked up once more, but Sanah knew it was not mirth but madness behind the tune. These denizens would be all dagger and club as quick as a song changed.

The table’s occupants stopped their conversation as Sanah approached. An old man dressed in fine silks sat there, flanked by two women. Veiled and sporting ornate dresses, Sanah could see they were much younger. She would have written the old man off as a simple peddler of pleasure, but his eyes were kind, aging green like zircon.

‘Welcome, lady,’ he said. The two women shuffled and proffered a seat.

‘There are no ladies in Sanaros,’ Sanah said, sitting down. She turned her stool sideways, so as to not have the entire tavern out of view.

‘You are unkind to yourself, and to my companions. These are my… consorts,’ the old man said. ‘We may speak openly before them.’

‘I have no intention to join your… entourage,’ Sanah said. She tried to read the two women beside him. Beneath one’s veil, Sanah could make out raven hair and jade eyes. The other was too covered to see much.

‘Indeed. Regardless, to whom do I owe the pleasure?’ asked the old man.

‘Pleasure is cheap and seldom lasts.’

The old man chuckled. ‘You are a hardy one. But one rarely strikes a purposeless conversation in these parts. Pray tell, why do you approach?’

‘Perhaps it is simply to warn the fool who has walked out into the storm unsheltered.’

The old man leaned forward, a glint in his eye. ‘And this coming out of the kindness of your heart? How ladylike.’

Sanah said nothing for a while. She was certain the old man and his companions belonged to the Empire. But she wanted to prod further. To expose their gambit. ‘Who are you, really?’ she asked.

‘Opportunists, my dear. There’s coin to be made in the business of war and the tides are changing. I sense it will no longer be the Empire who will hold the world in its grip once the dust settles. Kerenan unrest is particularly brewing. You can smell it in the air here, certain as the stench of grog.’ The old man scrunched his crooked nose.

‘And you come to war draped in silk and cotton? How foolish.’

The old man chuckled again. ‘You’ll find that one often only needs to look the part to get by. But enough sidestepping. We want in.’

Before the old man could elaborate, a server interrupted their meeting. Sanah looked up from the conversation to see Gil, the brewer from earlier, stop by with a few mugs. ‘Coffee,’ he said. The man cut an imposing figure, but his speech drawled.

‘Thank you, my good man,’ the elder said and accepted the tray. Gil walked away with thudding footsteps.

Sanah accepted her own mug, but her mind was on edge. The old man did not seem in a hurry to explain himself. He offered two mugs to the women beside him, and then sipped from his own. He savoured the aroma and the taste with eyes closed, unworried. As if all the world was right.

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‘You were saying?’ Sanah prompted.

The old man placed his cup down and licked his lips. ‘I was not to say anything. This will speak for itself.’ He reached into the folds of his silken robe and placed something down on the table.

The object landed with a soft clank.

When the old man moved his hand away, Sanah saw it.

A brooch of bronze, engraved with a wild boar.

Only two such items were granted to men, and Sanah’ël suspected which one was before her. The taunts of Shurun’el’s failure descended on her again, like birds of prey.

Oh, silly little brother.

Sanah kept her gaze on the old man. He was looking at her intently.

‘A dangerous thing to carry,’ said Sanah.

‘Or perhaps an opportunity,’ the old man retorted. ‘We are aware who really pulls the strings around here. Among the half-wits and the worms here are the exceptional ones. We want to join their ranks.’

Scarcely had he finished speaking when Sanah’ël slipped a dagger from her cloak and thrust her hand toward the old man. Her weapon met resistance. In a flash, the veiled woman with jade eyes had produced her own blade and blocked the attempt. Sanah’ël had meant only to threaten, but clearly, they were prepared for this eventuality.

‘I see,’ Sanah said. ‘You do not merely look the part. What is your name?’

‘Lena,’ the dark-haired woman said. Her voice did not waver.

‘As you can see,’ the old man began, ‘you need not worry about us, so you can spare your words of warning.’

Both Sanah’ël and Lena put away their weapons. The rest of the tavern seemed not to have noticed. Even if they had, a simple quarrel like this was nothing out of the ordinary.

‘Where did you get this?’ Sanah asked.

The old man leaned forward and lowered his voice. ‘You’ve already run into our source. A simple man, here only to serve.’

‘That lout?’ Sanah’s eyes flicked back to the counter. Gil was there, inconspicuous as ever, cleaning flasks and mugs.

‘The simpleton waved it around earlier, boasting that a member of the Order had been supplanted. One of my companions here… persuaded him to hand it over. We saw this as a chance, whether the claim is true or not.’

‘Shurun’el would not be defeated so easily.’

The old man’s eyes narrowed. ‘Indeed.’ His hand swiped the brooch off the table.

Sanah cleared her throat. ‘The Order’s business is their own. How they choose to operate is not my prerogative.’

‘My dear, let me speak plainly. You seem an exceptional one. What is your connection?’

