As the tribe members’ voices rose, a palpable sense of dread washed over the spectators of the delegation. I felt—truly felt—the weight of the entirety of Creation bearing down on me. It was immense, unfathomable, suffocating and uncaring, and I was reminded with undeniable certainty of my own insignificance.

The world around the chanters seemed to become… more. More in every way. The light shone brighter. The darkness deeper. The plants more vibrant. The colours multiplied. Even the rocks felt more solid. The whole of reality as I perceived it appeared to unfold into realms I could not—dared not—comprehend.

The sheer power channelled by the Chanters was enough to make even the imperial soldiers of our escort tremble with fear and doubt. I saw grown men cry and hardened veterans bite their lips bloody as colours drained from their faces.

As the ritual reached its apotheosis, the very space seemed to shimmer and warp, twisting and bending in response to the incredible, terrible magic being unleashed here. I lost track of my senses for a brief instant, and when I came to myself, warm rain was falling from a previously clear sky, nourishing the hard, frozen ground of the Shmavahal.

I will never forget what I experienced that day, that breathtaking and awe-inspiring display. However, it does leave me wondering as to the terrible price that must be paid to wield such magic.

­–an anonymous member of Emperor Anubhab’s peace delegations to the Dahathri tribes.

-

Remembrance 2, 2497 AK, Radiant Empire, Cleft Isles, Greyport, Industrial District

The silence felt like a lie after the intense violence the children had just escaped.

Kaydence could never get used to it—that unnerving stillness after battle, when the roar of men, the clash of steel, and the thunder of spells faded into nothing, an emptiness filled only by the cries of the wounded, and the suffocating quiet of the dead. The peace never felt real back then, either. The world was only taking a short breath before the next bloodshed.

She could handle the tension before a fight—facing the unavoidable. She thrived in battle—in the certainty of action. But after? When the blood started to dry, and the adrenaline ebbed, the weight of what came next bore down on her, of consequences and unpredictable futures, and rarely could she picture anything good happening.

Seifer’s father had called it a weakness, an unforgivable character defect—another disappointment in a long list coming from his younger son. “A wolf doesn’t lose sleep over the lives of sheep,” he liked to quote at them.

Kayden never had trouble sleeping.

Seifer had chosen to stop sleeping altogether.

Flames crackled softly through the debris-strewn street. Their roaring fury had dulled, yet the sprawled remains of the windmill burned on, bathing the area in a trembling glow and stretching long shadows across the cobblestone. Restless sparks floated upwards, soaring, dancing in the indifferent night sky and mingling with their elders, the stars. It was beautiful, almost serene—if one ignored the fire slowly spreading to the neighbouring buildings.

Maybe that man was right… Maybe I’m too short-sighted…

Kaydence wished she could sleep right now.

Her brief moment of peace was shattered by Sarmin’s alarmed cry.

“K-Kay! Y-Your hand!?”

The girl with the too-old mind sighed, exhaustion creeping down to her bones. Her fatigue exceeded the physical; she had burned through too much mana tonight. She might act invincible, but her reserves were not actually infinite.

“Didn’t I tell you to shut up?” she grumbled, forcing herself to stand. Every part of her body groaned in protest. Void. Is this what being my actual age feels like? Continuously regenerating that much damage had taken its toll. Her body felt numb, stiff and clumsy. Her head throbbed, her eyes refused to focus, and the ground seemed to pitch whenever she tried to stand still.

Her right arm had shrunk back to normal—but it had suffered greatly from her stunt. From her shoulder down, it was one big, ugly bruise. Red swelling traced her abused mana veins like infected roots across her skin. Angry stretch marks cut serrated paths through the purples and blues. Despite her magical reinforcements, her fingers were mangled and twisted where they had shattered against stone. The gruesome fractures were already fusing incorrectly.

I definitely overdid it. Kaydence grimaced painfully. For all her power and experience, right now, she hardly counted as a proper mage—more like a clumsy brute gripping a familiar greatsword by the wrong end and smacking people with the hilt. She had let her skill decay—voluntarily, in part—and never seriously trained her new body to handle her magic.

A quick assessment revealed that her reckless, improvised enhancements had left over a dozen malignant tumours throughout her arm muscles. Worn as she was, it would take days to reabsorb the growths and retrain her flesh to heal correctly. Normally, Kaydence would excise the cancerous parts and patch the holes afterwards, but her reserves ran too low for that sort of brute-force approach.

No way around it. With sickening cracks, she straightened her crooked fingers—rebreaking the bones as needed. Pebbles, splinters, and bone fragments had sunk deep into her regrowing flesh; she dug them out while her depleted magic struggled to knit the wounds back together. For once, she had to consciously steer the Life mana, using just enough to restore basic function to her arm and mask the worst of the damage. This’ll have to do for now.

