Amara

“Who the hell does she think she is?!”

She’d retired to her small cubby hole room in the depths of the castle interior – a small four cornered dwelling that was crawling with various termites. A bed was its only notable feature, though ‘bed’ itself was a bit of a euphemism. When she first pulled back its covers she discovered it was little more than a chunk of hay covered in tarred feathers that these Gnolls obviously believed provided the height of comfort.

A little bit of luxury for the Lightbringer was obviously not forthcoming, but that wasn’t what pricked her heart with irritation right now.

“So high and mighty,” she was saying, storming round her room like a fireball bouncing from wall to wall. “Telling me to my face that I’m evil. What’s that all about?”

She is an Argent, dear. Why do you expect anything else?

Amara bristled. “But the dog-man made me promise to protect her, mom! He told me she was – I don’t know! – important!”

Yes…her mother began tentatively. I have been meaning to ask you about that. It seems that you made some kind of bargain with a Canis as I slumbered in the wake of my discharge in Yarruck.

“Well, yeah,” Amara said. “You always told me I have to do what I can to survive, right? That I had to get to the Everloft no matter what? He guided me, big stupid wolf that he was.”

And he knew this girl?

Amara rolled her eyes. “Knew her?! More like he was in love with her. He spoke about her like she was the second coming of Amarata.”

She felt her mother smile at that comment.

Well, my dear, the hybrids of Averix do have certain taboo predilections. Still, a Frivak Argent is unusual to say the least.

Amara slumped down on her bed a little harder than she’d meant to. She rubbed her back as it ached from the impact.

“Yeah, I never met one of them up there,” she murmured. “Firvak? That’s the reason she looks like a ghost?”

Firvak are ancient beings born from the dreams of the dying, Amara.

If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.

The Lightbringer rolled her eyes. “Another riddle?”

The expression is literal, dear, her mother responded tetchily. Firvak are children born from corpses.

Amara sat up.

“You mean the girl’s…dead?”

In a manner of speaking. A Firvak is born as a pale, writhing shell. It has no soul bound to its body. It is, for all intents and purposes, a vessel half-filled. Perhaps this is why she is an enigma to me. One thing is certain, my dear: their soulless nature is the reason they are feared so.

Amara considered this, crossing her arms and staring down at her dirt-ridden feet, toes laden with lint and speckled with sand.

“They’re feared, huh?”

Correct, her mother continued. A Firvak is an omen of, at best, bad luck. At worst: an apocalyptic event. In the days of old, Firvak’s were often used as vanguard soldiers in the service of the Old Magisters. They were fearless, undaunted fighters – ready to give their lives, such as they are, for any cause. Many were hunted in the wake of the Chainbreaker’s purges. Yet, like the gift of the Glance, the birth of new Firvak’s can never be truly stopped by the fervent supporters of Amarata, despite their genocidal tendencies.

Amara brought her small burr of firelight into life, playing with the flickering tip of the ember as she listened carefully to her mother’s words.

“So she’s like a zombie,” she said with a scoff. “A zombie Argent. How could anyone love that? How come the dog-man up there was so obsessed with her? How come this dirty thief she’s traveling with listens to her? How come she beats up Mendax and everyone loves her for it?”

Her mind suddenly dragged her back to the image of her sitting there on the castle battlements, blond ponytail swaying in the still wind, looking at her with those deep blue eyes and telling her "I’m sorry".

Amara hated those words as soon as she heard them. She’d never hated any phrase more.

“She doesn’t deserve to be here,” she said into her arms, muffling her words. “She doesn’t deserve any of this.”

Her mother, however, seemed to find something about her thoughts rather humorous.

“Hey!” she demanded. “Wha – what’s so funny?”

My, my, Amara, her mother chuckled. Could it be that my daughter is jealous?

She rose, almost smacking her head against the low-hanging ceiling of her room.

“Never!”

She felt her flame travel through her body and pool in her cheeks. She was thankful, in that moment, that she didn’t have a mirror for her mother to confirm her suspicions.

Well, regardless, her mother continued through stifled chuckles in her mind. You must take help when it is offered to you. Especially help that is so…unusually potent. Something swirls inside her, Amara. Maybe not a soul. But something. Something that gives her strength to rival even you. If she does indeed stir your heart to anger, you must not fight her. Not as you are, now.

Amara scoffed again. “What do you mean? I’m even stronger than I was before. I’m –“

Amara…

“Don’t interrupt me, mom!” she bellowed. “I’m telling you I could take her down if I had to. I coul-“

Amara, ru-!

She did not have time to react to her mother’s stifled cry. Instead, she felt a cloaked claw grab her hair and pull her back, hard, against her bed. Her eyes beamed with fear, probing the living shadow that swirled around her. As she made to strike at it with her burning palm she instantly felt herself go limp, numb, as something started traveling up her arm. She only felt the pain of the poisoned dagger after its vile liquid sank into her skin, and the gasp that tried to escape her throat was little more than a dying girl’s whimper.

Her eyes, though, they saw everything unfold with crystalline clarity.

APPRAISAL: SUCCESS

GLANCE: VOID

INCANTATION: PASS-WITHOUT-TRACE

There was only one creature she knew that had once used that very same incantation.

As the cloak of shadow dissipated, and the snarling, blood-soaked face of her attacker was revealed, her suspicions were finally confirmed.

“Good evening, Lightbringer,” Lokar said.