Reign of Shadow
The blade slid free from the wound, and she watched the body crumple beneath her — a small and frail figure soaked in water and blood. But she didn’t look at his face; Keira had seen enough dead eyes to know they always stared the same. Wide and accusing. They should have known better than to play at war.
There was no glory in survival, only the quiet certainty that someone else had been left to die in your place. And tonight, many had.
Around her, the street was empty, no longer prey to living shadows. The Children had gone as if they’d never been here at all. Ghosts with red scarves and white lips. Only lingered the corpses they’d left in their wake, silent witnesses to the skirmish.
It wasn’t a massacre — not in scale anyway. Just enough destruction to unnerve and enough death to weaken morale. Their work was precise, their message hanging heavy in the cold air. Written in crimson smears and lifeless stares.
Chaos.
That was their currency. Not brute force. They didn’t want an all-out war. That, they would lose. Instead, she knew they would strike once more as they had done tonight, with haste and surprise. Leaving fear to fester amongst the survivors. Again and again. Their leader might be cleverer than we’d given him credit for.
“Fuck,” came a rasping voice behind her.
Keira turned to see Alistair leaning heavily against a splintered pole, his broad frame slumped and diminished, one hand pressed to a wound on his hairy forearm. Sweat streaked his dirt-smeared face, but he was resilient, if anything, and alive — that was more than most could say.
“Damn kids fight like cornered hogs. Reckon they damn near got me too.”
“They’ll need more than kids and blades to take you down,” she said curtly, though her eyes had already moved past him.
The camp lay in ruin. Charred embers littered its centre, and the acrid stench of smoke and blood hung thick in the air. Her boots squelched in the muck as she stepped through the wreckage. Bodies littered the floor, both theirs and the Children’s.
Mostly theirs.
“Bastards hit us hard,” she muttered.
Supplies scattered. Weapons abandoned. Lives spent. Her gaze flicked over the scene with a practised detachment, cataloguing the loss. The Children have done their work well.
Alistair limped beside her, struggling to keep pace. “Boss ain’t gonna be happy.”
Further beyond the silver curtain, a survivor crouched low; his bowler hat tilted just enough to shield his face from the rain. Lark. She was relieved he had survived the attack. Men of his skills and wit were scarce.
At his feet, the lifeless body of a man lay sprawled, a telltale scar running down his face. His legs were bent like those of a dead deer.
“Must’ve been a nasty kid who could have taken down Devon like that,” Alistair grumbled.
“This was no kid,” Lark replied from behind the hat, his tone sharp as a whistle. “That kind of work? That’s from someone who knows what they’re doing. A tall someone.”
Keira stayed silent, her back to them, scanning the edge of the camp. Lark stood and wiped his blade on his sodden pants. “What do you think, Keira?”
Near the far edge of the camp, movement had caught her eyes. A small figure darted between shadows, silent as a weasel, heading for the treeline.
“There,” she hissed, jerking her chin toward the fleeting shadow. “We’ve got a little mouse trying to escape.”
Lark looked up, already rising to his feet. “Want me to bring him back?”
“No,” she objected. “Follow him. Quietly. Find out where their little nest is.”
Lark tipped his hat in acknowledgement, his lean frame melting into the rain.
With Devon gone, they knew not to question her orders. The leadership of the second district was hers now — a mantle earned in blood, whether she wanted it or not.
Keira turned to Big Al, her jaw tightening. “You and I are heading back to HQ. You’ll get those wounds patched up before you keel over or drag more trouble to us. And I’ll have a word with Anchorage. Everyone needs to know.”
Alistair grimaced, shifting uncomfortably. “You think they’ll care?”
“They’ll care when they hear what happened here was only a warning,” Keira shot back. “And now I have the position to be heard.”
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The road beneath them had been devoured by time and neglect. Every step crunched with the brittle protest of gravel, the sound swallowed by the river’s roar below. The rain had slowed to a drizzle, leaving the world damp and shivering under the pale fingers of dawn.
Keira dragged her sleeve across her face, smearing away the rain from her brow. It’s finally easing up. Her fingers dug into Al’s arm, guiding his staggering steps as he grumbled curses under his breath. He was heavier than he looked, and he looked heavy, but she bore the weight without complaint — the finish line in sight.
Mist coiled over the river, shifting in waves of white over the waters. And beyond its restless flight, the horizon began to glow with the faint warmth of morning. The first light fractured the gloom, spilling shards of gold and rose into the mist’s embrace. Her gaze lifted towards their destination, a colossal silhouette emerging from the clouds like some ancient beast. Pillars still stood defiant despite the weight of years and steel cables held aloft a crumbling road — one gust away from collapse.
The structure groaned faintly in the wind.
