Her breath was cold against Mia’s back. The witch had faltered forward, leaning against the small back of the blond, knees touching the dirt below. Her head snapped to the white wall, shifting slowly like a living being. In it, two holes closed where the projectiles had penetrated through the Veil, sealing the wall into a uniform barrier once more.

“Are you OK?!” Mia moved to help her up and understand what had happened, but the witch halted the girl with a swift movement of her hand.

“No. Run to the cabin.” She turned again, now to face Luke, blood streaking down his cheek slightly from the cut he had received moments prior. “Both of you. Hur-”

“CAW!” The call of a bird, the familiar sound of crow. They looked out into the mist, heads turning, unsure of where the sound had come from. No bugs, no birds, no wildlife to speak of; Luke and Mia had not seen a sign of life since the fog rolled in. Undead ruled the the Veil, thus the living had no place in it. Had a crow been trapped in the stagnant mist just as they had?

“CAW! CAW!” Two crows, seemingly from different direction within the fog. Then a third, a fourth, and a fifth. Dozens more, a murder of crows invisible through the mist, but approaching, growing louder and crowding the air with their ominous calls.

Luke stood, unsure of what was happening, but certain it couldn’t be a good thing after they had just been shot at by blades of darkness. “Mia, run!” He commanded, lifting her to her feet and directing her towards the cabin.

“Wait! What about-!”

“I’ve got her, don’t worry!” He assured, knowing Mia was not the type to leave the witch behind — and after all the spirit witch had done to protect them from the mistwalkers, Luke was not inclined to leave her behind either.

“What are you doing? You must run.” The witch questioned, struggling to stand to her feet. As her legs gave way once more, Lukes sturdy frame was there to catch her, taking her by the arm and placing it over his square shoulders for support.

“Just returning a favor I owe you. Come on, work with me here.” She wasn’t heavy, and on any other day he would have carried her over to the cabin, but with what little energy he had, he was not sure he could make it there with the witch in his arms and guarantee he would not drop her. With two blades stuck in her back, he preferred not to imagine what dropping her now would do to her.

Mia caught a glimpse of the black feathers piercing the witch’s back. They were almost glossy with how they reflected light against utter darkness, no doubt slick with water as they had traveled through the mist. Feathers two inches wide, Mia couldn’t tell how far into her back the blades had penetrated — though seeing as they still stuck out several inches, she hoped they hadn’t cut too deep. Mia stepped closer to the witch to better see the wound. There, she noticed a dark smoke seeping from the wound. Black wisps, with shades of violet, emanated from where feather met flesh — an essence of pure evil.

“It is a miasma. Not a corrupting one,” the witch assured her. “But it is preventing me from shifting out of physical form.”

“CAW! CAW! CAW!” Louder, the crows gathered as their calls felt a precursor to an imminent danger, as if hundreds now circled them.

Luke heard a snap, followed by another, he and the witch pacing steadily towards the cabin not far from them. “What are you doing?”

“Shush, Luke! Let me focus!” She replied, walking backwards in front of the limping pair, wanting to keep them in her sight.

1, snap, 2, snap, 3, snap, 4, snap. 1, snap, 2, snap, 3, snap, 4, snap.

She counted again to the pace of her quickened heartbeat, this one different to the identification beat she had used previously, every measure containing the snaps instead of every other measure. Luke watched the tips of Mia’s right hand glow faintly with a white light. She halted for a moment, letting both of her companions catch up to her. But contrary to whatever she had planned, Luke watched her emerald eyes widen. His heart sank at the fear within them and sudden silence as the sound of the crows vanished.

“Jump!” She yelled, rising into the air, hair bobbing with the force of her leap. Without hesitation, Luke and the witch followed suit, the raven-haired man taking the witch in both arms and bounding upward with her. Dust from the dirt path below scattered into the air, unsettled by a dark shadow passing underneath them. They landed safely, the witch clinging onto him for support as they hit the ground running, Mia’s outstretched hand searching for them though the cloud of dirt still settling around them. Luke reciprocated, stretching his own arm out to meet the girl’s as another blur of darkness grazed his shoulder and stick into the ground below. It’s stung for a second, but Luke took hold of Mia’s hand regardless, the girl pulling them up onto the porch as they leap forward toward her.

Several dozen black feathers stuck into the ground where they had just been. The witch clambered off of him, Luke lying on his back, chest heaving on the wooden porch. Large shadows moved like coiled snakes just visible through the wall of mist. Two pierced into the clearing, slamming down onto the ground. Whips of feathers wound tightly around themselves. They lashed out in the direction of the cabin, lightning quick. Luke moved to clear its path, his calf shot with pain as blood splattered onto the rotting wood.

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“Aaah!” It was a searing pain, his pant leg almost completely severed off as the whip had coiled around his calf in the attack.

“Luke!” Mia yelled out, taking him by the underarms and helping him drag himself further toward the cabin door.

A silent quill pierces the mist and arrowed straight at Luke’s torso. The witch tapped her mask with her middle finger, a bright blue light glowing from her mask and onto the tip of her hand as she drew a large circle in the air. The feather clattered into it, repelled by a force as it bounced off and away. Luke sighed, looking up at the witch having just saved his life.

“Thanks…”

A whip clashed into the shield, bouncing off as a third emerged from the mist and joined in the assault, three whips crashing against the witch’s magic. Each strike shook the unsteady foundation of the cabin, reverberating a deep crack around, like slapping a wet towel against a pain of glass. Every hit strained the witch, tight muscles tensing further to keep the shield from breaking under the pressure.

