BURST

I cannot err. My choice is set in stone, written into time as but a single word of our verse. I cannot look back. For the mob stalks my every step, bloodthirsty, cross and stakes ready at hand. Fury needs no rhyme nor reason—it goes where it pleases, free of poetic meter, defiant to verse and its structure. Fury writes its own truth, casts its own heroes, and gives them villains to crush.

What scares me the most is that fury spreads like a plague. Fury is the easy road. Fury imprisons the lamb in a cell, deep underground, so the town above may sap its joy and know peace. Anyone will do. Anyone at all. A lamb to bear the blame.

Had I chosen differently then, that lamb might have been me. But fury averted eventually wraps around, and now demands not one, but two.

- Letter from the chapel (dated Banwa 32, author unknown)

EVIE

The instruments wavered, the sonar melting the air as Oracle pulsed it repeatedly. I pulled up, levelling the ship, and finally I could see trees whipping past metres below us. The taller ones scraped the hull, forced to kneel.

“They’re ahead. A large convoy of over two hundred, marching in step. The Progenitor is in the vanguard.”

“Is she alive?”

“This is sonar, not magic. We cannot tell from this distance.”

You cannot die. You must not. It would be too cruel, too absurd. I pushed the stick forward, pitching down, lower to the ground, sending us through the trees. The hull razed them like a knife through flesh.

“What are you doing?!” Oracle’s voice turned shrill.

“You said I did not stand a chance against them. Then, I must thin the horde.”

Through the windshield, a great shadow loomed on the ground ahead: the convoy. They had stopped in a clearing, frightened by the howling behind them. I pulled back slightly on the throttle, decelerating, and angled a pair of auxiliary thrusters directly below us. I dipped the hull even lower, approaching them, and for a moment I could see their faces, frozen in shock and awe, their mouths gaping at the iron chariot that had descended from on high. A moment later they turned to pink mist as Mobius’s hull scraped the ground, grinding them into pulp, tearing a swathe of blood through the convoy. Those unlucky enough to survive the initial impact were burnt to ash by the auxiliary thrusters. I banked portside, swinging the wing like a blade, goring any stragglers.

“Stop! You’re nearing the vanguard!” Oracle warned. I pulled up on the stick and raised the ship. The convoy had broken rank behind us and scattered like hysterical ants, struck by the fear of God. I sent the ship flying over the vanguard and pitched back down, reversing the thrusters and swinging around to face them. The hull slammed into the ground, almost knocking me unconscious. I leapt out of my seat, rushed down the corridor, picked up my sword and jumped out of the emergency hatch, landing on a bed of soft snow below. No human—no mortal—could fathom the devastation before me: a huge field of black ash, burnt carcasses and torched blood stretched far and wide. In front of it I saw the vanguard—a group of soldiers, one holding you, while the priestess stood next to him. Your robes were trailing blood.

“Stop!” the priestess yelled. Her eyes were wide, drawn between you and I, unable to tell the difference. She looked up at me. “Are you Her? You must be—Her on High, rider of the winged beast!”

I inhaled sharply, my lungs icing over. “No. No! That’s the woman bleeding to death with you!”

Her eyes narrowed. “No. It cannot be. You have come with your iron chariot, while she came with nothing. She bled and crumpled like the mortal that she is. She deceived us all—while you are Her in truth, bringing your superlative might to bear.” She turned to look at the massacre behind her. “This is the work of a weapon worthy to be called miracle.”

The veins in my temple snapped. It was ironic, almost—she had gone from believing me divine, to casting me out as a fraud, and back full circle—but only because she had mistaken me for you, our faces identical. There was no time left to waste; not while you lay crippled and bleeding. I lunged like an animal, my sword drawing an arc in the snow as it trailed behind me. The others in the vanguard stumbled backwards and fell, cowed into submission by Mobius’s looming shadow behind me, save for the beast in the middle, encased in steel—a knight. He dropped you from his arms and drew a claymore from behind his back, wide and obsidian, like space cut to length and folded over itself a thousand times. He means to kill me.

