Chapter 81

Astrid

Day 68 of First Landing

Population of Thornhill - 56

They say war is terrifying, but experiencing it? Imagine your heart smashing against your chest, your neck sore from constantly swiveling, your ears ringing as the person next to you shrieks in terror. The cursing... the cursing is everywhere. People screaming out the faintest observations. Vile curses out of the mouths of people you’d hardly expect—priests and mothers. Every action you take feels both impossibly fast and painfully slow, no matter how many times you’ve practiced it.

Somehow, our bard guided us through the chaos, his voice weaving through the air like a lifeline, connecting every villager on the wall and pulling them away from the horrors of battle with the hope of reaching distant shores far removed from bloodshed. The sheer panic, the bone-deep terror that gripped us as the enemy surged forward, their alien faces twisted with vengeance—it all faded, just a little, under his song.

But if I stopped singing for even a second, the horror would crash in on me. Around me, the sights were unbearable: smoke, blood, and broken bodies everywhere. Most of all, the horror of the villagers doing whatever they could to push back the wave.

Roza, her belly swollen with child, hurled Molotovs, using Marek’s broad, armored body as cover. Her husband fired arrow after arrow from his longbow, spitting curses in Polish. Between throws, she shoved more arrows into his hands, which he shot with precision and speed. The couple worked in unison, determined to ensure the danger outside wouldn’t seep into the shelter where their precious children were hiding.

On the shattered wall near the gate, Bart and Jesus were locked in their usual rivalry. Like dueling pistons, they exchanged arrows while tallying their kills.

“That one got deflected!” Jesus shouted, squinting as he nocked another arrow. “You’re still at two!”

“Bullshit!” Bart snapped, not even glancing at him. “A hit’s a hit!”

Jesus grinned, letting his next arrow fly. It struck true, and he pumped his fist in triumph. “Hits don’t count if they don’t drop. That’s four, pendejo!”

Bart’s jaw clenched as he lined up another shot, hell-bent on catching up.

“This fucking bow is fucking broken! Let’s trade.” Bart yelled back, grabbing another arrow.

Jesús chuckled, shaking his head as he readied another arrow. “Ain’t your bow that’s broke, homes, it’s your eyes! That’s five!”

“Shit shit shit shit! Get that rat fucker on the left. He’s getting too close!” Bart hollered.

Not everyone shared the enthusiasm of the seasoned classholding blacksmiths. Many villagers hesitated, peeking out from cover to fire a single bolt before ducking back down. Fear overwhelmed them when they caught a brief glimpse of the endless horde approach. It took them every ounce of courage they had to continue; they gathered it and had it bolstered by the bard’s hymn. With their resolve strengthened, they reloaded their crossbows and fired again.

Even Ethan, our healer, was on the wall, wielding a crossbow, his blacked-rimmed glasses hanging off his shirt collar. He wouldn’t head back to the triage station unless things got bad enough that the injured started piling up.

It didn’t take long. An arrow slipped through the barricade and sank into Aiden’s thigh near Ethan. Bravely, Aiden sucked in a breath, trying not to cry out and distract the other defenders. His hand reached for the shaft, but Ethan barked, “Don’t pull it out!”

Aiden hesitated. “What do I do?”

“Can you still shoot?” Ethan yelled, barely looking up as he loosed another bolt.

Aiden grabbed an arrow and nodded. “Yeah.”

“Then leave it. Keep shooting. I’ll deal with it later!” Ethan reloaded, his voice steady despite raising his voice to be heard over the singing and chaos of battle.

The injured teenager grimaced but kept firing through the cracks in the wall.

Outside, the barbarians had reached fifty yards before the moat. A giant stone flew over us that made me catch my breath before landing dead center on a crowd of them. They fell by the dozens, their screams piercing the air as they tumbled into the Death Pit. Skewered on spears and writhing, some begged for mercy in their alien language.

But there was no mercy here—not for them, not for us. Our singing grew louder, drowning it out.