Off to the side, Sarmin gaped at her with wide-eyed awe—though he looked a bit sickly green.

“Barf on me, Twig, and I’ll shove it back down your throat,” Kaydence warned flatly, causing the Half-Elf to swallow nervously. “Alright.” She flexed her stiff fingers—good enough—then jerked her head towards a lightless alley that led from the burning wreckage and spreading fires. “Let’s get out of here. This place’ll be crawling with guards before long.”

“O-Okay.” Sarmin nodded but hesitated, “W-What ab-b–about…”

Both of them looked to their third ‘companion.’ Thomas’s blackened body lay beside them, curled up like a mummified corpse. The bully’s out-of-control magefire had left him encased in a charcoal-like shell made of his calcinated flesh. His extremities were charred to the bone; his hair, nose, lips, ears, and eyelids were gone; his eyeballs might as well be too. Even with healing magic, he would be lucky to ever see again. Only the shallow rise and fall of his chest betrayed a semblance of life. Probably best he’s unconscious, Kaydence pondered.

Awake, the agony might have killed him.

“Leave him.”

“B-B-But–”

“Sarmin, shut the fuck up,” she snapped. “His father’s a Priest of Light. I’m sure the Temple’s got a healer who’ll patch him up.”

That was a lie. Kaydence had no clue. The bully might make a full recovery, or he might die before sunrise—or anything in between. She had ensured his survival until help reached him; the rest was off her hands. Even had she wished to do more, she was barely holding herself together. And Sarmin will need healing too.

“He’ll be fine,” she reaffirmed. “We, on the other hand, need to get the Void out of here. Now.” She grabbed the Half-Elf by the shoulder and yanked him along. “Use your brain, Twig. The smoke can’t have fried all of it. Who do you think they’ll blame for this? The city’s darling ‘prodigy’, future mage extraordinaire, son of a lector priest, who’s looking mortally wounded, or two creepy kids everyone hates?”

The tiny boy looked conflicted, but he let Kaydence lead him away quietly. Only inside the alley’s relative safety did he finally let out a wistful whisper, “Kay... Are you a mage, too?”

Kaydence turned abruptly and slammed Sarmin into a wall. The impact knocked the breath out of him. Gasping for air, eyes panicked, the boy tried to apologise, but Kaydence’s strong hand clamped over his mouth. “Quiet!” she hissed. Her red eyes narrowed—but not at him; they shifted back the way they had come.

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The noise of stomping boots and clinking chainmail was growing louder behind them.

“Mages, control the fire! Stop it from spreading!” The Guard captain’s familiar gravelly voice rang out, harsh and commanding. “Swords, secure the perimeter! Nobody leaves! Once the Wands give the all-clear, check for survivors inside!”

From the shadows, Kaydence watched, heart pounding, as what seemed like half the city garrison stormed past the mouth of their hiding spot. Among them, she spotted the two distinct silhouettes of Flynt and Carl. Wait…Wasn’t Flynt’s younger brother in Thomas’s group? This thought prompted a bitter twist in her gut, as she remembered the dead child in the fire. She clenched her teeth, hoping she was wrong.

Nobody deserved to find their family like that.

“Over here! There’s a body!”

“Where– By the gods, is that a kid?”

“He’s still breathing! Healer, now!”

Someone retched loudly.

More footsteps rushed toward the scene, followed by a breathless shout. “We need men at the other site! We caught a suspect!”

“Henson’s group, with him!” barked the captain. “Flynt, take your boys and search the alleys. There could be more hiding.”

Kaydence had heard enough.

“Run.” She grabbed Sarmin’s hand and bolted, moving as fast as she could without drawing attention. The smaller child stumbled after her in the near-complete darkness, terrified and tripping over his feet. He was not usually this clumsy. Is there something wrong with his ankle? After his third near fall, Kaydence halted abruptly and crouched with her back to him. “Get on. There’s no time.”

“Ehhh?” Sarmin breathed out in disbelief. A sliver of moonlight touched his pale face, betraying a blush as his gaze awkwardly flitted over their bare upper bodies—especially hers.

“Please. You’re ten.” Kaydence scoffed, her exasperation almost tangible. “There’s nothing to see. On either of us.” She was not wrong. Life magic had made a mess of her physiology. While she was certainly tall, it was her sour expressions that aged her past her years, not her figure. If anything, people would sooner mistake her for a baby-faced teenage boy.

Puberty was not something she liked to think about.