The bridge was a relic, a fractured artery between two worlds. And yet, the scavengers had claimed it, transforming it into a symbol. Not of hope, exactly, but resolve. High above the rushing waters.
A hanging fortress.
The entryway yawned before them, framed by the rusted skeleton of an ancient toll booth. It had been fortified with sheets of corrugated metal and spiked barricades. Enough to deter and repel those gifted with conscience.
The guards stationed there barely stirred as Keira and Al approached. Their crossbows hung casually across their chests. They knew her. And more importantly, they knew not to ask questions.
Inside, the place was alive, a chaotic hum of voices and machinery spilling out from the Spine — the main artery of their refuge. Even at this hour, the rhythmic creak of pulleys and the clatter of tools spilt out from the makeshift workshops embedded within the bridge.
They passed under the first arch, where lanterns swayed from hastily strung ropes. The structure loomed above and around them, massive and all-encompassing in a way Keira would never get used to. Shacks clung to the sides like the barnacles of a shipwreck while rope ladders disappeared into the depths of the river valley below.
“This way,” she said, steering Al towards a stairwell, bringing them down into the scaffolding.
Below, the bridge revealed its true nature — their world brimming in all its grim ingenuity. Self-made vendors and craftsmen parasited the place; their stalls cobbled together from crates and bent rebars. From the latest arrival of food to suspicious junk and reused metal, the Spine offered many things of value to those who knew where to look.
Above them, the bridge’s massive road deck stretched like a low-hanging ceiling. It shielded the market from the weather but also plunged it into a murky dimness that seemed to swallow sound and light alike — and allowed for the filthiest operations to take place.
The air here reeked of oil and sweat. Of cramped people clinging to a wretched life. Voices rose and fell in a constant, abrasive hum: haggling, arguing, laughing. The sound of people clinging to scraps of hope. A constant reminder of the lives packed into this crumbling stable. They deserve better.
A blur of motion darted between Keira’s legs, nearly sending her stumbling onto the uneven floor. She caught the flash of a child’s soot-smudged face, wide eyes glancing up at her before the boy vanished into the crowd.
Al grunted in her ear, his weight sagging against her. “Damn place is already crawling with rats. Must’ve been word of the outside.”
“Let’s hope we’re not too late then.”
Keira’s steps quickened, her grip on Al tightening as they pushed through the throng. Questions would await her at Anchorage — the ruling building on the other side of the bridge. And she would need to be convincing. But first, she’d gauge the brewing storm her usual way.
The Spine resonated with a sense of dread and worry. People huddled around oil drums, warming themselves with words and fire.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
“…another patrol, gone,” a woman said to her companion, her voice trembling. “All dead, they said… Gutted like fish.”
“And the explosion,” the man replied, his voice harsh as if the words had scraped their way out of him. “Words are District 4 is swarming with rotskins acting weird.”
“A real swarm,” someone else chimed in from a nearby stall. “And winter’s not slowing them down…”
Keira’s jaw clenched as she walked past. The stories were travelling faster than she’d anticipated.
“…he doesn’t give a damn as long as Noxhold keeps paying,” a grizzled trader hissed, gesturing with a rusted wrench in one hand.
Word of the attacks had arrived too fast. The gossip would only spread like wildfire through the Spine, amplifying the details into a tangled mess of rumours. The people were scared and scared people made dangerous choices. If she wanted to be heard, she’d need to speak with Anchorage posthaste.
But first, Keira stopped at a stall tucked beneath a leaning arch of steel beams. A lantern swayed from the awning, its weak light flickering across a table littered with maps, salvaged weapons and trinkets of questionable value. The faded sign above it declared in crooked letters: The One With All the Gifts.
The man behind the counter looked up from a long rifle he’d been cleaning; those weapons were a rare sight, even around here. As Keira approached, a half-smile appeared below the cowboy hat.
“Howdy, Keira.” His voice was a drawl, casual and cutting all at once. “You’re looking worse for wear. Another rough night?”
“I need information, Rye.”
His smile widened, a flash of teeth. “Oh, I have plenty of that. But you don’t strike me as the type to care about campfire stories.”
Keira crossed her arms, levelling him with a hard stare. His little games were all too familiar. “Try me.”
“Alright.” Rye leaned back, the lever-action rifle settling across his lap. “They say shadows danced last night, red scarves waving like flags of war. Songs of the Children stirring, hitting places they’d left quiet. A good story if you like ghost tales. But something tells me you’ve heard this one before.”
Keira’s brow tightened. “I need facts, not tales.”
“Facts, huh?” Rye leaned forward, his tone now sharper. “Fact: you and your boys were amongst the first victims tonight. Fact: this place is buzzing with talks of insurrection and factions getting ready to pull on the reins. And fact,” he said, tapping a finger on the counter, “a certain someone keeps escaping everyone’s mouth. The Man in the Mask.”
