The soldier wouldn’t let go of her hair. Jaina told him over and over that she could walk just fine and there was no need to pull her along. He didn’t care. Just kept pulling.

He dragged her through the streets towards City Center, where the bulk of the attack seemed to be taking place. Jaina, even from her hunched position, saw the amount of soldiers increasing as they moved deeper into the city. They were spreading out, she thought. They’d take the whole city soon. And then what? Was this an attack only on Safehaven, or the entirety of Brightholme?

She stumbled over some debris, pieces of wood and cloth that she couldn’t identify. Everything was just a mess, an impossible, inconceivable mess. The soldier paused only briefly to allow her to keep her balance, yanking hard enough to tug her along. She let out another squeal and punched at his hand.

He halted. Turned to face her, yanked her hair back so she was looking straight up at the sky.

“You want to knock that off?” he spat.

“Okay! Okay!”

He shoved her away with disgust, just far enough for it to hurt, his hand remaining mercilessly intertwined within her hair.

Jaina thought of her family. Where were they during this? They lived on the outskirts of the city, but it was in the city all the same. From the look of things, these people weren’t taking any prisoners, save for her. For now, at least. And like the entirety of Brightholme, her family had no idea how to fight.

What chance did they have? Especially when these butchers had so casually incinerated her fiance.

Stegran.

The loss was too recent, too raw, too much to bear. She denied it, pushed the vision of the smoldering sledgehammer from her mind. Pushed him away.

But he kept coming back. Flashes of memories. His laugh. Laying next to him in the early morning light. Stegran on one knee, asking for her hand. His gentle kiss. His not-so-gentle kiss.

No, she thought, and repeated the word over and over. No. No. No.

It became like white noise, a distraction from the reality of her situation. No. No. No.

“Jorjy? ‘Zat you?”

The soldier with his hand in her hair stopped short; Jaina almost walked right into him.

“Frank?” she heard him say. He sounded delighted. “You gotta be kidding me. I thought you were on the other side of the world!”

“Nah. Got shifted, last minute.”

“Huh. Who’d have thunk it.”

The hair-puller started pulling again and Jaina kept her eyes focused on his feet. He stopped in front of another soldier—Frank, she presumed—but his ever-present grip on her hair remained.

“You ain’t gonna believe this, Jorjy,” Frank was saying. “Look who I found.”

Jaina caught sight of a familiar figure being pushed to the ground in front of her. His robe was ripped and dirty, his impeccable hair not so impeccable anymore.

“Is that…?” Jorjy said.

“Uh huh,” Frank said, and Jaina could hear the delight in both of their voices. She was horrified at their relaxed joy; it made her want to be sick.

“The High Elder,” Jorjy said. “Well, will you look at that? Quite a catch, Frankee-boy.”

“Right?”

“That’s worth a sigil, that there alone.”

“You think?”

The two soldiers who had been walking with hair-pulling-Jorjy peeled off, joining in on a chase involving several soldiers and a bunch of teenagers. For the moment, it was just Frank and Jorjy. In the middle of an invasion, with important prisoners, just chatting it up like they’d bumped into each other while shopping at the market.

“You still seeing that broad?”

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

“What? Nah, that was a long time ago.”

“I don’t know, man. She had it…”

It became background noise, this nonsense the pair were blathering on about. All the while, Jorjy never lost his grip on Jaina’s hair. She was starting to worry he’d never let go, that somehow the rest of her life would be spent with this joto’s paws literally in her hair.

She managed to get a look at the High Elder. He had propped himself up on one elbow and was breathing rapidly. She wasn’t sure what she was hoping to see there. Confidence? Reassurance? A plan? He was literally a couple of thousand years old and supposedly the wisest person in all of Brightholme. Surely he had some idea what to do.

What she saw instead cut her to the bone. Their eyes met and Jaina read nothing but pure terror, mixed in with doubt and uncertainty. He was no better off than she was, no better prepared.

All was lost.

Another soldier approached. Jaina saw only his feet as he stopped near them. Jorjy and Frank paused their gossip session to offer a quick greeting.

