Clouds painted pink in the distance, signalling the coming of morning. Alec spared them a glance before returning his eyes to the quietness around him.

Once fire was put out, the survivors needed a new place to sleep. They took up their possessions and set out to look for a large enough house to fit them all. He suggested moving closer to the barracks so the soldiers could come to their aid faster but most ignored his words.

With Mala and one of the three children at the head, they went to where Iago, that shaper, lived. They wanted to be as close to him as possible. It seemed they were still in shock, unable to comprehend the full danger of such a choice.

The shaper had killed a score of people in an instant. It hadn’t taken him any effort. One glance, one thought and everyone was dead. What if the next time survivors were the ones to annoy him? These people weren’t considering it. All they saw was a hero that came and protected them when their own military had failed.

Which was quite a bitter pill to swallow on its own for Alec. His soldiers had stood no chance against the Scavengers, and not only because the enemy were fully grown men. That could have been countered with youthful energy, ability to adapt but his people weren’t eager to train.

All of them thought they were good enough since not once had they lost. What a surprise with a power house like Commander taking on the brunt of all the skirmishes. Until now their biggest concern was to last for half a minute and then get away as fast as possible so that Commander wouldn’t cleave them along with the enemies by accident.

Would they learn now? Understand the fault of their ways?

He wondered with doubt painting his mind dark. They would most likely try for a day or two and then give up on it, saying it was fine. They were stronger now. And Commander will encourage them. He had no need for a true squad force, they were just something he could show off. A trinket in his possession.

“Everyone’s gone back to sleep,” Lyra said, coming to stand beside him. She had abandoned her armour at some point and now stood watching the raising sun with a scowl on her face.

“Is something wrong?”

“Beside the fact our sword techniques mean jack shit? They’re worse than useless!”

He turned to her then, glaring. “You’re saying even you’re going to stop training? You think swordsmanship means nothing? How cou-!”

“Alec!” she roared. Her voice was so loud someone from the building shouted out at her to shut up. People were trying to sleep there.

It was partly his fault, so Alec took a couple deep breaths, motioning for her to move away. She nodded and they walked to stand by the foot of the tower. One that Iago lived in.

“Do you think he knows some real sword skills?” Lyra asked in a wishful tone, staring at the top of the tower. Her voice was very low.

Alec didn’t dare to wake the shaper either. “How would he know anything? He’s a damned shaper! They care for nothing but their glorious power!”

“But he shapes food for us, and now saved Grey’s life.” Lyra turned to him with a calculating look. “I also heard from Evic that the man hasn’t always been a shaper but just recently turned into one. That might explain his different view on us.”

“Have you asked Shea about it?”

“You know she’s a shaper too, right?”

Alec nodded, shifting his gaze to look at the raising sun. “Somehow she doesn’t have that feel of one of them. I don’t care how long that man has been a shaper but he has the air of one. That pride, disgust of everyone else. It pisses me off how he discounts us like nothing more than useless!”

“What if he has a good reason?” She put a hand on his shoulder, bringing his eyes back to her. “What if he can see how twisted our skills are? I know you’re trying your best but you’ve never learnt those skills from a teacher, and seeing isn’t the same. Half of what we’ve been practising got me slashed, stabbed and once would have resulted in me losing my head if not for the armour!”

“What?” he shouted out, no longer caring who he might wake up. “You almost what?”

She lowered her head, a shiver passing down her body. “I tried one of your favourite attacks but it was too wide, left me open for any strike! And I even stepped forward to bring myself closer in instead of moving back to have time to return the sword for a block. Even with armour I would have been dead if my opponent hadn’t been so shocked. He was a trained man, aware of the technique, and couldn’t believe my stumble!”

Alec wrapped his hands around the shaking woman, his own body too stunned to shiver. “I’m so sorry… so sorry… It’s all my fault…” he whispered apologies in her ear. No matter what he did, it was never enough. All the training he had done, it was useless. Pointless.

