II

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Section two.

The trees raced past as they moved along, making the way to their camp swiftly and efficiently. Searching carefully for any footprints, they ran until the sky darkened. There was no sound as they approached.

Their footsteps were clear in the damp snow, and clear in sound—never interrupted. The silence persisted. It grew uncanny. They could discern where they were, but there was usually some sort of disturbance when they neared. They would always hear that banging. He was always preparing.

As they reached their patch of land; silence.

There was only stillness. Ada squinted, trying to make out the silhouette of their camp. The group felt unnerved, so she broke the silence.

“Chieftain, have you finished preparing?” As she raised her voice, it echoed farther and farther away, never greeted with a response. Silence returned eerily. The group stared at her back, hoping she’d step up.

Her brows tightened as a slight frown creeped onto her lips. “I’ll go,” she said, taking a step forward.

Staring downward at the tent, she kept her steps stable and light. The silence was deafening, like hammers striking onto her temples as she walked. As she approached the tent, shock gradually upturned her eyebrows, lifting her eyelids. It had collapsed. She still couldn’t figure out what’d happened.

“Chieftain?” she muttered. She already came to a vague conclusion, but was unwilling to go any further. Opportunely, the moon peeked out from the trees, as if curious. The land was dimly lit, the scene revealed.

The lighting told a story of a chilled spring. As the weather grew warm, plants bathed in a rain that freed them from the snow. The moon told a story of hidden desires; things that would never emerge. It told the story of a man, his ambitions lost to the earth, where he would lie forever.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

Soft light reflected these images into her eyes, though she felt no emotion other than shock. She was never attached to this person, nor was death something new to her. But the longer she looked, the less composed she felt.

Her eyes rested on the wood supports of the tent. The supports were darker than usual, even considering the time of day. There was no luster to be seen, though it had rained and snowed for days. Similar to the chieftain’s arms under the rubble, the wood was charred, not to mention the seared, crackling flesh underneath.

Scale-like patterns slithered their way around the wood. It was completely unrecognizable. It was charred. This could only mean one thing, but how?

It hadn’t stormed, only rained. There was no flash, no rumble. They would have heard it—felt it if there were. The light had not come, so, why? She wracked her mind for answers, but could find none. Her breath became labored, the light, as she remembered, was more terrifying than lions, more vast than the depths of the sea, and surer than the passing seasons.

Its wrath burned brighter than that of the sun’s—hotter. She grew afraid. Immediately, her head snapped up from the gruesome scene below. “On your knees!” she shouted downward, but the words were directed to the group behind her.

They grew confused. Ada had stood stark in the same spot, doing little more than watch. And now, she screamed at them? For what reason?

“Why? We haven’t seen…” Fres began, his question cut short by Ada as she yelled once more, with a frightened urgency. Insects were crushed along with the grass under her knees as she dropped down into repentance. Sweat dripped from her forehead as if the night wasn’t as bone-chilling anymore.

With her motion, the group could see more of the tent as the moon floated overhead. It’d collapsed, and the scene underneath shook them to their core. Immediately, with little more than a glance upward at the dark sky, all but one of them bent over and kneeled on one knee and put their heads down. They kept completely steel as if the moon above were observing their movements in judgment.

Rheela could only watch in frustration. Though he knew what to do, it would signal submission. Ada had ordered him. He felt wronged, but under the whim of the sky, he could not disobey. His knee eventually rested on the ground. His teeth clenched tightly as he stared forward, his head unwilling to lower.

A breath escaped Ada’s chest as she confirmed their compliance and her eyes closed. Silence overtook the land as she took a deep breath, readying herself.

“Great Light, we kneel before you this night…” Beginning with a prayer, she addressed the sky with utmost respect, employing an eloquent cadence. She did not allow for any missteps.

Since young, most were taught to fear the sky. It was unknown how many had lost their lives on its whim. The methods it could employ to ensure its lordship came in tandem with the earth. It was best to be extremely careful. To be equipped with a sufficiently obsequious and ingratiating tongue to preserve one’s own life.

After a long moment of silence, “Rise,” she said, as if formally the new chieftain.

The group felt uncomfortable with this shift, but they couldn’t remain kneeling forever. They’d rather leave the vicinity before discussing. She had saved their lives, at least. They would have to recognize her, as was her temperament, neither as strong or mysterious as the sky, but steady.

Giving the tent one last glance, she turned to the group. She was too swift, as the vine holding her bun together tore, wild black hair flowing free in the light of the moon, disappearing like ink onto a black canvas. Strands whipped across her face, and she grew slightly annoyed. She resolved to find a new vine as soon as they left.

“Let’s go, there’s nothing here for us anymore.” As she spoke, she noticed that Rheela hadn’t stood up as the others did. He was still in the process of calming down, but she couldn’t afford to take extra time to attend to him. “If everyone’s ready, we’re leaving. I won’t be responsible for any dead weight.”

With varying expressions, the group began to move along with her as Rheela grimaced. As he rose, Ada turned quickly and walked. As they took a closer look at the tent, they grew terrified. The wood was black as its shadow. The land around the tent was completely untouched. They took it as a sign. A warning from the sky.

As Ada walked, she stepped on a gap in the snow. Moving her gaze downward, she caught sight of a set of footprints leading away from the tent. They were small and deliberate. Two tracks. She recognized them.

She didn’t understand their meaning and could come to no conclusion. Nevertheless, she had protected him before, she wouldn’t let it go to waste. Moving her foot slightly as she walked, she deliberately scuffed the footprints near her, making it appear as if she’d only faltered slightly.

The four didn’t notice anything. Even Rheela, whose eyes were firmly fixed onto her form, didn’t shift his gaze. The flutter of wings could be heard overhead, a small figure obscured heaven’s eye, casting a blurry shadow on the snow with a caw.