Quiet gloom, anticipation

From the dark, a revelation.

The darkness was deep. Oppressive and chilly as a vast cavern; moon and stars crushed from the sky by a shadow far blacker and heavier than night’s eternal fist. Snowflakes fell, quietly and mournfully, the only hint that somewhere above, clouds still lingered.

The ancient forest trees of Arkana reached out, helpless and imploring over the gargantuan wound of wreckage that lay at their feet. The ruins spanned the entire length of the Angel continent: a hundred miles or more; an extraordinary, endless wall of shattered white stone cleaving the forest in two. Globes of silvertine – millions of them – glimmered serenely, reflecting crushed dreams and fern fronds, ascending slowly and delicately amongst the vast, stony-columned trunks.

To the north, where sea and sky and land were now all as one, obliterated in the dark, hung a much larger sphere of burning golden light. Orbiting it was a ring of broken stone: the remains of the Sanctuary of Caer Sync.

There, something was being held in limbo, protected from the encroaching reach of trigon, from the deadly touch of a thing that was monstrous and huge and alien and unknown.

But the sphere’s light was dimming, inevitably, like a dying sun.

It would not last.

The Seraphim had lost their sacred ability to protect Arkana and her people. No longer had they even the power to save themselves.

Their Goddess, if she had not now toppled from her lofty perch, had forsaken them.

Tander sat on the outstretched branch of one of the tallest trees. The forest canopy spread out below him, snow-dusted and golden-tinted, watchful and awaiting its ultimate fate.

As was he.

A few miles ahead of him hung the remains of the great city of Fleetfleer. Cleft now in two, the glowing Aegis beyond silhouetted its sad, proud towers and broken spires. Masonry still crumbled, now and then, to land with muted thumps in the undergrowth far below. Fires dotted the collapsed buildings, from lanterns and hearths gone astray, bright blotches of light in the darkness. Smoke coiled upwards to join the thick morass encompassing the once beautiful land of Arkana.

Tander’s breath passed over half-frozen lips in a white cloud before his face. He was stiff and numb from fatigue and cold; his armour felt made of ice, sculpted onto him. A deep ache had settled into him, through every bone and muscle and inch of his skin, conflicting with the hard, cold, iron ball of hope in his chest.

The young Human he had met in the forest – Ferrian – believed that Mekka was still alive, somehow. Tander had recognised the fierce determination in his strange, silver eyes. And if the black-winged Angel had survived, trapped within that glimmering Aegis… that meant there was a chance Commander Re’Vier was in there with him…

Tander gazed at the golden sphere with burning, tired eyes. He no longer knew what to think or believe, any more. The last few hours had been a whirlpool of chaos; unexpected surprises and terrors catching him off guard from every direction. In the span of a day, the world had changed irrevocably.

Having lived a simple, orderly and disciplined life up until now, certain of nothing but confident in his own loyalty to the Sky Legion, Tander was left feeling mortally unsettled and disoriented. All plans and destinies had been tossed to the wind, snatched by a darkening Fate…

Tander lifted a cold, silver-gauntleted hand to his face, rubbing his creased forehead. He had known that the world was about to change, of course. That was the entire purpose of the Sky Legion. Commander Reeves had devised a grand, stunning plan, insistent that he could unite all the nations of Arvanor in peace, and that he could do it without war or bloodshed or harming a single living soul.

It was an unbelievable claim, a miracle if true, and Tander had always thought that there must be something more to it: some troubling catch. But he had followed Reeves nevertheless, trusting him in blind faith because that was what was required. Reeves refused to divulge the details of his plan to anyone, not a single other member of the Legion.

Tander had joined them on Sundown Peak, not out of ambition or a desire for adventure, or to prove himself in any way.

He had joined simply because he longed for something to believe in.

He wanted to imagine that there were still people in the world who were great, and could achieve wondrous things, even if he did not expect that of himself. Tander wasn’t sure about the Gods, and all the races of Arvanor, including his kin, seemed petty, closed-minded and mired in their own traditions. But Reeves…

Reeves was different.

Behind the sarcasm, lack of empathy and intense narcissism; beyond the beauty of his flawless white wings and cold smile, there was something about him that was true, and real. Reeves knew something, indeed. His dream was no lie. The spark in his blue-green eyes told Tander that he genuinely believed in something extraordinary.

He closed his eyes. But if his Commander were gone, what of his glorious plan? What of the Sky Legion then, if none of them knew its purpose? What of this monster that had devastated their ancient homeland and threatened the world?

What were they all to do now?

Opening his eyes, Tander thought there was one who might know – if she still lived. He was sure of something, at least: that the Legion had not travelled all the way to Arkana merely to drop off a criminal.

Reeves had formed some secret deal with the Governor. She likely knew what his intentions were.

But no one had seen the Governor or her assistant since the ceremony…

“Tander,” a voice said impatiently from somewhere behind him and to his left. “The rest of the survivors fled to Sel Varence hours ago. We are the only ones left. Is there a reason we are sitting around freezing our arses off in this Goddess-forsaken forest?”