How could he think his memory would be enough to mimic the techniques? All those nobles learning for years from masters and he thought a few passing looks would be enough to learn them? Conceit. Pride. Did he have any right to blame the shaper when he was no better?

If anyone had died today, it would have been his fault. They were nothing but children playing soldiers, pretending they knew swordsmanship as they swung their weapons in wild arcs. All that time wasted on training. He wanted to cry. To shout. Scream his frustration out but what would that help? He was a pathetic human being, unable to achieve anything.

Protecting his people? What a joke. He should leave that task to someone capable of shouldering it. If only the shaper could be trusted… but no. That man had more secrets than there were people in this camp.

“You don’t need to worry,” Lyra said quietly, hands tightening around him. “Tomorrow we’ll all be fine, having forgotten all that had happened here. It was just a bit stressful. I’m certain once we all calm down, everything will return to… to normal!” Her voice broke at the last syllable.

He understood it. Normal? What could be constituted as normal here? A month ago they all had been living peaceful lives with their families and friends. Some had it tougher than others, but they were all happy and alive.

Now they had nothing but each other. Parents, siblings, friends were all dead. Most didn’t have a single familiar face from their old lives. Everything they knew was gone and death threatened to take them at any time. Their survival rested on a shaper keeping his promise to provide them with food.

If that wasn’t scary enough, now they were being raided. Old place, that everyone had gotten used to, burnt. Soldiers that were supposed to be a defensive wall protecting the people from any harm, proved to be nothing more than dreaming children. They almost got themselves killed trying to fight back.

Sure they could bound back but that reality wasn’t normal life. It hurt to call it that. Normality was working alongside your parents, playing outside with other children and wooing your favourite girl to your side. Ilara, she had died before his eyes. One of the first to be obliterated by the powers gone wild.

Tears threatened to come so he blinked them away. He was still the leader, it was his job to keep all emotions at bay. They didn’t need to see how powerless and out of his depth he felt.

“Of course. We’re young and full of hope, aren’t we?” he said, trying for a cheery voice but it was anything but that. Bitterness seeped through like poison.

The girl in his arms choked a laugh, pushing herself away. “Yeah, we’re the generation of fools that will survive here.”

“That’s right, we will make it through.”

Neither of them specified what it meant to pull through but that was just as well. Pondering such thoughts could only result in stumbling over your own feet. Whatever future held, they would reach it and judge only then. Whether it was all worth it.

Lyra sent a small smile his way and then turned to leave. “Are you coming?”

He shook his head. “I’ll come back later.”

There was puzzlement on her face but she waved and left him to his own dark thoughts. They swirled and twisted, threatening madness with each turn.

What was he supposed to do now? Younger children, who hadn’t trained much previously, would want to learn but how could he teach them something he knew was wrong? In his own fight he was surprised to not make any progress, be forced to fall back after each swing but had attributed it to his tiredness. It was just his luck for Scavengers to attack when he was beyond the point of exhaustion.

But Lyra’s confession shed new light on the whole matter. It wasn’t exhaustion but skills that had encumbered him. If they were the real ones, he would have won even if tired. He had seen his opponent wasn’t naturally a soldier. Some field worker from how tanned his skin was.

He could try asking Commander but the thought of it alone was enough for cold sweat to break out on his back. That man was a monster and he cared nothing for his underlings. The only couple times he’d showed them attack patterns they were for the use of a great sword like his, and each one showed only once. What would be the point of even risking his life to beg for something like this?

Everyone was better off learning nothing rather than being exposed to that.

Lyra’s suggestion came to his mind. Could the shaper know something?

Most of them were of high society so would be exposed to many fighters, and duelling tournaments were their greatest entertainment. Commoners weren’t allowed to see them but servants spread the rumours far and wide about them.

So, if the shaper knew some things, combined with Alec’s own knowledge they could maybe make something of a new pattern? Couldn’t they?

