Santan Village had never aspired to be anything more than what it was, a modest waypoint for travelers making the long trek between Phoenix and Tucson. The people who lived there were tough, stubborn folk, proud of the little patch of desert they’d carved out for themselves. The main road was lined with only a handful of buildings. A general store, a saloon, and a small town hall surrounded by rudimentary fortifications. Twenty or so houses formed a loose circle around this hub, their inhabitants banding together against the harsh desert and the occasional threat of magic beasts.

Billy had passed through a number of times, but as he pulled his horse to a stop just outside the village, the place he remembered no longer existed.

The towering plume of smoke that had guided him through the night had dissipated by the time he arrived, leaving behind only a faint haze in the air. The village was gone. Every structure reduced to ash, the ground scorched black. Embers glowed faintly in the wreckage, the heat still so intense it caused the air to shimmer.

Billy dismounted, his boots crunching softly against the ash-strewn ground. His horse shifted nervously behind him, its ears flicking back and forth, nostrils flaring as it picked up the lingering stench of burnt wood and flesh. He took slow, deliberate steps, his eyes scanning the ruins.

In the centre of what was once the village square, the twisted, melted remains of a cart lay near the town well. The iron frame was warped beyond recognition, the wood burned away entirely. His boot struck something half-buried in the ash. Kneeling, he brushed away the dirt to reveal a set of tin soldiers, their edges melted and deformed. They had been placed in a shallow hole, perhaps by a child hoping to keep them safe from the flames. Billy’s chest tightened at the sight, as it brought a sour taste to his mouth, and bitter memories to mind

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Six years earlier.

Billy stood in front of his men, a map spread out on a barrel between them. The flickering light of the campfire cast long shadows over their faces, worn from weeks in the field. His finger traced a line on the map, stopping at a point marked “Nightshrike Roost.”

“Gentlemen, orders are as simple as pie,” he began, confidence in his voice. “We got two obstacles. Here’s where we are. Nightshrike’s roost is in that gorge up ahead. Cragjaw Golem’s dug in at the pass further north. Both of ‘em need to be cleared, or the army doesn’t get through to Eugene. Our job’s simple, get rid of em’ by any means.”

He glanced at First Sergeant Carter, his second-in-command, who stood with his arms crossed, a skeptical look on his face. Carter raised an eyebrow. “Simple, huh? You’ve seen what that thing can do. It’s not exactly gonna make it easy.”

Billy gave him a wry smile. “That’s why we’ve got the big gun.”

Behind him, the artillery piece loomed like a sleeping giant, its barrel polished to a dull shine. The cannon, capable of firing magic-infused shells, could turn even the deadliest magical creatures into ash if they hit their mark.

“Plan’s straightforward,” Billy continued. “We set up here” he pointed to a ridge overlooking the gorge “and the artillery crew takes their shot. One clean hit. Done and dusted. Questions?”

The men exchanged glances but said nothing. Carter finally said. “And if it ain’t as clean as you say?”

Billy shrugged, his tone casual. “Then the rest of us keep it pinned down with rifle fire until the artillery crew can get another shot off”

“That easy, huh?” said Carter

“As pie” replied Billy

The wind howled through the gorge as the team moved into position. The Nightshrike’s roost loomed above, a grotesque tangle of branches and bones clinging precariously to the cliffside. The beast’s low, guttural cries echoed through the rocks, setting the men on edge.

Billy crouched beside Carter, his rifle loaded with magic bullets. “Ready?” he called to the artillery crew.

“Ready, sir!”

Billy raised his hand, waiting for the wind to still. When the moment came, he dropped his hand sharply. “Fire!”

The cannon’s roar shattered the silence. The first shell struck just below the roost, sending a burst of electricity and debris cascading into the gorge. The impact dislodged the nest, which splintered and fell apart as it tumbled down the rocky face.

A deafening screech tore through the air. The Nightshrike burst from the debris, its shadowy wings unfurling to blot out the sun. Black tendrils lashed from its body, striking out at the ridge.

“Keep it in the open!” Billy shouted, firing a shot that clipped the creature’s wing. It roared in fury, twisting through the air as bullets peppered its form.

The cannon fired again, but the Nightshrike was too fast. The shell exploded harmlessly against the cliffside, sending a spray of rock and dust into the air. The beast veered sharply, climbing higher and higher, out of range of both bullets and artillery.

