The Turtleline guard captain sedately raised his head and squinted toward the sky. When everyone had noted the motion, he followed it up with a grand show of checking his pocket watch and being deeply surprised at what he found there. He shifted his bulk and the intricate designs across his shell glittered in the sun. “Well, well, well. Shift rotation time. The next shift might not be here quite yet, but… heh, you's wouldn’t mind handling the transition, yea?”

The other few Turtelines snickered as they glanced over toward the few miss-matched other guards. Moish kept his eyes toward the horizon, scanning the edge of the wasteland for any threats. Other long-time non-Turteline residents took the news with tired stoicism. But next to Moish, Raddeus began to tremble in agitation. He was new to Homewell and unused to the abuses of the established races.

“Well, Corporal?” The Captain stowed away his watch. He sucked back air through his sinuses, producing a gooey yellow glob that he spat by their feet.

“We will handle it, Captain,” Moish just felt hungry. He wondered if there would be a communal stew when he got home. Other Homid refugees like him, fleeing from the tyrants of Wasteland and arriving at Homewell, had sought justice in response to the abuses of power within the military. They had been quietly dealt with, some transferred to horrid latrine duty, others showing up one day with their arms and torsos covered with bruises and refusing to speak of what happened, but publicly retracting their statements.

Better to focus on stew, Moish believed. Now it wouldn’t be anything substantial, but perhaps the children had managed to catch another buzzard. Simmered in salt for hours, that carrion bird made for excellent eating.

The assorted ancillary Turtlelines laughed louder and the Captain sauntered away, happy to cut off work early. One of the meaner Turtlelines lingered for a few seconds, pausing to sneer at the three Homids and the beastkin left to man this section of the wall. “You know, I fucking hope the war reaches here. At least then your fleshy arms will have a use: as a meat shield, for lives that matter.”

With one final hacking bout of laughter, the Turteline left, his bulky shell casting a long shadow behind him. When he finally vanished, Raddeus couldn’t stay quiet any longer. He balanced himself on the knuckles of their people’s muscular arms and hopped forward. “Corporal! How can we accept this?!?! If an incident occurs while they are gone, we will be blamed! If an officer walks by and sees the undermanned wall, we also-”

“How’s your daughter adapting to her new school?” Moish interrupted.

The shift in conversation caught Raddeus by surprise for a brief moment, but then his eyes lit with the same furious anger. “Oh, sure, the facilities are nicer. And Dattylan won’t say anything. But I can tell by the way she droops when she doesn’t think I’m looking that she’s being bullied. It’s one thing for these shellbacks to take out their anger on me, but it’s another-”

“Its not ideal, but its better than having her slurped up by the Hymntaker, yes?” Moish nodded toward the stillness of the wasteland. Raddeus’s mouth clicked shut; he was young compared to Moish, his arms large but not even larger than his legs, like the truly matured male Homid. But their entire people remembered the crooning and cruel beast that had enslaved and oppressed their people for a hundred years.

Compared to that suffocating doom, the petty bullying of the Turtlelines was palatable.

Besides, the Hymntaker was so thorough a horror that there was never enough left of its victims to lure buzzards.

Moish raised his gaze, considering a series of gathering clouds on the distant horizon. A storm would break across the city soon, which was good because it would alleviate some of the sweltering heat wafting off the badlands, even more oppressive in the slums where the Homids and other minorities stayed. The Southwestern corner of the Aetherlands was dominated by the Wasteland, a lawless area dominated by several insane Aetherlords, and Homewell sat on its Eastern edge. Suffering the vicious heat of the Wasteland and acting as a de facto jailer of its most heinous criminals.

The sad truth was that even the Hymntaker was a minor figure, compared to some of the ugly things that lurked out there.

On the other hand, Moish felt relief to be here, as opposed to other places in the Aetherlands. In recent weeks, more and more news had come South about incursions by the Nether forces. Increasingly ferocious raids, masses of Nether Warriors charging over the borders and slaughtering everything in their path, a shift in attitude from the other beings to a zealous mandate to eliminate every Aether being they could find.

Rumors abound regarding the cause of the sudden shift. One said that some Nether Herald had killed the Nether Arbiter and forged a host of hatred, blaming the assassination on the Aether. Another described how, seeking revenge for the attack on his city, Faelmac Westrisser charged across the border and crushed another Nether City. Left the children’s headless corpses but took the skulls for his experiments.

No matter the way, death had become increasingly common. An all-out war was brewing, and several representatives from cities closer to the border had come to Homewell to ask for reinforcements.

Not that they would get them, Moish reflected. He leaned his spear up against the sandstone castellations in front of him and rubbed his eyes with his slender legs, hanging beneath his body. The Turtlelines were notoriously closed-fisted with their resources, even at the best of times. Now that a sense of urgency gripped the rest of the Aether world, they would milk this opportunity for every ounce of benefit-

Moish snapped at attention, activating his Skills to look more closely at what he had believed to be a storm that had rushed across the edges of the Wasteland. A reflected wave of darkness could now be seen consuming the ground, a mass of bodies. “Sou-”

He coughed several times, his mouth abruptly dry. Only after a few seconds could he use his leg to gesture at Raddeus. “S-sound the alarm.”

Stolen story; please report.

“What?” The younger Homid looked at him in confusion. “You wish to report them? But I thought-”

“No,” Moish hissed. He plucked up his spear. The weapon felt light and feeble in his hands, before that wave of darkness. “Nether attack. They come to kill. Sound the alarm.”

They filled the horizon, stomping across the Wasteland with a vicious determination. What he had believed to have been the sounds of the rain became screams, ripped raw and desperate from throats, howling for blood. After a blinking moment of confusion, Raddeus obeyed.

