“The wound’s stopped bleeding.”

“That fast?”

“Still, what remains of her arm is as good as dead.”

“Why did we even rescue her in the first place?”

Kavlina groggily opens her eyes, her ears feeling the vibrations of some sort of engine. Her body feels light. Perhaps her armor has been removed, leaving her with the sweat-soaked clothing underneath.

Before her are two people, their faces covered with masks, their bodies clothed in loose fitting shirts and shorts. The two masks are vastly different in design, one being decorated only with a handprint over the left eye, the other one filled with various patterns and lines. The figure on the left, presumably a woman, also has a grey cloak draped over her shoulders, worn with age. Kavlina tries to move, but only her head is able to budge, the rest of her body being tied down by some rope.

“Where is this?” she asks. She only remembers her arm exploding before her eyes, the sharp stab of pain before she faints, the sounds around her abruptly silenced. But nothing more.

The lights are dim, only coming through the small window slits in the walls. From the hums of the engine and a door she barely sees from the corner of her eye, she assumes this is an aerial vehicle of sorts, perhaps a transport. However, the environment feels different, the smell of the air more clean despite it being a small enclosed space, the platform she is lying on being relatively comfortable.

“You are on a transport, Kavlina,” the cloaked figure answers, the voice slightly robotic but feminine. “A Confederation transport, to be exact.”

“Am I captured?”

“You could say so,” the other figure replies in a similar voice. “Although I’d say you’re rescued.”

“What do you mean?” She looks to her left. Where her arm was, there is now only a stump, wrapped around in thick layers of bandages. She tries to move it, or at least wiggle it around, but there is no response.

Strange. There’s no pain.

“Your arm, or what’s left of it, was not in a good state when we picked you up,” the first figure explains. “We did what we could, applying painkillers and wrapping a tourniquet to stop the blood flow. Somehow, the blood flow has already stopped, the vessels already completely constricted. I’d say it is nothing short of a miracle that you’re still alive, and awake so soon too, after that blow.”

“Was I unconscious for long?”

“Not long. In fact, it’s been only a few moments since we picked you up.”

“I’m surprised you could even talk,” the second figure jokes.

“Why did you rescue me?” Kavlina questions. “You not only took me away from that battlefield, but you did enough to keep me alive.” It is definitely peculiar. Two Confederation soldiers, at least from what she assumes, have bothered to isolate her and treat her wounds when just a few moments ago, their comrades blew her arm off with a burst of energy. As if the use of magic, the control of energy from seemingly ordinary soldiers wasn’t enough of a shock.

She stares into their faceless masks. “Tell me, what is your goal to rescue a one-armed girl?”

The second figure shrugs. “Don’t ask me. I’m just doing what she’s doing.”

“You’ll know soon enough,” the first figure answers vaguely. “We have a battle to witness.”

The figure steps away from Kavlina’s view. There is a sound of a metal door sliding away before the sounds of the steps resume. After some muffled conversation, the figure again returns in front of Kavlina, in her hand a screen.

“It’s been some careful, slow trailing, but we’re there,” the figure announces. “Release her.”

They untie the ropes around Kavlina, her body feeling as if a weight has been lifted off of her. Shaking, she pushes herself up with the assistance of the two figures, carefully stepping on the ground. Pale and weak, she finds herself struggling to even breathe as she sits up, her muscles seemingly devoid of strength.

Setting the screen in front of her, the figure calibrates the device until the view from a moving soldier is shown. Static sometimes disrupts the display, but soon, the connection is stable, the figure stepping aside in satisfaction.

“We shall watch the battle unfold from the first person view of one of our soldiers,” she says. “Of course, it required some… skill to be able to see this.”

Another figure seems to obscure the soldier’s vision partially, but Kavlina can still easily recognize the buildings before her, the people pausing to look at the intruders, among them a young face, his unkempt hair flying in all directions, by his waist a sword. It is all too familiar. After all, she had just left the village last night, bidding her farewells to Avalel.

“This seems to be quite interesting,” the first figure says, feigning ignorance at the unfolding of events.

“Why… Why are they there?”

----------------------------------------

The village, so peaceful and in all of its tranquility, comes into view. As the Confederation soldiers nudge them on, Tarak reluctantly steps again into a place he wishes he wouldn’t have to visit under such circumstances. Betrayed by his own comrades, he has essentially signed his own death warrant, along with the names of many more. He doesn’t know how it will unfold, only that this will, for certain, be his grave.

“Is this the place where Avalel lives now?” Tanalien asks.

“Yes,” Mir answers. “You will find him somewhere in this village.”

Unlike Tarak, Mir is confident in the power of Avalel, even if he has only seen a glimpse of it the night before. The enemy is strong, strong beyond his imagination, but he firmly believes that Avalel will rescue them from this rather perilous situation. After all, Avalel is the one who had saved the New Rule from certain destruction a few months prior. Although Mir knows that the New Rule’s savior has somehow lost that fire to fight, perhaps this battle will reawaken his identity. And if the cost is to be the lives of several villagers, perhaps even his own, so what? In the end, Avalel will prevail, the legendary Anapadeia leading them to victory after victory.

