Quick as a wolf, Leor strode along the rim of the outer wall, hood donned and mouth covered with the back of his hand. For once, the city of endless sun felt the cold bite of autumn. Leaves of ash rained from the dark clouds brushing across the sky, eating away sunlight like a forest canopy. Fires ravaged the fields and the Hero’s Greenwood in a scattered mess. Plumes of red dust and smoke blanketed the air with the taste of iron cinders. He could not help but look. Below, black flies peppered the burning fields, some running from the flame, others bathing in it. Their wailings nothing more than a faint buzzing in the distance.

He tried to hasten his stride by taking proper breaths, but that only worsened the nasty cough in his throat. Still, he made his lungs push past his smoldering ribcage. There was no time to rest. The bell had rung before the ballistae had been dealt with. All those soldiers, knights. . . dead because of him.

A wildfire of darkness loomed from below, a greater one than what he felt on the Northern Front. And he knew who it burned from. He had wished the lapdog was among those who perished from his folly, but it was unlikely for a Soulbearer. That would be too much of a miracle. He could only hope the Fourth Pillar would not hold the ill timing against him.

Eyes burning, he squinted beyond the high arching bridges that connected each ring to King’s Finger. It wasn’t terribly far. A two-hour or so trek — half that if he were to run. But life always had extra mountains for him to climb. He glanced at Luella. Though she had her purifying mask equipped, her strength had already left the scholar soon after they tasted the smoke. She lay slumped atop Yoru, brows furrowed in pain as she coughed up a storm. Each one rawer than the last.

The rest were much more resilient. Besides a few coughs, Alden and his guards seemed well steeled behind their dragon helms. Yoru padded at his shadow despite cringing its snout away from the darkening sky. Meanwhile, Yui reveled in the dry, burning air. She smoked her pipe, unbothered by the lingering poison. It must be something in the Yonchin blood.

What makes her so frail? He wondered as he slowed his pace to match the edgewolf’s. “How are you holding up?”

“I’m fine,” Luella said with the most forced smile he had ever seen before a vile cough wiped it away. “My lungs aren’t my strongest organ if I were to be honest. The smoke and the mountain heights are proving more of a challenge than I first thought. I just need some time to adjust.”

“The two dragon buffoons have healing waters. I’m sure if you were to ask, they’d give you a lick.”

“It’s pointless. The waters would only ease my breath for a few minutes. The smoke will continue to poison me until we are inside.”

He pointed at her mask. “That thing works only for smells?”

“No,” she wheezed, out of breath. “It provides the cleanest air but the sewers and the smoke are eating away at the filters. Need… to replace.”

“Right… Tell me if you need a break, will you?” In truth, if it were up to him, he’d sprint to King’s Finger, but he feared the smoke would only worsen as they climbed. And he needed her alive. “There must be a faster route to the great tower.”

“There is.” She ran her fingers through Yoru’s fur and leaned close to his ear. “Stop, please, dear wolf.” When the edgewolf stopped, Luella rolled to her feet, keeping one arm wrapped around Yoru’s neck and the other clutching her chest. Faint sunlight shone over her face pale as the rampart’s stone. She floundered through her satchel and handed him a rolled parchment. “A map of Solaris.”

Leor unraveled the map, flipped it upside-down, cocked his head, held it in better light, and still, he could not find the supposed route the scholar spoke of. The tattered parchment held an intricate spider web of large and small blotches connected by a hundred indistinguishable threads. With the legend bled out of existence, it was impossible to decipher, let alone tell where they stood.

“Is it? Could have fooled me.” He held the map to her.

She ignored the gesture and returned to her fur bed. “There are four methods the old Litherians used to traverse the high walls. Rope slides, arch bridges, the Finger Towers, and Wings of Gwyn.”

“Then that leaves us only three options,” Alden said in Luella’s place as the coughing stole her voice. “Unless you know another way of obtaining Wings or where the Angels have gone.”

Luella shook her head and looked towards King’s Finger. “Only the Lord of Light has that knowledge.” After her lingering gaze, she sighed and turned to Leor. “We have three choices. Search the watchtowers as we walk the rim in hopes of finding an ascender to climb the ropes, continue on to the Thumb Finger to take the lift to the next ring and make for the arch bridges, or walk to the opposite end of our current ring and cross the arch bridges to the Pinky.”

Leor looked at her confused. “Which one is the quickest?”

She took a deep breath. “Hard to say. The ascenders would be, but luck would need to be on our side and I have high doubts we will find any left behind. The order of the other two matters not. Nonetheless, we must reach the Queen’s Finger. We can only enter the King’s Finger from there.” Luella covered her mouth and tried her best to stifle her cough.

Emilia raised her hand between them. “Are you finished asking your pointless questions? Hurry and pick.” Her growl echoed out from the slits of her helm. “Forcing the poor girl to give a lecture in such a weakened state.”

