Raetamen is nothing like I remember.

The small mining town that was my first introduction to the culture of the of New Vetus sits abandoned. The high-ceiling stone buildings are untouched. No different than they were years ago. But not a single ursu remains to give it the same life it had when I was here last.

The mine, empty of any coal it once had, is not nearly as sad as the forgotten saloon. The largest building in the town was a substitution for a continae, but now its open front reveals nothing but long discarded chairs, tables and mugs. Sand has reclaimed its supremacy through the building, leaving the once clean stone floor covered.

While the rest of our delegation claims a few buildings to rest, I wander around the back of the saloon to the open patch of ground I once used to offer my family their funeral pyre. No sign remains of the fire, but I hardly expected any after so long. Across from me is the oven once used to cook for their bratchina. Two hatch doors lay on the ground, torn from their hinges. Deep scratch marks embed the stone where they were removed.

Must have left food scraps inside when they departed.

I walk toward the oven. The very sight of it incites twisting in my chest. It is nothing more than a dome of rock, but the memories it digs up are unpleasant. My feet carry me down the stairs into the oven’s furnace. This isn’t the prison I spent so long, but its purpose is the same.

I don’t even realise what I’m doing until the walls glow white. My flames burn through the cramped space, igniting all remnant coal. Fire spreads first through each crack, then through the walls themselves. Not limited to the furnace, my flames quickly spread into the oven above.

In no time, the furnace and oven melt around me. That which once held me now burns up without so much as a breath of effort. As the ceiling caves in on me, I disperse. For a few moments, I allow myself to exist without a body. I’m just the inferno burning away this patch of stone in the middle of an abandoned town. I incinerate the furnace until nothing but a pit remains.

“You enjoying yourself?” Kiko’s voice snaps me back to the outside world.

Kiko is the only one that approaches me, but I know everyone else can feel my actions. Wiping this abandoned oven from existence was an impulsive decision, yet I am not ashamed of doing so. I gather my flames and reform before Kiko. The pit behind me smoulders with molten rock.

“Just putting some old memories behind me,” I say as I walk back to the saloon.

Really, it’s better I got that out of my system now, rather than when I’m in the middle of an ursu city where it may disrupt our diplomatic efforts. They’ve abandoned this town, so they can’t complain about me removing a single oven. I mean, this is the wasteland after all; it’s technically our territory, not theirs.

The áed and ursu share a border, but unlike any of the countries to the east or north, they remain uncontested. Between our hesitance to approach any area prone to water, and the ursu being unable to live without water, we simply don’t have reason to move into other’s territory.

This coal mine of theirs may push that balance somewhat, but it is so close to New Vetus that no áed would have found this deposit.

“You know,” I say to Kiko, who walks in step. “I don’t know why, but I really thought they’d still be here.”

With the war, they probably left this place the moment resources dried up. I simply didn’t think about that when I lead my elders here. Considering its small size, I figured it’d be the best place to start. With only a few dozen ursu, any conflict that might come about from our sudden appearance would be minimised. We could have one of the ursu send for a guide and make sure there are no issues when we arrive in New Vetus proper.

“It’s not a problem. We’ll just continue until we reach the next city.” Kiko says. “Are you sure you don’t want to go ahead?”

I’ve considered it, but as beneficial as it would be to give Tore a heads-up, I don’t want to travel too far from the group. For one, I don’t know how much I trust them not to ruin things should they come across an ursu without me there. More importantly, the desert is vast; with how fast my elders move, I might lose them. Well, now that we have a rail to follow, it shouldn’t be a problem, yet I can’t help but be nervous about leaving them.

It’s not my safety — or even theirs — that I’m worried about. No, I think it might be a lingering concern from when I lost my tribe. I mean, Elder Cyrus and Enya are still around, but I missed them in my search. Who's to say it won’t happen again? It’ll be nothing more than a temporary inconvenience, but one that I can’t remove from my mind.

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So here I am, not giving New Vetus the proper forewarning they deserve.

“I’ll go ahead when we’re closer to Fisross,” I say.

Once we’re within a day’s run away, I will. Leal knew we planned to hold a diplomatic meeting eventually, so she probably sent the message up the chain. That was a year ago, but hopefully Tore is still waiting.

Our current lack of communication is a problem. If nothing else, this envoy should fix that. I’d like if we can allow the ursu a rail network deep into our lands, but that might be a bit of a stretch for my elders. Our eagles hosting a communication network between our two races would be the very minimum to satisfy me.