“Now, hurry up!” she urged, and Sarmin finally relented, climbing on. As his arms wrapped shakily around her neck, a sharp sting shot through Kaydence’s right shoulder.

“I’m n-not too h-heavy, a-am I?” the boy asked, noticing her flinch.

“Shut up. You’re just a twig—you weigh nothing,” Kaydence muttered, gritting her teeth and gripping his legs securely. “Are you even eating?” Sarmin stayed silent. He only tightened his hold, burying his face against her shoulder. Every distant shout, every clang of armour, every loud noise sent a fresh jolt of fear through him.

Kaydence stood, fighting to stay conscious. Her vision blurred, and her breath came in shallow rasps, puffing mist into the winter air. Her mana channels ached for rest, but she pushed through and recast her Shadow Cloak. The Dark mana seared icy trails through her veins, sending shakes into her limbs, and sweat pearled on her forehead despite the freezing cold.

“…Kay?”

“Hold on.” The shadows unfolded around them, forming an intangible shield against detection spells, and Kaydence broke into a fast jog, taking them away from the wreckage, the fire, and the incoming patrols. Darkness encroached at the edges of her sight. She was unsure how much longer she could keep going—but for now, they were still ahead.

That would have to be enough.

* * *

The house was dark and quiet. The only sounds were the groans of old timber, scattered shouts from outside, and the occasional drip from the cracked ceiling, splattering into a puddle on the wooden floor. The stench of stale air, old sweat, and spilt ale clung to everything. Empty bottles littered the floor, reflecting the thin slice of light that squeezed through ill-fitted shutters. The dull glow from the street’s magic lamps and the hearth’s embers were just enough to reveal the mess—overturned stools, dirty dishes piled in a basin, snuffed candles dribbling cold tallow off chipped furniture, dirty linens, and the limp bodies of a couple, asleep in a stupor, and a little boy.

The father’s sleeping breath came out in uneven grunts, his face half-buried in the stained straw mattress. His tunic, loose and soaked with sweat, clung to his gaunt frame. The mother’s clothes were almost undone and her heavy make-up smudged. On a small nearby bed, the boy curled into himself, his tiny chest rising and falling steadily. A faint whiff of smoke and roast meat still hung on them, remnants of the festival’s fires outside.

Sneaking through the clutter under the cover of darkness, a silent figure moved across the room. The floorboards barely gave under her deliberate steps, timed to the husband’s snores. Her breathing was tight, ribs still sore from the earlier escape. Reaching the wardrobe, she hesitated briefly before snatching two sets of clothing. She folded them under her arm and turned to leave.

The floor creaked loudly. The thief stilled, her muscles tense, watching for a stir from the family. The boy twitched, but did not wake. The mother rolled in her sleep. Heart pounding, the thief made her way back to a window. The shutters rattled softly as she pried them open. Outside, a dark alley lay silent. This house stood at a street corner, near the pleasure district, a stone’s throw away from Cliffside, its living quarters sitting atop a ratty potion shop.

Kaydence paused on the windowsill long enough to close the shutters before letting herself fall. The landing jarred her legs, but she did not let it show. “Here. Put those on.” She tossed the smaller set of clothes to Sarmin, who was hiding behind a crate.

He caught the bundle, but this little goodie-two-shoe hesitated. “S-Stealing is bad,” he stammered, glancing at her. His gaze held the faintest hint of judgment tinged with wariness.

“You’re welcome,” Kaydence huffed, already pulling the father’s tunic over her head. She gave it an unimpressed sniff. It reeked of stale sweat. “Or do you want to meet up with Lenril looking like you lost a fight with a wyvern hatchling?” Under her withering glare, the Half-Elf said nothing, quietly chewing his lip. “Didn’t think so.” She adjusted the ill-fitting clothes with a few sharp tugs before waving him over. “Come here. Let me fix your face… and the rest.”

Without waiting for Sarmin’s answer, she grabbed his shirt and dragged him deeper into the alley, before pushing him down onto an abandoned cart. Her hands cupped his bruised face roughly to inspect his injuries, making him wince, but he did not resist. Focusing on his swollen black eye, Kaydence let her magic flow, though sparingly. Her Life mana was still low. “It’ll sting for a while.” Once the surface damage was dealt with, she moved on to his other bruises, burns, sprained ankle, and missing patches of hair. “Try not to make it obvious.”

“Y-You can do m-m-magic,” Sarmin blurted out, awe in his voice. It was not a question, and as always, his admiration pissed Kaydence off. She hummed noncommittally, lifting his shirt to check the burn marks on his torso. “H-How?”