“Reload!” Billy barked, the cannon crew was already scrambling to prepare the next shell. The Nightshrike circled once, then vanished into the clouds.

The gorge fell silent, save for the heavy breathing of the men and the faint hum of the artillery piece cooling down.

Billy lowered his rifle slowly, his eyes fixed on the clouds where the beast had disappeared. “It’s gone,” he said, his voice calm. “It’s not coming back here. It ain’t got a roost no more. We’ve done enough.”

Carter frowned, dusting off his jacket. “You sure about that? Feels like half a job to me.”

Billy shrugged, his tone light. “Mission was to make the road safe. It’s safe now. That’s all that matters.”

The next morning, they reached the village of Cottage Grove, and the sight stopped them in their tracks. What had once been a bustling, modest settlement was now a smoldering wasteland. The air was thick with smoke and the cloying stench of charred wood and death. The sun hung low in the sky, its light distorted by the haze that clung to the ruins.

Billy dismounted his horse slowly, the sound of his boots crunching against the scorched dirt breaking the oppressive silence. His men followed, their faces grim and pale. They moved as if in a daze, their eyes darting across the devastation. Burned-out buildings lined the streets, their skeletal frames sagging inward. Ashes swirled in the faint breeze, mingling with the blackened, cracked ground beneath their feet.

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Bodies lay scattered throughout the town, their outlines barely recognizable beneath layers of soot and debris. To anyone familiar with the havoc wrought by magic beasts, the signs were unmistakable, the Nightshrike had been here.

Billy stopped in the center of the town, his gaze falling on a small object half-buried in the dirt. A doll, its face cracked and its dress charred. He picked it up, turning it over in his hands.

Carter walked up beside him, his voice low. “I know you didn’t mean for this. But we’ve got to stop it now. We have a responsibility”

Billy didn’t respond at first. His jaw clenched, and his eyes remained fixed on the horizon. He knew where the Nightshrike was headed. Springfield, the next town up the valley. Larger, more populous, and with no defenses against a creature of this magnitude.

“We can’t leave it,” Carter said, his tone sharper now. “Springfield’ll burn just like this place.”

Billy turned to face his men. They were watching him, waiting for orders. He took a deep breath.

He took a deep breath, his voice steady but heavy with guilt. “I won’t order you to come with me. We’ve got our mission. This ain’t it. But I intend to kill that thing.”

The silence stretched out, thick and suffocating, until Carter slung his rifle over his shoulder with a resigned grunt. “You think I’m letting you do something that stupid alone? Forget it.”

One by one, the rest of the men followed, stepping into formation behind Billy.

The church bell in Springfield was ringing, its desperate toll echoing through the valley as Billy and his men rode into town. Townsfolk were running in every direction, their arms full of whatever they could grab, food, animals, children. The shadow of the Nightshrike swept over them all, dark and massive as it circled high above. Its piercing screeches sent shudders through the air.

Billy yanked his horse to a stop in the town square and dismounted. “Carter! Get the rifle teams on those rooftops. I want full coverage. Jenkins, get that cannon set up, center of the square! Move!”

The men sprang into action. The artillery crew dragged the massive cannon into place, its barrel aimed skyward, while the riflemen scrambled onto rooftops, taking defensive positions. The cannon was their only real hope of killing the monstrous bird, everything else was a desperate attempt to slow it down.

Billy scanned the sky. The Nightshrike was diving, its massive wings slicing through the air as it hurtled toward the square. “Let me know when you have the shot!” he barked.

“On target, sir!” Jenkins shouted.

“Fire!”

The cannon roared, the magic-infused shell streaking through the air and grazing the Nightshrike’s wing. The explosion sent a burst of lightning into the sky, tearing through feathers and eliciting a furious screech from the beast. It spiraled out of control, crashing into the ground with an earth-shaking thud.

“Keep firing!” Billy shouted as the rifle teams unleashed a barrage of magic bullets. Fire, ice, and lightning struck the Nightshrike in rapid succession. But the creature was enraged, not defeated. It clambered to its feet. Running on all four limbs, it charged at the cannon, its shadowy tendrils lashed out smashing into the artillery piece sending it toppling over. More bullets struck the monster from the riflemen on the rooftops causing it to turn and shriek.

“Get that thing upright!” Billy barked. The crew scrambled to lift it, their hands fumbling with the heavy weapon.

“It’s not gonna give us time!” Carter yelled, firing his rifle and hitting the creature square in the chest. The Nightshrike screeched again, its glowing eyes narrowing as it turned back toward the cannon crew.