Sanah took a draught of the coffee and pushed her chair back. Rising, she said, ‘I wish you and your companions the best. May you ask safer questions and find better answers.’

She turned without another word and left the old man to the song, smoke, and scheming of the Hunched Dragon.

* * *

‘She has been hunted for years,’ Eltanin explained as the group made their way up through winding stone-cut stairs. Asphales listened raptly even as they passed wondrous rock formations and marvels of architecture carved out of the mountain’s very bones. Though the houses seemed austere, Taeladran’s citizens decorated them with coloured drapery and paraphernalia intended to complement the simplicity of the stone’s design.

He was being led to a place of training, to where he could finally come to grips with his strange nature. But his attention was on the Elder’s words regarding his mother.

‘For a long time she was silent, keeping herself hidden. Once the enemy lost her trail, she could risk acting once more. That is how Thalassia came to send your father’s blade to Fara’ethar. That is how I happened to stumble upon her in my travels.’

‘You’ve met her?’ Asphales asked. ‘Where?’

‘Out near the Undorn pass into Pleiadë. About two years ago, just prior to the Battle of Feres. I was investigating threads and links to the slaughter of the Nodìr Maia, and then war ensued.’

Darius, Adélia, and El’enur darkened at the mention of Feres. Asphales knew they had been in that battle, and though he was not aware of the details, he figured it was not a pleasant memory.

‘Quite by chance, I ran into her. Once she ascertained who I was, she spoke more openly about what had happened. That is when I found out Hadar had fallen. The outbreak of the conflict meant she had to flee once more, and it was not until recently that she could deliver the blade—and the message of your whereabouts—to the Empire.’

‘Where is she now?’

Eltanin hesitated. The others looked on curiously.

‘I do not know her exact location. Far as I can tell, she journeys with a band of Eastern freedom fighters, dissenters from the current regime.’

Asphales started, anxious to speak, ready to burst with questions once more.

‘Now, before you get it in your head to set out on a quest, know this. That is not what she would want. Not yet. We have a task to complete here first. Before you are of any use out there, Asphales, you must come to terms with who you are within.’

Asphales cooled his simmering thoughts. ‘My mother is alive,’ he whispered.

‘Yes, she poured all she had into this one desperate plan. Do not squander the chance she has created. Now, follow on. Let’s make you worthy to carry that blade.’

Asphales’ gaze fell to the ground, his thoughts in turmoil as they walked onward. Sounds of the marketplace died down and the wind picked up.

To their right, the path split and led to a fortress on a steep outcrop. Encased within the mountain’s walls like an eagle beneath its wings, the slick, brick-lined structure stood proud. No windows spoiled the stonework save for two panes of stained glass above its dark wooden door. One depicted a doe, the other a lion. The colours—reds and blues—gave the otherwise ascetic building a sacred look, reminiscent of a cathedral.

And beyond it, the land spread out in undefined patches of rivers, grass, and sparsely wooded plains. The clouds hung close and loose, wind-driven splotches of grey to remind one and all that autumn had descended. In the distance, the Undorn Mountains edged the entire landscape like the frame of a painting.

Out there somewhere, Asphales thought, I will meet her again.

Eltanin led the group up higher near the city’s peak. They passed underneath the gaze of two stone statues perched on a large archway hewn from rock. The lion and the doe were there once again, silent guardians to a holy place.

They emerged onto a large, arena-like platform. Raised several feet off the ground, the plateau was unnaturally flat, clearly shaped by skilled hands. The round structure spread out and receded into the mountain itself. Above, hanging like a cavern ceiling, the mountain’s peak loomed, overshadowing the arena. Torches on the rock walls lit up the vastness of the opening.

At this altitude, the breeze was stronger. It whipped Asphales’ mantle and kicked up dust in short, swirling bursts. He shielded his eyes as he stepped up onto the platform, following Eltanin’s lead.

‘Here we are,’ Eltanin said, his voice echoing off the cavernous walls. ‘This is where Hadar trained the Dragonking.’ Eltanin stopped and turned. He seemed grand, a match for the majesty of the scene around him. His eyes were fire and his voice steel. ‘This is where I will raise up the Dragonking’s slayers.’

El’enur whistled as he stepped up to Asphales and craned his neck, somehow managing to spoil the solemnity of the moment. Asphales looked around, taking it all in, his head awash with thoughts of what he would learn.

Valinos walked closer and patted him. ‘Well, my friend. You’ve come this far. May this bring you clarity.’ His smile was genuine. Asphales welcomed the stable hand, comforting the staggering sensation like an anchor in a storm.

‘And you,’ Asphales replied. ‘Don’t lose your head.’

Valinos nodded.

El’enur cut in. ‘No, your friend means what he says. You’ve seen the size of Darius’ blade.’

