The windows imploded in an explosion of glass, throwing Vayra back along the floor. She came to a halt along the far wall, shards of glass and wood tearing into her skin.

She blinked for a few seconds, trying to clear the daze. She scrambled to her feet, just in time to see a silhouette hovering just outside her apartment. It was humanoid, but it had fast-fluttering moth wings that stirred up such a gale that Vayra could barely push herself up. A…mothfolk?

With effort, the mothfolk dropped herself down inside the apartment, landing in a crouch. The woman panted, as if the flight had cost her significant effort.

There was no way she was friendly. Before the mothfolk could recover and do any more damage, Vayra sprung forwards. She drew in starlight from outside, then threw a blast at the woman.

The mothfolk held up a hand and caught Vayra’s palm. The starlight blasted against the woman’s hand, and she slid back an inch or two. Her leather armour clattered, and her fluffy, moth wings folded behind her like a fur cloak.

Vayra prepared another blast, but Phasoné yelled, ‘Watch out!’

Two chunks of wood rose behind the mothfolk, one hovering behind each of her shoulders. One was as sharp as a stake. With a flick of her finger, the mothfolk sent it racing towards her.

Vayra sidestepped, putting herself in the perfect position for the second chunk of wood, a blunt beam to swat her in the head. She fell onto her back, her second starlight palm dissipating into nothing. “Who is she?”

‘She can control wood,’ Phasoné groaned. ‘One of Vallor’s God-heirs!’

“Scythe?” Vayra whispered.

‘Working on it…’

“The voice in your head trying to tell you how to fight me?” said the mothfolk in a singsong voice. “Thinks I’m one of Vallor’s children or grandchildren or such-and-such? Everyone does.” She clenched her fist, and a stream of sawdust and woodchips raced up from the floor. “I’m Wren, and just Wren will have your bounty.”

Before Vayra could try to attack again, the mothfolk thrust her hand up. The line of wood chips and sawdust condensed into a thick whip, and it clasped onto Vayra’s wrist, whirling and scraping at her skin. Vayra tried to break the line by pounding it with her fist, but the angry sawdust scraped a wedge in the side of her hand. She yelped—just in time for the rope of wood chips to grasp her and fling her out the now-shattered windows.

Vayra fell a few feet, until her arm wrenched upwards. The whip hadn’t yet let go. Her fall halted, and she swung uncontrollably into the windows of the apartment below. The glass cracked but didn’t shatter. Her ribs and shoulder, however, did send a wave of pain through her body.

The mothfolk, Wren, walked to the edge of the drop and leaned over. In one hand, she held the other end of the sawdust whip, and in the other, she held a short, half-musket half-pistol weapon with an axehead fixed to its end. “I loaded up some special buckshot for you, phoenix, though I suppose we’d be better off calling it birdshot.” She cocked it with her thumb.

“Phasoné, how are we looking on the scythe?”

‘Give me your hand.’

Vayra struck the sawdust whip with a starlight palm, severing it. She plummeted down the side of the tower, and as she fell, she gave Phasoné control of her hand. The starlight streaked out of the sky and wrapped around her forearm, burning away what remained of the wood chips and splinters.

The scythe formed up with a whoosh, and just in time. The road, packed with racing carriages and wagons, rose up to meet her.

Vayra drove the scythe into the wall of the apartment tower, its white blade slicing through glass and wood, until it eventually found stone—stone took longer to cut through.

Her arm pulled upwards, and she clasped the scythe with both hands to lower the strain on her shoulder. She was two thirds of the way down the tower.

She had planned to take a slow, calm ride down to the road, where she could pause and reassess her situation, but when she looked up, she saw Wren diving off the windowsill. She’d reach Vayra in seconds.

Vayra targetted a wagon filled with hay and grain on the road below.

‘Oh, please no…’

Vayra kicked off the wall and tumbled through the air. She tucked her head and held her scythe away from her—so she didn’t accidentally cut herself.

She landed hard in the cart of the wagon, the air pushed from her lungs. She coughed out a mouthful of hay, and, gasping, stood up.

If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

“Woah!” the wagon’s driver yelled—either at her or the horses, she couldn’t decide.

“Sorry!” Vayra called back. “Please! Keep driving! I’m sorry!” She crept to the edge of the wagon, watching the cobblestones whirl past below. The wagon raced deeper into the administration district, following a road through a valley of buildings. Lights whipped past her eyes.

Vayra rubbed her head, wishing she had another vial of the concentration elixir that the Order had given her.

By the time Vayra’s mind cleared, she felt the presence of the mothfolk approaching. When Vayra squinted, she saw the woman’s dark silhouette flutter in front of a vibrant billboard-painting. Her wings fluttered behind her, carrying her closer.

“Are you alright?” the wagon’s driver asked. “Where did you—”

Before he could finish, Wren fired her weapon. A few pellets struck Vayra in the shoulder, sending her spinning down to the hay-covered floor of the wagon. But Vayra hadn’t been the target of the blast—the driver fell limp off the side of his seat, the back of his coat shredded by pellets.

