Vayra thought her first time visiting the bayou of Ramesworld would be more…peaceful. She had imagined herself rowing gently through the reeds or marvelling at the enormous mangrove trees.

Instead, she sprinted along a wooden walkway above the murky water, ducking and swerving to avoid raging columns of wind.

She hadn’t planned on running, but everything about her ambush hadn’t gone as planned. Now, she had a Quartermaster-stage God-heir on her tail, throwing spears of wind at her back fast enough to rip her flesh from her bones. Already, she had taken a glancing blow to her thigh, and it had sheared a fist-wide chunk of skin off.

She jumped over a barrel and spun around a post, then pulled a crate of rotting potatoes down into her pursuer’s path. A gust of wind scattered them. She cursed under her breath—she’d lost more time dumping the bucket than she had gained.

She looked up, and all she saw was a thick canopy of mangrove leaves and branches, wound so tight together that they almost entirely obscured the stars. She might be able to muster a simple pulse of starlight, and that would be it.

The good news? The path was sloping upwards, towards the slightly-less-swampy plains, where she could see faint beams of starlight cutting down through the night air to the walkway.

Almost there, and her pursuer knew it.

She clenched her fists and spared a glance over her shoulder. Nalla Pren Cherrdra, a distant descendant of the Goddess of Wind, and currently, the commander of the Ramesworld siege. The woman, human as far as Vayra could tell, wore a deep blue coat and a tricorn hat that barely clung to her head. She was a bluecoat in almost every way—except she wasn’t fodder.

The armies were already clashing. Vayra’s responsibility was dealing with Nalla. With any luck, Vayra would defeat her and reach the city by midnight.

She ducked under another column of wind, tripped over a loose board, and tumbled along the planks.

Nalla blasted out another spear of wind, and Vayra flicked her hand outward, unleashing a Starlight Palm out into the air. The flash of white starlight was just enough to dispel the God-heir’s technique before it ripped a hole in Vayra’s chest.

‘Get up, get up, get up,’ Phasoné urged. The Goddess of Starlight’s voice rattled around Vayra’s mind, bouncing off the inside of her skull and striking every inch of Vayra’s head with its booming tone. ‘She’ll tear us apart if we can’t get to starlight soon!’

“Working on it,” Vayra hissed back. She kicked up to her feet and broke into a sprint, pushing herself down the walkway as fast as she could. She didn’t have a proper technique to enhance her body with Arcara yet, but thankfully, it didn’t seem like Nalla did either, and they were both stuck running as fast as their mortal bodies would let them.

Ahead, the walkway turned ninety degrees, running parallel with a deeper channel. A few cargo cranes reached over the edge, but the entire walkway was deserted—even the rowboats that bobbed in the river, half unloaded.

Vayra’s head whipped side to side. If she turned, she’d put herself further away from the open sky. Her only choice was across the channel.

She jumped off the edge of the walkway and landed on a natural platform of mangrove roots, then leapt to a drifting rowboat. It rocked precariously under her feet, and she nearly fell off into the murky water.

A blast of wind chased her, throwing swamp water and peat over the small boat’s gunwale.

Vayra jumped onto the opposite gunwale, and before she could tip the boat with her weight, she jumped to the winch of a nearby cargo crane. Her fingers barely latched onto the rope in time.

The crane’s boom swung outward over the channel, and she let go of the rope just in time.

She landed on the opposite side of the channel in a crouch. There was another walkway, almost like a miniature harbour, with a single path leading towards the open sky and distant fields.

Vayra glanced over her shoulder. Nalla jumped across. The God-heir lost height halfway, but blasted a puff of wind downwards, propelling herself the last little distance.

Vayra had seen…a few God-heirs before, but she knew that they always had a way to jump long distances, even if they didn’t yet have an enhanced body.

Vayra had already started running. She vaulted over a stack of crates, then dodged the bulk of a tree that had fallen across the walkway.

Already, she could hear the distant booming of field cannons and faint-in-comparison popping of muskets. The walkway sloped up, and the canopy overhead thinned. Vayra held out her hand and said, “Phasoné! Now would be a good time for the scythe!”

‘On it!’

“What, you weren’t already holding it?”

‘I was busy trying not to smell this horrible swamp! Oh, I can’t wait until you’re strong enough to block your own senses…”

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“Just grab the scythe!” Vayra hissed. She spun around and dispelled another gust of wind with a Starlight Palm. There was enough starlight for her to form shields, now, and it was just in time. She poured a layer of defensive starlight-soaked Arcara into her blouse, cushioning a column of wind surging directly at her chest.

The force of the blast still flung her along the walkway. The twigs and debris caught in the gale sliced her shoulders and slashed her cheeks, but at least the wind didn’t shatter her ribs or tear her flesh off her body.

‘Scythe is ready!’ Phasoné called.

As Vayra rolled onto her back, she relinquished control of her right hand. As long as Phasoné was holding the weapon, it would work.

White starlight climbed up Vayra’s fingers and forearms, forming a ghostly outline of her hand. With a loud snap-hiss, a scythe of shimmering white light sprung out of her hand. Vayra gripped it with her left hand as well, the hand she hadn’t given away control of.

Nalla stopped where she stood, then scowled. She wasn’t armed, but she formed her hands into fists, then raised them like a boxer. A small gale of wind swirled around each of them. Every second, they sucked up more and more debris.