The three of them laughed, Valinos perhaps more nervously so. Eltanin drew near and smiled. ‘You lads have the right idea. Keep up that enthusiasm.’ He gave El’enur and Valinos a look. ‘Off you trot, now.’

The archer swung his arm around Valinos’ shoulder and led him away. Darius followed suit, soon taking charge of the entourage and directing them to an area of the plateau further in.

Only Adélia remained. Her eyes were steady, her posture unshifting amidst the rolling wind. She watched the Elder quietly. Asphales wondered whether in this moment she, too, felt the apprehension and uncertainty.

Eltanin faced them, a grin upon his face.

Asphales could not quite muster the same optimism. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘but did you mean what you said earlier? We are to slay the Dragonking? I don’t quite know how that—’

‘What colour is the wind?’ Eltanin shot. ‘What sound does the sky make? How long does it take for the heart to fall in love?’

Asphales was silent at the barrage of questions.

‘The first step to knowing is knowing that you don’t know. Know what I mean?’

Asphales though it over. ‘I… I think so.’

‘No, you don’t. You are but a boy taken in by wanderlust. We have much work to do. For twenty-three years your starlight has lain dormant. You cannot imagine what it is to face hopelessness for four hundred years. Hence my joy now, master Asphales. And my joy the night I first saw you.’

‘What were you doing out there near Gohenur?’ Asphales asked.

‘I have waited for you a long time. Forgive me if I have indulged in carnal pleasures. But judging by the fact that you’re here, I’d say your father is no stranger to them.’

Asphales blushed. ‘Lord Amaleron implied something similar.’ He glanced at Adélia. ‘Were we… not meant to be?’

Eltanin screwed his features. ‘I cannot answer that. But we Nodirìm are not supposed to interfere in such ways. Yet, the grace of Regulus is to be trusted, inscrutable though it may be. And Carinae’s providence is kind. For it seems this is how things must unfurl.’

Asphales drew a breath and steeled himself. Though he may not have had a say in how the lot fell, he was determined to act with what had been cast. How he wished he had not remained ignorant of his fate for all those years in Silnodìr.

‘Why did you not try to contact the Empire earlier?’ he asked.

‘Oh, I have. I tried. I’m not sure if the Empire’s epistolary network is quite aright. Something is interfering with our attempts. I would not risk a visit to such a populated place, for the safety of the common folk. There would also be the added convenience that two Nodirìm in one location would present to the enemy…’ Eltanin let his words trail. ‘So, here we stand, grateful for your mother’s efforts, master Asphales.’

It was Adélia who spoke next. ‘What was it like to fight the Dragonking?’

Eltanin closed his eyes for a moment. ‘Astera horato,’ he whispered. Then he tapped his foot on the pavement.

Light erupted from the plateau, engulfing them. An ethereal landscape unfolded, rolling over mountains and valleys, through forests and rivers. The shimmering geography settled on what Asphales recognised as the Bay of Anardes. Fara’ethar itself was a flickering shape. Then Eltanin was there, splendid and steel-clad, a silhouette of light among the murkiness. Nine others stood alongside him, similarly bright figures. They were armed and poised in formation, facing the castle.

A new figure emerged out of the castle, billowing like smoke. Pure black, like a fragment of deepest night, it walked towards the ten glinting warriors. Something like flame emanated from this figure, growing ever higher, twisting about itself, recoiling. Dark wings like wisps of smoke burst out of the silent inferno and spread through the landscape. The figured walked on, the smoky creature thrashing about with a mind of its own.

The Shadow and the Dragonking, Eltanin spoke through the vision. They are of one mould, like flesh and bone. Tethered to another. Each animating the other.

The ten warriors were surrounded by unburning fire. As the landscape melted and moulded into black, they leapt towards the Dragonking and his Shadow. Their weapons glowed in revolt against the gathering darkness. They struck with blade and bow and spear, each hit sending flashes of light like scattered cinders.

When the fighting drew nearer, Asphales could make out faces and features. Most he did not recognise; an old woman with a staff, a fair-haired man wielding a spear, a young archer who shot arrows from her bow with no quiver. But one stood out to him. Hadar the Mighty. Hiraeth the father.

Asphales reached out to touch him, but his hand had no form here. He resigned himself to watching.

The weapons of light could not prevail against the dark’s advance. The Dragonking swept with his blade and the landscape withered. Wherever the Shadow touched, lingering cold and dark fell. Like dying stars, the warriors’ weapons were snuffed out.

Then music and words. Notes and melodies. A brief spark of white. The vision folded in on itself and faded.

Asphales had not realised it, but his eyes had closed. When he opened them, he was back on the mountain of Taeladran. The Elder was in front of him. Adélia beside him. He felt the similar disorientation when waking from one of his unsettling dreams.

‘I believe you know the rest,’ Eltanin said.

Asphales glanced at Adélia. She was wiping her eyes. He thought he caught a smear of black as she did so.