“Best let her rest,” Yui nodded, emptying the ashes from her pipe.

They all looked at Leor, waiting for him to make a decision. When did he become the sole leader? He wondered. All they do is undermine me so why do they continue to follow? He glanced beyond the high walls. What lies in the other half of the city? Was it in ruins? It wouldn’t be surprising after all. The scholar and the maps have been wrong before.

“To the arch bridges then,” he said after much pondering. He did not want to risk walking the outermost ring to only have the other side broken. Walking the path in sight was the right choice, he hoped.

It wasn’t until they were standing at the tower’s base that was he able to understand why it was called the Thumb Finger. The tower rose higher than the adjacent ring. The pale stone stalk grew slanted and contorted, pointing its gold-dipped crown towards the heart of Solaris. As fingers would if one raised a begging hand to the sky. He remembered the old man telling how Gwyn had built Solaris with that image in mind to honor the Ruler of the Sky and Storms. God’s Hand, he called it.

The Thumb was hollowed with a never-ending spiral of steps that disappeared into the darkness below, where the low melody of wind echoed. Leor pulled the level by the stair landing. The sound of iron chains churning was music to his ears. Walking up the steps would’ve been a different sort of hell.

When the wooden lift arrived on their floor, it bridged the gap to the lightless hallway across. With the scholar’s temptation of finding ascenders, Leor and Luella went to investigate while the others waited on the lift. The oval corridor must have been made for dwarves or children. A meager jump and their heads would crash against the low ceiling. Along the walls were four identical cells, two on each side. The scholar’s hand lanterns made shadows wane as they passed; cold winds whistled through the eroded bars and dangling handcuffs. A haunting song of tortured prisoners long forgotten.

Beyond the heavy timber door at the end of the corridor was a solar filled with dust floating in the sole blade of sunlight peeking through a murky window. As they strode around the room, the wood groaned for relief with every step.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“No ascenders,” Luella said with much strain in her voice as she searched the old littered shelves filled with rotting crates and empty flasks.

“To be expected.” Luck could never be counted on. Leor fingered through the bloodstained bed and fished out a small rag, frozen to a curved crisp. He eyed it curiously.

She gasped and slapped it out of his hand. “Don’t touch that!”

He waited for a reason but her hollow eyes told him he would get no answers from her. He took another gander at the room. Scattered about, prisoner chains hung from the ceiling; whips sprawled nearby on the floorboard; leather straps fastened to the headboard; a branding iron leaned against the ruined hearth; other strange devices for uses he dared not imagine. When he turned his attention back to the scholar, he found her kneeling and praying for forgiveness. From who, he did not care to ask. . .

Because deep down, he knew.

Taking the tattered lift, they arrived at the arch bridge, a bleached corpse of a serpent sprawled straight from finger to ring. Its body was skinny from a seemingly constant shedding; the stone scales cracked and peeled away.

He would be lying if he was not a little shaken. Some of the stones gave way to his weight and his heart would scream up his throat. Breath shaky, he led the way with light, guided steps, avoiding as many fissures as he could. The others mimicked his exact path.

They made it no less than a quarter of the way when the fractures sprouted like tree roots, rock dust puffing from the cracks. The grinding churned their hearts. They froze and waited for the cracking to cease as if they were startled fawns on a lake of ice. Leor let out a sigh of relief and wiped the sweat inching down his temple before starting again, but a light tug on the tail of his cloak stopped him.

“Leor, let’s turn back,” Luella said. He could hear the fear in her weak voice.

He shook his head and donned a pleading tone. “We’re almost there. We just need to push a little more.”

“You mean to continue crossing this? Surely there is a route to the King’s Finger from the ground.” Yui laid her hand on the parapet, and when a fissure cracked from her touch, she cringed her hand away.

“And for what? To be stopped by closed gates? Who knows how many there are.”

“Thirteen,” Luella mumbled. “And those are only the main ones.”

“That’s twelve too many.” He whistled for Yoru to follow. He would not hear any more complaints, even if it meant dragging her across. “Come, let’s not waste any more time.”

“No, I have heard enough.”

When Yoru whimpered in pain, Leor snapped around and found Menno pinning the edgewolf to the ground with his hand and Emilia leading the scholar away.

“You and your mutt may continue this death march of yours but the girl stays with us.”

Of course, it’s her. “It is my duty to see to her, not yours. Besides, you Dragonslayers were never invited on my expedition.”

She settled Luella behind her, stepped forth, and scoffed. “Duty — is that what you call it?” The Dragonslayer looked at him in a long, wretched silence before saying, “I see now, all too clearly. It was your thoughtless actions that killed Ceri, dragging her along with your selfish plots for gold or whatever it is you purblights —”

Leor punched her face so hard her helm crunched inward.

Or so he thought. Emilia had his fist in her clawed gauntlet. She twisted his hand out of the way and returned a blow to his chest. He skittered across the bridge like a skipping stone.

