Trenton slung Avardis’s arm over his shoulder, carrying the wounded boy back to their little enclave, much to Karfice’s chagrin and Garrote’s delight. Garrote walked forward, hand extended, smile wide.

“Pleasure to meet you. My name’s Garrote. You can ignore my friend over there,” Garrote nodded to Karfice. “He’s a cantankerous little fellow.”

“Hold on, that doesn’t seem very fair. If anything, you’ve been the cantankerous one. You’ve been a sour sport ever since Korak,” Karfice deflected.

“And I also had my arm ripped off,” Garrote shot back.

“Least you’ve got one to spare.”

“Only after I got them both reattached.”

“Maybe if…if…” Karfice’s eye faded, forcing their engagement to an end.

Turns out Karfice wasn’t very good at seeing arguments through to the end. Hard to be mad at someone who’s not conscious. Garrote turned back to Avardis, hand still out. Avardis took it, not hesitantly, but neither with vigor. He looked more or less indifferent.

“I feel indifferent to your presence.”

Correction, he was more or less indifferent. Garrote puckered his lips, twisting his head to the side and furrowing his brow.

“That…hurts more than just about anything else you could’ve said,” Garrote said, turning to Trenton. “He’s good.”

“Oh, oh! I have an idea!” Maria interjected, stepping forward towards Avardis.

“Fun fact! He should give his fun fact!” Millie blurted out.

“Yes! Exactly right!” Maria exclaimed, turning to give Millie a high five.

“Fun fact,” Avardis said.

“It’s like an introduction game. Give us your name, your magic, and then one fun fact about you.”

Avardis looked at her, expression unchanged, “I am Avardis Aviclass. I am an aeromancer. I am 16.”

“Uhh, well…that’s not really…okay, how about we try this again? Do you have any other fun facts?” Maria said, visibly taken aback.

“You did not like my fun fact.”

“Ummm, well,” Maria staggered, looking around for any help.

“Fun facts are typically a little more interesting. They’re meant to be specific to you,” Leo added.

“Exactly!” Maria snapped.

“My fact was specific to me. I am 16,” Avardis said, brow furrowing more.

Garrote smirked at Trenton, “Say what you want. The man’s consistent.”

“Yeah, that’s what worries me,” Trenton sighed. “A lot of people are 16, not just you. What’s something that is unique about you? Something that would set you apart in a room of many people.”

“I understand,” Avardis looked back at Maria. “I have seen 3 men have their entrails plucked out by vultures.”

“Wow! That’s…really something, Avardis,” She exclaimed, taking a step back towards Karfice.

“You do not like my fun fact,” Avardis stated again.

“I wonder why?” Raligoth said.

Avardis looked down at Trenton’s belt, seemingly noticing Raligoth’s presence for the first time, “The head talks.”

“Y’know I’ve got a name, lad.”

“Elaborate.”

“I…don’t think I want to.”

Avardis opened his mouth to say something, but just then, from the treetops, Kiva descended, sliding down the length of a vine. She hid her face as she approached, her steps slow, laboured, but it was clear something was wrong.

She stumbled into Trenton, wrapping her arms around him, and wept, tears seeping into the fabrics at Trenton’s shoulder. He held her for a time, lifting her and moving her away from the main group, away from Avardis as everyone else did their best to distract him. He whispered affirmations into her ear, rocking her slowly back and forth, waiting for her to build herself up enough to be able to speak, which eventually, she did.

“I-” she choked out a sob, failing to keep her voice steady, “oh gods, they’re all dead. What do I do? I should’ve stayed! I never should have left!” She cried.

“They gave their lives for you, sacrificed themselves that you may live. It takes a remarkable amount of courage to do something like that. They’re better men than any other. And now, they live on through you–eternal through your memory. Remember that. They loved you more than the world itself,” Trenton reassured.

Kiva broke into another round of sobs, clinging to him even tighter. Whether his words helped, Trenton couldn’t tell, but he hoped they did. Somewhere in her heart, whatever part he knew she had, he hoped it was listening.

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

After some time, Kiva’s sobs slowed, her breathing calmed, and her eyes shut. Little by little, she drifted off to sleep, put at peace in Trenton’s grasp, despite the horrors assailing her. Alone, it was a tragedy. With him, it was manageable.

Trenton scooped her up into his arms, supporting her body fully as he moved back to the group. He didn’t need to say a word. They knew. Somber notes, an ancient melody, hung heavy in the air. Together, they departed from the tree, making their way through the forest. And in time, even the gargantuan trees would fade into the distance behind them, days passing by as moments.

Before long, they stood outside the ruined gates of Ruvalth, crumbling stone spires barely held together, paltry trees shifting by a gentle breeze–swaying to a rhythm known only to them–large, tower-like buildings still standing against the odds, some fallen to their sides. A long time ago, it might’ve been a beautiful city, architecture unlike anything Trenton had ever seen, but so degraded, only remnants of the past truly remained.

The city was a wash of dulled gray, foliage, bursting up here and there through cracks in the paved streets, trees interwoven with shattered lamp posts. The twisted peaks of multi-colored ornamental metals, which wove together as if they were string, had long been bent, the statues topping peaks between levels of the city torn apart, comfortable living rooms turned inside out, not a trace of life left anywhere in sight.

Off in the distance, Trenton saw the remains of an ancient aqueduct, a wonderful construct carrying water overhead from the east. It was broken at points, fresh water spilling forth into little rivers and streams which wound around the city as if someone was there to collect. Every now and then, a stray animal or monster would poke their head from behind the dense clutter of the city, skittish deer watching for danger, little gremlins scavenging for scraps to eat, and so on.