“Reeves is dead,” another voice pointed out harshly. “As are the rest of our squad. No one else is going to show up. We are wasting our time.”

Tander kept his gaze fixed ahead. “We will leave when I say we leave,” he replied quietly. “And it is ‘Sir’. I am in charge now.”

“Oh, of course!” Nix retorted, putting as much sarcasm into his voice as he could possibly muster. “Commander Tan’Daran! Apologies, Sir!”

Tander clenched his jaw but did not reply. He knew that Nix was trying to goad him.

He found himself wishing, uncharitably, that the only two remaining members of his team were anyone but these two. Nix was naïve and troublesome, and Parsh – silver-winged and arrogant as they came – openly disliked Tander. He didn’t think either of them would try to challenge his authority; they were proud of their loyalty to the Legion and respected the chain of command. But he could not in any way match Reeves’ leadership, charisma or singularity of purpose, and they all knew it. They would do everything they could to make his life difficult and coax him into abdicating responsibility to someone else.

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Ever since he had joined the Legion, some of the others had considered it a game to attempt to fire up Tander’s temper, but they always failed. Tander was ineffably cool and level-headed: he simply never got angry. That was why he was higher in rank than they were. He was not prone to cockiness or making impulsive decisions. He was smart and tactful.

But he had never wanted to lead. He was not suited to it. And in truth he was terrified: he had no idea what to do now, the fate of the entire Legion having been suddenly dumped on his shoulders. At the moment, he wasn’t in any kind of mental state to work through anything. He tried to keep his worries to himself, but they leaked out of him embarrassingly for everyone to see.

He realised suddenly that he was sitting in a tense, hunched-over position, his wings curled tightly against him. Attempting to straighten himself up, he failed to suppress a further wave of shivers.

“Poor Tander,” Parsh mocked from behind him. “Burdened with leadership in the face of catastrophe. Whatever will become of us?”

Tander had had enough. Letting out his breath in a white huff, he half-turned, waving a hand at them. “Go on, then! Go ahead to Sel Varence. I will meet you at the embassy.”

Barely had the words left his chilled lips when his two fellow Legionnaires slipped into the night like ghosts, leaving behind their small campfire flickering in the crook of the branches, sending shadows disconcertingly over the smooth, grey wood.

Tander turned back to stare dismally at the fading Aegis on the horizon. They’d been all too eager to leave. Despite his words, he felt a strong urge to follow his men; the chill of the night sank more deeply inside him, and he felt suddenly, morbidly alone.

What am I doing here? he thought wretchedly. Parsh was right: it was highly unlikely that any other survivors were going to turn up. If Reeves or the Governor or anyone else were still alive, they would make it out of the forest eventually. The nearest inhabited civilisation was Sel Varence, nestled on the far side of the Tentaryl Ranges. It was a logical rendezvous point.

I’m not achieving anything by staying here…

But he seemed frozen to the tree, despite the dreadful buzz of his nerves. He couldn’t leave.

He closed his eyes. The others thought the reason he was waiting here, hoping futilely for the Commander’s return was because he wished to be absolved of responsibility. But… that wasn’t it. He swallowed against the tightness in his throat. He wanted Reeves to live. He could not abandon his Commander if there was a chance that he could be saved.

And that wasn’t the only reason.

Ferrian.

The sorcerer was going to do something, and Tander wanted to know what it was.

He had not told the others about Ferrian. He thought it wise to keep their meeting to himself until he was more certain as to what was going on.

Tander had thought that true sorcerers were long relegated to history; their mighty oligarchy ended spectacularly with the destruction of their School more than a century and a half ago. To encounter one in the middle of Arkana on this fateful day was both astonishing and deeply troubling. But the young Human seemed curiously agreeable, and had saved Tander’s life. Tander had watched him vanquish a silvertine wraith right in front of him, and he appeared to have brought this unnatural Winter upon them. He claimed that he had not destroyed Caer Sync.

Ferrian had carried a Sword of the Gods; the twin serpents of ebony and ivory were unmistakable and still known to many people on Arvanor, if only as legend.

Ferrian was indeed a real sorcerer: a powerful one.

More worrying still, he was allied to Mekk’Ayan, one of the most notorious criminals the country had ever seen.

Why? Tander wondered. How? Was Ferrian truly trustworthy? What were his plans? What did this ultimately mean for Reeves’ grand ideal?

There was a sound behind Tander.

Keeping his breathing steady and his pose unchanged, his arm resting casually on his knee, his attention sharpened and set itself behind him.

There was a soft scrape of metal on metal. It was an accidental sound: that of someone attempting to be quiet.

Tander waited a moment more, then opened his eyes and pretended to yawn loudly. Then he nonchalantly stood up, ruffling the snow from his wings. He stretched his arms out wide, his gauntleted hand coming within reach of his long spear…

Moving like the wind, he spun, the silver tip of the spear whirling in a glittering arc to point downwards at…

… a cooking pot?

A spoon rolled slowly down the hollow formed by the joining of the great branches, coming to rest beside the dwindling campfire.