They were the enemy; I reminded myself over and over, but that didn’t make it any less horrifying. Just months ago, we were all far removed from war and lived comfortable lives in cement cities. People who had heard about atrocities only on the news. Now, we were fighting tooth and nail to defend the fragile little dot we called home in this strange, merciless world.

Knees buckled, hands shook, but we kept firing, knowing if we didn’t we would be on the end of the anger behind those alien faces. The enemy pressed harder, climbing over rafts made of shattered and burned wood and bloated corpses with bolts jutting out of their backs floating in the moat. They pushed through the mud and water, clawing closer to the gate.

“Keep firing!” Bianca’s voice rang out.

We obeyed, arrows flying as the song on our lips wavered as they got closer to the walls, but never stopped. Cade, our guard who was nearest the gate, shouted something to Alex as the first into the breach approached the blown-out gates. Without hesitation, the two strongest warriors of Thornhill set their longbows aside and scrambled down the walls, sword and spear ready to meet the enemy at the choke point.

I stayed on the wall, one of the few with enough strength to draw a longbow thanks to my class perks. A bin of arrows sat between me and Bianca, quickly dwindling as we fired. Bianca’s face was a mask of fierce concentration, her arrows landing with deadly precision thanks to her Path of the Marksman ability. Every shot was a kill, her movements as smooth and rhythmic as a heartbeat.

Then, the unexpected shattered our well-laid plans. A dark blue corvid swooped in from above, gliding far out of range of the arrows. It startled Bianca as it landed on her shoulder, a rolled-up note tied to its leg. She grabbed it quickly, parsing it as the bird took off again, no doubt following fresh orders from its sender.

Her eyes widened in alarm, and she spat a curse. “Damn it, Rye! You’ve got to be kidding me! This can’t be real!”

“What?” I reached for the note, and she thrust it at me, her hand trembling.

“We don’t have anyone to spare on the walls! What does he want from me?” Bianca cried desperately.

The moment I read the words, my breath hitched, and panic gripped my chest like a vise.

They are planning

on using a group of 10 on

rowboat to flank from

the west shores!

“M-my animals...”

Panic surged through me as I looked backward to the sea where my pens were. Without waiting for anyone, I climbed down the parapet ladder, my heart racing. Olive, my trusty elk, stood hitched nearby, pawing at the ground as though she could feel my urgency.

“Astrid!” Bianca called after me as she kept loosing arrows from the wall. “Just wait a minute! We’ll go together! Astrid, don’t leave your post yet! Astrid!!!”

“I can’t let them hurt my animals!” I yelled back, already riding my elk south.

I pushed Olive hard, urging her to her limits. Aja, my loyal canine companion, bounded alongside us, tongue lolling as she struggled to keep pace. The improved roads we’d built made the ride faster, leading from the northern walls straight to the heart of the village—past Shelter Two, the warehouse, the hostel, and then onward toward my animal pens.

On the seaside horizon, black smoke billowed, stark against the sky. It rose from the direction of the beach shelter.

No. Don’t tell me they’re already there. My animals!

When I reached the beach, my worst fears were confirmed. Ten men had stormed our shore. Their canoe, a hollowed-out log, sat on the sand, abandoned, with oars scattered nearby. Footprints trailed up the beach to Shelter One, already engulfed in flames. They’d wasted no time torching it and were now making their way uphill—straight toward my animal pens and coop.

I spurred Olive westward toward the river where my animal pens lay, the fury in my chest blazing hotter than the fire that engulfed the Beach Shelter.

Nine of them—seven Beastkin and two Humans—marched forward, torches flaring in their hands. At their head strode a tall elf with long ears and short, slicked-back orange hair streaked with red. His sneer was as sharp as his movements in his light bronze and leather armor. A crossbow rested easily in his grip, and with a commanding gesture, he pointed toward my silkworm hut and animal pens, singling them out as targets.

The Beastkin followed his lead: three gnolls with yellowed eyes carried spears, their hunched forms bristling with anticipation. Two frog-like creatures held torches, their slick, glistening skin reflecting the flames they carried. A gnoll with rippling muscles wielded an axe, and a black-furred ratman, twitchy and alert, had a crossbow of his own. At the rear, two humans, collared and stood clutching crossbows.

