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Without a clear direction for my next steps, I do the only thing I know: I will fight. I will fight the gray-robed followers. I will fight the crimson-robed sorcerers. I will fight the reanimated gray-skinned beasts. I will fight even as my muscles scream for respite. I will fight until not one enemy stands breathing. That is my unyielding vow.

The weight of the coral gemstone in my hand feels more significant than its slight heft suggests. After recovering it from the earlier encounter, I inspect its rough and imperfect surface that peculiarly pulses with a deep glow. With reverent fingers, I loop a strip of my tunic through it to form a makeshift pendant. Tying it around my neck, the stone rests against my skin. I’m trepidatious about possessing an item that provided such power to the sorcerers of this evil entity. Nevertheless, I adjust the knot, securing the gemstone’s place over my heart, believing it to be better served under my protection than that of these crazed cultists.

Two gray-robed zealots charge at me, brandishing short obsidian-embedded swords in the air. They both look young, fresh-faced with round eyes that give away their trepidation in pursuing a battle with me. They attack with the ferocity of a jaguar kitten that tries to lunge at you. As they rush toward me, they shout something in the jarring Ulxa tongue, reminding me of the despicable Mexqutli.

Mexqutli. That traitor. Thoughts of his treasonous act race through my mind as I dispatch of these enemies with ease. One brings down his sword, and I duck, causing him to slash the air above me. I land a powerful punch to his stomach, sending him stumbling backwards. My eye catches a glint from the golden handle of the tumi knife in my harness—the knife I retrieved from the ground after my encounter with Xaqilpa. Xaqilpa, who Mexqutli claimed he was seeking to apprehend. Perhaps that is still true, but his attempt to assassinate the Arbiter still tastes bitter on my tongue. That traitor.

While I’m distracted, the other attacker swoops in, swinging his sword wildly toward my torso. I hop back, narrowly avoiding being sliced by the obsidian blades. He strikes at me again, bringing the sword back around for another chance at splitting me in two, forcing me to take many steps back in defense. His companion rejoins the fight, picking himself up off the dirt and sprinting at me. I suppose this wasn’t as easy as I believed it to be.

Reaching at my side, I unsheathe the ornate obsidian dagger, the one that belongs to Mexqutli. Mexqutli. That traitor. He misled me the entire journey to Qapauma. What are his true intentions? What else is he lying about? Is he even Iqsuwa? Is he even Ulxa?

Focus, Inuxeq! The two cultists bear down upon me, raising their swords and slashing downward in one fluid motion. I spin out of the way, letting their blades thump into the dirt beside me. A confused expression crosses their faces, shocked that I could maneuver so quickly. They won’t have a chance to learn from their mistake.

I spear the nearest cultist with the tip of the dagger, driving it through his throat. A stream of scarlet erupts from his neck as I remove my blade, a stunned look fixes itself permanently. The other swipes at me with his sword, but I twist around, my back facing him. His weapon narrowly misses striking Sachia’s bow that’s secured over my shoulder—that will be the last time I try this maneuver—and crashes into the wooden shield I retrieved from the fallen warrior during the engagement with Xaqilpa. Xaqilpa, who Mexqutli claimed to seek out, to settle matters diplomatically. Liar. Traitor.

Scowling from the reoccurring thought, I twirl around and backhand the obsidian dagger into his side. He moans from the stabbing pain, loosening the grip on his sword. I bring the dagger back and strike him numerous times through his chest, taking out my frustrations with Mexqutli on this young, misguided boy. What a waste of a life.

Standing tall and recovering my breath, I look down upon the two assailants, wiping a spattering of blood that dots my cheeks. “I assume you’ve always wanted a crimson robe,” I say to no one but myself and the corpses at my feet. “So, congratulations on your promotion.”

A series of shouting erupts by the palace grounds at the remains of what was once a lush garden. Vibrantly colored plants lay smashed beneath fallen stone structures, statues in honor of deities or rulers of the past are now crumbling heaps, barely recognizable. But it’s not the ruins that I notice; there’s a large commotion involving a slew of red-robed figures and another in a neutral-toned robe. Could it be… Maybe it is… the girl from before, the one responsible for getting me and the warriors into the palace grounds?