There was nothing in the darkness beyond.

Silence. Snow fell, like tiny ghosts hiding whatever may have been lurking there.

Tander watched the shadows carefully, then finally lifted his spear, stepped forward and picked up the pot. There was a bit of soup left in the bottom. Retrieving the spoon, he moved to the other side of the fire and settled himself down with his back against the wide trunk. Taking off his helmet, he set it beside his spear, then took up the spoon and began to eat.

He made sure to slurp it noisily. “Mmmm,” he murmured appreciatively. He paused, considering the amount of soup left, swirling it around in the pot. “Hmm. Not much left,” he declared aloud. Then he dipped his spoon back in, scraping the bottom for every last drop…

When he looked up again, a small face was staring at him from across the hollow, wide-eyed.

“Hello there,” Tander greeted. “Who might you be?”

The child said nothing.

Tander shrugged, and turned back to his soup. “Oh well,” he sighed. “No reply. I expect there’s nobody there, then...”

“Li’Zan!” the girl blurted out, hopping forward.

Tander regarded her. “Hungry?”

She nodded.

Tander stared into the pot. Putting a hand on his belly, he said: “Well, I am full. Couldn’t eat another bite.” He held out the pot for her. “Here. You have it.” It was a lie, of course. He’d hardly eaten anything all day.

The girl darted forward, snatched it up and sat down, spooning the soup into her mouth so fast it splattered everywhere.

“Hey now, slow down!” Tander said in concern. “You’ll choke yourself!”

The girl ignored him, coughing. She was filthy; her pretty clothes torn, twigs in her hair. There were streaks through the grime on her face, as though she had been crying at some point, but now she just seemed famished.

Her wings were rather beautiful; snowy white with a delicate coppery pattern, and striking orange at the tips of the longest feathers. They caught the firelight like flames of their own.

If you come across a small girl with orange and white wings and a stubborn attitude, will you make sure she is safe?

Tander leaned forward with his arms on his knees. “Everyone else has gone to the Human city of Sel Varence, on the other side of the mountains,” he told her. “Your family might be there waiting for you.”

Li shook her head. “I don’t want to go.” She slurped the soup.

Tander stared at her. “You stayed behind deliberately?”

The little girl looked up, defiant. “Well? So did you!”

Tander smiled slightly: she was a bright one. “I am a soldier. I am waiting here to help survivors.” He nodded at her. “It seems I found one.”

Li eyed him warily, and went back to the soup.

Tander leaned back, watching her eat. Contemplatively, he reached into the pouch at his belt and withdrew the black feather that Ferrian had given to him. He held it for a minute or two, rolling it slowly between his fingertips, watching the firelight sheen across its raven-dark surface. He waited until Li had set down the pot and wiped her face on her sleeve, then held out the feather. “I believe this belongs to you?”

She looked startled, as though he had pointed a dagger at her face. Then her expression changed into a scowl, and she turned away, arms folded across her chest. “I don’t want it,” she sniffed. “You keep it.”

Tander’s face and voice became stern. “You cannot refuse a feather you have accepted in companionship!” he chastised. “It is a sacred bond!”

Li stared at the ground darkly for a long moment. Then finally, sulkily, she reached out and grabbed it. “Well, it doesn’t matter any more!” she huffed. “He didn’t want to be my friend anyway! He said so! And he didn’t even say goodbye!”

Tander stared at the fire. What was this little girl’s relationship with Mekka, that he had blessed her with a feather? And Ferrian?

“How did you meet Mekka and Ferrian?” he asked directly.

Li sniffed and wiped at her eyes. “I met them in Grath Ardan,” she replied, shrugging, as though meeting people in a forbidden magical library happened every day. “They were looking for some books or something. We were trapped in there for awhile, but we found a way out eventually.” She looked up proudly. “Ferrian killed all of the Murons!”

Tander was silent for a long moment, frowning. He rubbed at his chin. “I… see,” he said quietly. He didn’t, though. He didn’t see at all. His mind and gut churned with questions. “How long ago was this?”

Li shrugged again. “I don’t know. A few summers, I guess?” She chewed her lip. “Ferrian is my friend,” she said, looking at her hands remorsefully. “I got mad at him and stormed off. He probably hates me, now...” She looked up, suddenly hopeful. “Mister soldier man? Do you know where he is?”

Tander blinked, brought abruptly out of his deep thoughts. He shook his head. “Oh. No. Not exactly. I thought he might be–” His voice died in his throat. Thoughts forgotten, he stood up, eyes going wide. “Oh my Goddess...”

There was a gasp from Li. She ran out onto the branch in front of him.

Beyond the little winged girl, from out of the darkness to the west, rose a majestic white form, great wings spread wide, scales rippling like starlight on liquid ice in the glow of the dying Aegis. It was as though the Goddess herself had risen from the ruins of her dead Tower to face the darkness…

Tander had never seen anything so wondrous and emotional, not even the wraith that tried to claim him in the woods. He leaned on the tree for support.

Li jumped up and down in excitement. “It’s the White Dragon!” she cried. “YAAAAAY!”