Billy grabbed Carter’s arm. “We’ll hold it off! Just stay with the team!”

Carter shook his head, his jaw set. “No chance. Someone’s gotta draw it off, or we’re all dead.”

“Sargent Carter, this is a direct order. You will do as I say” Billy shouted, his voice cracking with desperation.

But Carter was already moving. He broke into a sprint, yelling, “Hey! Over here, you overgrown buzzard!” He leveled his rifle and fired, the ice bullet striking the creature’s left eye.

The Nightshrike roared in fury, its focus shifting to Carter. It charged, its massive claws tearing through the ground as it closed the distance. Carter fired again, this time hitting its neck, but the beast didn’t slow.

“Get that cannon loaded now!” Billy screamed, his heart pounding as he fired repeatedly at the monster's back, hoping to draw its attention. The crew worked furiously, heaving the cannon upright and loading the final shell.

Carter kept moving, dodging debris as the Nightshrike’s tendrils lashed at him. But his steps faltered. The creature struck, its claws raking across his back and sending him crashing to the ground. His rifle skittered out of reach as the Nightshrike loomed over him, its talons poised for the killing blow.

“Fire!” Billy screamed, his voice raw.

The cannon fired, the shell streaking through the air and striking the Nightshrike square in the ribs. The explosion lit up the square, a blinding flash of light and magic electricity that sent shockwaves through the ground. The beast screeched one final time before collapsing, its massive body crumpling into a lifeless heap.

The silence that followed was suffocating. Billy ran toward where Carter had fallen, his boots slipping on the blood-slick cobblestones. He dropped to his knees beside his second-in-command.

Carter’s breaths were shallow, his chest rising and falling with painful slowness. Billy gripped his shoulder, his voice tight. “You shouldn't have done that, Carter. Why didn’t you just list-”

Carter cut him off with a faint smile, his lips trembling. “Your dumb ass would have done the same,” he rasped. “Just…remember...responsibility’s bigger than orders. Do what's right”

His breathing stilled, his body going limp in Billy’s arms.

Two weeks laters, Billy stood at attention in the officers’ tent, the weight of the battle still heavy on his shoulders. Across the table, three officers sat with stony expressions.

“You disobeyed direct orders,” the senior officer said, his voice cold. “Your mission was to clear the pass to Eugene, not divert to save Springfield.”

Billy kept his voice steady. “The Nightshrike was heading for Springfield. If we hadn’t stopped it, the town would’ve been destroyed.”

The officer’s eyes narrowed. “And in doing so, you delayed the army’s advance. The Coalition reinforced Eugene. Oregon is lost to the Free States because of your decision.”

Billy’s jaw tightened. “I don’t regret it. I did the right thing, sir.”

The officer slammed a hand on the table. “Your duty isn’t to decide what’s right or wrong, Ferguson. Your duty is to follow orders. You are hereby demoted to private and sentenced to the correctional barracks indefinitely.”

Billy didn’t argue. He saluted sharply, turned on his heel, and walked out of the tent without a word.

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Back in the present, Billy stood at the edge of the ruined town, his eyes scanning the scorched earth. A trail of indentations in the ground, impossibly large and perfectly spaced stretching from east to west. He approached cautiously, his boots crunching over ash and debris. The prints were massive, each one longer than his horse and pressed deep into the earth. The impressions were charred black and still radiated heat.

As he got closer, movement caught his eye. Rising from one of the footprints was a fire golem, its molten form flickering and crackling as it turned to face him. Without hesitation, Billy leveled his hand, a cold shimmer gathering at his fingertips. He fired an [Ice Shot], the spell streaking toward the creature and encasing it in frost. The golem froze in place before shattering into glowing fragments, extinguished with little fanfare.

He crouched next to one of the prints, running his gloved fingers over the scorched dirt. The smell of sulfur clung to the ground, mingling with the acrid stench of burnt wood. He knew what had caused this, he knew fault lay with him, and he knew he had a responsibility to stop it.

Billy straightened and turned to his horse, tightening the reins as he mounted. The animal shifted nervously, its ears flicking as it snorted in protest.

“Easy now,” Billy murmured, patting its neck. His eyes followed the trail of prints leading out of the town. The destruction stretched off in a random path, as though the creature was wandering mindlessly.

Billy spurred his horse on. Determined to put a stop to the death and destruction.