The robed figures chase after her, and I feel compelled to hurry over and help. Sheathing the dagger, I sprint, hoping to arrive in time to protect the girl who worked so valiantly to protect the palace she serves. Soon, she vanishes—does she possess the same abilities as Xaqilpa? She then slips into a passageway with a few of the sorcerers trailing behind. They file in, yelling intelligibly at one another as they enter the secret chamber, eagerly hunting the girl.

Before the rest of them can follow in pursuit, I grab the shoulders of two red-robed followers. “Hi, there,” I smirk. Grabbing the back of their heads, I smash their faces together with a loud thwap. Their cries in agony alert the others. While a few continue to chase her, the others turn around to face me, surprised.

I must act quickly. I bash the two faces together once more, their bodies dropping like stones. In a swift, fluid motion, I take three hurried steps back while reaching again for the dagger. The robed figures look around, bewildered. “Where’d she go?” two of them ask. Have I disappeared once again? How am I doing this?

“There!” one of them points at me. I suppose my ability to vanish is somewhat fleeting, if it occurred at all. Noted. Their hands begin to glow like embers, and I soon realize fire is engulfing them, a fire they casted themselves.

Alarmed, I dash to the side. A couple send balls of fire hurtling to where I once stood, but the others glance around, again confused. “She keeps vanishing!” they remark, visibly frustrated. I must learn how I’m achieving this feat. Is it when the rush of vitality courses through me from the dangerous situation I’m encountering? How is this possible, and why has this only emerged recently?

Inuxeq! I scold myself. Not! Now! I shake the thoughts loose and concentrate on the enemies swarming around me. This group will be a particular challenge, especially with a single dagger and a beat-up and poorly-crafted sword that I swiped from the cultists’ base.

A number of howls and wails come from within the secret tunnel. Has she lured them into a trap? Was that all part of her plan? Clever girl, I think to myself with a relieved smile.

More flames fly through the air. I duck low, almost hitting the dirt. Yet I remain on the balls of my feet, not wanting to lie prone and vulnerable. I fling myself at one of the Eye in the Flame followers, bringing by leg around and kicking the shins out from under him. He falls forward, unable to catch himself and drops to the ground. I attempt to bring the dagger around, but two more balls of fire race toward me. I have to leap back to get out of the way. The flames collide with the fallen cultist, setting him alight in an instant. He cries out in agony, then quickly succumbs to his injuries.

I need something more effective, something to put me back on the attack against these enemies, so that I’m not continuously forced into a retreat. I search the space, hoping a weapon or some tool signals my attention to it. I leap again, dodging more incoming fireballs, feeling their intense heat seemingly singe the skin on my arm.

Then, there, next to fallen palace guards in their muddied orange and red tunics: a quiver beside the deceased archers. Having run out of Sachia’s arrows, I’ve been unable to replenish my supply. Praise the Eleven!

I lunge toward them, exerting all my energy into retrieving the quiver. The dirt crunches beneath me as I slide, extending my hand out to reach it. Fire whizzes over my head, nearly scorching my hair. But I place my hand on a few of the feather fletchings. Grinding to a halt, I pinch an arrow between my fingers and pull Sachia’s bow from around my shoulder. The obsidian dagger tumbles, thudding all the way until it hits one of the corpses and stops abruptly. I better make sure to retrieve that when I’m done here.

In one motion, I nock the arrow and loose it, sending it soaring until it pierces one of the enemies in crimson. He clutches at his stomach, dropping to his knees before bleeding out on the ground. From a crouch, I grab another arrow, nock it, and release, repeating the process rapidly. Grab. Nock. Release. Grab. Nock. Release.

Right away, I disparage the poor craftsmanship of these Tapeu-made arrows. They pale in comparison to those crafted by Sachia, and I recognize how spoiled I was to have such well-made arrows in my possession—now, no longer. These arrows hardly fly straight, curving or drifting a bit from my desired target. I loose as many as I can before the sorcerers start to close in on my position. Though some hit their mark, many float wide and miss, leaving plenty of enemies eager to end my life.