Moish’s mind spun. If they were here… if they invaded through the Wasteland, if they were striking at Homewell, renowned for its defenses…

Nowhere in the Aetherlands would be safe. No matter what motivated it, the Nether’s counter-offensive had begun.

*****

Devick stood on the raised plateau, near the base of where Nether King Hungry Eye continued to sequester himself and train, and watched the endless horde of Nether Warriors rush past. Some glanced up at where Devick stood, but word had been spread to leave them alone. They mostly had bestial, shadowy forms that flickered and changed as they stomped across the hills and rushed for Westrisser’s city.

Devick’s skin tingled. She wondered how fared the city of her adoptive father, whether it would be facing a similar number of foes. The sky rumbled, the echoes of distant clashes reaching them, even here on the borderlands. Likely, the battles to defend Malloon had begun in earnest.

Where a massive Nether Ritual had failed, they now simply threw bodies at the problem. And Hungry Eye didn’t seem inclined to stop it.

She had been engaging in mental training when the first outriders from the Nether force’s vanguard had reached their position. What had eventually dragged her out of her focused mentality was a blast of force from Lucretia. When they had attacked her on sight, because of her Aether, she needed to make a point.

The Nether Warriors unfortunate enough to test their small group had limped back to their leaders. The second group of individuals to approach the representatives of Nether King Hungry Eye were much more polite. After a short discussion with Neveah and Lucretia, the group just moved around Hungry Eye’s dome. Likely, it was enough to them that these Aether individuals were under the protection of a Nether King.

Devick, for the first time in a long time, found her heart urging her to take two very different paths. She licked her lips. Over the last two weeks, since she had been given her Class by Neveah, she had improved by leaps and bounds. The training had progressively gotten more difficult, so she never had the chance to really feel accomplished, but she loved the constant toil. She devoured the tactical and theoretical lessons, about energies, Skills, and engagement methods. The casual knowledge offered to her had laid out a straight path to relevance. If she remained, she wasn’t sure she would ever catch directly up to Hungry Eye, but the distance would be rapidly narrowed.

And yet, that lack of certainty haunted her. Following the same methods, could she ever rival him? Could she ever overwhelm him enough that he would feel compelled to fall to his knees before her brilliance, and while he was down there, use his tongue to-

Focus, focus, Devick flushed and blinked several times. The Nether Army marched past, rapidly sobering her mood, for better or worse.

Lucretia stood nearby, also watching their passage. But now, she gave Devick a pointed look. “I know that face. You are going to do something stupid.”

“You barely know me,” Devick raised her nose and affected her most obnoxious Westrisser impersonation. “Perhaps your association with low street thugs has confused your sensibilities, but the matters on which I ponder are extremely intelligent.”

The conversation they held was one of seeking and avoidance. “War exacts a deep price for the growth it spurs. Layers of scars, eroding who you are and replacing it with callouses and desperation. You do not need to make this choice.”

“How quaint. You still misinterpret my genius.” Devick denied. Yet she couldn’t look away from the Nether Warriors. “I’m just admiring their swagger. Perhaps its the weather in the Netherlands? You know, I’ve always wanted to vacation through their Hollow Plains. Even the dust glitters there.”

Lucretia sighed. “Devick, can I be quite frank? Your spirit is overwhelmingly strong. Even now, I can feel… the shade of what it will become. Of the unending waterfall of fire that will fuel you. But your spirit is insubstantial. And that burning life force can become a weakness if the whole of what you are becomes twisted. Because your constant drive will worsen those wounds, deepen those divides. You will force your way through flaws, inscribing them more permanently into your own body. If you walk a path of blades, you will adapt to suffering and grow almost unable to know life without it.”

“ I do appreciate any conversations that revolve around me. Oh, while we aren’t on the subject, where does Neveah get her dresses? I wish I could produce a better word than fetching, but when that woman turns to leave a room, mmm. My jaw drops. Robes just make me look like a spider wearing an octopus costume.”

Lucretia huffed out an amused breath. “You aren’t as complex as you think you are, girl.”

“I never said complex. Just sophisticated.” Devick forced her gaze away from the Nether forces. She blinked at Lucretia. The older woman didn’t seem worried, per se, but there were lines turned down at the edges of her mouth. Devick continued spinning until she faced back toward the Nether dome.

Why was she out here, when he was staying locked up in there? In the end, perhaps it was a strange spite that ensured she would make this choice.

Devick grimaced. “You all see a child when you look at me, don’t you?”

“Why would we see anything else?” The gentle response came.

A bleak and all-consuming fury rose through Devick’s body, a vicious impulse to rage and thrash until everyone must acknowledge her. With a great effort of will, she suppressed it for the childish tantrum that it was. She wondered what Nether King Hungry Eye thought of her, the way she chased him.

She scratched her cheek. “You know, I would have been much more likely to stay if you had lied.”

“Perhaps I simply detest you so much I’m pushing you out into harm’s way,” Lucretia suggested and Devick couldn’t suppress a snort. Honestly, it was quite refreshing not to be the one who couldn't admit her feelings. They might have only trained for a short amount of time, but a strange sense of kinship glimmered between them.

Someday, I'd really like to go into a bar and burn it down with you, Devick thought fondly as she affected an elaborate bow. Lucretia made a disgusted noise and waved her hand.

Devick walked to the base of the dome, thanked Neveah for all her help, promised to return quickly so she could borrow a few dresses, then flew above the Nether army and circled around to join up with Malloon’s forces. Hopefully, by the next time that she encountered Nether King Hungry Eye, they would meet as peers.

Or at least much closer to it than what we are now, Devick grimaced.