Vayra looked up just in time to see the bounty hunter descending. The mothfolk woman’s wings were spread, like a parachute, and she flung a foot-long shard of wood at Vayra. Scrambling back, Vayra fell onto her hands. The shard smashed into the ground between her feet and shattered into splinters.

Vayra rolled over and pushed herself up to her feet. Another shard of wood smashed into the ground behind her. The splinters rose up from the explosion, drawn into the air by wisps of Wren’s Arcara, then formed into a whip. It cracked into the ground, again narrowly missing her ankles. She felt wind rush past her back—the whip slashing back the other direction.

Wren landed with a heavy thud right where Vayra had been standing. Vayra sprinted away. It didn’t matter which direction; she just had to leave!

She glanced back as she ran, and she tried to judge Wren’s spirit. Was it even possible to fight her?

Vayra used her spiritual sight, slipping through Wren’s eyes and through her Arcara channels—which felt surprisingly weak and un-God-heir-like—and down to her core. It was stronger than Vayra’s, that much was certain.

‘She’s a Lieutenant,’ Phasoné said. ‘Third Lieutenant, the lowest of them all.’

Vayra kept running, and she tried to dispel her spiritual sight as she did. It was dark and clumsy, and she tripped over a log. A sawdust whip snapped against her arm, stinging and drawing blood. She stumbled back up to her feet and kept sprinting. As she ran, she asked Phasoné, “Chances of beating her?”

‘Better than against Myrrir, but not high.’

Vayra knew better than to turn and fight. It would be a waste of mana, and that was the last thing she needed.

As Vayra ran, Wren blasted the ground behind and beside her with more and more shards of wood. Vayra felt her course shifting slowly and compulsively as she tried to evade Wren.

She turned. Soon, she would be out of the woods. She pushed her body as hard as she could, trying to go as fast as possible without using a Bracing technique. A shard sliced through her calf, and her hands stung from tripping and tumbling. But she wouldn’t give Wren what she wanted—either to capture Vayra, or to deplete Vayra’s mana.

But the longer this went on, the more Vayra risked being seen by Myrrir or his sentries. She had hoped to find a way to sneak into the facility, but that wouldn’t work with Wren on her tail. Speed and surprise would be her only allies. And whether she had surprise on her side was debatable. In an instant, she made her decision: she would make a break for the facility. She only had to cross a quarter-mile of open plains.

Lava had just flowed down from the mountains, filling the channel and tossing a gray haze up into the air. She had to hope it would be enough to hide her from sight.

She emerged from the woods and onto a plain of grayish-brown flame-scoured stone. The facility loomed ahead of her. Now, it looked like an angular mountain.

Leaping over stones and bounding over small cracks in the rock, Vayra approached the facility. Every second step, she looked back, trying to glimpse Wren. The mothfolk flapped her wings, giving herself extra bursts of speed, which Vayra couldn’t match without wasting mana.

Instead, she ducked, dodged, and weaved away from the wooden shards that snapped at the ground behind her. Twice, Wren swooped down and tried to slash Vayra with the axehead at the tip of her short rifle.

Wren couldn’t kill her, but that wouldn’t stop her from capturing Vayra. If that was truly her goal.

So Vayra kept sprinting. When she bounded over an especially large boulder, she spotted her entrance into the facility—a grate nestled into an alcove, on the lava-channel-facing side of the facility.

Worse, the channel still bubbled and simmered, and lava still flowed northwards. It would take a little bit of an enhanced leap. There was no other choice but to use mana. She could make it with the help of a winch hanging over the river.

She summoned a seer-core, then immediately drew it into her body and pushed the energy down to her legs.

With a gasp, she flung herself off the edge of the riverbank, then grabbed onto the winch.

Wren swooped towards her, but Vayra shifted her weight and kicked with her legs, and the rope shifted out of the way. It swung back towards the edge of the facility, and she released it just in time.

With her Braced legs, Vayra kicked the grate. It fell out of its frame and she tumbled into the facility’s bowels.

She rolled along a rocky floor. This was a cave beneath the facility. From one direction, lava slowly bubbled up, and from the other, she only saw flickering lantern-light. The lava must have filled these caves when it poured down the channel.

She rose to her feet, then dispelled the Bracing so it didn’t continue to eat up her mana. Looking back, she searched for Wren, but beyond the grate, she saw nothing of the mothfolk hunter. Inside the tunnel…also nothing.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

‘I don’t sense her,’ Phasoné said. ‘Or, I don’t sense any nearby magical dangers.’

Chances were, Wren had given up—for the moment. It didn’t sound like she was on the best terms with Myrrir, and this was firmly his territory.

“Do you sense anything else?” Vayra asked.

‘A powerful spirit—certainly, it’s Myrrir. But I can’t tell exactly how close he is. I can tell you there are two pirate guards much closer.’