I grab for one more arrow… but the quiver has already been depleted. Sun and sky! I lift myself up and take off, running away from my pursuers. I’m hoping to find another quiver of arrows, but at this point, I determine any weapon will do. I reach behind me to grab the dull cultist sword and toss it to the ground, immediately noticing the change in weight. The heavy sword was such a burden, and now I feel fleet of foot. Why hadn’t I done this sooner?

Close by, a spear once belonging to a palace guard rests on the ground. I swoop down mid-stride to scoop it up, then slide as I brace myself to meet my pursuers. Giving the spear a few twirls, I observe that it’s not incredibly well-balanced, and I question what on Pachil these Tapeu consider weapons worthy for use at the palace. However, this will have to do, I suppose.

The sorcerers stop in place, their hands gradually glowing like torches. I have to stop them before they can throw more balls of fire at me! Without haste, I charge at the gathering of red-robed foes. I contort my body and, while I’m still running, chuck the spear at the nearest attacker. The spear skewers him, knocking him back as he grimaces in pain.

As he falls, I grasp the shaft of the spear and rip it out of his torso, releasing spurts of blood. Then, I ram the spear at the enemy to my right. He attempts to move out of the way, but the tip catches him in the ribs. I swing the blade out, slashing through his body to free the weapon. He grabs his side before collapsing into a pool of crimson.

Spinning the weapon above my head, I bring the spearhead down, striking the other Eye in the Flame zealot near me. I penetrate his shoulder, his clothes slowly becoming soaked in blood. He grabs the spear stuck into him and pulls, dislodging it. He flings the spear aside, briefly jostling me off-balance. He coils back, then thrusts a hand at me. A searing pain courses through my body, the immediate pain almost leaving me breathless, and I start to stumble. I glance down to find I’ve been severely burned, a blackened hand print singing my green tunic. It’s as if a jaguar is clawing at the flesh on my side. Black begins to form around the periphery of my vision. I fight through my body’s effort to shut down, to fall unconscious from the intense burns.

The sorcerer swings another fist at me, but this time, I catch it on my aqitzal—the golden bracers protecting my forearms. I prepare for the metal to heat up, to burn my wrists and arm just the same, but no pain reaches me. I’m relieved, curious of its mystical qualities, but I don’t have the time to relish in it. My vigor is renewed all the same, and I punch the man square in the nose. I punch him again, and again, until he covers his face. I reach for the dagger, ready to put an end to this once and for all, and–

It’s not there. I pat my hip a few more times, but it only confirms the weapon’s absence. Where did it… Then, it hits me. I tossed it aside to loose the arrows! How could I have already forgotten! Do I rush back to reclaim it? No, there are three more zealots between me and the weapon.

My eyes sweep for another weapon, but between the chaotic scene of battle and the abbreviated amount of time I have to search, it’s difficult to locate anything I can use. I try to figure out my next move, but I become fixated on one plan in particular. I just hope it works.

I shove the injured cultist aside, then run headlong at the assailants. They slow their pace, befuddled by my seeming recklessness. Their hands start to glow that ominous deep orange, but I’m undeterred. I clench my jaw and nearly hold my breath. I wince, lowering my head as I prepare for impact. This is either the most clever action I’ve taken, or the stupidest. I’ll soon find out in a few heartbeats.

The cultists get closer and closer. The details of their garments become more apparent, and I notice the intricate gold hem lining their sleeves and the bottom of their red robes. There’s a calming warmth that soothes my chest. Something is said in that disgusting Ulxa dialect. They coil back, hands emitting a blinding white light, ready to deliver me to a fiery fate. I think I feel their collective breaths upon my arms and cheeks.

And then I feel nothing at all.

My vision goes black, then suddenly there’s nothing but the disorienting scene of battle taking place before me. I glance over my shoulder, and three red robed figures stand, facing the other direction. Did I… Did it… work?

The obsidian dagger is now just a few paces away with nothing interfering any longer. It must’ve worked! I really must discover what is happening to me if I survive this.

I reach for the dagger, relieved when I feel the firm metallic handle in my palm. The chaotic blur of the battlefield narrows into sharp focus. Only my foes and their imminent threat at the forefront of my consciousness.

