Moving away from the bloody steps by the gate, she traced her hand along the walls. Following the courtyard, leading into what must once have been the gardens. Across the cobblestone, by the end of the wall was a small watchtower. Lifting herself off the ground, moving closer to it she saw a person within. A soldier hiding from his reckoning. She demolished the roofed platform around him. He fell to the hard stone, the pressure from Syndra’s presence forced him to the ground.

“Who are you?”

The young individual spoke a guttural tongue, she understood not a word of what was said. All this did was fill Syndra with more questions. Foreign peoples, foreign weapons. Maybe time had just passed? She left the soldier on the ground, moving once more across the stones. When she thought she’d found it, she fanned her arms, ripping apart the cobblestone, underneath lay sand. Opening a wound in the ground, she tossed aside stone, until she found the pond, filled with dirt to make foundation for the paving. The green beneath was no more. Nothing but dry, infertile silt below.

Vaguely she heard the sound of movement and shouting, she moved in its direction, toward the old barracks, where she and the other students used to sleep. As she closed in on the oblong building, soldiers began streaming out of it. Surrounding her completely, sharp weapons pointed at her.

One of the soldiers said something that to her resembled gurgling, and dropped his weapon. His stare was fixed upon the stars, others followed his extended index finger. It seemed like they had noticed the movement. One of the soldiers, masked behind a thick metallic helmet, yelled at her. A command most likely, raising something approximating a spear towards her. The growling voice repeated the command. Syndra dashed the heavyset soldier against the thick walls of the temple. The pitch of metal being bent, and a yelp escaping the lips of her victim. She stepped past them, toward her old domicile.

Walking through the long corridor leading toward her old room. It felt nostalgic, though the smell had changed completely. Opening the door to her old room, it seemed that nothing remained of her old room. The small table, the bed, the locker. All had been removed to make room for two utilitarian bunkbed and footlockers. Nothing remained, not the coins, not her comb, nothing. Only the stone was the same as then.

Stepping out, she felt eyes upon her. Her gaze quickly scared the curious faces away. Heading back out, she saw the soldiers gathering themselves once more, the armoured individual, as well as the scout had all huddled together. She walked to the steps and stared into the horizon. The wind buffeted around her, as she stared into the horizon.

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She heard the sound of a bow being pulled, and turned with the force of a hurricane, scattering the soldiers who had gathered in formation behind her. She swept them from the fortress, like a child unwilling to eat their supper, sending them falling the depths below. They did not deserve her mercy. Their screams slowly disappearing, drowned by the wind.

For hours she could have stood there without noticing.

A glint in the distance, water reflecting the light of the sun rising slowly in the distance. A massive figure carved from stone. Titanic in size, it’s cupped hands easily the size of the courtyard. A figurehead to a dam. From its shoulders ran the water from a reservoir, into the hands feeding a tributary river to Placidium River that she had once walked with her family.

This statue, a symbol of the land giving to the people. It was an affront. A symbol of tyranny, and of control. The entire fortress tilted to the side with her burning anger. She ripped the statue apart, throwing it far into the forested land below.

She took a deep breath and righted her vessel.

All was silent. She turned to walk into the building that had replaced the Pagoda. Now only one story, a simple building. What remained of the mess hall had been replaced with what was almost a throne room. Long tables, still present on either side, and a single chair on a raised platform. No doubt the warden’s. The stairs leading down into the nothingness gave a rush of wind, a howl filling the otherwise dead room.

She stepped onto the raised platform, the stone seat looming in front. Running her hand across it. Cold and hard. She sat upon it, uncomfortable as it was, it also felt right. From here she could see through the double doors, across the courtyard, through the gates and far into the distance.

As sunrise slowly turned to day. Her anger slowly wilted away. She pulled her knees to her chin, and clasped her legs. She thought back to all the things she had done, and how time would have painted her.

She was alone, an awakened demon. Likely hated and written about as a great evil to be defeated. It dawned on her that none she knew when she lived was likely to be alive. No one to turn to, no allies to confide in. Not that she had any before.

An awful thought crept into her mind. She stared at her hands, at herself. How could she even be sure that she was awake? Doubt, fear, and pain invaded her mind. Tears forming in her eyes. Whether or not she was awake, it did not matter if this was an illusion. Either way she would find no respite. She would be hunted, she would be a dragon to defeat. A monster. The pain welled within her chest. A sting only felt by those who truly have no one and nothing left.

If it is a Monster they seek, then it is a monster they will get.