“Some people… just deserve a good kick to the nards.”

“Milady, a glass of water, perhaps?”

“Shu’ up! I’m perfectly shober!”

“I don’t think–”

“Seriously! I hope that guy trips face-first into… into skunk droppings!”

“But talking this way about His Highness–”

“I said, SHhhhu’UT UP!! Hey! Barkeep! Another bottle! An’ none of that elven piss water, ‘kay!”

“Milady…”

—conversation between Lady Milisandia Tamsin, Captain in the Imperial Guard of the Radiant Empire, and one of her subordinates, allegedly talking about Prince Jasper Nezir, 2493 AK.

–

Rest 29, 2497 AK, Radiant Empire, Cleft Isles, Greyport’s outskirts.

Some cities see their fortune ebb and flow on the volatile waters of history. At times prosperous, at times destitute, their rock bottoms could lay the foundations for a new golden age.

Not Greyport.

It had been two millennia since the city amounted to anything worthwhile, and as far as Kaydence could tell, this cesspit was quite satisfied with wallowing in its decay. The place barely deserved the title of “city.” It lacked the stature. It lacked the population. It lacked the ambition.

Greyport was a boil, a festering pustule, a gangrened beast clutching to life even though its entrails had long rotten. It huddled in fright behind thick walls as decrepit as it was. Generations of imperial dukes had neglected their fortifications, too confident in their enchanted wards, too far removed from the chastising arm of the Imperial Inspectorate, and all too happy to pocket the maintenance funds for themselves.

Few people lived in Greyport, and fewer lived well.

The Grey Woods crept to the town’s doorstep, surrounding it. The city was once a pirate haven, and no ground was ever reclaimed for agriculture. Only the nearest great ashes were cut down to prevent damage from a freak fall. Any expansion would require a costly upgrade of the wards’ range—lest beasts and monsters destroy the crops and devour the farmers—and nobody was eager to foot that bill.

This lack of self-sufficiency left the common folk at the mercy of imports, suffering inflated rates that wounded the economy and suffocated the poor. To survive, many had to rely on hunting, gathering, or what little produce they could squeeze out of a tiny vegetable patch, a handful of underfed chickens, and a couple of mangy goats—or perhaps an unlucky rat, cat, dog or seagull passing by.

Thanks to Lenril’s hunting, Kaydence’s family was spared from eating vermin. However, she and Sarmin still had to scour the woods for herbs, roots, and berries. Some were to cook and some for Annet to sell at the marketplace.

Well, Sarmin gathered herbs. Kaydence… supervised.

Returning after another successful day of foraging, the children trekked back across the cold, snowy forest as evening darkness slowly settled in. Eventually, the town’s ramparts came into view—twenty feet of grey stone, cracked and overgrown with frosted vine. Shingled roofs and fuming chimney pots peeked above the crenellations. If, at first glance, the wall seemed like a poor defence against the monsters of the deep woods, it was because serving as a physical obstacle was not its primary purpose.

Kaydence and Sarmin had made good time on the return trip—meaning they ran.

“Nothing beats a good hike in the woods to get refreshed! Ain’t that right, Sara?” The tall girl set a brutal pace and would jog back to kick Sarmin’s butt whenever he faltered. The tiny half-elf was on his last legs, stumbling on the verge of total breakdown, both physically and mentally.

“Please… I’m… d… dying…”

“You’ll be fine. You’re still conscious!”

Reaching the dirt road, Kaydence abruptly snatched her bag back from him. Her yank nearly threw the exhausted boy to the ground. Unsteady, he hopped on one foot, arms paddling the air for balance. After recovering, he stood bent over, holding his side and mumbling unhappily, his breath short.

“Hmm, what’s that?” Kaydence cupped her ear while shouldering her bag. “Are you complaining about my kindness, Twig? I’m trying to toughen you up, you know?”

“S-S-Sorry!”

“Better!” Kaydence’s back-slap catapulted the boy forward, but she caught him by his pack before he could face-plant into the mud. “And stop hunching! Girls don’t like hunchbacks!”

“What’s with you and girls?” Despite his grumbling, the half-elf straightened his posture reflexively.

“You’ll understand when you’re hairier.”

“What does that mean?”

“You ask a lot of questions for someone supposedly tired.” A predatory grimace uncovered Kaydence’s white teeth, with canines slightly too sharp. Her red eyes gleamed dangerously. “Maybe I’m not pushing you hard enough?”