I rise, reassured by the the weight of the dagger in my hand. The closest cultist turns, his face a mask of confusion and rage, perhaps realizing his end. He’s slow to react, still bewildered by my sudden disappearance and equally unexpected reappearance. I don’t give him a chance to understand, nor do I wait for his hands to summon another of those cursed flames.

I close the space between us, and with a swift, practiced motion, I drive the dagger forward, aiming for a gap in his robe where the fabric meets leather belt. The blade slides in, easier than I’d expected, and his eyes widen—a mixture of surprise and the dawning of defeat. He collapses without a sound, a soft thud against the blood-soaked soil.

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The remaining two are quicker to grasp the situation, their survival instincts kicking in as they witness their comrade’s fall. They’re hesitant now, their movements uncertain—do they charge or flee?

“Come on then!” I challenge, my voice louder than I intend. They glance at each other, and upon returning their attention to me, I know they’ve decided their fate.

As they advance, a plan formulates in my mind. I grip the dagger tightly, remembering the brief connection I felt with the darkness, the momentary ability to vanish. Can I summon that power at will? I close my eyes, muttering a prayer or a curse—I’m not sure which.

I open my eyes to witness the sight of their confounded faces. I’ve moved—not far, but just enough to flank them. They scramble to realign, but panic has set in, and their movements become clumsy. I strike, felling one with a vicious slash across the thigh, deep enough to incapacitate as a river of blood gushes down his leg.

The last cultist backs away, eyes darting between his fallen brothers and me, the unexpected specter of death. He’s young, younger than I’d realized, and fear radiates off him. My heart twinges with an unwelcome pang of compassion, but I stifle it. Mercy has no place here. Not now.

I step forward, and he stumbles back, tripping over his own feet. As he falls, his hands raise instinctively to shield himself, his magic fizzling out in a puff of harmless smoke. It’s over quickly, the finality of the blade’s descent silencing the last threat.

Breathing heavily, I look around. The battle rages on, but here in this small pocket of carnage, there’s a brief lull. Instinctually, I wipe the dagger clean on the side of my tunic. As I sheathe the weapon, my mind reels as I consider what I’ve become capable of. This power, this gift—it’s both exhilarating and terrifying. I am changing, evolving into something new, something formidable. And while I feel I should fear what I might become, there’s a more prominent part of me that’s eager to discover its origin and the limits of this newfound strength.

I look down at my chest and take in the sight of the coral glow. The gemstone pulses, brighter than when I first gazed upon it, matching that of my racing heartbeat. It steadily begins to decrease, fading until it peters out entirely. Could this gemstone be the source of my powers? No, I had supposedly been able to perform this vanishing act before I possessed it. Perhaps there’s something more to this stone and its relation to this place. Maybe there’s something mystical about Qapauma itself.

With a final glance at the fallen, I turn back to the fray. The sea of warriors in black and gold, and orange and red, have fought back the deluge of Eye in the Flame. The explosions have nearly ceased entirely, with many of the sorcerers forced to retreat into the devastated Qapauma streets. It’s almost tangible, how I can feel the tide of this battle turning. We’re on the cusp of winning, I can sense it. We just need one more push, one more tremendous effort to truly put an end to this invasion once and for all.

I search the grounds for any indication of Mexqutli’s whereabouts. He’s seemingly vanished into thin air, running away from the repercussions of his failed assassination efforts like a coward. I try my hardest to not allow myself to be consumed by this disgust I now have for him, but it keeps nagging me, persistent in returning to the forefront of my mind no matter how hard I cast it aside. Something keeps pulling the thoughts back to my consciousness, and I become enraged all over again. He must be punished for his attempted coup amidst a battle for the sanctity of Pachil’s existence.

Though many of the combatants have now moved out into the city streets, I’m alerted to two figures hobbling about the grounds. They wear crimson, though not the robes like many of the Eye in the Flame. No, these two wear formal attire, one in a tunic and the other, a dress, both tightly-fitting garments. They look around, attempting to grasp what’s taken place here, seemingly seeking something. It’s a peculiar sight, especially on what has been a battleground for the entirety of the day.