She sighed. “Didn’t you hear your friends? I’m a demon from the Void.”

“Th-They’re n-not my f-friends.”

“Didn’t deny the demon part, eh?” Kaydence mumbled, causing Sarmin to blush. “Could’ve fooled me, the way you followed them into that old windmill.”

“They g-grabbed me!” His voice rose, cracking in protest.

“And you didn’t fight back? Not even enough for Lenril to notice? I know he’s a cripple, but he’s still a bloody Elf.”

“Don’t t-t-talk about D-Dad like that!” Sarmin’s face flushed with anger in a rare flicker of defiance. Though he quickly looked away, embarrassed. “…I-I wasn’t near him.”

“Even dumber. You split from him? Why?”

Sarmin squirmed, his voice barely a whisper. “I was looking for you.”

Kaydence’s hands stilled. She felt that familiar tug in her chest—one she immediately shoved down—and sighed heavily. “Don’t do that… Nothing good will ever come off it.” She yanked his shirt back down and pulled him to his feet. “Come on,” she said flatly. “Let’s get you home.”

They walked in strained silence, the only sound the crunch of half-molten snow beneath their feet. The entrance to Cliffside soon came into view. Kaydence had debated bringing Sarmin back to the One-Eyed Bear, but she decided against it. She had an inkling Grizelda might be able to smell the blood and smoke off of them. Better to check their homes first.

The narrow path along the former quarry was almost deserted, a far cry from the daytime bustle. Exhaustion clung to Kaydence, her eyelids heavy, her steps missing her usual predatory grace. Her boot slipped on a patch of slushy snow, and she stumbled dangerously close to the canyon’s edge. She caught herself just in time, her heart racing as she stared into the yawning drop.

“K-Kay?” Sarmin’s cautious voice interrupted her dark thoughts again.

“What?” she snapped, her patience wearing thin.

“Can you teach me?”

Kaydence’s footsteps halted. Slowly, almost too slowly, she turned to the Half-Elf, her tone dangerously flat. “Teach you what, Sarmin?”

He met her gaze, his both hopeful and hesitant. “Magi–” The word never crossed his lips before Kaydences hand shot out and gripped his throat.

“You seem to be under a misunderstanding, Sara.” She walked deliberately towards the path’s edge, slowly pushing him closer to the black abyss. Sarmin’s toes scrabbled for purchase on the slick rock, his hands weakly clawing at her wrist—in vain. Her grip was like steel. Her blood-red eyes bore into him, cold and distant—almost as empty as the void behind him. “We are not friends. I saved you because your death would be a nuisance to me. I don’t care about you. I don’t owe you a thing. Do you understand?”

Sarmin’s breath came in short, panicked gasps. “B-But–”

“B-B-But? Is that all you can say?!” Her pupils narrowed into furious reptilian slits. “Look at me,” she hissed, her voice sharp as broken glass. “Look. At. Me!”

He gaped back with abject terror.

“That’s right. That’s the look,” Kaydence sneered, tightening her grip just enough to make him choke. “Scared? You should be. This is what magic does to a person. You saw it with your buddy Thomas, too. You felt what it did to you. So, Void help me, if your takeaway from tonight is that magic’s ‘awesome’ and you can’t wait to try, I might just drop you now. Save us all the trouble of another demon in the making.”

Though she glared at him, her gaze was a thousand yards away. At the back of her mind, she could again hear the roar of the flames and wails of the dying, smell the acrid stench of smoke, and taste burning flesh on her tongue.

Sarmin’s eyes filled with tears, his grip on her wrist waning, but he did not look away. He did not beg, did not plead. He just stared at her, terrified but unyielding—so out of character for the meek little boy. Something about that look stirred more old memories, some not quite so horrible but no less bitter. Kaydence heard a faint, ghostly giggle echo like crystal bells in the distance.

Suddenly, Sarmin let go, leaving himself dangling in her grasp over the cliff’s edge. His clear eyes seemed to dare her to drop him. They claimed this was more than a childish whim—that he would not back down, even for her.

What’s gotten into him? For a long, tense moment, Kaydence held him there.

Eventually, she released a low, weary sigh and threw him back onto solid ground, away from the ledge. “Of all the hills to die on... Fine. I’ll teach you the basics. Nothing more. But if you breathe so much as a word of it, to anyone, I’ll bury your corpse somewhere no one will ever think to look.”

She turned and began walking again, her pace brisk, never looking back.

Sarmin lay still for a moment, rubbing his sore throat, then quietly stood and followed. His footsteps were soft, his posture wary, and his heart still racing.

But a faint, satisfied smile played on his lips.

* * * * *