Vayra reached forwards, running her hand along the floor of the wagon. For a moment, she feared that the blast had been filled with iron, but she found one of the pellets still smouldering in the hay. A stone pebble.

Vayra scrambled out of the back of the wagon and onto the driver’s seat. She snatched up the reins, then swerved into the center of the road, hiding between two tall carriages. The mothfolk didn’t have a clear shot, that much was certain. Besides, she would have to reload if she wanted to use the weapon again.

“You wouldn’t happen to know who that is, would you?” Vayra asked Phasoné, snapping the reins to urge the horses to run faster.

‘I have no idea. She’s not a prominent God-heir, to be certain, and something feels off about her spirit.’

“If she’s not a God-heir…”

‘She’s dressed like a bounty hunter.’

“A bounty hunter. Great…”

Before Vayra could try to wring any more information out of Phasoné, the carriage beside them sped up, and a new wagon took its place. Driving it was Wren, who stood on an empty driver’s seat. She held the reins in one hand, and in the other, she held a sharp stake of wood—she had holstered her firearm at her hip.

With a flick of her wrist, Wren launched the stake of wood out of her hands. It blasted straight through the neck of one of the horses pulling Vayra’s wagon, then impaled the other through its flank.

Both horses collapsed. The wagon flipped over their bodies. Before the bulk of the wagon could crush her, Vayra leapt out of the seat and jumped towards the wagon Wren drove. She drove her scythe into its empty cargo bed, latching on.

‘Going towards her?’ Phasoné exclaimed.

“We don’t have much choice! We won’t escape if we don’t incapacitate her!” Vayra hauled herself into the back of the wagon and took a wide stance to keep herself balanced. “We have to buy time until help comes.” The guards at the bottom of the tower would have noticed something, she hoped. “How much mana do we have?”

‘More than three quarters left,’ Phasoné said.

“More than enough.” Vayra gripped her scythe with two hands and cycled her Arcara into the starsteel bracers. She felt it heating up and surging back into her. The scythe glowed brighter.

She leapt at Wren. The woman leaned to the side, then drew her short musket and fired a blast. Vayra turned her scythe so the flat of its blade blocked most of the pellets—it was close enough to the muzzle to catch most of them.

The force of the blast flung Vayra backwards. She clung to the back of the wagon to keep herself from flying off.

The road passed over a deep hole in the city, and the winds picked up. They passed over a distant reservoir of water, then sunk into the valley of towers again. She caught her breath then pulled herself back onto the wagon.

‘We don’t know how strong she is!’

“You can’t tell?”

‘Not her! Fighting her is a terrible idea!’

For once, Phasoné was probably right. Vayra whispered, “Don’t worry, then. I have a new plan.” The reservoir had given her an idea.

Wren stood up from her seat and hooked the horse’s reins around a knob. The road continued straight onwards, towards another reservoir up ahead.

Vayra jumped forwards, scythe outstretched. Wren stomped her foot down on the cargo bed of the wagon, freeing wood chips and sawdust. Before Vayra’s strike could hit, Wren clasped the haft of the weapon with a whip of sawdust and pushed it down.

The scythe’s haft ate through the sawdust whip, but not before Wren leapt forwards. With a flutter of her wings, she pounced on Vayra and held the axehead on her carbine’s muzzle against Vayra’s throat.

“Get rid of the scythe, now,” Wren snarled. “Comply, phoenix, or I’ll end you here.”

‘Now would be a great time for the Mediator Form…’ Phasoné warned.

Vayra couldn’t. She obliged Wren’s request. They were almost at the second reservoir. Almost.

“Put your arms up,” Wren demanded.

Vayra did as she was told again, but as she raised her arms, she tugged on the mothfolk’s feathery antennae, wrenching the woman’s head to the side.

As the woman reeled, Vayra blasted a Starlight Palm into her chest, knocking her off balance. It didn’t fling her—clearly, she had an enhanced body of some sort—but it was enough for Vayra to squirm out of.

The wagon rolled onto another bridge. They were over the second reservoir. Vayra jumped off the cargo bed and latched onto a carriage beside them, then climbed onto its roof. She leapt to another carriage, then to a train of cargo wagons pulled by beasts that weren’t quite horses—they had bull horns, and she could feel their strength as their hoove pounded the pavement.

They ran faster than horses, and she nearly lost her balance atop the cargo train. It changed lanes to the edge of the bridge.

Vayra prepared to dive off the bridge into the reservoir, but before she could leap, a blast of wood chips struck her in the back. A few were sharp and stabbed into her shoulder, but the bulk of the force was enough to fling her off the wagon and over the edge of the bridge.

As she plummeted, she barely had the wit to streamline herself before she hit the water. Her feet struck the surface first, and it felt like they rammed into a stone pathway. The water wrapped around them, pushing her legs out in front of her and slamming her head back hard against the surface of the man-made lake.

In an instant, everything went black.