Amara

Civilization only got more depressing the further North she got.

She felt that it must be because of the cold. It seeped into her bones and stripped the life from her. Her skin turned pale and stung with the paralyzing freeze that swept through Averix’s northern hemisphere. But on the long trek through the frozen paths of this wasteland she had found that even the smallest flickering ember could provide her with enough warmth to last her through a night of camping under the stars. You could actually see them, out here. That was the only saving grace to being on this side of the world.

"Are you up there, Amarata?" she’d ask the stars on nights when she was shivering under their gaze, hiding amidst snow-capped trees and plains. "Are you afraid of me?"

No answer ever came.

So she trudged on, feeling the cold air of the frozen North gnaw at her bones. The halfway inns she sometimes sought shelter in provided meagre morsels of food and even less inspiring beverages. This was a period of months where she needed the strength of the Voice more and more as she felt her powers weaken with each new moon that rose above her. Sometimes she’d had to run from rabid wolves and barely make it to the shelter of some nameless, backwater village. Other times, one arc of flame jettisoned from her fingertips towards the increasingly erratic animals up here was enough to scare them off. Yet still, she noticed, some of them were simply relentless in their pursuit. She’d had to roast plenty of wolves, boars, and even a bear alive, just to ensure her own survival.

The townsfolk round these parts were also not so easily duped by her regular tricks. No one up here cared about a little girl crying in the night. Or, if they did, it was simply because they’d want to mark the spot to come back to later just to loot the scraps from the corpse that remained on their streets.

So, the road to Yarruck was hard, and paved with suffering. But like mom said in her little spot somewhere deep in Amara’s mind: no achievement was ever made without suffering. It was the best teacher humankind had.

And finally, one rainswept day, Amara’s faith was rewarded.

For she found herself standing at Yarruck’s rickety old gate, shuddering, short of breath, and ready to collapse under exhaustion and disbelief.

She passed through the gate without much trouble, noticing that the town was much less densely populated that the others she’d seen this far North. Barely anyone was meandering on the streets at this point – with the moon of Averix dangling directly overhead, they scurried around quickly to finish their nightly business.

She rented a room at the local tavern, practically throwing her pilfered coins at the innkeep who took them with a shaking hand. He didn’t say one word to her – and simply pointed her the way upstairs to a dimly lit, cobweb strewn room with a rickety bed that looked like it would break the second she sat on it. She didn’t plan on decorating any time soon.

"So, spill it mom," she said, looking out the dirt-streaked window at the snow falling outside. "I’ve made it as far North as anyone can go. What’s the deal with this place?"

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Patience, honey, the Voice replied. All things will become clear, soon.

Something odd was there, in the Voice’s tone. Like a tickling in her throat, gyrating down to her stomach and provoking a pleasurable rumble.

It was…laughing?

"What’s gotten into you?"

Nothing, sweetie, the Voice replied with another mischievous snigger. It’s a surprise.

She found herself shivering as she felt it laugh again.

"So, there’s something out there I have to find?"

The sniveling chuckle came again. Maybe.

Was she testing her? This isn’t usually how she spoke. Regardless, Amara ambled back downstairs and burst through the worn tavern door to meet the outside world again. She was determined to break this mystery.

The town didn’t even have any signs, and as she hugged the perimeter she began noticing the breaks in its walls – pieces of the stonework were withered and crumbling, so that if she traced her fingers across them pieces of rubble and powdered stone came away with them. The town looked sparse, and barren. Snow dominated these streets, not men.

"This place looks like a dump," Amara wheezed.

No more decrepit and ungainly than the other hamlets conceived by mortal minds, the Voice intoned. But, do you smell that, my dear?

She sniffed the air several times, inhaled deeply, and indeed the sweet scent of something reached her nose and whetted her mouth.

You like it?

She licked her dried lips.

Go get it, baby.

Amara slipped into the cover of a small hovel and hugged its walls, moving closer towards the scent. She used night as her cover, keeping out of the sight of any strangers, as she methodically made each new snow-crunching step towards her target.

When she finally found the source of the beauteous smell, she stopped in her tracks and bent low, keeping in the shadowed ground beside the doorway of an exceptionally warm hovel. Peeking within, she saw a burning chimney fire set in the corner of a large wooden interior, decorated with rows upon rows of small misshapen cakes. Amara’s eyes bulged as she beheld the assortment: sponges topped with melted chocolate, cupcakes set within small tin trays, little assortments of sweetened dough balls wrapped in paper bags and tied with ribbons. This place was a real diamond in the rough. A glutton’s paradise.

All entirely unguarded.

She felt around her grumbling stomach, and then the need overtook her.

She propelled her skittering legs forward and grabbed the largest chocolate topped sponge she could – one topped with strawberries and cream. She wobbled and almost tripped, but before she knew it she was out of the bakery and back in her room at the inn without so much as a peep out of anyone.

She laid the cake on her room’s little table and narrowed her eyes.

"Alright," she said. ‘I know this is what I needed. Could feel it in my gut. There’s something special about it, huh? Something that’ll help me reach the Everloft?’

The Voice just chuckled again.

"Hey!" she shouted, and in her sudden burst of anger the candles at her window blazed with renewed life. "Why you being like this? Ain’t you supposed to help me? Stop treating me like I’m some stupid girl!"

Sweetheart, the voice whispered, filling her soul with a sense of cheer. We can’t celebrate your birthday without a cake.

Amara double blinked.

"My…wha?"

Your birthday, dear. You’re fifteen years old today.

Her hands fell limply to her sides, and she sniggered under the sheer banality of the statement. Sure. It had been four years, after all. Four years wandering Averix, following the Voice’s lead, seeing how this world cared little for the people that lived upon its blasted soil, and seeking the dominion of the damned magisters that dwelt below.

Amidst all that, the Voice had been her only companion. Now that she was finally here, it was merely fulfilling its duty just like any mother would. That only made it all too clear that she had been right, back in Lucent, when she’d first had the thought that this was mom talking to her all along. She’d been there with her when she’d needed her, and she would be with her from now on.

Happy Birthday, Amara, the Voice said.

She wiped little tears that were beginning to mar her cheeks and scooped a small piece of the sponge into her mouth.

"Thanks, mom."