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The moon is watchful.
The sun is welcoming.
The waves are relentless.
The trees are wise.
And the wind is treacherous.
At least, to most. The howling night air that flit between the boards of the feeble wooden fence, hid Alica Tarren’s from her enemies. Her mud logged hair perform a tired slow-dance as it blew. Silent as the starlit stream at her side, she crawled, elbow after knee. The few strands of still standing wet grass tickled her sweat drenched neck as she stopped abruptly, cocking her head to the side like a wolf… but the sound, if there had even been one, was gone, replaced by the slow steel on leather breath of Captain Carrick Thresher reaching for his sword.
She craned her neck to show him a reassuring glance.
We’re safe, she signaled.
All she saw were anxiety soaked childish features, half hidden under a mop of soaked oak curls. His jaw twitched as he gently brushed a grimy hand over the Athegeian crest on his shoulder. He longed to delve into her familiar embrace, and hold her icy hands until they thawed, but he couldn’t be more aware of what a misstep could cause at this point.
He was a human, in the event that they were caught, his chances of glimpsing daylight again were existent.
Alica shuffled forwards, to the edge of their meager wooden cover. The unlit cobblestone stretch of street between them and the next building might as well have been an ocean. Being an elemni, if they were caught, her death would be inevitable.
Carrick watched as her numb fingers picked at her bowstring. Carrick knew of the power that boiled beneath her palms. He understood how she heard the wind, befriended the howling and knew how to turn it into far deadlier a weapon than any blade.
Yet here they were, cowering in the mud like grehmkins to a jurakk.
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
A brief shift of position and she was gone. With ethereal stealth and the swiftness of a shadow to a torch, she reached the other side, submerging herself in the comfort of darkness. Carrick edged towards the threshold of the flickering firelight and willed his hands to stop shaking. Many times had he been in the bony clutches of death, already assured of his path to the Sheojaak, and yet managed to remain with bloody knees on upturned soil. Be it by his sword or his friends, he would always make it home.
But now, in the squelching soul of the enemy did he tremble, unsure of the steadiness of his own, trusted blade.
Alica waited for him in the shadows as he surged forwards. The hushed patter of fur boots on grimy cobblestone was like a trumpet in the starless silence. Once at Alica’s side, his racing heart was just as loud.
The wind elemni’s icy hand slipped into the captain’s and pulled him along. To her, fear wasn’t an option. Fear was weakness. From her experience, fear always lead to death.
They darted like mice through the town, noticed only by the watchful eyes of the horses, the muffled light of the moon and the uninterested omnipresent gaze of Uthroldran, the creator of everything.
Alica knew of the great and noble monsters that lurked in the Great Forest. She knew of the mighty kingdoms and provinces to the north, filled with the dozens of other races and species in Kontegea. She knew of the Immortals, confined to watch over the trapped spirits in the Sheojaak below. She also knew of the utter importance of her mission. Everybody in Athegan knew that if it was a failure, they and the rest of Kontegea would be doomed to a fate as dark as onyx.
And that was why when she and Carrick reached a nondescript, narrow wooden house on the outskirts of Corfer Sector, did they halt. Invisible in the tall, midnight grass, the two of them rested, observing and waiting anxiously to see if the legends were true. Waiting to see if the elemni had hope, or if like the many before, this was just another story, ready to wisp away like a flame in a blizzard.
Sure enough, the door creaked open, and a figure walked out, a flickering lantern in its grasp. From the dim light, they could make out his soft, thin, youthful features as he inhaled the crisp, dewy air.
“This is Kassian? Kassian Arenhand?” Carrick asked in a hushed tone. “He doesn’t seem like much.”
Alica chewed her lip in thought as the figure let the hood of his cloak fall, revealing his long, thick, tangled hair. He inhaled thoughtfully through his nostrils, sensing the magnitude of the Great Forest nearby, while his eyes remained locked on the largest of the three moons. An innocent entrancement of its raw, primordial beauty.
Alica felt it too. Her blood tingled as if excited, and the wind in her soul flew about, like the draft before an afternoon storm.
A moment passed and a gruff voice hurtled through the open door. Kassian flinched, then hurried back inside, slamming it closed and re-entering his small husk of warmth. An ember on the night sand. “You’re right,” Alica muttered. “He doesn’t seem like it, but this is him. He’s the third one. I can feel it.”