The villagers, noticing the unfamiliar presence of the Confederation soldiers, stop in curiosity, wondering who are these strange, armored figures who somehow found their way into their homes. Some of them try to approach Tarak, Mir, and the others, recognizing them from their visit last night.

“Ey, Tarak!” a villager calls, walking out to greet him, holding a basket of fruits in his arms. “Food?”

“Wait, don’t…” Tarak tries to warn, but instantly, he feels an intense heat pressing against his back.

“Let them come close,” Tanalien whispers. “The more spectators, the merrier, isn’t it?”

Gradually, more villagers gather around, eager to greet Tarak and the others as well as welcome the unfamiliar strangers. More join just out of curiosity, wondering what all the ruckus is about, and eventually, a crowd has formed, forming a crescent around the Confederation soldiers.

This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

“I have just a question,” Mir calls out to the crowd. “Where is Avalel?”

“Avalel!” a villager cries out. “Mir wants you!”

No answer.

“Come on, don’t be shy!” The crowd shuffles around, as if making way for some important person. Oblivious to the situation and excited, they push a reluctant Avalel to the front. Despite Avalel’s protests, he is soon at the center of it all, facing Tanalien and her soldiers, his face filled with worry, but suppressing a sense of… fear.

“Avalel,” Tanalien says. “It’s been a while since we last met.”

“Have we met before?” Avalel asks.

“Tanalien.” She removes her helmet, dropping it on the ground.

The scenes of the Pass flash past his mind. The chaos of that devastating battle, that disaster which caused him to flee here. The single name of an enemy he remembers from then. Somehow, unlike previous battles, it doesn’t inspire fear in his mind, but a sense of suppressed anger.

“Why are you here?” he demands, his hand reaching for the Anapadeia.

“Under his orders, naturally,” Tanalien says, hiding her true intentions.

“Even here, I can’t avoid him,” he mutters. He never really understood why Nasition has such an obsession with his life, or rather, taking his life. Even here, where he had thought he would be safe, he just can’t hide. And now, in front of him, held captive by the enemy, are his comrades and friends. Outnumbered, he realizes… I am powerless.

“You might as well thank your friend here for guiding us to your location,” Tanalien says matter-of-factly, pointing at Tarak. “He was such an obedient, helpful guide, saving his comrades’ lives… at the cost of yours.”

“Tarak, what did you…”

“I killed them, Avalel,” Tarak breaks down at the sight of his friend, collapsing in guilt.

“You…”

“I led them to the slaughter. You see the eight of us? We’re the only ones left.”

“Where is Kavlina?” Avalel asks, his voice shaking with worry.

“Her left arm was blown to pieces while trying to rescue me,” Tarak whimpers. “She… She’s most likely dead.”

“No. She’s better than this.” The Kavlina who so easily could best him in melee combat, even when facing the Anapadeia, cannot just fall like this. Avalel can’t believe such words. He won’t believe such words.

“She was fighting, holding her ground so well even when surrounded. I called for help. She came to me. Her arm was so close to reaching mine… and then it was gone. Gone. Gone like the soldiers killed before her.” Tarak’s voice quivers, his body shaking as if on the verge of insanity.

He cannot bear the sight of Avalel. In fact, he fears him. In Avalel’s eyes, he assumes, he might as well be the one who brought his world crashing down. He had decided to bear full responsibility, but that painful boulder, that weight bearing down on his shoulders, has become too much to carry.

The monster isn’t the might of the Confederation, nor is it the gloomy, inevitable coming of Death, but the fragility of his heart, so rapidly collapsing before everyone’s eyes.

“She lost her arm just to save me… but she failed. Now, to save the rest of us, I have led your enemies to where you are, bringing the villagers along to the grave! In order to save eight, I chose to sacrifice a hundred!”

“Tarak, why…”

“So kill me, Avalel!” Tarak begs. “Kill me! Give me a painless death as you have to your enemies! I betrayed Kavlina. I betrayed my own comrades, willingly following my fatal commands. I betrayed the village. I betrayed you, my closest friend!”

“I will not!” Avalel refuses bluntly. “I will protect this village, but I will not use this blade and take your life!”

“Let’s play a little game,” Tanalien interrupts. She fires a soft blast from her palm, striking the leg of a villager before Avalel can even react. “For every moment you refuse to kill Tarak, a villager will be wounded. Perhaps if I’m not careful, they’ll be killed.”

She had expected Avalel to become overwhelmed with rage, killing Tarak before unleashing his anger at them, thus starting the fight she had long wanted to experience. However, the results so far are simply disappointing. Perhaps she can raise the stakes, forcing her opponent to make the move which she so desires. After all, for her, the fight with Avalel is almost like a game, a discovery of the potential of the Anapadeia.