They stopped, curling around themselves and recoiling back into the mist. Silence for a moment, until a figure emerged from the white wall.

It was impossible to tell if they were man or woman, but even through there bulky wear, they had a strikingly slim figure, exasperated by their height which put them easily a head taller than Luke. A black coat, reaching long past the knees, was partially open, revealing downy black feathers somehow darker still than the inky material of the coat itself. Black gloves and heavy dark boots were both fitted over the long sleeves and pant legs of their coat and trousers respectively. A plague doctor’s mask, black as per the rest of their gloomy outfit, carried scratches and scuff marks around the long, curved beak that covered their visage. The dark goggles attached to the mask that fitted over his eyes were tinted black, making it impossible to see the eyes of whomever peered out from behind them. A wide-brimmed hat sat atop their head, long quills arching back over the top attached via a black ribbon that wound around the base near the brim. From head to toe, no speck of skin was visible, just dark clothes that hung loosely over a the tall, thin frame.

They stepped slowly onto the path still relatively far from the cabin, having emerged down toward the bottom of where the path clears of fog. They’re voice emerged with a cackle, just as androgynous as their hidden appearance.

“Keke! You guard these children for what, witch?” An oddly merry voice, but venom sown into every word, a sense of superiority blatant as they talked down to the witch. “Do times of peace have guardians of the Veil so bored they have taken to babysitting? Keke!”

“They are not meant to be here and neither are-” Three whips of bound feathers emerged from behind the figure, slamming one after the other against the witch’s magical shield. Her body tensed, impact after grueling impact taking its toll on her weakened form.

“Did you stutter? I didn’t quite catch that, darling. Keke!” The whips shrunk, pulled back and away from the barrier, as they danced around the dark form, now remaining there rather than vanishing completely. “Hmm… Still, perhaps you are right. I do not belong here. How naughty of me… Kekeke!” It’s voice now more sultry as they reveled in their defiant mischief. “But when an opportunity like this presents itself, how can I not…” They paused for a pensive moment. “Take advantage of it. Keke!”

“What do you want from us!” Luke’s attention shot to Mia. She was pale, rattled by fear of the unknown — at her helplessness against this person. Yet, despite the tremble in her lips and the raggedness of her breath, the words came out of her with utter defiance. And the look in her eye was not of someone fearful, but the measured stare of clear resolve. It was enough to ignite his own passion as Mia managed to remind him of how important composure was in the face of danger.

“Oh, sweetie. I admire your confidence, but there is nothing I want from a child whose barely capable of sleeping without wetting themselves. I can learn nothing from you, keke!” the figure took another few steps forward, now almost too close for comfort as Mia pressed her back against the cabin wall. “But the Veil itself holds many secrets and she speaks through her guardians, doesn’t she, witch? I’ve got more than a few questions for you… Keke!”

Five, ten, twenty lashes of its whips clashed against the barrier, pummeling the witch’s magic and physically forcing her and the barrier back as one unit. Luke acted, pressing his back against hers just like they had during the battle not too long ago. He placed his feet flat against the wall and closed door of the cabin, using his legs to push against the wall and keep the witch from sliding back too far. Awkwardly, two dark quill blades embedded in her, Luke angled himself so that he only pressed against the upper middle and left of her back. Still, if his strength fail, he would likely find himself struck by the feather in her lower back.

“Impressive! Keke!” It cooed, raising a palm toward the sky as the whips continued to lash out around it, striking not only the barrier itself, but the dirt and grass around, cutting into the ground and tearing up the soil in a wild assault. “Stygian. Rise!” Their coat opened up, revealing thousands upon thousands of feathers, one after the other rising up into the sky above the masked figure’s raised arm. They amassed into a rough sphere, growing larger as a seemingly endless flow of feathers gathered into the sphere.

“Stygian. Blades!” They cackled once more, hundreds of quill blades bashing into the barrier, pelting them with a relentless assault of piercing and slashing attacks. “Kekeke! How long can you last, I wonder? Keke!”

The witch continued to hold her magic, feet scraping and splintering against the hard wood floor, desperate to hold up to the attack. Luke tried fiercely to take his focus off of the pain, survival the only thing spurring him on. His calf, dripping blood from the nasty cut of the whip, served only to distract him from other pains across his body. The gash on his thigh and rib. Battered body beaten and bruised, he could feel himself breaking down, the back tip of the feather in the witch’s lower back beginning to press against his. But the more surprising pressure was that on his chest. Luke opened his eyes and found Mia staring right at him, effort evident as her face reddened and she shoved her whole body into his. She was weak, providing little to their overall resistance. But every little bit counted, and in the face of their impending doom, he admired her tenacity — even as she pressed him harder against the witch, and the sharp back of the feather blade slowly cut into his skin.

Still, he smiled at her. A grateful grin that Mia couldn’t help but reciprocate. Call it a moment of madness, but as death tightened its grip around them, they were glad to do so with a person willing to put all on the line for each other’s survival. An innocent laugh they shared that drowned out the vile howl of their killer.

“Partita No. 2, Chaconne.” A breath in the mist, a whispered announcement. And with the yearning strings of a soloist's play, it was a song of tragedy that sliced each whip in twain. Hope for the hopeless.