I approach them, obsidian dagger in hand and lowered at my side. The two are startled when they finally notice my presence, and I show them the palm of my free hand to abate their fears. “Are you in need of protection?” I ask. Stepping closer, I notice the intricate designs sewn into their outfits. Gold trim and patterns line the edges of their clothing that shimmers in the dimming light of day. I’ve never seen such material—is it not made from alpaca?

I return my attention to the conversation. “I can escort you to safety, should you need it. The Tapeu nobility should be in some safe house, I would assume. We can locate it together.”

I could be mistaken, but the pair look at me with utter disgust. They inspect me up and down, and I feel their judgement burning into me. “We do not need your assistance, girl,” the woman says, as though I offended them.

I’m stunned, almost at a loss for words. I’m about to walk away, leaving them in this desolate place, but I just can’t help myself. “I am only trying to aid you, to bring you to safety,” I state, baffled by their reaction to me.

“Why would a Tuatiu warrior care for the safety of Tapeu nobles, unless she spies a chance to meddle where she does not belong?” the man questions.

Now I’m completely confused, wondering where this hostility is coming from. “Look,” I say, stepping closer to the couple, “these palace grounds have been a battlefield, where the Eye in the Flame have endangered countless lives. Fighting is still taking place just beyond those decimated walls. If you won’t accept–“

“Where did you get that gemstone, child of the jungle?” the woman demands forcefully. She glares, marching up to me. Then the woman reaches out to pull it from my neck, but I step away quickly, just out of her grasp.

“Why is it any of your concern?” I respond with a question of my own. I continue to step back, avoiding standing too close to these two. Something isn’t right about this exchange, this situation. I grip my dagger tightly, switching my attention between the two and watching for any sudden movements. I begin to fear these are not helpless nobles after all, but, instead, two dangerous people whose path I may not have wanted to cross.

“Give that to me, now!” the man growls. I’m flying backward in the air, almost level with the ground. I hit the dirt with a hard thwump, feeling as if hundreds of needles have pierced my back. I struggle to roll over onto my hands and knees, to stand up and defend myself. From a crouch, I reach for the obsidian dagger next to me when a swift kick pounds my stomach. I drop to the ground, trying to regain my breath.

“He said,” the woman snarls, punctuating each word as she speaks through clenched teeth, “give that gemstone to us!”

As she reaches for the pendant around my neck, I lunge for the dagger, then swing it wildly at her. I just catch her arm, and she howls as she grabs at the wound. She says with ferocity, “You little–“

I’m flung along the ground, tumbling over and over until I eventually skid to a halt. The two are now dozens of strides away from me. Was her kick that powerful? Something supernatural is at play here, I know it. These two must be…

“Eye in the Flame sorcerers,” I finish my thought aloud. The pair seem pleased by my revelation, as if I’ve heaped praise upon them. Seeing me on the ground, they casually stroll in my direction, as though they don’t expect me to retaliate. Little do they know…

“There are more pressing matters than dealing with some child,” the man says. The woman, however, waves a hand at him dismissively as she continues to walk toward me.

“That gemstone belongs to the great Sunfire, Teqotlo,” she declares. “She must not be in possession of it.”

If they want this gemstone so badly, they’ll have to catch me first, I determine. Mustering all the energy I can, I force myself to my feet. It worked before, I think, so I hope it works again now.

I locate a place dozens of steps away from them, some place close to the destroyed palace gardens to the south. There’s a warmth at my chest as I concentrate on that destination, hoping whatever I’ve been able to do up until now will work once more. I run toward it, despite my legs putting up a resistance, and suddenly my vision goes black for a moment. Everything vanishes.

Then, I slide to a stop, just before colliding with the remains of a stone wall. I look around, trying to quickly assess the situation. And I realize, I’ve done it again. I made it to my desired destination!

I look back, seeing a perplexed pair of Eye in the Flame sorcerers. The duo eagerly search for me, but I’m not where they thought I was, where they expected me to be. I take delight in my evasive maneuvering, and, with this rare moment of reprieve, I search for a more useful weapon. It doesn’t take much to find more quivers of arrows, but my eyes land on something far greater, laying next to a fallen warrior clad in an orange-and-red tunic with a black and white checker pattern painted on—a Tapeu general.