She heard a sudden crack, like metal hitting bone, and just like that, her hair was free. She tumbled down next to the High Elder, scurrying to his side for what slim protection he might have to offer.

Jorjy fell down right next to her, pawing at his face and crying out in agony. Blood was seeping between his fingertips.

Jaina looked up as the new soldier took a wild swing at Frank, who brushed the blow aside with a wave of his hand.

“What the fuck you doin’, man?” Frank yelled. He activated his bracers, the metal forming instantaneously into a shell over his fist, and took a fighting stance. The new soldier shuffled his feet a little bit, looking like he wasn’t sure what to do next.

Then he screamed, a primal sound that was more animal than man.

Jaina and the High Elder remained rooted in place, watching in stunned silence. The two soldiers rolled around on the dirt and stone path, clawing at each other, swinging wildly. Jaina lost track of which was which.

Jorjy, meanwhile, was losing his fight with consciousness. His hands dropped away from his face and Jaina got a look at what was left of his nose. She grimaced in disgust and looked away, just as poor hair-pulling-Jorjy’s eyes began to roll up into the back of his head.

Turning her attention back to the fighting pair, Jaina saw that one had finally gained an advantage. He was straddling the other, pushing Frank’s flailing hands away, trying to gain leverage. Finally, with another animalistic scream, he managed to drive his own metal fist into the prone soldier’s face. Frank cried out, still clawing at the other soldier’s face.

The straddling soldier reared his right arm back and drove it again into Frank’s face. Then again. And again. Soon his arm and hand were a blur, moving rapidly up and down, absolutely pummeling the other.

At last, he stopped. Frank was no longer moving. The new soldier looked at his fist, seemed to notice the blood soaking it for the first time.

Jaina looked back at the High Elder, just now realizing they were unattended and might have a chance to escape. The High Elder’s eyes were wide, though, his fear still controlling him. Jaina felt no stronger, but recognized he would be no help. If she were going to escape…

The soldier stood up and walked towards them, and Jaina cursed herself and her slow reactions. And the High Elder and his utter uselessness.

The soldier stood over them, looked down.

“You’re the High Elder,” he said to Rodum Centes. “Right?”

The High Elder was overcome by fear and moaned deeply, unable to respond. The soldier took off his helmet, revealing the face of a young man, barely older than a teenager. He looked nearly as frayed at the edges as she felt.

“What is this?” Jaina finally managed. “Who are you people?”

“What?” he responded, confused. He looked from her then to the High Elder, then did a double take back to Jaina. His eyes widened, and Jaina thought she recognized that look. Now was not the time for that look.

“Oh,” he said. “I’m not with them.”

“What? Who are you, then?”

“My name is Kal. I’m a… well, I’m a farmer.”

He looked around, saw a group of soldiers hurrying their way and cursed.

“Come on,” he said. He reached his right hand out for the High Elder and his left to Jaina. There was no reason to take his hand, or to trust him. But there was something about the earnestness in his eyes. It barely concealed his rage, the rage she had just witnessed in action. But there was an unmistakable, innate trustworthiness about him.

She paused only briefly, noting the cloth wrapped around his palm and hand. She took his hand gently so as not to aggravate his injury further. But his grip was firm, and he yanked both of them to their feet, showing impressive natural strength.

“We have to hurry!” he said.

But they weren’t going to make it, Jaina saw. The soldiers were nearly upon them, and they were many. The farmer placed his body in front of Jaina and the High Elder, much the way Stegran had. The way Camdyn Caskbrew had.

A sudden, mighty boom extinguished all other sounds. Jaina—and just about everyone else in the city—put their hands to their ears and grimaced in pain. The buildings shook, fresh debris raining down. There was a sudden rush of air, hard enough for Jaina’s hair to flip back. It was the loudest sound she had ever heard.

All eyes turned skyward, and everyone saw it at once. Or rather, him.

Every soldier changed their stance. Jaina heard spotty pockets of cheering throughout the city and cries of relief from the people around her.

The Godknight, in all his silver and white glory, soared out of the clouds and high through the air. He turned sharply and rocketed down towards the ground, towards the interlopers who had attacked his city.

Finally, Jaina thought. Salvation had arrived.