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

A horrible thought; he expected to be laughed at by the shaper but stood up anyway. It was better than just sitting and doing nothing.

Walking through the doors, he closed them as quietly as he could. Only after entering did his mind catch up with the more logical side saying that he was planning to wake up a shaper. It couldn’t be anything else than writing your own death sentence.

Thanking the Lady for remembering himself before reaching the shaper, he turned to leave when a strange shape caught his eye by the stairs leading upwards. In the dim light of the morning, he could almost make out a person crumpled on the floor.

Could it..? No way!

Still, he walked forward on rigid feet. If he was mistaken, if he was only seeing things….

But no, it was a human. Squatting down he looked straight at the shaper’s eyes. They stared at each other for a moment, then the man closed his eyes. His breathing was even but so very slow. And his skin! Paper wasn’t as white as this! He was almost glowing from the paleness!

“Are you all right? What happened?” Alec asked quickly, lifting his head to take in the room.

Something must have had attacked the man but who could weaken a shaper so? His eyes roamed over the empty floor, bare walls. There wasn’t anything anyone could hide behind. Whatever it was, it must have already left the room.

“Just tired,” the man said. He pushed himself off with a strength of a hundred years old elder. For a moment, he just breathed. “The ground here felt like a better choice than facing all those stairs.” There was a thin smile on his lips as he said that.

Unable to believe what he was hearing, Alec stared at the shaper. Hours ago, when they fought those Scavengers, the man had come in like a vengeful spirit. In an instant he took care of the enemies, cared for the survivors and then disappeared again. No one even raised a question why he disappeared so quick.

He tried to recall whether the shaper had been this pale back then but couldn’t be certain. In the light of dancing flames further away, the sight had been abysmal. More than that, he was too focused on other matters to pay any attention to the shaper himself. Like everyone, he had seen the title instead of a human.

Was that what he had been asked all those days ago? To see the truth behind the comfortable expectations?

“Is this because of the shaping you did?”

“Partly,” Iago answered. “I overexerted myself today, that’s all. In a day or two, I’ll be good as new.” But as he said that, he leaned against the wall, unable to keep himself sitting straight. Eyes closed he sat like that for a long moment. “Forget what you saw here,” he finally said in a quiet voice. “My image needs strength behind it, not weakness.”

“Why do you need it at all?”

“Just like you, I want to give people hope.” He looked down at his hand, opening and closing the fingers. “People need something to believe in to continue on. And until they find it in themselves, I plan to stand at the forefront taunting them into continuing forward.”

It was a twisted logic. Survivors didn’t need anyone to make them continue on, did they?

He thought about how they surged to this place after the attack. Few truly trusted this man, a shaper, the scars inflicted by his kind were too deep to be so easily forgotten, but they believed he would protect them. If he was close by, they could live.

Maybe this shaper was onto something. And he was ready to risk his health for that. If that was true, and all things pointed to it being so, it might be a good idea to learn more about him. To understand where he was coming from.

“Will you accept my help to get up?”

The man chuckled. “I’d accept Lady Death’s own hand.”

It was a chilling thought and Alec pushed it away. He put the man’s hand around his shoulders and lifted Iago to his feet. To his surprise, the man wasn’t a light weight. It was strange, contrasted against his pale skin but it only confirmed the fact that this was a recent sickness. If it was one. He had no idea what afflicted the shaper. It was a bit too much for a simple exhaustion, wasn’t it?

“Careful for the steps, some of them are missing,” the shaper said. He was trying to hold the majority of his own weight but that served only to make him wobble. Alec had to tighten his grip on the man a couple times to not have him fall both of them over.

Missing steps weren’t helping either but in time they managed to make it to the top. Stepping over the threshold the man fell face first on the bed. Two seconds later, Alec was certain he was already asleep. Just how tired was he?

It was something he could ask tomorrow, if he dared.

In the meantime, he took a look around. To the left of him stood a large bookcase, missing the glass protection. But the books were lined in alphabetical order, no shards of glass around. He searched the ground but a plush carpet didn’t seem to have any either.