I skidded Olive to a halt just in time to see them set fire to my silkworm hut. The flames erupted, and it felt like a thousand tiny screams echoed in my mind. All my work—the months I’d spent raising and feeding the worms—was reduced to ash in seconds.

Laughter and grins spread across their faces as they reveled in the destruction, smashing the wooden boards and tossing the trays of cocoons over like so much confetti.

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Then something strange happened. The collars on the human raiders fell off, and they immediately knelt. Their Elf captain started yelling at them and pointing his crossbow in threat before the freed human slaves started to bolt and run off into the forests. Before the Elf could chase after them, he spotted me in the distance.

Aja bristled her cream-colored fur, growing to the size of a timberwolf, and let out a low, menacing snarl. Her hackles rose as she reflected the rage that bubbled up within me.

The Elf captain smirked, raising his crossbow as though he had all the time in the world. Behind him, the Beastkin fanned out, their postures shifting as they prepared to attack.

But I moved first.

I raised my crossbow and let the bolt fly—it struck the ratman square in the face. He dropped with a piercing squeal, his weapon clattering to the ground.

Nearby, the elf captain loosed an arrow at Aja. It sank into her side, but she didn’t falter, surging forward into the fray as he scrambled to reload.

Aja launched herself at the nearest frogkin, her teeth sinking into its slick arm as it let out a guttural croak. The yellow-skin frog was dragged down and the dog went after the raider’s throat. His partner, another green-skin frog closed in with a short sword in hand.

I didn’t waste a second. Tossing my crossbow aside, I pulled the whip hanging from my belt—a recent prize from the dungeon, reforged by our blacksmiths. It uncoiled in my hand, its length gleaming like polished bronze links.

Spiked Whip of Long Reach - D

Whip extends 1 meter longer on attack

The whip’s handle, carved from a polished tusk with copper inlays, felt solid and heavy in my grip. Its bronze chains bristled with cruel, inch-long spikes. No mercy. Not for those who torched my home or dared harm my animals.

The gnolls were first to suffer. Three of them had barely thrown open the gate to my pig pen when I lashed out, my whip slicing through the air with a shrieking crack. The spiked chain swept their legs, tearing into flesh as I yanked hard, knocking them off their feet. They hit the ground with heavy thuds, their calves bloodied and raw. The boars in the pen, furious, charged out to defend their territory. Tusks gouged deep into the raiders’ sides before the boars began to consume their invaders.

Pigs will eat anything.

One of them tried to get up, only for me to continue beating him down with slashes across the chest.

A fourth gnoll, separate from the trio being consumed by the boars, charged toward me from the left. This one was larger than the others, had a scarred eye, full bronze plate, and wielded a raised axe. I let my whip fly, activating Disarm. The spiked chain wrapped around the wrist, holding his weapon. With a pull, the axe tore free, leaving his mangled hand dangling uselessly off his arm by a string. Staggering and screaming, he barely had time to register what happened before I snapped the whip again. This time, it wrapped around his neck, the spikes biting deep. As I yanked it tight, the chain tore through flesh and spine, leaving him a headless corpse.

The pure violence didn’t faze me. My only focus was on the month of work reduced to ashes—and how I would make those animals pay for it.

Meanwhile, Aja had one frog pinned, her fangs sinking into its neck. The other frog crept behind her with a short sword raised high. My heart stopped as the blade came down, biting deep into her backside.

“Aja!” I screamed, but my voice was drowned by her wail of pain.

In her fury, she twisted, her jaws snapping into the attacking frog’s groin. Its howl was almost human as it collapsed, blood gushing from the ruin of its body.

The elf stood at the center of the chaos, calm and deadly, activating a spell card as he fired his gleaming crossbow.

The bolt struck Aja square in the belly. My bloodied familiar pounced towards the captain, but not before he produced a dagger and slashed Aja across the face, leaving only blue dust vanishing into my palms.