“Hopefully, they’ve resettled the city. I can’t remember which was the next nearest beyond Fisross,” I say.

If Leal’s original home remains empty too, I’ll be disappointed. I chose to take us this way because it was far more direct, and doesn’t take my elders along the coast. It’s disappointing that I couldn’t go directly to Leal, but I can go looking for her once the meeting is in full swing.

Everyone’s settling in for the night now, so I should, too. We didn’t bring any wagons with us — the speed we’ve been running would have made them too unwieldy — so everything we bring with us is in our packs. Of course, that means some stuff that we would typically lug around the wasteland, like our gers or sleep rugs, get left behind. It meant none of us got decent rest since we left.

But now, we have walls to block out the sand.

❖❖❖

Fisross is, thankfully, not abandoned.

The city is a shadow of what it once was, but there are ursu living here. Not nearly as many, which leaves the outer edges closer to the desert as much a ghost town as Raetamen. The most blatant difference I can see from my vantage high in the air is the death of the park and all greenery it once held.

All that remains in the open patch of land is the thick, dried trunks of trees. Neither grass nor foliage is anywhere to be seen.

I guess they didn’t have any water mages to spare to keep the plants here alive during the war. Though, while not as many as it once held, there are enough ursu walking around that I’m sure they are attempting to revive the city. Do they just not have the resources to send mages here yet, or are they struggling to reignite life because of these sands?

If I remember right, Leal said the park was originally created by a nature mage, one of the rarer paths amongst New Vetus mages. Water mages might not be enough to give the city the same colourful lustre that once held me enraptured.

As I descend toward the continae, I spot the ursu I’m here to meet. She walks through the city flanked by a few others. Veering off my path, I fly down to her. To not startle her, I land a dozen metres ahead and shift with as brief a flare of fire as possible.

“Ah, so they’re here?” she asks as she stops before me.

I’m surprised at her lack of reaction. When I did the same a few days ago, she couldn’t stop staring… much like the two younger ursu behind her are doing right now. Says a lot about her professionalism. I doubt it’s a common sight to see an animal become a person so quickly. Especially for those not familiar with the áed eagles.

I nod at her question. “They’re just beyond the furthest building.”

“Then we best not leave them waiting.” She turns to one of her assistants. “Go notify the cooks that our guests are here.”

As she is the host, she takes the lead toward where my elders wait. A few days ago, I came ahead to inform them that we intended to pass through. I’d only expected the leader of Fisross to allow us to ride their train to Flehullen while sending a message ahead to Tore, but she insisted on welcoming us properly.

“You know you didn’t need to bring the bratchina forward,” I say. “My elders would have been absolutely fine to wait a day. Actually, they’ll be fine even if you give them nothing.” Considering the bratchina is the only day a week most ursu eat, bringing it forward must interrupt many of their schedules.

“Nonsense,” she says. “This is the first time our quiet neighbours are ever making themselves known. I would be shamed if I didn’t do the best to welcome them. Besides, we would host the same celebration had it just been you that arrived.”

I cast her an odd look. Why would they? It’s not like I represent my entire race.

Noticing my confused expression, she flashes a wry grin. “I guess you haven’t been around recently,” she muses. “Your name has spread. Few don’t know the áed that freed both the great hero, Tore, and our nation itself. They speak of your efforts at the gulag the same way as Tore’s old legends.”

That does explain the wide-eyed stares I receive from many of the residents who saw my transformation. I thought it was because of the change itself, but maybe they could piece together who I am from that little show. Of course, there are some curious glances as we walk through the streets, but that’s likely more because their regional leader is walking around with someone only just above half her height rather than their recognising me.

I’m no longer as small as I was when I first arrived here, but beside the immense bodies of the ursu, I’m still tiny. As we walk out into the unpaved desert, I’m happy to see I’m not the only one. Not a single one of my elders reach her chest. Then again, she is three metres tall.

“Welcome to Fisross. Welcome to New Vetus.” She steps forward with open arms. “Forgive us for our lacking preparations. I would have preferred to greet the representatives of our western friends with the proper dignity of an official parade, but I hope a suitable feast will compensate.”

Śuri steps forward. “There is no need for any forgiveness. Our arrival is sudden, but we appreciate the generous welcome.”

I breathe out a sigh of relief at the civil interaction. Maybe it was the way Śuri spoke of war in the past with apathy, but I’d forgotten that he got along rather well with Grímr and Leal when they were with us. As the two sides step forward to shake hands, I can’t help but hope that all diplomacy going forward stays this cooperative.

Why do I get the feeling it won’t?