Straining to stay afloat while blocking the gunfire, Aela nearly cheered when Richan splashed up out of the water and shot flares of crimson at the boats out of the spiked tip of his red-bladed hand axe. The three machine gunners fell into the water as the shots knocked them out of their positions. The crews and troops in the boats ducked for cover as Aela heard the distinct roar of another dive-bomber.

“Knock him out!” Aela shouted to Richan as the bomber strafed the floating Prophets. The massive bullets burst into her shield as she watched the boats come nearer. Already, more soldiers lined up to replace the fallen machine gunners.

As the boats approached and opened fire again, Richan screamed and fired a blast that hit the low-flying aircraft. One of the boats got close enough, blasting away with its high-caliber machine gun, so Aela sent off a golden shockwave from her shield, turning away from the falling plane to face the craft. The wave of energy struck the boat on its bow and sent it reeling like it’d struck a massive wave. Its crew screaming and flying into the air, the boat capsized and barely missed the other boats as they sped away toward the opposite shore.

“Richan, Richan!” Aela shouted again, seeing the back of Richan’s head as he slipped beneath the water. A film of blood marked the spot. “Richan!” Aela swam over and grabbed the man, lifting him out of the water.

Unable to get a response from her healing touch, she shook the Red. “Richan,” Aela said, and grunted with effort. “Richan, I can’t hold you up.”

With one hand, she held her golden shield. With the other, she tried to keep Richan’s head above the water. Both were making her sink.

“Richan,” Aela pleaded, straining with effort. “Come on, Richan, you have to kick.” She couldn’t hold them both, not without drowning herself. “Richan!”

“Aela, Aela!” Darren said, and shook his sister out of whatever thought she was having.

She blinked and looked around, sighing with sadness and relief when she saw her brother.

“You okay?” Darren asked.

“Yeah, yeah,” Aela said, and licked her lips, looking out at the river where the events of the day before had occurred, the fast current of the Thelga River pushing her all the way to the bay. The twisted metal of the bridge lay silent now. She knew Richan’s body and his red axe lay there as well.

Aela hefted her golden shield, its surface clean of any marks or dents. “Let’s go to the Cupola Hall. We might find some Prophets there,” she said, and walked toward the end of the street without waiting for her brother, and without looking for lensers.

“Hey, hey hold up. Aela, hold up.” Darren caught up with his sister, his eyes darting around in search for threats as he spoke. “So you don’t know how the bridge got blown up then? Because I was here when we retreated back into the central part of the city and the bridge was still intact then. Trust me, with all the tanks that came over…” Darren whistled, thinking back on the massive odds put against him.

“Probably got destroyed while you were trapped, bombers or artillery or something. Since there apparently aren’t any Torins on this side of the river, it might have been the Torins themselves who blew it.”

Darren looked across the river, straining his eyes for any sign of life. The only movement came from the slow sloshing of the current, bodies and equipment bobbing up and down on the shoreline.

The siblings made their way along the edge of the river, keeping to the west side of the road. The river’s edge in this area used to be a festive place, with a nightlife Aela had never had the pleasure of experiencing, despite her years on Home. Now the blown-out theatres and collapsed pubs could only offer slight cover for the two Prophets as they approached the Cupola Hall.

Cupola Hall was the Gradennes City state capitol up until a few decades ago. It then became just the city district central government, and an unfortunate target for Torin attacks. The square, not quite box-shaped structure stood still partially intact. As the siblings approached, they could see that swirls of red still decorated the white stone, but blackened scorch marks stained its appearance. The massive white dome, solidly built and with a tall iron point, had collapsed into the roof of the building.

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“What happened during the counterattack?” Aela asked as she stepped over a low concrete wall on the sidewalk and approached the courtyard leading to the Cupola Hall.

“We got back to the square and Hendar rallied us. A few of the Whites tried to get the Ieral and Joya Union armies to reinforce us, but I guess they couldn’t spare any troops. We lost a lot of Prophets before Hendar brought us back together,” Darren explained.

“So did you drive them back after that?”