An inhuman roar tore from my throat. My vision blurred, everything sharpening into a single focus: kill that elf!

I sprang forward, whip coiled like a viper. I lashed at him, again and again, my strikes raining down in a storm of metal and fury. He parried the barrage of whips with his dagger and kept backstepping towards the forest that lined the river. Most of my strikes found only his bronze cuirass or leather guards, but the ones that landed made him stagger. Still, he moved like a dancer, weaving and twisting out of reach, his smirk taunting me.

He reached into a pouch, pulling out a glowing blue vial. As he downed it, his speed doubled, and he sprinted toward the woods.

“Coward!” I snarled, chasing after him. Each step fueled by rage, I barely heard the pounding footsteps behind me or the frantic shouts.

“Astrid, stop!” Bianca’s voice broke through my haze.

I glanced back briefly to see her arriving with Slate and Crag, both burdened with buckets of dirt, presumably to smother the fires. Anika and Sophie followed on horseback, shouting warnings, their faces etched with alarm.

“Don’t follow him!” Bianca yelled. “You’ll be alone in the woods!”

But I was deaf to reason. My beehives were in those woods, and I would not let the elf destroy any more things I built and cared for.

“Get back here, you fricking coward!” I yelled.

Adrenaline carried me forward, past the trees. My eyes kept darting from one tree to the next, trying to find where he had gone.

Then suddenly, as if I crashed into a wall, I was stopped short by a searing pain in my right eye. I staggered, clutching at my face as blood blurred half my vision. Through the haze, I spotted him through my red vision—a man perched high on a tree branch, crossbow in hand, calmly reloading.

My fingers brushed the shaft of the bolt embedded in my face. The realization hit like a hammer: he’d got me in the eye.

He smirked, shouting something in a language I didn’t understand, his voice filled with mocking triumph. His crossbow pointed at the hand gripping my whip, a spell card glowing in his other hand as he activated it.

Then came the sound.

A low, rising hum that mushroomed into a deafening buzz. A dark, living cloud surged from the woods—thousands of tiny, black-and-orange bodies. My bees.

The swarm engulfed the crossbowman in seconds, their furious wings drowning out his curses. He flailed, his concentration shattered, and the bolt he loosed went wide, striking my shoulder and sinking just shallowly into my bronze chestplate.

The pain was instant and alien, a freezing burn that spread from the wound like frost creeping over skin. I gasped, my knees buckling, but I couldn’t look away.

The crossbowman lost his footing, slipping on the branch as he swatted at the relentless bees. With a sickening crack, he hit the ground, his neck twisted at an unnatural angle.

I barely registered the impact before the world tilted. The buzzing surrounded me, mingling with distant shouts—Bianca’s frantic screams and the elf’s gurgling cries as the swarm buried him in a black tide.

The pain in my shoulder and face became distant, my vision narrowing to a dark tunnel. The last thing I saw was the blur of orange and black wings before everything went dark.

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By the time I woke, I was inside Shelter Two. I recognized it through the haze of memory as our triage station. I lay on a stretcher, a fur blanket that felt like a lead anvil weighing my body down, a woman with graying brown hair beside me, praying softly as she clutched my left hand.

“Don’t you leave me too, Astrid. Oh, please, God. Take me instead. Please, just take me instead,” she sobbed, her voice breaking with despair.

My eyes peeked open, but my body felt numb. My muscles would not move on my command.

A short distance away, Ethan was tending to the wounded. I watched through lidded eyes, dazed, as he leaned over Aiden, carefully working an arrowhead free from the young man’s thigh. His tool—a strange cross of tongs and corkscrew. Sweat glistened on Ethan’s brow, but his hands stayed steady, unwavering as he drew out the last fragment and set to stitch the wound.

Somewhere nearby, Anika knelt by a trembling man, a woodburner from our village. His hands shook uncontrollably, and he recoiled slightly as she approached. Gently, she offered him a cup of tea. He managed a sip, but the cup slipped from his quivering hands and shattered on the floor. The crash sent him into a panic; he clutched his head and covered his ears, a whimpering cry escaping his lips. Anika stayed calm, speaking low and soothing, her hands hovering near but not touching, giving him space to feel safe.

