Kirs huddled in the dark. Her gasping breath loud in her ears. Water speckled her skin, sliding down her arm. The passage tickling the hairs and sent a shiver through her. The odd sensation forced a choked laugh, little more than a snort, through her.

She froze. Nothing else moved in the dark. The ritual had worked, removing them from the building. She couldn’t hear any of the noise from beyond the building, Kasos’ murk water shutting noise and light.

Stone shifted in the dark. Icy fear flushed through her as she tensed, straining to figure out where the noise it had come from. Inside the now vast room, sound echoed in multitudes. Even her breathing seemed to resound. Or perhaps it was the sound of another.

Did the ritual not work? She forced her eyes shut, her forehead hurt with the effort of keeping her focus. It had barely been five minutes, and the others managed for multiple hours. Get it together. The ritual got everyone it targeted.

There had been no follow up noise from the shifting stone, it simply debris settling. Except there had been a breacher. Someone who got through Kasos’ doorway. No. It has to have gotten them, too.

She shook her head. It was too much. She let herself relax. Instantly, it felt like she was finally allowed a full chest deep breath. Her hands still shook as she peered about, but there was nothing to see. Cursing quietly, she felt her way forward. The enemies were right outside. She at least needed to find something that had survived the transportation.

Anything too close to another person would’ve been grabbed up, but some of these items were too big to be taken with them. She froze at the sound of water rippling, leaned forwards arms outstretched. “I don’t feel anything.” A man said in Kisi, the translation field had somehow survived all the fighting. “Get me light.”

Kirs’ breath grew to choke her as she waited. She imagined the pounded beat of her heart could be heard throughout the building, yet the man had not reacted to her at all.

“I said light!” he yelled again. A splash of water. “Not natural, this is.” Water sloshed. Had he disappeared?

She had to risk it. Lunging forwards, she scrambled over scattered obsidian shards. Her fingers found a broken wood plank. Thick and solid, it was about the length of her forearm before it broke off. Gasping, she flailed with her limbs. Bed or table, she didn’t care it would provide cover for her.

She found something soft and light. She hauled on it, turning over a bit of rubble. The water sloshed again. “Huh, it went out.” A woman said in Kisi. Kirs froze, the cloth in her hands still stuck on something in the rubble.

“Went out?”

“Yeah, when it touches the water. I can’t get through.”

“Then get me a generator.” The man sounded exasperated.

“Sir… we’re fighting for our lives. You see them on the hill.”

“I see them. Now do as I say.”

Water sloshed, and the man sighed. She couldn’t see him, but the water sounded once more, then stopped. Had he left? Debris crunched, and the man grunted. “Obsidian,” he muttered. Kirs tensed. She’d run out of time and needed to act now.

Stone scraped on stone and she tore at the blanket, falling to her knees in the same moved. Something whipped through the air, slamming into the wall near her. Obsidian cut her as she fell on the floor, the chill following the Ankirian’s attack goosing her neck.

Water splashed again. “Sir,” a new woman said.

Kirs moved, lying low and wrapping the now freed cloth over her form.

“Light!” the man yelled.

And light she made. Kirs, peeking out around the edge, discovered she’d grabbed a comforter and was looking directly at a mostly hale bed. The only destroyed part was the leg she’d found before.

“That ice, sir.”

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“We’re not alone.”

Kirs examined her surroundings as best she could, but was faced the wrong direction. All she could see was the wall, shattered obsidian, and the bed. A line of ice at head height stuck to the wall. It spanned as far as she could see. Swallowing hard, she forced herself to stop shivering.

Ice cracked and groaned as the man worked his power.

“Stairs, sir?”

“We’ll have to fight the Sleeping Sons until they retreat. Asmar is a coward, but smart. He’ll not join as long as he can get injured. We just have to survive until the reinforcements realize something’s wrong.”

“And the ones who are hiding?” the woman asked. Kirs shivered, imagining she could feel their soul-sight scouring the room. They’d find her.

“She is mine,” a new voice wheezed. Kirs knew it wasn’t her imagination playing tricks on her this time. A dead person would’ve felt the weight of his attention. She threw her blanket off, noting none seemed surprised. Least of all, Dhaakir. He wheezed a laugh, burnt and injured. “Break these.” He gestured the walls of grimy water, though no one seemed wet for having passed through them.

“Sir,” the woman said, bowing and leaping out in a flash of light.