‘Our song,’ Eltanin continued, ‘your strength. You two will strike with all the force of starlight behind you and vanquish what we could not. That is what we are here to learn.

‘Now, if you would let me begin, I suppose we shall commence with the elementary. Hand me your sword, master Asphales.’

Asphales stepped up to Eltanin, drew the sword out of its scabbard, and offered it.

‘Nadorìl, he used to call it,’ Eltanin said as he took the sword. ‘Light’s Edge.’

Eltanin murmured a few words. In his hands, the blade became resplendent, beautifully deadly. With it, the Elder seemed to tower above the mountain, above the city. His ruby eyes were alive with flame. When he handed it back, its radiance dimmed, seeming dull in comparison.

‘Starlight,’ he said, ‘the lifeforce of the world, flows in everything. It is spirit, it is essence, it is ability and definition. It is the breath of Regulus giving the power of will and body, and the affection of Carinae giving strength of mind and heart. It manifests most clearly in the valour, love, and rage of people. But it is ever present, connecting the purpose of grass and valley, stone and mountain, insect and animal, water and fish, skies and bird, to the will and design of Regulus.

‘What you just witnessed, in the vision and in my own demonstration, is imbuement. The skilled user can draw upon their store of lifeforce and connect it to a receptacle, be it living or not. Since all things are fashioned by the hands of Regulus and Carinae, they are channels for that same lifeforce.

‘This flow of starlight can be directed to enhance a strike, bolster a defence, heal a rupture, and guide movement. The natural world does this on its own accord. Forests and rivers are attuned to the cycle and intent of their lifeforce. Day and night wheel about according to the rhythm of starlight.

‘And yet,’ he went on after a pause, his eyes taking on a wistful glint. ‘A great heaviness lies on the World That Is. A burden placed on it by the hubris of one who tampered with its basic principles. You can feel it. The lands languish, the forests fester, the seas are sick with it. Some among the world’s creatures have grown foul over the years.

‘So, master and lady, if you are to learn the channelling of starlight, you will need discernment – to look past what is spoiled and stained and connect to the flow of lifeforce as it should be. To infuse your own glorious tune into the world’s song.’ Eltanin’s young face suddenly beamed. ‘I can only hope and imagine what would happen when you can do this well,’ he said, almost to himself.

‘Now,’ he began in a changed tone, taking his stance. His cloak flapped as he changed posture. ‘Let’s begin with you, master Asphales.’

Asphales snapped to attention. He had been lulled into a sense of ease by the Elder’s discourse. And now the same man was before him, drawing out his weapon. A weapon which had taken out a monstrous beast the previous night, Asphales reminded himself.

‘Lady Catena, whatever occurs here, do not intervene,’ Eltanin said. ‘I suspect your awakening occurred long ago.’

Adélia took a few steps back and placed her spear-arm at the ready. She looked to Asphales with kindness. Asphales spared a glance to the others, grouped further in on the plateau. El’enur had taken a seat, watching on as the Amarant was exhibiting his exemplary swordsmanship to Valinos.

‘Eyes on me,’ Eltanin said, noticing the distracted Asphales. ‘Until now, you could only anticipate the opponent’s movements. However perfectly you do that, you will always be a step behind. I will show you how to direct their actions. Fighting may not be a pleasant endeavour, but you will need to contribute your own notes to this harsh song when called on.’

Asphales had barely nodded when Eltanin burst forth into action. Asphales brought up his father’s sword—no, his sword now—to meet the Elder’s slash. Steel bit steel and Asphales was pushed back. A few more testing strikes from Eltanin had Asphales stepping around the plateau tiles. Unpleasant but well-practiced motions begged to be used, and Asphales leaned into Serìn’s drills, learned what seemed a lifetime ago now.

He had been a different man then, a man barely aware, one who wished to be involved in greater and weightier things but did not know the cost. And now he was face to face with an Elder out of his beloved pages, being prepared to face greater things still.

Asphales was still clumsy, a mere amateur before one tested by the tide of the ages. Occupied with parrying, Asphales found few chances to throw out attacks of his own. But something else was curious about the fight. He strained his ears as he looked for his opening. Eltanin was speaking, to himself perhaps, too faintly to be heard properly. Asphales tried to focus on his blade’s work rather than the incomprehensible mutters.

His chance came when Eltanin extended his arm in a thrust. Asphales sidestepped and began an assault. As he did so, flashes of a different battle arose. A crazed bandit in a forest. A hoarse, panicked rush for survival. Blood.

That is not who he would be. He would not attack with killer intent. But he would step into the role demanded of him. The way he imagined his father fighting, proud and protective.

‘Good!’ Eltanin yelled as his hand caught Asphales’ wrist and deflected the blow. Asphales continued striking. Eltanin dodged nimbly, unexpectedly, like a drunken brawler. And yet there was no randomness to his movements. Each jolt and twist felt intentional, placed precisely to avoid Asphales’ advance. The Elder kept up a litany of musical words as he weaved, his tapping feet almost a dance.