“You said no dangers…”

‘Myrrir isn’t nearby, and the pirates don’t have magic. You should have been more specific.’

Vayra inhaled sharply and ran back to the wall. She pressed her back against it, feeling the smooth curve of the cave press into her spine. Then, as carefully as she could, she crept down the corridor—towards the lantern-light.

When she rounded a corner, she caught her breath. Two shadows shifted in her peripheral vision. Slinking back the way she came, she drew her pistol and cocked it. It’d be loud, but between the roar and pop of the lava, and the general clamour of the facility above—creaking wood and groaning metal—she doubted anyone outside of the immediate vicinity would hear.

She glanced out from cover again. Two pirate guards stood in the hallway, holding a lantern between them. One, a dirty human with an eyepatch and a musket, grumbled, “Did you hear that? Sounded like one of the grates fell in.”

Vayra sighed. Of course. Of course they heard it.

‘What was that about them not hearing the pistolshot?’ Phasoné complained.

“The rest of the facility won’t hear it,” Vayra hissed, keeping her voice as low as she could.

“Myrrir will have our heads if we don’t at least take a peek,” said the other pirate, an oceanfolk man with jellyfish-like stingers reaching out the back of his head. He held the lantern, but kept his hand on a small hatchet at his hip. “Come on.”

Vayra took another step back, then pointed her pistol. As soon as they rounded the corner…

The man with the musket rounded the corner first. She fired her pistol, and so close to him, it was impossible to miss. The shot tore into his chest, and he fell backwards.

The other man dropped his lantern and drew his hatchet. Vayra dodged a swipe, then stomped on the shattered remains of the candle, putting out the flames.

Before the man could swing again, she blasted a Starlight Palm into his chin, flinging him into the roof. When he hit the ground again, he didn’t stir.

She shook her hand. Too much wasted mana, even if it was just a Starlight Palm.

‘Just keep moving,’ Phasoné said.

“Can you sense the crew?” Vayra asked, keeping her voice low.

‘I can’t tell the difference between Myrrir’s men and ours. And I don’t know how many he brought. Plus, our crew poses no danger to us. My senses aren’t much good for sensing that.’

Vayra nodded, then looked down the cave ahead. Even though she’d snuffed the lantern, she could see a faint light glowing down the bend in the cave. There was something up ahead.

Walking slowly, with her arms stretched out in front of her, Vayra approached the light. She tried to keep her footsteps as soft as possible, in case another guard was listening.

The cave sloped upwards, and soon, she found the first source of light—another grate in the ceiling above. It was sealed, and she couldn’t reach it. Perhaps if she Braced her legs and launched herself up with a jump, she could blast through it, but that wouldn’t be necessary. There was a line of grates in the ceiling, and at the end of the tunnel, she spotted a ladder leading upwards.

She ran to the ladder. Before climbing, however, she stopped and crouched down to reload her pistol.

‘You should have done that earlier,’ Phasoné said.

“Should’ve reminded me,” Vayra returned. “Got the scythe in-hand?”

‘Right here with me.’

“Then let’s go,” Vayra said, cocking the pistol. She climbed up the ladder until she could just see into the hallway above. She glanced back and forth—it was a gloomy hallway, with small chambers indented into the walls on either side.

As soon as she took another step up, she heard footsteps pounding down the right side of the hallway. She pointed her pistol. A door creaked open, and another pirate sprinted down the hall, saber in hand. “You there!” he yelled. “Stop and surrender!”

Vayra kept her pistol down, hidden from his sight by the grate, until the man drew closer—not within the reach of his saber, but close enough that she couldn’t miss. She raised the pistol and fired, blasting him in the shoulder and sending him tumbling to the ground.

She leapt up the final rungs of the ladder and clubbed the pirate in the head with the pistol until he fell still.

After that, the hallway was silent. She glanced around, looking at the chambers and trying to peer through their walls. They looked like they had been used to store something, but not quite prison cells. Clearly, they were empty.

But it was a big facility, and the Harmony’s crew could be anywhere.

Stepping softly, she approached the end of the hallway, where the lone pirate had come from. A pair of heavy wooden doors blocked the view beyond, but they were open a crack. If she just stepped through, perhaps she could find a way up into the rest of the facility. She just had to go through the doors, and keep explor—

‘Vayra, something’s coming,’ Phasoné said. ‘From the other direction.’

Steadily, she increased her pace, until she reached the doors. She reached out, trying to push them open further, but before she could push them open, a tendril of dark dust swirled along the floor and gripped the door. The door slammed shut, nearly crushing her fingers. A board clunked into place on the other side, locking it.

She didn’t need to use her spiritual sight to recognize arcane-manipulated gunpowder. Spinning around, she held out her hand. At any moment, she could make it fall limp and grant Phasoné control.

Myrrir walked down the hallway, his jade sword drawn and held in-hand. A faint smile crept onto his lip. “It took you long enough.”