Raising his eyes, he saw a mahogany table by the window. There was a stack of papers in the left corner but it didn’t seem to have been disturbed any time recently. Still, he wished he could read it. Maybe it could shed some light on the shapers dreams and aspirations.

But commoners weren’t taught to read. All he knew were numbers and counting them. His father had been adamant on making him learn them, saying a craftsman who couldn’t count would never earn anything. Both his buyers and those he bought materials from would cheat him out of the last coin.

That wouldn’t be so bad now. If there was someone to even try cheating him.

Turning away from the table and its papers, he walked out of the room. When the shaper woke up, he would talk with him and decide his next actions. Maybe they could make an alliance. He and a shaper. Preposterous and yet so tempting. But could he really trust a shaper?

The stairs creaked under his footsteps and Iago waited until they went away. A bit more time and there was the sound of doors closing shut. The soldier was out of his house. Finally, he could sleep at ease.

No more than a couple hours later Iago woke up. Light dominated his room and he knew he should be moving towards the canteen. It was quite late already but no one should have been an early raiser this morning. Or so he hoped.

Those few hours of sleep were a necessity. He wasn’t as tired as he’d pretended to be to gain Alec’s trust but quite close. Blood loss should never be underestimated.

Headache accosted him the moment he sat up. His brain felt like it was being squished to mush by some unknown forces. Massaging his temples, he pushed himself off the bed. Today was going to be a very long day. In the wardrobe he found the sand coloured cloak and put it upon himself. It would hide his pale skin from anyone’s notice.

Some might question his choice for attire but it wouldn’t be the first time he wore a cloak. It was such a useful and comfortable robe, he sometimes wondered why everyone didn’t wear one all the time.

Leaving the building, he was welcomed by the quiet noise of life. Someone was trudging with heavy steps through a corridor, tight laughter reached Iago from an open window. In another room a person was groaning, his or her companion muttering curses under their breath. Passing he spared a glance to the new home of the survivors. An old brothel that had been turned into an inn a decade ago. “At least they won’t lack in beds,” he laughed to himself.

It was unfortunate they decided to stay by his side but there could be found a use for it. Everything that happened could always be used to further one’s goals.

He was certain of it if only that damned headache let down. It was burning away all the thoughts in his mind right as they formed.

Near the canteen Urri welcomed him with a bright smile. He answered in kind but didn’t lower the hood. It was obvious from her expression she was surprised, uncertain of how to react but he just went past.

“Is this today’s haul?”

“Yeah…”

Her answer lacked the usual eagerness, high notes of joy but he couldn’t be bothered to change it. Pressing against his temples he stared at the rotten food with the loathing usually reserved for the mortal enemy alone. Is this what he was risking his life for? A stack of unidentifiable vegetables and stinking flabs of meat?

“Dammit, concentrate!” he ordered himself, ignoring the woman near him. Some other time he’d think of excuses, explanations. There was enough trouble before him already.

His heart picked up in speed, knowing what he was going to attempt. Stupidity. Pure idiocy. More so than usual. If only there was a choice…

“Focus!”

Without giving himself another chance to get distracted, to delay the inevitable, he reached for the Energy currents. They seemed reluctant to come, less keen on answering his call than usual.

He wasn’t having it.

Grabbing onto a current with the full force of his mind, he dragged it to himself. The Energy lashed onto him, invading every cell of his being. He was certain he was screaming but no sound could make it through the pain, the agony tearing him apart.

Control, control! He needed to take back the control! That was the only way!

But he was lost in the mass of his being: the horror of seeing tissue torn apart, muscles pulled and blood turning black. He was dying and couldn’t do a damned thing about it.

No way was he ending like this! It wasn’t his time yet!

Pushing through the waves of torment, he collected the pieces of his scattered mind. Focus, focus. He was still alive, the currents hadn’t consumed him yet. That was good. That was all that mattered.