I pick up the sword, immediately recognizing its expert craftsmanship. This sword is far different than those used standardly; the wood is much darker, and feels far sturdier, and the obsidian blades embedded in it contain streaks of silver that shimmer even in the low light. The handle is wrapped in the hide of a jaguar, providing excellent grip. I’ve never seen a weapon of its equal, and I almost feel undeserving of possessing such a sword. Yet, while I usually favor my bow, I decide I want this confrontation to be up close and personal, and the weapon and I will serve each other well.

With renewed vigor, I dart toward the two nobles in crimson. I raise the sword up, and in a few long strides, draw closer to the man the woman called Teqotlo. I bring the weapon down, but he hears my footsteps. Noticing my fast approach, he turns and slips out of the way. The blades, sharp and well-maintained, catch his shoulder, slicing clean through his garment. I only know my strike was successful when I see his outfit slowly become soaked, and blood trickles down the sleeve.

I swipe at him again, narrowly missing his torso as he hops out of the way. But I persist, relentlessly swinging the sword again and again at my foe. He tries to step back, tries to evade my strikes, eventually tripping over himself and stumbling on his feet. The blade slashes him, tracing a long, diagonal gash across his chest and along his ribs. He yelps, wincing at the pain that courses through him.

But I’m fighting two enemies, not one. This becomes apparent when, after my successful strike, I’m thrown away from the man, as if something large, something heavy, crashes into my body, sending me flying into the air. I land on the sword, nicking myself on its sharp blades as I slide over it and onto the ground.

I look up, seeing the woman’s hand cast toward me. She must be the one responsible for such events. I get up, pushing myself off the dirt. I spin the sword in my hand, feeling the jaguar’s fur brushing against my palms, until it’s back in its readied position. I steel myself, coiling back, then hurling myself toward my enemies.

She brings her arm back—I assume for another invisible attack to fling me away. But this time, I’m watching her. I’m ready. Just as she whips her body forward, I look for a point beside her. I focus, focus on my desired location. I can do this. I can–

My body is pounded with another unseen barrage, as if I’ve run into an invisible barrier. I drop to the ground, the breath knocked out of my chest. My vision is blurry, unable to see my surroundings clearly. A metallic taste overwhelms my mouth. There’s a loud thrumming in my head, followed by an intense ringing. I try to lift myself up, but something is pinning me down. I feel stuck in place, unable to move. There’s a vibration through my body, making it difficult to regain my breath, and my senses are entirely disoriented.

I hear a muffled voice, barely audible. “… the stone… finish her…”

Exhaustion. I’m overwhelmed by exhaustion. No, the sensation is greater than that. It’s as though I’ve been wounded. But not physically. I feel my spirit being pulled away from my body. I spit out blood onto the ground as I gasp for air. I fight to stand, but I no longer have the strength to resist. Though my vision dims, I barely make out the man, hunched over but standing, his arm raised in my direction.

“… will be a… sacrifice…” I hear the words spoken.

I have to get out. I have to leave this place. I need to get to somewhere safe, away from this torment. My eyes refuse to focus, and the world around me remains in a blur. A blob of a figure gradually approaches me, ripples shimmering through the air around them, and I know it must be one of them, one of my foes. I must act soon. But I can’t concentrate well enough to try utilizing my abilities again. The pain is to immense, as if something is pressing against my ears.

“Mother! Father!”

Shouts draw my attention to the crumbled remains of the palace entrance. Out of the corner of my eye, a shadow moves—swift and decisive. I shake loose the fogginess, straining my eyes to focus on what approaches now. Two young girls—one wearing nothing but a thin, plain tunic, the other in a flowing, vibrant jade green dress—storm onto the battlefield. One of the duo looks familiar, even with my senses distorted. Something in her demeanor, the way she walks, the way she carries herself, like the servant who washed away the swarm of Eye in the Flame that surrounded the palace walls.

“What are you doing here, child?” the woman’s voice rings out, echoing off the remnants of the stone walls. “This does not concern you.”