The half-elf’s fair face turned even whiter. “N-n-no! I mean– p-please, Kay. I’ll really d-d-die!”

“Hmmm…” The girl resumed walking. “I wonder about that…”

“P-Please! M-M-Mercy!”

Kaydence continued tormenting the pleading boy until they reached the city gates.

A line had formed outside the gatehouse—chiefly local hunters and gatherers returning home for the night, but also a group of travellers under escort by stern-looking mercenaries. Besides Greyport, the island possessed a handful of smaller towns and villages. However, a trip between them was never without risk. Ward stones lined the roads to keep monsters away, but they could not compare to Greyport’s Grand Wards. Their magic was weaker and prone to failing—hence the need for armed protection.

Kaydence evaluated the queue and the sun’s position. They would make it in time, unless the guards decided to raise a fuss. Her gaze lingered on the mercenaries, noting the distinctive one-eyed half-masks they wore. Members of the Eyes of Mahud… That’s a bad omen. The itinerant battle priests of the Deity of Chaos were unlikely to start trouble on their own, but their presence in an area usually meant turmoil was afoot anyway. Kaydence did not like that, not to mention her personal bias against any servant of the Twelve Gods.

Unfortunately, there was little she could or should do about it. Putting the masked people out of her mind, she eyed the guards manning the gate—and grimaced. Void. She recognised these two. The tallest one, especially, was more than likely to cause problems.

In the corner of her sight, she spotted Sarmin pulling his hood up.

She slapped it back down. “Don’t hide your ears. Your ancestors were the damn best assassins and guerrilla fighters on the continent. So act proud, and don’t cower before those morons. Their kind smells weakness like sharks smell blood. Hasn’t dealing with me taught you shit?”

“B-B-But–”

“No ‘b-b-buts’.” Kaydence rolled her eyes. “They’re not going to kill you.”

“W-What about e-e-everything else they m-might do?”

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

“Worry more about what I’ll do to you if you keep whining like a little bitch.”

Sarmin’s reddened ears dropped down. “…s-so mean…”

Kaydence ignored his anxious mumbles as they joined the queue. Dour looks fleeted to them, lingering disapprovingly on Sarmin’s pointed ears and Kaydence’s dark skin and red eyes. One murderous glare from her had these people quickly averting their gazes, turning instead to whispering among themselves.

I can hear you, fools. But Kaydence disregarded their hushed insults. If these superstitious yokels wanted to freak out over a half-baked elf sprout and a preteen girl with weird eyes, she had no breath to waste educating them. They know nothing of true monsters. Nothing. A haunted look ghosted through her eyes.

For a heartbeat, she was elsewhere. Fiery behemoths swooped down from the sky. Entire forests rose as living wooden titans. Serrated maws opened in the ground to swallow armies whole. Mountains disappeared in a blinding flash and the roar of thunder.

Kaydence exhaled shakily and balled her quivering hands into fists.

They know nothing at all.

For all its lethargy, decay and corruption, this era was one of peace. And as much as it gutted Kaydence to admit, things were probably better this way.

Seeking a distraction, she looked up at the vine-swathed wall, shaded by the low angle of the westward-sinking sun. The outer stone layer was cracked, mortar chipped and blocks missing. In places, the rampant vegetation seemed to be all that held the rampart together. However, there was decent runework under the decrepitude—old letters etched into the stone, each channelling a rivulet of arcane power. These enchantments added invisible structural support and defences to the wall. Without them, things would have been much worse.

Kaydence had misgivings about modern runescript. She found it stiff, constricting, and overly simplistic. Yet she had to concede it lent itself well to large-scale, repetitive works. Back in Seifer’s days, if someone had suggested engraving the entire rampart of a city with runic enchantments, they would have been laughed out of the room. It was much easier and more effective to cast a grand warding spell and hook it onto an adequate power source.

Greyport had both. Despite being such a shithole, Kaydence huffed, though she was begrudgingly impressed. It fanned her curiosity for the rest of the Empire—a feeling she was quick to quash. Fellate a donkey, Kayden. I don’t care about your little vanity project. Thinking about it, she would not put it past the vain bastard to bring her back to life only to gloat about his accomplishments. “Hey, look, little brother, I made a prosperous empire. How many good things did you accomplish with your life? Oh, right… None.”