Asphales strived to keep aware of his surroundings as the duel took them around the plateau. Stepping into shadow, his eyes adjusted to the dimming light. He managed to keep mental notes of where Adélia stood and where the others were practicing. He took notice of his footwork.

Then Eltanin’s sword began to glow. Perhaps he would eventually become used to this, but accounting for the skills of a centuries-old being did not come naturally.

‘Astera balleis’ Eltanin spoke as he brought up his blade to meet Asphales’ own. This collision felt different. It was as if Eltanin’s weapon struck harder, reached farther. There was a starlit shine in the metal with each hit. He hopped back from an incoming slash, and felt the sword ripple the air.

Asphales exhaled a heavy breath and stepped back into the fray. There is so little I know, he thought. But he pushed on. He ducked a two-handed swipe from Eltanin, and spun into his own attack. Eltanin was already there, bringing the sword down. The glistening blade crashed like a shooting star.

‘There!’ the Elder boomed.

Some part of Asphales pushed with hidden strength. Hands clenched, he locked his sword in place where Eltanin’s came down, a heartbeat before it happened. There was a silent explosion. A burst of light. Asphales fell to one knee, blade still entwined with the Elder’s.

A pulsating light shimmered from his own sword. Gold emanated from the engraved words and Asphales felt a connection. He sensed being plunged into a vast reserve of light and life. Asphales was a lake of unplumbed depths, a wave untamed. Wind and water and breath were one in his hands, flowing from deep within, into the weapon, and out into the world’s song. Asphales felt the sea, the sky, and the threads connecting and spanning each realm.

It was only an instant, but it held such lasting succour, like a cool drink in a desert. More than the flash of power experienced when he first held Nadorìl and Amaleron sang, this taste of lifeforce sated him deeply.

When he came to, Eltanin had stepped back. Asphales rose and looked around. He caught Adélia’s gaze. Her face was unreadable.

‘How do you feel?’ Eltanin asked.

‘Fresh as a fish!’ Asphales said. ‘I feel… good. Awake.’ The rush of light was already fading but he still felt invigorated.

‘Instinctively, life rebels against its end. Against decay. You drew upon the store granted to you in that moment of need, but from here, we will need to refine and train your access.’

‘So, what, do I look within me to keep finding that spark?’

‘Bah, no. All you would find is a heart corrupted by Sirius’ tendrils. If starlight is a spoken word, the Dragonking is a distortion. And men are cracked mirrors. A reflection nonetheless, but now marred.’

‘Then, how do I draw upon starlight? Where do I focus?’

‘On the words. That is how you channel the vastness of starlight.’

Asphales thought back to Eltanin’s mutters during the duel. ‘Why is lifeforce concentrated into words?’ he asked.

‘Words unleash potential. We speak to declare what is, but also to create what will be. When one speaks, it is at once an affirmation but also creation. At world’s birth, Regulus and Carinae spoke and sung things into being. Their love for one another was expressed in creative words.’

‘But words can also destroy.’

‘Yes. They can shift, deceive, and break things down. This is precisely what Sirius did. Words can change for the worse.’

‘Change?’

‘Indeed.’ Eltanin looked grave. ‘The Shadow feeds malice into the flow, corrupting and diverting its intent. Other times it is a blockage, a barrier to what ought to be. Corrupted starlight can change the form of those given to it, and it can stunt the circulation and growth of one’s course.’

Asphales looked back, towards the cavern’s mouth and out into the distance. The sparring lesson had continued into the late hours of the afternoon. Rays from the lowering sun pierced into the mountain’s opening. The dwindling light hit upon something that should not have been. Suspended in the air, the Sundered was there, and Asphales understood. The flow of the world’s lifeforce was wrong somehow, casting land into the sky, creating cavities in the ocean, twisting rock and forest out of shape.

He turned back and looked to his sword. He ran his eyes over the blade’s length, over the intricately carved words. His father’s memory and strength, passed to him. The hope and song of the Ten who would not stand by as the world fell, passed to him and Adélia. More than before, the immensity of what was to come hung heavy over him.

‘Can everyone do this?’ he asked.

‘To a small extent, yes. All people are endowed with Regulus’ starlight. When they are overcome by strong emotions, when love, courage, or rage is employed, men will naturally imbue their starlight into their strikes. But as Elderchildren, you are capable of far more.’

‘I think I understand. We are all vessels. Some simply hold more.’

‘And there is yet more you could hold, Asphales. Once the song is sung, you and Lady Catena shall be amply filled and overflowing. But you shall certainly not be alone in this task. Every vessel is valuable.’

‘I am glad for that,’ Adélia said, stepping over. Her armour gleamed in the afternoon light. Clad in fierce steel, she seemed ready. He wondered whether he would ever match her skill and determination.