“Enough!” the young woman shouts, her voice tinged with pain and vitriol. There’s a fire inside her, something fueling this rage. “All these years, you cloaked your treachery under the guise of loyalty to Pachil. You betrayed everyone, even your own children, sacrificing everything we stood for, all for what? Power? Recognition from the Sunfire?”

The woman recovers her composure. “Onixem,” she says, her voice cold and dismissive, “you were always too sentimental, too weak to understand the necessities of power. You think you stand on the side of righteousness, but you are just a child playing at rebellion.”

Teqotlo’s eyes narrow, speaking in a low growl. “We did what was necessary for our survival, for the survival of our ideals. You could have been part of something greater, but you chose to side with fools. We did what we must for the greater good—”

“The greater good?” Onixem cuts him off, her voice rising. “You call this destruction good? No, I understand perfectly. You manipulate and sacrifice without remorse. You are monsters wearing the masks of nobles.”

My vision gradually clears up. Seeing the two cultists distracted, I know this is my chance. If I can just gather the strength in my bones to lift this sword, I can put an end to their destructive ways. I take slow, deep breaths, doing all I can to attempt one more strike.

Onixem’s hand tightens on her bow, her stance solidifying as she prepares to act. “I choose to stand with those who fight for the truth, not those who hide behind lies and deceit. If this is what the ‘greater good’ looks like to you, I want no part in it.”

At this, I surge forward. The wooden sword slices through the air. My target is the woman, the closer threat, with her back partly turned to me as she faces her daughter.

Though my attack is meant to be silent and swift, it is anything but unnoticed. Teqotlo senses the disturbance as I approach the woman. “Aluxeqwel!” he shouts urgently. With a swift motion, he spins, hand outstretched. The air between us crackles, and an invisible force slams into my chest, like being hit by a powerful and unyielding wave.

I’m thrown back, the impact wrenching the sword from my grasp. My back hits the ground hard, knocking the air out of me. My body feels too heavy to lift myself up. As I struggle to regain my breath, my vision blurs again, and the figures of Aluxeqwel and Teqotlo merge into the darkening sky above.

“That gemstone belongs to the great Sunfire,” the woman, Aluxeqwel, declares. She snaps her attention back to Onixem, dismissing me as if I were nothing more than an annoyance. “Get it back, Teqotlo.”

Crunching footsteps along the dirt grow louder as the man approaches. But then a solitary shout pierces the air, stopping everyone in place.

“You are no longer my parents, just filth to be cleansed.”

Onixem raises her bow, an arrow nocked and ready. With a swift maneuver, not one, but two arrows fly, striking each parent in quick succession. The first finds its mark in Teqotlo’s shoulder, causing him to stagger, disrupting his spell. My breath mercifully returns. The second arrow strikes Aluxeqwel squarely in the chest, and a gasp escapes her lips. Aluxeqwel and Teqotlo drop back, eyes wide with surprise and betrayal as they collapse to the ground.

Teqotlo, wounded but not yet defeated, turns towards his daughter with a mix of pain and fury etched across his face. “Onixem, how could you—“

“Your reign of terror and deceit is over,” the one named Onixem says coldly, her face expressionless. She walks to him, unsheathing a dagger at her side. In one fluid movement, she swipes the blade across his neck. His eyes bulge from pure shock as his short, staggered breaths become wet choking sounds. Clutching at his throat, he falls forward into a pool of his own blood, lifeless.

There’s no time to reflect upon what just occurred, as a low rumbling approaches us. Is it more enemies? Do I have the strength to carry on with the fight? Gasping for breath, I’m barely able to steady myself as I look upon the scene. From one side, a swath of warriors marches to our position in front of the palace, approaching slowly, almost with hesitance. It’s a swirl of varying colors: the black and gold is immediately distinguishable, but the bright jade and magenta catches me by surprise. I glance over at Onixem, realizing her garments match theirs.

From the other side, through the crumbled walls that shield the palace from the sea, an army of orange and red warriors head toward us. While neither side wears the gray or red robes of the invading enemy, my stomach feels unsettled by the sight, as though the threat has not been quashed. There’s a terrible indication as to what will come from this meeting of sides, and more than ever, I fear what will come from being placed—literally—at the center of it.