Kaydence was almost glad when the moving queue brought them to the sneering gatekeepers. Almost. The pair had very punchable mugs, and the urge to beat up these fools was far more manageable than the pit of aimless rage and guilt festering in her soul.

“Well, well. Carl, look who it is. The demon and her long-eared pet.” The tallest guard laughed at what he must have thought was an excellent joke. His partner, a broad, dull-eyed man, echoed his chuckles.

Kaydence flatly met his scornful gaze. Her memories of her own birth were vague. Small blessings. But she clearly remembered the young dolt who insulted her eyes—and had since continued buzzing around her mother like an insufferable, lusty mosquito. “Haha. Yes. Very funny, Flynt. Can we go in?” Without waiting for an answer, she made to walk through the open gates.

The man’s raised hand stopped her.

“Empty your bags.”

Kaydence counted slowly to three before turning to him. “Come on, Flynt. It’s only some herbs.” Her answer only deepened the man’s sadistic smirk. He straightened to his full height—no doubt seeking to intimidate her.

Flynt’s once gangly frame had filled out with muscles after he outgrew his awkward adolescence and joined the city guard. Yet for all his new brawn, his weaselly face remained, and the guard uniform somehow failed to add any gravitas to his character. The chainmail tunic and grey-black tabard bearing the province’s symbol—a stylised ash tree—only made him look like a common thug playing dress-up.

Admittedly, that held true for most of Greyport’s guards.

“Yeah, well,” Flynt drawled sarcastically. He winked at his partner and rested a hand on the pommel of his scimitar, hanging at his waist. “Can’t be too careful with tricky long ears and demons of your sort. Ain’t I right, Carl?”

“Sure thing, Flynt.” The other nodded dumbly. “Just doing our job.”

Sarmin whimpered and pulled his hood up. Kaydence quietly seethed. Keep your mouth shut, she told herself and took a discrete calming breath. They’re not worth it.

Flynt sneered smugly. “See? Like he said. Nothing personal. Be glad already I don’t nick your ass for resisting inspection, demon. But I wouldn’t want to cause Miss Annet any more bother. Poor gal. Shame such a pretty little sweetling like her was cursed with a monster like you. Ruined her as a woman, it did. Ain’t I right, Carl?”

“Sure thing, Flynt.”

A vein bulged on Kaydence’s forehead, and her mouth opened before she could stop herself. “Cute comedy routine, Flunk. Are you and your boyfriend planning a double-act skit at the festival, with the other jesters?” She regretted her words instantly, even though it was pleasant to see Flynt’s stupid smirk crumple and his face redden with humiliation.

“Watch your word, demon. Or else–”

“Or else what?” Kaydence interrupted. She took one step forward. Her unusual appearance and sheer presence were enough to make people around her retreat—Flynt included. Despite knowing this was a bad idea, Kaydence struggled to contain her anger now that it had found an outlet. “Why so crabby, Flunk? Did Grizelda catch you harassing the serving girls at the Bear again? Or did you finally realise most women want more in life than a man with bad breath who can’t keep it up?”

Flynt’s red cheeks darkened further. His bloodshot eyes whipped around, trying to catch who in the queue had noticed his moment of weakness. His embarrassment quickly turned to anger. Like a cornered rat baring its fangs, he pulled his curved sword half out of his scabbard.

“Oooh? Is the demon threatening me, Carl? I feel pretty threatened right now. I probably should defend myself.” He fixed Kaydence, unblinking, his pupils narrowed to pinpricks. His thumb nervously rubbed his weapon’s handle, and the tip of his tongue licked his chapped lips. He suddenly seemed eager for her to try something, his desire for violence almost palpable. Even the dull Carl stiffened, ready to back his colleague.

Cursing her short fuse, Kaydence took another calming breath. Great. Who’s the dullard now? She stomped her anger down. While burning these two to a crisp would have been cathartic, the fallout was not worth it. At least, that was what she told herself repeatedly. Outwardly, her face turned back to a blank mask. She unshouldered her bag and unbuttoned the top flap, showing off the content. “See? Just some herbs.”

“I don’t know…” Flynt suddenly snatched the bag from Kaydence’s grip. She could have resisted. She was stronger than him. But a tug-of-war would have ripped the seams of the cheap backpack. “I should make sure there’s no illegal substances in there. Right, Carl?”