“For old ruins, they’re preserved pretty well,” Trenton noted.

“That’d be because of the runic enchantments,” Wimbleton explained, climbing his way over the first hunks of stone fallen from the once great wall outlining the city. “Most cities choose to specially reinforce the walls and exterior, but Ruvalth actually has a massive series of catacombs beneath it constructing one massive protection rune. It covers the whole city, effectively. So even after all this time, most of the city is fairly intact. You actually can’t find anything like it anywhere else in the world. It’s quite the marvel.”

“Have you been here before? You seem to know a lot about it,” Kiva asked.

“No, old, rundown cities aren't exactly my type. They are, however, Era’s type, so this whole place has been picked practically to pieces,” Wimbleton replied.

“It wasn’t always that way,” Raligoth said as they started to climb the side of a remarkably large, waylaid tower, a wistful note to his voice. “Once upon a time, Ruvalth was one of the greatest cities the continent had ever seen, an industrial powerhouse, constructing the greatest masterpieces this world had ever seen, magical trinkets of remarkable power. It’s sad to see it in this state.”

“You cannot see,” Avardis stated.

“It’s a turn of phrase, lad.”

“Elaborate.”

“I-nevermind.”

Millie shifted over to Trenton’s side, plucking Raligoth from Trenton’s belt, despite his protests, and holding him to her face, “You knew this place before it was ruins? How old are you, anyway?” She asked with wonder.

“Very…little still exists from my time, they were very thorough. It’s difficult to be constantly reminded of one’s failures, although I suppose I’ve an easier go of it by comparison,” Raligoth mumbled, almost as if talking to himself.

“Don’t suppose you’ll elaborate on any of that?” Karfice asked, singular eye vaguely glazing over the expansive city. It was quite remarkable, beautiful in a way.

Raligoth didn’t answer Karfice’s question, his face pensive as Trenton took him back from Millie’s grasp, “...actually, it might not be gone. Could you get me to the middle of the city? The forge might still be standing.”

“The forge?” Garrote asked, suddenly interested.

“The greatest ever made. It’s difficult to access, so if it’s still there, it’s possible that you might be able to find something to help you. I can give you more specific directions once you’re there.”

“That’s perfect, actually. It’ll take me some time to locate our friends, so you all can have a little adventure while I’m busy. Although,” Wimbleton stopped at the peak of the tower overlooking the city, eyes focused on a faint rumbling off in the distance, “that might be easier said than done. The city’s mostly empty, but that makes it the perfect breeding ground for monsters.”

Trenton followed Wimbleton’s gaze, feeling the tremors through his feet. Whatever was approaching, it was large, heavy, and powerful with a pronounced gut, bulbous arms like tree trunks, and a stout head as if he were a clay pot dropped from the top of a tower. Atop it’s shoulder it carried a detailed, gargantuan cylindrical object, almost like…

“A golem, and it’s holding a building,” Trenton said, wide eyed, pulling his hammer from his pocket space.

“A-a building?” Leo said.

“Yes, a building,” Wimbleton remarked, much too calmly for the circumstances at hand. “In fact, if you’d just look down, you’ll get a great idea of what-” his head snapped backwards, voice cutting instantly.

Trenton hadn’t felt it, hadn’t seen it, hadn’t even fathomed it, but now, in this moment before death, as time crawled to a stop, the singular frame just before his head was splattered, he understood. He felt the cold tip of steel against the back of his head just breaching the surface; he felt the graceful step of a foot right behind him, touching down after gods know how long spent in the air; he felt the bloodlust, that sick, perverted stench permeating the air. This was something he’d seen before, a scent of copper known only to one group. Whoever pressed him, they were bloodcrazed. But that hardly mattered anymore. It was too late. Far too late.

Around him, no one even reacted. They hadn’t even registered the man’s presence. Well, no one except Wimbleton, but his movements were too slow. Ever since they’d met him, Trenton had done his best to gauge Wimbleton’s strength, study the way he moved, his speed, his talent. In all facets he was remarkable, but even he had his limits. So it was that Trenton accepted his fate, allowing his mind to fade, accepting the encroaching darkness.

And yet, in this singular moment–a fraction of a fraction of a fraction of a second–as Trenton resigned himself to death, Wimbleton did not. See, even among the world's greatest, Wimbleton was a rather odd phenomenon. His name was unknown, his ability unmarked, even though he was clearly of great esteem.

An exalted champion of his stature had no place slumming it within the depths of a cold, dirty cave, no place hiding among the meek and innocent, no place pretending he was something he was not. And yet, he did because he knew these games all too well. His masks were brilliantly constructed, every movement, every word. Every. Single. Little. Flicker, all bending to his supreme will.

But he could wait no longer. The world was about to take from him, again, reclaim its long overdue payment. And for the first time in over a month, Trenton got an inkling of what exactly happened that lone night in Korak, a stray memory dredged from the depths of his soul.

He saw the sickly black and red of Wimbleton’s eyes twisting around his mutated body. He heard the anguished cries of thousands upon thousands of forsaken souls. He felt his skin rend from his flesh and flesh rend from his bones as the hatred consumed him alive. He felt fear, true terror unlike anything he’d ever experienced before.

This was no boy. This was no saviour. This was naught but a twisted mockery of flesh, bile in the skin of man. This was

W R A T H