Eltanin straightened up and raised his sword. ‘Now, before the day is ended, let us begin proper. The prelude is completed. From here, we enter uncharted territory.’

Asphales readied his own weapon. Adélia put a foot back and stiffened the grip on her spear. Her sidearm, a silver shortsword with swirled hilt, was in hand also.

Eltanin spoke. ‘Astera psallo,’ he intoned. His weapon blazed to life. ‘I want to see you both try this. I want to test your current limits of imbuement. Focus on your connection to the blade. Speak the words. And imagine yourself entering the flow which connects your lifeforce to the world.’

Asphales gripped Nadorìl with both hands and brought the weapon up close to his face. He looked to the metal, to the characters written along the blade. He focused beyond it, trying to recall the place he’d been drawn in at the moment of his awakening. The words were forming in his mind and on his tongue.

Then there was a sickening fizzle. A smell like smoke. But it did not come from Asphales.

Adélia was shaking. Black, clotted clouds hung low around her feet and dark wisps were licking at her spear. Then her look of concentration broke. Her eyes rolled back and she toppled over and collapsed to the pavement. The Amarant’s spear fell with an echoing clatter.

‘Adélia!’ screamed Asphales. He rushed to her side. Adélia’s head lolled. Hair of brilliant red splayed on the plateau.

Eltanin stood aghast. ‘Ulmìr, how far does your shadow fall?’

* * *

If daytime was ugly in Sanaros, the night was hideous. Whatever decorum the chaos of the island had by sunlight, it was snuffed out when darkness took over.

Sanah skulked on the rooftop of a hut near the Hunched Dragon. She watched the drunkards come out by torchlight. The dull ache in Sanah’s heart told her that not everyone she could see would live out the night. Somewhere nearby, screams rose and mixed, horror and elation intertwined.

She lowered to a crawl along the thatched roof. She kept her breath close, and Riala closer. She was glad for the sword’s comfort. Without it, she would close her eyes and remember only the emptiness. Empty pockets, empty stomach. The empty joy when the screaming in the night had not been her own.

Nearer to the roof’s edge, Sanah spied the courtyard of the tavern. A single torch lit the store-barrels and weathered tables of the vacant yard. Soon, the last of the patrons cleared off the front of the building also. Doors and windows were shut. Silence fell with the rising of the moon.

As the chill settled, the distant warmth of Nathariel’s embrace grew more distant still.

Moments later, Sanah spotted her quarry. A door clicked open in the tavern courtyard and a hulking shadow moved across. Gil was carrying trays of scrap. There was nothing suspicious about his movements.

The coffee-maker, an informant? Or perhaps something more? She could not dismiss the possibility. The name of Shurun’el’s Lord did not bear the most gracious reputation.

Sanah feared failing hers as well.

So, she approached. Lifting herself to a crouch, she stepped to the edge of the roof. Sanah dropped lithely to the pavement and crossed the darkened alley to the tavern’s back gate. Lifting the latch, she stepped into the torchlit grounds. Gil was still there, working discreetly at the waste barrels. The same serene and bulky motions.

‘Perhaps you’d speak more carefully,’ Sanah said, ‘if you knew whom you referred to today.’

Gil did not startle. He did not turn.

Sanah took a step forward. ‘Are you dull? If half of what you said to the tavern is true, every fool within leagues of this place will leak the information. Perhaps you should stick to serving drinks.’

Gil spun. His eyes were fierce, focused. This was no dim-witted brewer, but a fighter.

‘The coffee here is terrible,’ he said. There was no slur in his speech. He drew a crude axe from the nearby stacks of firewood.

Sanah fought the dryness in her throat and steadied herself.

Shield at the ready. Sword leaped to action.

Gil stepped forward, crossing the space between them in a blink, and brought the axe down with his mountainous arm. Sanah’ël evaded to the side as the weapon cracked cobblestone. Before she could respond, Gil heaved and crashed into her with his shoulder.

Sanah’ël fell backwards in a heap. She righted herself. Gil had already recovered and was swinging the axe toward her. Combat rush and instinct made Sanah’ël bring up her shield a split second before the axe connected.

The crunch deafened her momentarily. As weapon scraped shield, Sanah’ël was forced back. She stumbled and collapsed through the courtyard’s gate. She rolled into position and sprung with her blade ready. She glanced up. Gil had not moved after his attack.

Sanah’ël took this moment to breathe, to groan. Shoulders and legs ached. She vaguely felt blood. This was no mere brawler, but a trained warrior. Could she have been so foolish? She took off her cloak and tossed it aside. The bloodrush fought the night’s chill.

Her thoughts were interrupted as Gil stepped forward again. This time Sanah’ël was prepared, unrestrained by her attire. The bulky figured moved into the dark of the alley and swung again. Sanah’ël brought up her shield and deflected it. Anticipating a kick, Sanah’ël’s eyes flicked down. Her shield followed when she noticed Gil shift. The metal struck the man’s shin. As Gil winced, Sanah’ël attention returned to the axe. She swiped with her sword and caught the axehead. She twisted and then struck at the man’s wrist; not enough to draw blood but sufficient to knock the weapon out of Gil’s weakened hand.