She turns to her soldiers. “Fire at whatever is alive, except, of course, our prisoners and Avalel.”

A screen of blasts speed towards the villagers. Frantically, Avalel stabs the Anapadeia into the ground, a wide energy barrier immediately springing up, shielding the villagers behind him. It is but a little too late. The wails of wounded villagers reach his ears, some already silenced by the blasts. Some are simply stunned, looking at the chaos before them, their faces unmoving as stone.

“That’s it!” Tanalien shouts in joy. “Unleash your power for all to see!” It would’ve been frightening for any normal soldier, but for her, it is amazing, even if this is already the second time she has witnessed such a feat.

“Avalel,” a villager, her waist scorched by a blast and bleeding profusely, crawls to Avalel, grabbing his feet. “You protect us, won’t you?”

Even as she struggles to breathe, she claws her way to his shoulders, leaning her dying body on him, barely mouthing her last words. “Kill him. For us.”

She falls to the ground, dead.

“Kill him,” the other villagers echo. “For us.”

The barrier begins to falter, cracks appearing as the unrelenting storm of blasts pummel its transparent surface. Avalel feels his strength draining, his vision blurring. He can no longer see Tanalien or the other soldiers clearly, them being only fuzzy silhouettes in the distance. Yet the Anapadeia grows ever brighter, its power being released ever more enthusiastically.

“Kill him!” Mir shouts. “Kill Tarak and they will stop!” It is but a guess at most, but he realizes that, at this rate, the chances of their individual rescue is only growing dimmer and dimmer. If even Avalel were to become vulnerable or even defeated, who is left to save them from the clutches of the Confederation?

“Avalel,” Maia suddenly appears beside him, in her hands a cooking pot. “Fight with you?”

Avalel hesitates. “No, Maia, run-”

The barrier breaks, the blasts breaking through like a swarm of locusts. As Avalel looks in horror, Maia falls, the crude pot pierced by a single blast and into her rib cage. There is no movement from her muscles, her heart forcefully stopped. She is dead. The villagers, already fleeing, only fall like pins, the entire population being annihilated before his eyes.

All that talk about protecting the village… is just an empty, impossible wish.

The figures of Tanalien and the others completely fade away, leaving only Tarak in his view, his arms outstretched in a final, painful plea: Kill me.

Shhhk.

The squelching of blood silences the blasts. Avalel’s hands, firmly holding the Anapadeia, are drenched in a crimson red. The blade, driven through Tarak’s chest, is surprisingly clean, the blood slipping off its surface.

“Thank… you,” Tarak mouthes, finally freed from his guilt.

Avalel releases the Anapadeia from Tarak’s body, letting it fall to the ground. There is no color left in his eyes, his beautiful amber irises fading into a bland grey. His brown hair, so rich and vibrant, is now barely blonde, perhaps even edging to a sickly white.

A mass of energy emanates from his back and the Anapadeia, almost covering him like a shell. He no longer can feel any heat, or really, any temperature at all, only the steady flow of energy exiting out of his body.

Tanalien looks on with anticipation and excitement, releasing a large amount of energy herself before condensing it into blades extending out of her arms. Show me your power, Avalel!

“Bold of you to test my power with such extraordinary measures,” Avalel says calmly, his voice markedly different, carrying a tone of prideful scorn. “Well, I must thank you for unleashing myself and having such patience in my condition. The Gate is entirely opened and freed.”

Eight blades suddenly materialize from Avalel’s back, each marked with a different archaic symbol. Before Tanalien can even make sense of the symbols, the blades have already disappeared, as if nothing has happened.

“You wanted to see the Anapadeia’s power, didn’t you?” Avalel’s voice again changes, this time one higher in pitch, the words flowing elegantly into Tanalien’s ears. “I’ll allow it. Your soldiers may witness it as well. Naturally, I’ll spare your lives at the end. As for the others, particularly the cowards who wished for their fellow soldier to die on their behalf… I prefer them dead.”

The blades return, the metal coated with blood, a charred smell drifting into Tanalien’s ears. As the blood trickles down into the ridges of each blade, the soldiers of the New Rule suddenly collapse. As they fall onto the ground, their bodies literally fall apart into large, cubical chunks, rapidly burning before they disintegrate into ash.

“Let’s keep it simple,” Avalel’s voice changes for the third time, the tone like that of a young boy or maybe a late-adolescent woman, the words straightforward and clear. “I fight you. You and your soldiers fight me. There will be no mercy other than the mercy of life.”

Tanalien smiles, motioning for her soldiers to ready themselves. “As you wish, wielder of the Anapadeia.”

Tarak’s corpse, lying flat on its back, rapidly disintegrates into fine dust, blown away by the wind. Behind Avalel, the villagers are all but dead, completely annihilated by the attacks of Tanalien’s soldiers. There is only Avalel, Tanalien, and her one hundred soldiers.