“But that ends now.” Emilia removed her dragon helm, allowing her flowing black hair to fall to her shoulders. She was a scornful-looking girl about the same age as Ceri. A bladed scar crossed her left eye which she kept weld shut; she glowered at him with a single hazel eye.

“Emilia, stand down!” Alden shouted, attempting to step forward but Menno the Eversilent held him back.

“Apologies, my lord, but my duty is to keep you safe as the Queen commanded. And I have deemed him a hazard.” Emilia looked over her shoulder, but her gaze hung low with gloom. “I promised I would keep both of you safe. . . Though I have failed to uphold half my promise. I will not the other.”

That stole any reply from the Pontiff. Alden called Yoru to his side and the edgewolf sheepishly complied.

Dusting himself, Leor rose. “If you think showing your woman side would make me falter, think again.”

“No, I want you to see the face of the woman who will put you in your place.”

Leor surged forward, fists flowing one after another like a hundred twisting rivers, searching for weak points in her defense. Face, ribs, joints. He struck hard and fast, but Emilia was quicker. She carved through the coursing strikes and returned a plate of black steel to his face. There was a painful ringing in his ear; the taste of blood bathed his tongue, but he stopped his fall with a firm stomp. From the corner of his eye, black talons clawed at his throat. He ducked, the claw hissing past his ear, then wheeled a devastating hook. Metal rang when his fist connected.

But the blow fell dead against her breastplate.

Emilia looked down at him, smirking. “Good try.” Her clawed fists came down as one like a black star falling from the sky, tearing through the air with a ferocious whistle, and slammed into his back. A sharp sting crawled up his neck and out his mouth, followed by a sizzling heat. Before he could hit the ground, she grabbed him underneath his arms, then drove a knee into his ribs with ear-blasting power. Once, twice, thrice. As if she had loathed that specific bone. Leor felt something snap. She forced his head to face her and locked eyes. “Let me hear it. The sweet pleas for mercy.” She flung him to the parapet like a ragdoll.

Was this it? Leor wondered as a quarter of his body dangled over the edge. The pulsing pain started to seep throughout his body worse than before. It felt as though he was lit ablaze from within. Was I always this weak? Perhaps that was why his mentor left him. The old man saw his pitiful ceiling. He struggled to keep himself upright, arms wobbling like plucked strings. Peeking between his legs, he saw a fearsome black dragon walking on its hind legs, wings stretched wide. Then he remembered Emilia’s earlier bout.

No, it is that damn armor. Infused with the powers of a God. What am I to do against that when I have nothing? A glint of gold flashed through his blurry sight. He stared at Ceri’s ring and saw his pathetic contorted reflection. If only I knew how to use the damn thing. The dark phantoms stalked him whenever he blinked, whispering his failures in his ears.

Too weak. Pitiful. Hopeless.

Love taken. Leor forgotten.

Cast aside. Give in.

The mix of thoughts and voices ate him worse than the wounds. It festered in his mind like maggots. His heart yanked in all directions from molten tendrils, bubbling inside. . .

Until it erupted.

He ripped a loose brick from the wall and swung at her face when he heard she was behind him. Emilia raised her guard. The stone exploded against her gauntlet; dust clouded her good eye, catching her off-guard; she glimpsed a twirling streak of violet through the smoke. Roaring, Leor spun and whipped her across the cheek with a backfist, the blow clapping as loud as thunder. She flopped down the bridge, grasping for footing and her blade but her hand clutched air. Eyes widening, she shot her gaze up. Her longsword, drenched with lightning, flew into Leor’s grasp. He raised the longsword, his eyes drowned in darkness.

“Stop!” Alden shouted. “That is enough!”

The Pontiff’s voice pierced his senses and shook him awake from his bloodlust. The dark voices hushed. Stunned by his own doing, Leor lowered the violet blade. The tip merely tapped the ground but it was enough to stab the stone. Lightning infected the cracks and ripped them apart. Pieces then entire chunks of the bridge began to crumble. Just as he turned to run, he saw Emilia was still frozen amidst the collapsing sea. No time to think. No time to take her and make it back. Shit. Leor sprang after her.

They rolled through the air, dirt and pebbles pelting them as they zipped by, the ground rushing up fast. The falling stones shattered and brewed up a death cloud when they smashed the ground. He did not like what would become of them if that were them, but the images came nonetheless. Tightening his hold of the Dragonslayer, he plunged the longsword into the nearest pier and screamed as the grind fought against the fall. Pain wrested up his arm; it felt like his muscles exploded and someone was skinning the fibers from his bones. He tried to swallow the pain but his grip gave out a quarter way from the floor. Leor turned over in the air and tucked Emilia in, cloak flailing in the wind.

The ground punched him hard like a tree had fallen on him, knocking the air and the rest of his energy out of him, then dragged him into darkness.