I traced the range of his blade in my mind and skirted its edge, taking stance, my grip firm around the hilt of my sword. I could not contest from here—his sword would cleave me in two before I could even get close. Before either of us could attack, the priestess screamed. “What are you doing?! She is a God! You dare raise your blade against her?”

The man kept his eyes trained on me. “God or no, she just decimated my battalion. That, I cannot forgive.”

“Decimated? That—she just performed a miracle—”

He backhanded her, sending her sprawling into the snow. “Shut up. We came here on your orders, not to be massacred, but to restore at least a crumb of faith in your authority. Do you expect me to return empty-handed, with neither my men nor the girl? Do you intend to turn the Guard into a laughingstock just like you and your chapel?”

She sat up, her face covered in dirty snow, and spat blood. “The Guard were the ones responsible for keeping her in gaol! It was your incompetent soldier who let her escape and pulled that ridiculous trick, posing his dead sister as the Child of God!”

“And we dealt with him accordingly.”

“The fact that that happened at all is a joke! Do not assume the townspeople are blind to your incompetence!”

He scowled and gripped his blade, his sanity a thread stretched taut and fraying. “I don’t care who’s who anymore. I will bring back the Child of God and burn her myself if that’s what this town needs.”

He lunged at me, swinging his claymore in a vertical arc, its tip trailing a black thread. I leapt to my right just as it slammed into the ground next to me, spraying us with snow. He turned it sideways and swung again—I jumped back as it narrowly missed my ankles. My mind was a crystal ball, clear, my sight fish-eyed and tunnelling on his blade, black against the snow.

He bore down on me, his claymore moving far quicker than one should. He sacrificed his range advantage by lunging aggressively at me like this, but to exploit that was easier said than done. I continued to trace a circle around him, dodging when I could. The terrain sometimes left me no choice but to parry, each monstrous blow chipping my blade and numbing my wrist through the hilt. Every warrior and his sword plays a duet, their song made of each stroke and slash, modulated by their footwork and balance. This beast of a man and his midnight sword screamed, not sang—but their performance stank of death, raged like the howls of an old beast looking for a place to die. All I could do was wait for it to end.

The stalemate lasted for a while. I could tell his movements were growing sluggish. My arc around him spanned a bigger circle than his in the middle. He was dizzy, and the brunt of having to angle his sword each time was taking its toll—I could tell. He was perhaps not used to drawn-out duels against opponents who refrained from attacking. He fights with honour. I drew closer, tightening my arc, until I could count the rivets in his plate. He raised his sword for another blow. I ducked sideways—he can’t catch up. He’s falling behind! I leapt past him, slashed his torso and spun away to recover. A glancing blow that gashed his plate. Meanwhile, I have nothing but these robes.

Infuriated, he resumed his onslaught, while I continued to poke holes in his defence, frustrated by each glancing blow. My blade would not last much longer. There were gaps in his armour, but how was I supposed to reach them? It was suicide to even try.

I sidestepped another vertical slash, but this time, he followed through with a horizontal sweep, not wasting time pivoting the blade. Its flat side slammed into my torso, cracking a rib. Pain seared down my chest and left shoulder, and for a moment I thought he might recover and cleave me in two.

His attack threw him off-balance, however—he had squeezed two into the span of one. His grip loosened, the tip of his sword faltering as his body reeled for balance. Now! I stepped forward—one step, then another as I cut upwards. My blade pierced the gap between arm and torso and tore through soft flesh. The same consistency as boar meat. He howled in pain, blood leaking through gaps in his plate as he glowered at me. I backstepped, waiting for his next move.

“Give up,” I said. “I am not here to kill you. Return her to me. That is all I ask.”

He spat and looked up at me. “Yours is a stance I have never seen. You wield your sword like a needle threading gaps.”

“Enough! I did not come here to discuss swords. Hand her over!”

He looked down at you, his eyes despondent through the grill of his visor. Then, he took one hand off his weapon and picked you up. He can hold that thing with one hand? I lunged towards him, but froze when he tipped his sword, holding its point at your neck. “Drop your sword,” he threatened. “Don’t think I need the girl alive. Anyone would recognise her—alive or dead.” A bead of blood formed where his obsidian blade pressed against your throat. The woman in white panicked, but we both ignored her screams.