The warrior grunted and grabbed hold of Sanah’ël with both hands. With the man’s size bearing down on her, she could not reach to do any further damage. Gil shoved her into the alley’s wooden fence. Sanah’ël ducked and spun as Gil struck with his fist, breaking boards.

Twisting fully out of the man’s grip, Sanah’ël drew back a few paces and caught her breath. The muscles in her back burned and her arms complained, desiring release from the weight of her weapons.

Gil turned and cracked his knuckles, raring to go again.

‘That’s enough, Guldar,’ someone called from the alley.

The voice brought Sanah up short. Recognition did not fully settle in until the figure stepped from the shadow. Unveiled, Sanah could fully see Lena’s dark hair and bright eyes. The woman walked out with the confidence of a soldier. Soon after, two more came forward as well. The other woman, who Sanah could now see was similarly young, stood by, her streaked hair visible in the alley’s dim light and sporting a mace.

And the old man, appearing out of the dark with soft laughter.

Fear and folly overcame Sanah as the truth dawned. She had played into the Empire’s trap.

‘We did not expect our bait to catch so quickly,’ the old man said.

‘Quickly, hah. You try being holed up in that space with those cretins for days,’ the man called Guldar said.

‘Nonetheless, what a catch we have here,’ said Lena.

‘Who are you?’ the other woman asked. ‘A sympathiser? An associate? A full member?’

‘How like the Empire to act shadily,’ Sanah retorted. ‘To accuse, to take things by force. I eagerly await the downfall of all that you have built on lies and deception.’

‘My dear,’ the old man began, ‘we can debate politics endlessly. Right now, we are not taking anything. We simply ask. Will you help us?’

Sanah did not answer. She struggled to keep all four assailants in view. Guldar bent down to collect the axe he had held earlier. Though none of them threatened to attack yet, she scoured her mind for strategies. She tried to visualise exits.

Sanah felt helpless. She fought back other images. Cornered. Destitute. Weak. No, that was long ago. That was not her. She would face her captors and fall with pride.

‘Please, that is all we ask,’ the other woman said. ‘What is the Dragon’s Eye? Others speak of preparation there. What will happen?’

‘You have a funny way of asking,’ Sanah said. ‘Weapons in hand, faces half-hidden in the dark. No, I will not help you.’

‘That’s a shame,’ Lena said.

The dark-haired woman went to take a step forward, but was halted by the old man’s upraised hand.

‘Wait, listen,’ he said.

A sudden storm of voices and footsteps arose from a nearby alley. Torchlight flashed and splayed the elongated shapes of men on decrepit walls.

Then the troupe arrived. Fur-lined coats. Sharp faces. Six able-bodied and well-armed mercenaries encroached on the scuffle between Sanah’ël and the Empire’s representatives. The Kerenani were not those Sanah wished to meet in the dark under normal circumstances. But now, these were no ordinary circumstances, so she welcomed their intrusion.

‘Ho, look here. Krahat from the mainland!’ one of them called out.

The old man, Guldar, Lena, and the other woman all turned their attention to the new arrivals.

‘I told you they were here,’ a shorter main said. He pointed a finger at Guldar. ‘He was there with Darius when ‘e chucked me in th’ sea.’

‘Empire scum!’ another mercenary said as he stepped forward. ‘Are you friends of Darius?’

‘What of Darius?’ the old man said, his hands up in a placating gesture.

‘Highlord Cerus has a claim on his life, because Darius did not have the good sense to perish all those years ago.’

‘My friend, we do not know the details but we have no quarrel with the Kerenani.’

‘That may be so, but you are the next best thing for us to quash.’

The shorter man came forward again, giggling. ‘Your women will become prizes,’ he said as he leered. ‘Your men will be trophies.’

The mercenaries laughed and whooped. Sword scraped against sword. Then the short man’s laughter cut short and he fell to the ground gurgling. A knife was lodged in his chest.

The mercenaries stopped cheering and stared at Lena, twenty paces away, her arm still outstretched from the throw.

‘What are you doing, Leara?’ the old man snapped.

‘What Darius should’ve done the first time,’ she said.

At that, the Kerenani engaged the group with a shout. Weapons raised, they rushed in. Guldar headed to the front and occupied himself with two mercenaries. The others each took one.

Sanah did not care to know the details. She was glad for the distraction. The Kerenan dissatisfaction was proof enough that the Empire had trod on too many toes.

She took her chance and snuck into shadow. She left the sounds of struggle and suffering behind her. Just another midnight brawl in Sanaros.

Sanah ran and ran. What transpired here would need to be reported. She would need to stay and find out the extent of the Empire’s knowledge. And she needed to see Nathariel again. But for now, she ran.

