Keyna’s mother knew that death had come for her as soon as she heard them knocking at the door. It had always been a matter of time before they found her. Ishri kneeled before her child, wiped away a blond curl from her face, and started explaining to her that Mommy wouldn’t be around for much longer. Even though she had had years to prepare for this moment, to think about what she would say when they came looking for her, she stumbled over her words while she spoke. ‘Grab the wooden shield from my room. There is a hidden compartment beneath my bed. Hide in there and don’t come out until it’s silent. You hear me?’ Keyna was brave for an eight-year-old. Tears welled up in the corners of her eyes but she nodded, determined to abide by her mother’s words. ‘I love you, Keyna. Never forget that. Now go along. Please, keep the shield safe. Do it for me.’ Her child gave her a big hug. ‘Are you going on a trip? Is this a farewell?’ ‘Yes, I’m going on a trip.’ ‘When will you come back?’ Ishri had to keep it together there and then. No time for tears. ‘I..I don’t know. I will be gone for a long time.’ Keyna’s hug got tighter. ‘No worries! I will look after Beans! And I will chop wood for the stove and wait until you come back.’ ‘Thank you, little butterfly. Don’t forget me.’ ‘I won’t.’ She kissed Keyna on her forehead and watched the child dart to her bedroom.  Please, Keyna, guard the shield.  Only a few seconds later the door flew open. Death had arrived.

When Keyna emerged from her hiding place, the first thing she noticed was the silence. The little hut in which she lived with her mother had never been so silent before. No crackling fire. No sounds of iron grinding on stone from the workshop. No songs from her mother, humming some old Empire ballad as she worked around the house. Everything felt off. She held the wooden shield before her while she traversed the house, searching for a clue. It gave her a sense of protection. Keyna didn’t know why her mother would suddenly disappear on a trip. She seemed so sad. As she entered the living area, she saw nothing but chaos. Mom’s big bookcase now formed a mountain of broken wood and books, flooding the floor. Planks within the wall of the cottage had been removed at random. Keyna went to look at the kitchen and when she saw a similar mess there, she wasn’t surprised. All the cabins were opened and their clay plates and pots were smashed to pieces.

 A cold gust of wind distracted her from her search. The door opened and closed, nothing but a plaything of the stormy weather outside. As she looked outside, she saw three figures in the distance, leaving the snowy hill upon which Mom had built their house. Two men and a woman. The woman was the biggest of them all. She had a buzz cut and wore leather armor. A big war axe hung diagonally over her shoulders. Even from inside, Keyna could see the blood, dripping from the axe blade on the snowy underground. A trail of red was ever-growing between their cottage and the woman. One of the men had a strange animal on his shoulder. It was quite hard to see but it appeared to be a silhouette of a big green bird. It looked like a hawk but with an almost fluorescent greenish color to it. Keyna had heard stories of dustlings before, creatures able to collect magic and grant it their owners but she had never seen one in real life, until now. The owner of the dustling wore long robes, combined with a thick cloak to combat the cold of the Twelve Fingers. The third wore a fancy jacket of red fur. He was bald and had a leather bag slung over his shoulder. As Keyna took her eyes from the strangers, ready to continue looking at her house, she realized it. The blood. The mess. They’re intruders. It didn’t take too long to find the source of the blood. The steel door to her mother’s workshop stood slightly open. As long as Keyna could remember, her mom always locked it.  She never wanted to be distracted during her long tinkering sessions so she liked to work quietly, behind the privacy of the steel door. As she opened the door, the first thing she registered was blood.

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The wooden floor was smeared red with little drops. She looked back, into the kitchen, and realized she had missed the trail of blood there. The blood, however, only served as a distraction from the horrors Keyna found within the workshop. The many diagrams that once covered the walls were gone. All of her mother’s weapons and inventions had also disappeared. The workbench was a mess of broken wood and iron. In the middle of the room lay her mother. Big gashes appeared on her body where the axe had struck her. Her pale skin formed a stark contrast against the darkness of the blood and the wooden floor. Keyna looked at her mother. In her eyes, she saw a faint recognition, a last spark of light with which her mother regarded her daughter. Then she let loose a small breath and the spark went out. Keyna grabbed the wooden shield as she cried. She wanted to wake up. The child just sat there, staring at her mother. At nightfall she buried her. Then she grabbed a backpack, collected some food and saddled Beans. She tied the wooden shield to her backpack. The death of her mother would not go unpunished.