He was one of many she comforted that day.

Sleep tugged me under again, surfacing only in snatches, and each time I woke, I could only catch glimpses, still numb, my limbs heavy. Ethan worked on another patient then—a girl around my age, with long blonde hair, beautiful in her fragile way. I didn’t recognize her from our village. She sat with one hand gripping her arm, her mouth a hard line, pain held back by the tightness of her expression.

Ethan murmured something, his voice calm and his manner gentle, as if he were soothing a trapped wolf. He held up a blue card before her, and then moved to examine a mark—possibly a bruise—at her collar. But she jerked back, swatting away his hands with a flash of defiance and panic before closing in on herself like a turtle retreating into its shell.

Without a word, he moved on to seek advice from another person, joining Anika as she tended to another injured man, both of them glancing back at the girl now and then. She had drawn in on herself, shivering, each sob tight and silent, as if she feared the sound would break something inside her. Together they gave her space and eventually, through meditation and translation, Anika managed to treat her.

Again, I would slip back into a daze.

Like the fading numbness after a dentist’s visit, my body slowly reclaimed its freedom. I felt my toes first, then my fingers stir, warmth spreading from them, a soothing comfort, as though a motherly hand held mine, wrapped in the quiet reassurance of something as familiar as the scent of baked cookies.

When Ruth felt my hand move against hers, she froze, eyes wide, then covered her mouth, tears streaking her face. “Thank the Lord. You’re alive! You’re alive, Astrid! You’re alive, you’re alive, you’re alive!”

A pained gasp escaped me as she pulled me into a hug, squeezing me tight.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Astrid,” Ruth mumbled, letting go as soon as she realized she’d hurt me.

“It’s okay,” I rasped, my mouth dry, each breath heavy and labored.

After giving a final warning to take it easy, Ethan made his way over to me, his face a mix of compassion and something else—pity. I could feel dread knotting in my chest.

“You’re up,” he said, trying to keep his voice light.

“It’s a miracle, Ethan. You’re a miracle worker,” Ruth exclaimed, still clinging to hope.

Ethan shook his head. “No, Astrid’s a strong girl. She wouldn’t die from something like this. What worried me more was the poison. Luckily, the Eldrins used sedatives instead of lethal toxins. I was worried there for a while.”

I swallowed, fear crawling up my throat. “My eye… did you save it?” I forced the words out, barely able to speak. I couldn’t bring myself to reach for my eye or bear to face the truth.

Ruth’s face crumpled, and she turned away, her sobs muffled as she placed her hands over her face. I looked at Ethan, my heart pleading for any sign of hope.

He sighed, his gaze drifting to the floor. “I’m sorry, Astrid. I couldn’t save your eye.”

“No,” I whispered, disbelief choking me. “Don’t you have some magic skill to fix it? You can fix it…”

Ethan’s eyes fell even lower. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re joking, right?” I snapped, my voice raw with desperation. “You have a class, don’t you? You can make it whole again, can’t you?!”

“The damage was too much,” Ethan murmured, his voice gentle but distant. “There was no way to save it. I’ll stay with you while you recover—”

“Useless! You’re fricking useless!” I shouted, cutting him off. “What can you even do, Ethan? Anyone can sew us up and shove potions down our throats! What can you do?!”

“She’s just angry, Ethan. Don’t take it personally,” Ruth whispered, her voice trembling with worry.

“Don’t speak for me, Ruth!” I hissed, the words harsher than I meant. “I’m not your dead son! Don’t live through me. Just… if you both can’t help me, just LEAVE ME ALONE!”

I pulled the blankets over my head, shrinking into myself, consumed by grief and fury. My mind spiraled. I couldn’t be seen like this. Not now. Not ever.

I’m deformed. They’ll never look at me the same. I’m a freak now, or worse, a charity case.

Tears filled my one good eye as I wept into the blankets. Thornhill may have won, but I felt like I had lost everything.