The dark mazes and unsavoury byways of the island were known to her. Better than a sailor on the sea, she could navigate the secret holes and passages, the hopeless streets in which hopeful men and women lost their way. Sanah retreated, disappearing into the black, black heart of Sanaros.

* * *

It had been a day of learning. A day of learning what it meant to be a child of starlight. A day when hope lit up the prospects of the cohort at Taeladran. And a day of learning that the Shadow’s grip on that hope was tighter than imagined.

Asphales walked now, solemn and spent, around the outskirts of Taeladran as night fell on the luminous city. After Adélia had awoken—and Asphales was indescribably glad she did—she had separated from the rest and disappeared. Eltanin dismissed the group and glumly they returned to their lodgings.

Asphales did not want to be there now. He did not feel like fielding questions from the others, particularly as he did not fully understand what had transpired. Eltanin had mentioned the world’s sickness. Had a similar ailment been inflicted on Adélia? He had pieced together that something affected her, from the brokenness he’d noticed in her eyes, from the solitude she preferred in the forest, from the blackness he glimpsed which seemed to haunt so gentle and precious a soul.

With these darkened thoughts in mind, Asphales plodded on, ignoring the designated walkways and following the sound of water. Above him, the crescent moon hid behind a cloudy veil like a shy dancer at the end of her routine. The sounds of the city died away behind him.

He clambered on through rocky crevices and sloping stones until he came to a clearing. In the gully by Taeladran’s gem-encrusted bluffs, flowers grew. Blue and red and full of life, they dotted the dried out hollow. A torpid stream murmured nearby, running somewhere below the cliffs.

Someone here was singing. The melody was slow and sad like the final embers of a fire. Asphales took a step onto the budding grass and the singing stopped.

Adélia sat by a stone, face away and up toward the sky. She did not stir, but Asphales knew she had noticed him enter. She had taken off her mail and plate and now donned a simple blouse the colour of night.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I can leave if you wish to be alone.’

‘No, I appreciate the company,’ she said.

Asphales stepped nearer, his blundering feet disturbing fireflies settled over the myriad petals. Hundreds of glowing orbs flitted around the clearing. And more dazzling than all, the shining sapphire stones of Taeladran came to life under moonlight.

Adélia stood up as Asphales approached her, still gazing upwards. Under the cover of infinite stars they stood, and did not speak immediately.

‘If more people looked up,’ Adélia mused eventually, ‘perhaps the world would not be so…’

‘Down?’ Asphales offered.

Adélia looked at him. In the light-soaked scene, her hair was an intense vermilion. Her face bright, despite the tint of sadness. She smiled.

‘The stars are comforting,’ Asphales went on. ‘They’re a reminder that we are still guided, and that our strength has a source outside of ourselves. Before today, I had not quite understood that.’

‘Yes, someone dear to me told me something similar, long ago.’

The light around them dimmed once more, leaving nothing behind but the soft glow of Taeladran’s jewels and the quiet symphony of the chirping fireflies. Asphales sensed that he was not to pry, but he wondered. He felt closer to Adélia after discovering their part in the world. Was this a time for questions, now that their orbits had so entwined?

‘Adélia,’ he began, ‘I am exceedingly relieved to see you’re alright. You gave us all a scare.’

‘I’m sorry, Asphales. I apologise for running off like that.’ She bit her lip. ‘I was… frightened.’

Asphales blinked and faced her. ‘What is an Amarant afraid of?’

‘I fear the wrongness in me. You saw it today. My weakness. How are we meant to face this darkness when all we hold to is hope and splintered light?’ Her voice was on the edge of breaking, like glass bearing too much weight.

‘Adélia, I am scared as well. I have dreams… of veils and endless water, of streaks of light scattering in the dark. I see the Shadow. And I see him. He knows and desperately wants us to fall, to stop, to give up.

‘But it’s as you said earlier, we are not alone. Our bonds are valuable. We face this together. All of us. And we need you, Adélia. You’re a blossoming flower. Don’t hide that among trees.’

Adélia flinched and for a moment, Asphales felt foolish.

‘You have a kind heart, Asphales. But I am always reminded of this. Behind your eyes there is the sea… and I am terrified.’

In a flash of remembrance, Asphales recalled his first meeting with Adélia, in Gohenur. The Amarant had alluded to an attack by pirates on her home. In that fragile moment, she had cupped her sorrow and loss and held it out to him. With dread, Asphales braved a question. ‘Why can’t you channel your starlight?’

Adélia was silent for a while. The night filled in her reticence.

‘I’ve left so many things unspoken,’ she said. Her voice was barely audible, a leaf fallen in the forest.

‘Don’t rush, if you’re not ready.’

Adélia took a deep breath. ‘No. You deserve to know all that I am, since so much relies on us.’ She faced him. There were unfathomable depths within her emerald eyes.