Darren put both hands on his gun as they neared the hall. He glanced up to the roof, checking for a brown and red uniform lying in wait. There were none. “We started to. Then I got buried.” As they approached the partially opened doors of the Cupola, metal bars broken off and pieces of the squared overhanging laying in the gap, Darren started whispering. “It looks like they drove them a good distance away.”

“We can’t be sure.”

Darren put his back up against the wall of the building, holding his gun at the ready while Aela held her shield in front of her and nodded at her brother. Darren nodded back and Aela kicked open the hanging door, rushing into the massive hall.

All they saw when they entered was the blown-out remains of the hall’s entrance and the ruins of the dome scattered throughout the floor of the hall.

“Hello!” Aela said.

“Hendar! Hendar are you here?” Darren shouted.

“I am Aela of the Gold Prophets. If there is anyone in this building, speak now.”

The only sound came from the groaning metal of the iron dome as its pieces shifted in the breeze blowing through the tremendous hole in the ceiling.

“It’s a big building. There could be people hiding in here,” Darren suggested.

“No one we’d need to speak with,” Aela said. She swung her shield onto her back and walked back toward the door. “Let’s go.”

Outside, the sun shone down from its peak onto the muddy river. The pathway that led up to the Cupola was paved with brick, holes punched through from artillery fire across the river.

“I just don’t get why we haven’t seen anyone yet,” Darren said as he leapt down a gap in the staircase leading to the river’s edge. “I mean, come on. Last I checked we were in a war here.”

Tourist shops and little wagons selling postcard pictures of the Cupola used to line the waterway by the bridge. The boardwalk where these had sat was completely washed away, the collapsed wooden planks bobbing in the water the only sign that these used to exist.

“All we saw was Torins in their boats,” Aela said and looked up the river, unable to see anything on the wide waters of the Thelga.

“You’re right. Hey, maybe Hendar led a charge clear across the river. It would make sense considering there’s no Torins anywhere near here, not even lensers.” Darren picked up his pace as he strolled toward the collapsed roadway ramp that led to the bridge. Instead of angling up to the high level the bridge had been, the ramp had collapsed and led straight down to the water. “Come on. Let’s cross. If we don’t find any Prophets, at least we’ll actually do our job and fight the enemy.”

“I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, Darren, but the bridge is a little collapsed at the moment.”

“So?” Darren holstered his pistol and cracked his knuckles. “We can still cross it.”

“No, we can’t. In any case, I’m sure that the Prophets did not make it across the river if the bridge is destroyed. Most likely they are back west with the Joya Union or assisting the Ieral troops at their beachhead.”

“If the Joya front line is back west of the square then why aren’t there any Torins this side of the river?” Darren crossed his arms, waiting for his sister to give a good excuse for them to not cross the mangled and partially sunken heap of metal.

“I can’t,” Aela said after a pause. With this apparent agreement, Darren smirked and made his way onto the descending ramp of the city bridge. “But that’s no excuse to do something foolish like cross this bridge.”

“Oh, it’s okay,” Darren said ,and stood underneath a jutting piece of a truss. It hung in a mangled mess, connected to several crossbars and the shattered roadway, but led up toward the first pylon.

The pylon leaned over at a near forty-five degree angle but looked marginally adequate for a person to move across. Darren jumped up and grabbed the truss, twisting a leg over like he was climbing a tree.

“I understand if you’re afraid,” Darren said while he got a handhold and pulled himself to a standing position at the edge of the truss. “While I’m gone, try and make up an excuse for why a person with the power to heal herself stayed behind while the person with no such ability did something dangerous and useful.”

Aela let out a low noise that could have been a growl, could have been a whine. She would never confess to which one and Darren couldn’t hear over the sound of the groaning pieces of metal he stood on.

“You are incredibly annoying,” Aela said as she walked toward where her brother stood.

“Yeah. But I’m annoying and right.” Darren reached down to help his sister up onto the truss. She ignored his hand and lifted herself up beside him with one swift pull.

“This is a bad idea.”

“I know.” Darren started the slow process of stepping over the thick metal bars and walking along the narrow truss.

“I know you know. I just want to make sure you remember it when you fall off and drown.”