Keira’s eyes narrowed. “Fancy name for a degenerate.”
Rye’s grin returned sly and infuriating. “A clever degenerate. He’s practically a myth already, a symbol to scare into submission. A demon with a mask as pale as death and eyes burning red. He shows up with a blood-chilling song and leaves chaos behind. Seems to me he enjoys the theatrics. If the rumours can be trusted.”
Keira stepped closer. “So what’s their next move?”
Rye shrugged. “How should I know? I’m not on their mailing list. But if I were you, I’d hurry onward to the Stage. Big boss is expected to make an appearance. Address the rumours and all that. Now that you’re a district leader, you have responsibilities…” He let the pause linger, savouring the tension.
“Now let’s talk about the payment—”
“You’ll get your pay when it proves useful.”
Rye chuckled again, holding up his hands. “Anything for you, darlin’. I know where to find you otherwise.”
Keira turned quickly, leaving behind the fox's stall.
Alistair rolled his eyes in front of her. “That guy’s a slippery one,” he muttered. “Talks smart and all, but all his tongue is good for is wrapping you in knots.”
“You don’t say,” Keira smirked. “But he knows more than he lets on. And information is power.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t trust no man who cleans his rifle more than he fires it.”
“Good,” she replied, glancing sidelong at him. “I prefer you when you don’t trust anyone.”
They emerged from the thoroughfare into a broad, open space suspended high above the river. Once a flat expanse of steel under the bridge, it had been transformed into a sort of amphitheatre of stacked crates, broken furniture and old tyres — the centre raised above the ground with welded metal.
The Stage.
Tension crackled in the air around it as the crowd pressed closer. Keira elbowed her way through while noting the signs of agitation: clenched fists, restless movements, eyes darting back and forth in search of answers. They’re looking for someone to blame.
At the centre of it all stood the leader — a broad-shouldered man with a gravelly voice. Built like the bridge itself, he likely exuded confidence for most. Keira knew better: he was no wolf. Merely a hound.
“…we need to focus our operations!” he barked, pacing the platform’s edge. “Noxhold’s missions are our priority. That’s the only way to keep food supplies flowing. Or do you want to see what real hunger looks like?”
Someone shot back from the crowd. “Oh yeah? And how will we receive the supplies if District 4 is flooded with rotskins?”
“They’ll return to the dark soon enough. If not, we’ll take the necessary measures. In the meantime, no territory goes undefended. We need to assert our hold over every district.”
Another voice rose. “And what about the Children?”
“We’ve received different reports. It’s too soon to say they’re the reason for all the attacks. Tonight was a matter of surprise, nothing more. We’ll stand ready if they ever dare try such a thing again. We’ll show them what true strength is.” His gaze swept the crowd. “Don’t tell me you’re scared of a bunch of kids.”
A murmur rippled through the audience, but a voice rose above the rest. “You take us for fools, Rook!”
Keira had prowled her way to the front row. The surge of bodies around her were pushing and shoving in the agitation, but she stood her ground. This was the moment to pounce, and she’d seize it.
“It wasn’t an isolated incident,” she said in her usual calm.
“What?” Rook’s voice wavered as he searched for her face in the crowd.
“This was not an isolated incident,” she repeated, locking her gaze on him. “It will happen again. The Redscarfs have a leader fighting alongside them. A bold leader.”
“And I suppose you’ve got a miracle solution to the problem, Keira?”
“As a matter of fact, I do. I’ve already got someone following one of them to their hideout. Once we know where they crawl back to, we strike. Hard. Show them what strength really looks like, as you said.”
The crowd erupted into murmurs, satisfaction rippling through the sea of faces. A spark of hope mingling with the heat of vengeance. Keira knew it would have the desired effect — Rook despised being upstaged.
He let the silence linger a moment longer, then jabbed a finger towards Anchorage in the distance.
“You want answers? You want action? Get to work!” he snarled. “Patrols are doubled. If you’re not out there fighting, you’re in here fortifying. No exceptions. Now move, I need to talk with the District Leaders!”
The crowd began to disperse, their energy ebbing from restlessness to resignation. Keira didn’t linger to savour the shift; she weaved through the dispersing masses as she trailed Rook. Alistair hung back, his bear-like bulk watching her go. He’ll know what to do.
She caught up with Rook as he yelled orders at a cluster of nervous rookies. When he saw her approaching, he cast her a mean look.
“Where’s Devon? I need him and the rest of the leaders to figure out what the fuck we’re going to do.”
“He’s dead.”
He looked at her with big eyes, the full weight of the statement hitting him a moment too late.
“Now that that’s out of the way,” she continued. “Let’s go talk somewhere private, you and I.”
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The Anchorage always felt colder than the rest of the camp. The reinforced concrete walls seemingly absorbed the chill, radiating it back like the bitterness of the place itself.