Aghast, I stood there, unable to move. I was helpless, just as I had been when I watched him skewer you earlier. He’s too far—I cannot cut him down before he runs his blade through your throat. It’s physically impossible. My hand trembled. Even if they mean to kill you later, I can at least buy time. If you die here, all is lost.

I loosened one finger, then another. Then, the air began to churn and thicken, the falling snow hanging still in the air. Mobius? I did not dare turn to look, but I knew this sound. The sonar—it’s spooling up. Sonar capable of locating not just people, but distant stars. The air hummed in anticipation. I braced, closing my eyes, just as a massive pulse bathed us, wrapping my organs in tight, snaking fingers that threatened to squeeze. I had felt this many times from within the ship, but never to this extent—Oracle must have diverted additional power to the sonar.

The air thinned. I opened my eyes. You were on the ground, the soldier dazed and reeling above you. There was no time to hesitate—I dashed forward, drew my sword and anchored one foot firmly in front of him, pivoting around it as I thrust my sword into the thin gap between his helm and torso. It skewered his neck, severing his spine; the crunch of his bones rattled my sword. His body went limp, its weight dragging my sword down with it. I pulled it out as he crumpled to the ground, drawing blood and gore from the wound. His eyes twitched rapidly, desperate, clinging to life.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

He gurgled, choking on the blood that spouted from his torn throat. His fingers reached up, trembling in shock, weakly grasping at his collarbone, at his bare, split neck, reaching for something that was not there. His hands struggled to stem the flow, forcing what little that did not spray through his fingers back into his throat so he could gulp it and taste life. He sucked on his fingers, desperately lapping up and swallowing blood, chips of bone, and the metal and rust of my blade. "Mobius," he rasped suddenly, looking up at me. Then, his eyes stopped twitching. The shock passed like the shadow of a cloud. He looked thankful, almost. He looks at me like the cityfolk did, awestruck, believing in a miracle. Then his eyes fluttered shut and he drooped to the ground. Dead.

The air stilled and all went quiet, save for Mobius’s falling hum. My ears twitched, straining to locate the whistle of metal slicing air, but there was nothing—I had killed him, and the rest of the vanguard had fled during our battle. I was safe. His claymore lay beside him in the snow. I killed him. I did not reason with him, but cut him down like prey. Brute force is so simple. One stroke, and the fear that had loomed heavy till now split, hollow. I was disappointed. This must be what the priestess felt as she shoved me out of the closet and saw me fall like a hapless child.

The priestess scrambled over on her hands and knees, reaching for his neck, staining her gloved fingers in crimson blood. It flowed from his jugular in spurts that slowed as his heart struggled to beat. “No… no. Why would you do this? Why would you cut him down?” She looked up at me, pleading. “Heal him… save him, please. This expedition cannot end like this.”

“He’s dead,” I said, my face drawn taut, watching the pool of blood spread towards me. “Hand her over.” I pointed my sword at her.

“No. No! You don’t understand. The town is in chaos. Plague tears us from within. They swarm the chapel, not to beg, but to burn us to the ground. They need hope.”

“You cast out the Child of God, mocking her as an impotent mortal. How does anyone find hope in that?”

She narrowed her eyes and stood, trembling. “We operate on faith. It does not heal from outside, like a balm—rather, it spreads in us like warm wine and moves us from within. We mistakenly placed our faith in her—an impostor! It was her corrupting presence that ruined the town. And just before we could judge and execute her, she fled!” She took a step towards me, her boots steeped in blood. “A simple young girl with no divine power whatsoever breaking out of the city gaol. They mocked us, ridiculed us, said we were a waste of tax and tithes. Then the plague hit, and they blamed us again!” She sobbed into her hands, the blood staining her cheeks. She gripped my frayed cloak, looking up at me. Your hands—they’re small. Thin and supple, unlike mine. “They need a target; a cross to bear their sins. Don’t you understand? Evil, misery, grief—they need a source. A seed that we can stamp out. How can we breathe if evil stains the very air we breathe, smothering us like a cloud? How can we live without a demon to curse?” Her eyes trembled wide open, dyed in the pale amber of a dying sun.