With an enraged shout, Nalla leapt forward. She struck the flat of Vayra’s scythe, knocking Vayra back a foot. Vayra retaliated, aiming to cut through the gusts of wind whirling around Nalla’s fists. The God-heir ducked under the swipe and retaliated with a gust of wind.

Vayra cut through the gust, scattering wisps of wind across the walkway like tiny little snakes. They ripped through a railing, scattering splinters and sawdust into the air.

Nalla pushed Vayra back along the walkway with rapid punches, and it took all of Vayra’s concentration to block them. She whirled her scythe back and forth, scattering wind. Nalla’s attacks were mainly Guide techniques; they used Arcara formations to move the wind—a more powerful form of the Starlight Palm, with a more readily-available domain to draw from.

The final punch struck Vayra in the shoulder. She swatted through the blast of wind with the shaft of her scythe, but Nalla’s fist still hit. The air compressed between the woman’s knuckles and Vayra’s skin. Empowered by the last of the God-heir’s Guide technique, it whirled, then cracked like thunder.

One second, Vayra stood on the walkway, and the next, she had been flung back a few yards. The walkway merged with a muddy beach, which sloped up to the woods and the distant fields.

Vayra landed on her back. As she slid, the blade of her scythe slashed through a knotted tree’s roots, and the entire plant toppled down to the muddy shore.

She came to a rest in front of a barrel, and she scrambled behind it to shelter.

“Mana, Phasoné?” Vayra asked. She and the God-heirs needed mana to fuel their cycling techniques, to move Arcara through their body. With neither Vayra nor Nalla higher than Quartermaster, they both ran out fast.

‘You’re half empty,’ Phasoné said.

“Let’s say half topped-up.” Vayra tilted her head up. Past the lowlands, hills, and fields, was the ocean. Beyond it, the Eternal Stream. The massive river of spirit water climbed up into the heavens. It was the best source of mana, but it was also miles away.

Vayra jumped back to her feet, then rolled her shoulder. It would leave a nasty bruise tomorrow.

‘Can I suggest the Mediator Form?’ the Goddess suggested.

Vayra ducked under a blast of wind. “For just a Quartermaster? Overkill.”

‘We both know that’s an excuse.’

Nalla closed the distance with another wind-fuelled hop. Vayra ducked to the side, then planted both feet on the muddy shore and spun around to the other side of a skeletal tree before Nalla kicked a gust of wind at her chin.

“Believe me, I would if I could,” Vayra whispered. “I’ve been trying, but it’s not doing anything.”

Nalla flung a blast of wind, shattering the nest of roots at the base of the tree Vayra hid behind. Vayra broke into a sprint again, ducking through the trees and chopping them behind her as she ran. Maybe it’d slow Nalla, or maybe one would plunk down onto the God-heir’s head and make Vayra’s job really, really easy.

‘Can I suggest trying harder,’ Phasoné told her.

“You can read my mind! You can see that I’m working on going full-glowy and all that!”

Ever since Vayra had escaped from Myrrir, she and Phasoné hadn’t been able to use the Mediator Form—she hadn’t gotten any further than a sleeve’s worth of starlight.

But a quartermaster shouldn’t be a problem for the Mediator, and Vayra didn’t need the Mediator Form to defeat someone like Nalla—she was sure of it. She had starlight, Arcara, and mana, and that was all she needed.

As she ran, she clenched her forearms, pressing her skin against her starsteel bracers. As she breathed, she cycled, and she pushed her Arcara out of her body and into the bracers. The engraved knots in the metal lit up with blue sparks. When the Arcara flowed back into her body, it felt warm and fulfilling. Her scythe shone brighter, and when she used a Starlight Palm to dispel a fistful of wind, she barely had to charge it.

As she ran, the forest changed. The ground turned from mud to dirt, and the mangrove trees faded into robust willows and cypresses. Ahead, Vayra spotted the edge of the woods.

When all of Vayra’s Arcara had been bolstered by the starsteel bracers, she stopped and turned, then shoved the shaft of her scythe forwards. It struck Nalla in the forehead. The God-heir stumbled backwards.

Vayra went on the offensive. She and Phasoné used a well-rehearsed pattern of scythe swipes, hacking through Nalla’s defenses. They finished with a slash down Nalla’s leg. As the God-heir reeled, Vayra unloaded a Starlight Palm into her stomach, flinging her back into a tree.

Only one of them was getting out of the woods. Leaving Nalla alive would be a mistake; she commanded an army of Bluecoats, and surely, she wouldn’t let Vayra go easily.

Vayra jumped forwards. Nalla ducked down, barely avoiding the first swipe. She couldn’t dodge the second. As fast as she could, Vayra hacked downwards, carving a burning gash across the woman’s body.

Vayra turned away as fast as she could, then shut her eyes and grimaced.

‘Well, that solves that…’ Phasoné said.

“I told you we didn’t need the Mediator Form,” Vayra muttered. She retook control of her hand, forcing Phasoné out. When she opened her eyes, she caught a glimpse of the white starlight streaking off her hand and snaking back up into the sky. She took a deep breath, then looked out of the woods.

Smoke wafted out of the fields beyond. The distant booming cannons didn’t seem so distant anymore, nor did the shouts of line infantry or cries of horses. She didn’t know who was winning.

“We have a battle to get back to…”