For once, the other stayed quiet, content with acting silently threatening.

Then Flynt emptied the bag on the ground. All the plants Sarmin had carefully sorted and packed away tumbled out and splattered into the mud. Kaydence watched it happen as if time had slowed down. Humming and ostensibly focused on his “search,” Flynt started shuffling through their harvest with his dirty boot, dragging the herbs across the muck. Bastard. Kaydence shivered wrathfully. Unbidden, visions of flames, burning cities, and charred corpses crept into her crimson eyes.

It’d be so easy…

Hisses and crackles whispered at the back of her mind. Her fingers jerked, tiny sparks dancing hidden in the palm of her hand.

A weak tug at her shirt snapped her out of it. Kaydence blinked down to discover Sarmin’s small, trembling hand clutching her clothes. The boy’s pleading eyes met hers. Kaydence frowned back, her anger still smouldering. After a tense moment, she sighed, suddenly feeling exhausted. “Don’t touch me,” she hissed and snatched her shirt back from the whimpering half-elf.

She gazed past him. More people had joined the queue behind them, and they were starting to grumble at the delay. Raising her voice, Kaydence shouted, “Wow! Is it the city guard’s new hobby to harass little kids who can’t even fight back?” The discontent mumbles immediately rose louder, condemning the guards’ actions and making Flynt finally look up from his trashing of their belongings.

Oh, sure. Now the dunces are reacting. Kaydence rolled her eyes, exasperated. It was okay to spit on her and Sarmin usually. But as soon as it caused them the slightest inconvenience, these people suddenly turned into protectors of the weak and defenceless. Don’t make me laugh.

“That’s not–” Flynt’s flushed face contorted, and his bloodshot eyes gained another notch of crazy. “You ingrates! Someone has to protect you innocent folk from cursed monsters like her!” he shrieked, pointing at Kaydence, his spit flying abundantly in her face.

“Right, sorry.” She wiped a wet glob off her cheek. “I’ll be sure to burst into flames the next time I go to church for school. Holy ground and all that.” Her retort, again, came out despite her better judgement, and she watched, frustrated, as Flynt’s face reddened further, edging dangerously close to purple.

“Impertinent little whore!” He slapped her.

His backhand was clumsy; Kaydence could have easily dodged it, or caught it. She chose not to. He could not hurt her with his measly human strength. He would have to use his sword to even stand a chance.

Children were not supposed to have magic—not the young ones, at least. It was a talent that naturally only manifested in humans as they reached their teens. Prior to that, overexposure to arcane powers in one’s early childhood could easily lead to physical deformities, sickness, mental ailments, and death. Kaydence was a prime example of the first. Among the powers that had followed her soul in this life, the rampant Life magic inside her had unevenly accelerated her growth and strengthened her body beyond the reasonable. Only the former Demon King’s arcane mastery had spared her from coming out as a misshapen horror… again.

Flynt’s slap reached her, and she leaned away, accompanying the movement of his hand—not to spare herself pain, but to prevent the idiot breaking his knuckles on her face. Barely.

Flynt gasped in pain when his hand connected. Shaking his fingers, he looked around, ashamed and confused. The increasingly discontent crowd glared back, and Kaydence could not resist mockingly raising her eyebrow. Furious, the guard spat on the ground and threw Kaydence’s empty bag at her feet. “Take your crap and get out of my sight!”

Without another word, Kaydence stiffly gathered as much of their soiled harvest as she could salvage and shoved it inside her bag in a rough pile. Then she ducked past the two gatekeepers, under the raised portcullis, and through the open gates, pausing just long enough to confirm Sarmin followed without incident. Flynt’s mad, bloodshot glare trailed them until he turned to his colleague.

“Elves, dwarves, demons… Pah! We should just rid the city of that filth.”

“Sure thing, Flynt.”

They were whispering, but Kaydence’s sharp ears caught his words all the same. Sarmin’s did as well, judging how the half-elf flinched and curled upon himself.

Before the small boy caught up, Kaydence spun around and walked off. “Hurry up. We’ve wasted enough time as it is.”

“S-S-Sorry,” Sarmin hiccupped sadly.

“Why are you apologising again?” She growled. “Grow a fucking spine.”

“S-Sorry.”

Void, I want to burn something. Looking up at the darkening sky, Kaydence stomped into the city of Greyport.

* * * * *