Her words doused me like freezing water. Once again, they seek me to play a role for them; to dance on the stage they have set. First as a deity, and now as a scapegoat. Let me show her the weight of her sin. “She is not the Child of God—I am. She is the Progenitor—no, God herself.”

Her face went pale. “No… that cannot be. The Child of God came to Garder unarmed—”

“But the myths spoke of her sword, no?” I tightened my grip around its hilt.

“But… we followed the pipes, scoured the area… she was the one who stepped out first! She could not have fled further than that cave. And the Child of God was never said to have flown the winged beast!”

“She lived in that cave, and I met her there. She taught me to pilot Mobius.”

Her voice shook, thin and hoarse. “You lie.”

“On Elsmeade, we stood together atop the chapel’s tallest turret. I watched you light fireworks, sending them streaking into the air, up into the stars.”

Her eyes looked further, deeper into mine, her pupils dilating in recognition. Her mouth gaped, unable to breathe. Then, she rushed back to you, kneeling by your side, her palm against your wound. “She’s… she’s immortal, so why? Why does she bleed like this?”

I shoved her aside, kneeling and checking your vitals. You were unconscious but alive, barely, your pulse languid. I sheathed my sword and picked you up, but your limp body weighed twice its weight. “Help me,” I hissed, taking your arms. “Grab her legs!”

The priestess, still dizzy with shock, nodded stiffly and lifted your legs. Together we crabwalked back to Mobius who lifted us into its hull. She turned and stared, awestruck by the metal interior as well as Oracle hovering nearby. “Bring her to the cryogenic chamber, immediately,” he ordered.

*

You weighed almost nothing as I laid you gently in the pod like a baby in a cradle. I touched your face, your nude body pale like a corpse. Glass slid from slits on either side, covering you. “Oracle. How is she?”

“Her blood has almost run dry and there is severe damage to her organs and spine.”

I gulped. “These pods can raise the dead, can’t they?”

“They can. Repairing physical damage, however, takes time.”

“How much?”

“A long time. I cannot say. Longer than we might spend on Concord, maybe.”

“Evie?” you said, your eyes finally open but half-dead.

“I’m here. You’re safe now. We’re inside Mobius.”

“Mobius? Good… stay here. It’s safer.”

“It’s safe for you! That’s what matters!” I held my breath, trying to restrain my anger.

Ice crystallised on your skin, claiming you as though you were already a frozen corpse. “Listen. Mobius is yours now. I can trust you with it, can’t I?”

“No… you’re its pilot.”

“I’m dead, Evie. I will be for a long time. These pods were meant to stave off death, not reverse it.”

“By my hand! It was I who should have faced them outside the cave, not you. I will not allow you to give up Mobius—to die! This should never have happened. But I let it!”

“Evie,” you said, stern as your failing body would permit, cloaked in mist. “I chose to receive them. Blame me if you’d like, but never yourself. I never got to sift through your paintings, one at a time, but the way you hold your sword says a lot more about you.”

“I should never have come here.”

“No, it was good that you did.”

I clenched my fists. “Why?! It only led them to find us and murder you!”

You smiled. “You don’t understand. You think like a mortal, Evie. A few months, a few years, centuries, even—all blips to us, all moments hung still like paintings on the walls. What difference does it make? You said it yourself, didn’t you? That we spend most of our time as dirt and ash and merely a blink of an eye alive.”

“No—I was talking about humans. Mortals. I thought we could stay here forever.”

“Even Concord is but a fleeting twinkle in the night. To someone watching, a thousand galaxies away, our story has not even begun yet. Or perhaps it has ended, forgotten, with nobody left to tell it.”

“What? How could I forget you?” I pressed my hands against the glass, locating your eyes in the white fog, searing their hue into my mind. “I will remember—this I swear. Forever. Until my last breath.”

“There is no such thing as forever, Evie. We are nothing before the stars.”

“There is—to me." I could barely see you through my tears. You were fading. "I don’t care about the stars—to me, you are eternal, and I will speak your name with my last breath.”

You looked at me, your eyes glassy. “Then… that is all that matters. Thank you. And, please—forgive her, Evie. Put your fury to rest and live free.”