“The army,” the man said, but was cut off by a raised hand scarred with burns.

“I will deal with Asmar soon enough.” Dhaakir was missing a leg, Kirs realized. He’d replaced it with a substitute of black glass. “For now, I will deal with this one.”

He alighted on the floor; the debris moving aside for him. Above, the water began rippling, steaming, and finally burst like a soap bubble. Normal light streamed in and with it, snow that flurried through the entrance.

Kirs’ horror deepened. Sansir, head caged in obsidian, green eyes glowing hidden within his prison. Feet kicked, but he managed no more.

Ayvir, limp and defeated. His dark red eyes distant and uncertain, glancing around in confusion. His single arm hung loose, blood seeping from a tear at his shoulder.

Esmund grabbed by his chest. Tears stung Kirs’ eyes as she saw him. Her husband had been brutally beaten, his jaw shattered. Already dark blue bruises were forming the length of his face.

Dovar, wheezing and drooling blood, both arms deformed underneath his torn sleeves.

Pashar came last, held by the hands and chest, her uniform seared off at the middle. The unreality of her burns hid her exposure as she hung unconscious.

Dhaakir had followed her glance. “I want to revel in it. Parading the defeated before their army.” He turned dead eyes to her. “But all I feel is loss. I feel myself drifting. Falling away from who I was. Moments so brilliant, none could’ve compared. Will you return my true self to me, Girl?”

Kirs licked her lips. Gritting her teeth, she pressed against her chest and expelled her pressure. Her tether, half-formed, twisting within her spirit. Artificially awakened. Six threads twined together. She focused on the withered form of the old man approaching. She strained and a single thread lit a chill bluish white.

Ice formed within her grip, a crude dagger.

“So old,” he observed, approaching unconcerned. His obsidian foot clattered on the stone with jarring contact. “To have achieved so little.” His disappointment was immense and horrifying in its disdain. “Not even a first-stage? Perhaps I should chase down Asmar. Or, I could follow the old man, though he wasn’t much of a combatant.

“First, though.” His glinting, flat eyes fell back on her. “I’ll teach you a lesson about lessers and superiors. The young and the elder. Beginner and master.” He reached up with his uninjured hand, a layer of frost covering his knuckles and running up to his elbow.

Kirs struck with full force, the ice shattering against ribs harder than stone. Her fingers jarred with the impact. Dhaakir tsk’ed at her, old fingers seizing her jaw and lifting her into the air. Her neck strained at the pressure put on it, but clawing at his face, but the rest of his body was no more vulnerable than his ribs.

Straining, the light died in her tether. It’s too difficult, she could already feel the weakness setting in. Bones turning to jelly. Her shoulders burned with the effort of keeping her arm raised. Just a little more. She begged herself, the Goddess, anyone who would listen.

Another thread lit up. Kirs’ fingers grazed sparked with rainbow light and she dug fingers for his eye. Warp cared none for the hardness of the other. Raw splitting force of the world, sheared skin and flesh, spraying blood.

Tossing her aside, Dhaakir howled at the ceiling. Wind rushed in Kirs’ ears before she struck something hard. Wood and bones crunched. She blinked, realizing she’d fallen out of tether-space. She was lying on the floor, drooling onto her arm. Wood fragments surrounded her, splinters and jagged edges. Her lungs hitched, sight turned white, as she attempted a full breath.

“What are you?” Two Dhaakir hovered in the air, in the middle of the room, obsidian and his prisoners surrounding him. Half his face was sheeted in blood, yet she could see the feverish burn of his eyes. “Two powers?”

She blinked, trying to consolidate her vision, but she couldn’t even force her hands to more than twitch. Perhaps she should’ve taken part in some physical training, rather than focusing solely on her scholarly work.

A chill set over her, causing goosebumps to prick her skin. Her weak breath plumed white.

“Don’t worry,” Dhaakir whispered, pale puffs issuing with each word. “You shall not be killed. You are far too valuable for that. Is that the reason for your slow growth? Two elements? How could it be?”

Yells intensified outside. “Sir!” the ice tethered appeared again.

Dhaakir ignored him.

Before the man could speak further, something struck the ground outside the building and threw him sideways. Kirs blinked as something streamed down the doorway, falling to the floor. Her sight slowly solidified, clarifying the pale grains spilling over the side. As she watched, the sand reversed course.