“Calm down. Find the source, the wound. Stop the bleeding,” ordered a familiar voice. It was a mantra repeated when he was taught basic healing. “Once you stop the immediate danger of bleeding out, only then start looking for infection and other injuries. Otherwise you might find the reason for the sickness but will have a dead patient on your hands.”

Stop the bleeding, was it? He focused his mind on the shape of his body, imagined himself within, no matter what images were flashing through his mind. Now, cut off the currents entering his body. Cut off the stream. Cut it!

Still, his body was full to the bursting. So much Energies trapped within. They were clawing and tearing, uncaring of what that did to him. Wild like nature itself, they just wanted out. To return to their original state of being part of the world.

Iago found his eyes and forced them open. The bucket, full of rotten things. Great. Great! He pushed the Energies out with the single command of change. The image of meat will have to suffice. It didn’t matter what had been what once. The harder to shape the better, more Energy will be used!

Someone’s quick footsteps echoed on the pavement, a sheathed blade bumping softly against a thigh. On instinct, Iago whirled to face the opponent.

The flow of energies shifted with him, rushing towards the thing that was before him.

Alec.

“No!” Iago screamed out, raising his hands in a futile attempt to control the powers. They were too far, he couldn’t stop them! As if in slow motion, he could see them seeking, reaching for the foolish human in their path.

“No! No! No!” he roared, using all the leftover power to raise an earth pillar to shield the man.

Falling on all four, he coughed blood. Damn it all, he used up much more than he had. Something broke inside. He could feel it. Something that won’t heal. No matter, he was still alive. It had to suffice.

A coughing fit overtook him, stealing his breath away. Blood stained his sleeve when he raised it closer to his eyes. Whatever. He pushed himself off the ground and lurched to where Alec had stood.

The earth pillar had been obliterated, slabs of meat lying in its place. Behind them the man stood with more emotions on his face than Iago could have named. Fear, terror, amazement, shock, disbelief, wonder and so many more. His face was a map of all emotions in existence. The muscles kept on relaxing and retracting, brows furrowed and evened out as his mouth gaped without a sound escaping.

“Alive. Good. Good,” Iago murmured to himself, trying to find his balance. He would have to leave in a more controlled manner. It would scare everyone if he came out lurching in every other side like a drunk.

The task proved above his capabilities as he found himself falling forward. Only the wall stopped him from planting face first on the hard floor. He cursed under his breath, holding onto his temples with a vice grip.

If only that damned headache would go away.

But no. He was never that lucky.

Was there a good enough hiding place around here? He pushed through the still frozen Alec in the doorway and stumbled outside. No one was on this side of the canteen and he thanked the Lady for small blessings.

Tottering to the right he observed a still standing building. It was no more than one remaining room but exactly what he wanted. The only problem was reaching it.

In a long while, much longer when he would have found acceptable on any day, he made it to the first wall and pushed himself in. Doors fell from his feather light touch but he ignored it and went inside. Light was everywhere, shining through the empty windows.

It highlighted the emptiness of the room, the charred remains of what once could have been furniture. He cared not one bit for it. Two steps to the right, he slumped against the wall. Leaning back, he closed his eyes and breathed.

For a moment he wondered why he’d let himself be reduced to this. He could have stopped it at any second. Not give so much blood, leave the survivors to die, rest in the morning instead of trying to shape with a splitting headache. All of them had been his choices. Each and every one.

Were they necessary? All of them?

No way to tell. It was a gamble, after all.

He winced from a new wave of pain, raising his hands to the temples and squeezing. Hard. Maybe if he pushed strong enough, his head will stay together instead of splitting apart. Funny thought. Was he going crazy?

No, that was the pain talking. He needed to shut himself and rest. Somehow. Everything, all the suffering subsided in time. He just had to wait.

Now that was an idea.

Waiting.

He could do that, could he not? It wasn’t a demanding task. If only that cursed headache would just go away…