Cold water rose and submerged your body whole. It turned milky from frost and iced over, entombing you within the pod’s glass. You were dead, frozen in Mobius’s womb, your eyes still wide open from hypothermic shock.

Gravity pulled and forced me to kneel, to slump to the floor, to fall backwards from the nest and tumble in air that whipped past deafeningly, threatening to dash me against a cliff, blazing red and jagged. I gasped, throat-parched and sunburnt, not for air, but like a fish out of water. The sky was above and the earth was below—this I knew—but now they spun, trading places, mocking me. You fool! Try to stand without rock to hold you! Or is flying on borrowed wings all you know?

“Evie,” came Oracle’s voice. I opened my eyes, still on my knees. I envied how effortlessly he floated.

“We aren’t safe here,” I mumbled. “Not this near the city.”

“Mobius is safer than anywhere on Concord. I suggest remaining in low orbit—a safe distance away, while also close enough to monitor the ground,” Oracle said, unperturbed.

I glanced at the priestess, still trembling in bloodstained clothes. “And her?”

“Remove her. Mobius is not for her to board.”

She gasped, unable to speak. Take your time. I’m too tired to drive you out for now. My adrenaline-spiked body was finally starting to wind down, sluggish with fatigue.

“I… I will not cry or beg. I understand the gravity of my sin. I suspect… you do not need my help.”

“Astute. Now leave,” Oracle said, cold as a machine could be.

“But…! You must understand—I cannot return to Garder. I would rather die here by your blade. They will rip me limb from limb if I return. No, even that would be a mercy. I was the one who ordered this expedition under the clergy’s authority. I cannot imagine what they would do if I were to return empty-handed, alone, without the Guard.”

“They need a target, don’t they? Let them crucify you,” I mumbled.

“No… no! I do not ask for mercy nor refuge. Only death. Send me to purgatory if you will—even that would be better than the dungeons they have in mind for me. I am a function, and nothing more. I solve their problems, and direct their anger when I cannot. They have never seen me as anything more. I have failed—no, desecrated—my function. They will no doubt assign me a new one. I cannot bear to imagine what that might be; what their rage demands.”

Like a mirror. I almost laughed. How absurd. Is there anyone on this wretched planet loved for who they are—the pith of their soul—and not their role? “ Fine. I will take you elsewhere, but you cannot stay on Mobius. I cannot forgive what you did to me, nor to her.”

She crumpled to the floor. “Thank you. I… I will do better. I promise. Please, give me a clean slate, far away from Garder.”

“Where?”

She paused. “You would let me choose?”

“Anywhere on Concord. Mobius can take us there.”

She looked up, stunned again at the sheen and majesty of the ship’s interior. “My hometown. It lies across the Pink Sea. Um… it isn’t pink, but a trick of the light makes it so at certain times of the day. Anyway, I looked at it fondly each day, for our dining hall overlooked its shore. Calling it a town might be more than it deserves, however.”

“Back to your family, then?”

“Not my family, no… I was raised in a convent. The town was sparse, built around it to provide food and supplies. Bring me there. Please. That is all I ask.”

“Do you know its coordinates?”

“Coordinates?”

“Its location.”

“It has been a while, but yes, roughly.”

“Oracle.” I looked at him with weary eyes. “Take us there. Let me rest for a bit.”

He beeped in accord and sailed towards the corridor, pausing to wait for the priestess. Bewildered, she stood and smoothed her clothes before leaving. I lay sprawled on the floor, my eyes closed as I listened to my heartbeat, watching the stars behind my eyelids swirl with it. The exhaustion finally set in. I gasped for Mobius’s sweet oxygenated air as my sweat dried and cooled me. I’m tired. The priestess’s clumsy footsteps and her words with Oracle echoed through the ship. I realised then how much I craved these sounds: that of you cooking and humming in the cave next to mine, muffled by the stone walls; the faint merrymaking and clinking of jugs a floor below me as I lay snuggled in a warm feather bed at the inn; and now, muted steps and Oracle’s soft, metallic speech. I liked these sounds—they staved off the cold despair of being alone. It did not matter that I lay lost and confused—in the background, life proceeded as it should, prescribed by some greater plan that I was merely a cog of.

Sleep took me there on the floor and showed me no dreams.