Keira entered the meeting room, her breath faintly visible in the dim light of the swinging lantern overhead. Rook stood near the table, his frame hunched over maps scattered in chaotic piles. His buzzcut cast shadows on the cracked wall, a jacket hanging loosely off his shoulders as though it weighed more than him.
“Damn mess we’re in,” he muttered, not looking up. “Rotskins swarming around Noxhold, half the camp spooked over those red-painted lunatics. People missing. Dead. Supplies gone.” He exhaled sharply. “This is going to escalate badly.”
Keira stepped forward, her boots scuffing against the floor as she stopped just short of the table. “It’s a mess. But nothing we can’t fix — if we act quickly.”
Rook’s eyes snapped up, his blue eyes locking onto hers. “Just tell me what you need, Keira. You wouldn’t be here indulging me otherwise.”
You’re right.
“I need a vehicle,” she said without preamble.
His laugh came low and dry, dripping with disdain. “A vehicle? Sure, take one. Why not? While you’re at it, you want the last of our fuel? Maybe a crate of shiny ammo? Hell, I’ll even throw in a few of my men to die for you.”
Keira didn’t flinch, her voice calm but laced with steel. “Actually, I need five men as well. I lost good people tonight, Rook. And we need to fix this. You’ve seen what they can do. We can’t let them turn us into prey.”
Rook let out a slow breath, running a hand through his brown hair. “You know I don’t like you, Keira. I never did. And I doubt you’ve ever liked me. But I know your worth. Still, it’s not that simple. Every move we make costs us. You think you can carry that?”
“I respected Devon,” she said, her gaze unwavering. “But he always was a fighter, not a planner. How do you suppose we kept our territory so well? I can handle responsibility just fine. Better than you, anyway.”
The jab landed. He stiffened, his jaw tightening in his usual way, but he didn’t argue. After a beat, he gestured at the map, tapping a spot south of the bridge.
“There’s an old van in the lower depot. Take it,” he said grudgingly. “You know how precious it is — how much work it takes to keep one running. You bring it back in perfect condition. I’ll send word to have it fueled and loaded. You get three people. And you leave right now.”
“Understood.”
As she turned to leave, his voice stopped her. “Keira.”
She glanced back.
“If you screw this up, I’ll give the leadership of D2 to someone I trust.”
Her lips twitched into the faintest smile. “Then you’d better hope I don’t screw this up.”
Keira stepped out into the crisp morning air, the cold biting through the layers of her dark, slick coat. Her boots crunched against the gravel, and she tugged her collar tighter. Below her, the bridge stretched across the gorge, its framework disappearing into the rising mist.
The distant hum of camp activity filled the air, weaving through the faint whispers of the wind. It wasn’t much, but that steady rhythm had become a sound she found oddly comforting. She paused for a moment at the edge of the Anchorage’s platform. There was a time she’d sit around here for hours — her brother beside her.
A time long gone. Swallowed by the world’s cruelty.
“I hope you’ve got good information for me,” she said, seemingly to no one. “I’m having a bad day already.”
“You tell me, boss.”
The voice came from above, blending with the creaks of the bridge. Keira’s gaze flicked up towards the lattice of steel overhead. A figure shifted there in the shadows, perched like an overconfident crow on a rusted beam.
Lark swung down with an effortless grace, landing silently in front of her. An unmistakable grin on his thin face.
“I suppose you’ve caught the whole show?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.
“You really know how to rile the boss…”
“Eavesdropping is low, even for you,” she replied, though her tone held more resignation than anger.
“Call it professional curiosity,” he whistled, brushing imaginary dust off his coat. “I’d be of no use to you otherwise.”
“Any news about the child?”
“Slippery little shit,” Lark said, leaning against the railing. “Tracked him to the community centre. Kid knows how to hide, even with a busted-up robot tagging along.”
“And the others?”
“Didn’t see them. But someone’s watching his back. There were signs. Footprints.”
Keira considered his words, her mind already piecing together the fragmented picture. “I’m guessing you didn’t come back with just that?”
Lark straightened, his grin fading. “He was headed towards Grand Riverview. Didn’t risk getting closer. The wandering rotskins didn’t exactly throw me a welcome party. But I saw lights in the dark. Could be they’re hiding there.”
Keira turned on her heel, heading for her new vehicle. “Find Alistair. He’s probably licking his wounds in the Spine. Tell him to rally whoever’s left and secure our district. Then meet me at the southern depot. ”
“We’re going hunting?” Lark asked, his grin returning with a flicker of excitement.
She didn’t look back. “We’re going hunting.”
“Yes, boss.”
Keira let the word hang in the air as she strode away, the corners of her mouth twitching into a faint smile. I could get used to that.
***