After days of flight, the Floodplains finally break up into larger land formations. To the south, a dozen hills of gradually increasing might stretch to the east, hiding the Mrtyuñ Coast. They’ll eventually rise into a long mountain range that splits Mrtyuñ from Elear, but we’ll be crossing over long before then.

The Floodplains continue far to the north, eventually touching the sea that separates New Vetus from The Theocracy and Henosis.

I come in to land in the shade of the thick canopy. It’s obvious where the Floodplains ends; a dense tree-line starts where the earth is permanently above the drowning waters. Before that point, nothing but resilient weeds grow, swamped by the excess water. Here, beyond the Floodplains, an expansive rainforest enshrouds the hilly terrain.

The tall branching trees do much to limit how much rain pelts my body, but it’s not like the downpour has stopped. As soon as Leal safely touches down, I swirl in on myself and retake my form, hidden within my snowsuit.

Ever since I surpassed the threshold, I’ve felt almost no need to rest. While before, I could probably continue pushing my body without too much issue, my mind would eventually scream for sleep. My elders are much the same, though they could go weeks, months longer than I if they pushed themselves. Now — I’m not sure how to describe it — it’s like my mentality has changed. My thoughts follow much more like a natural blaze; as long as I have something to consume, I can burn endlessly.

Unfortunately, Leal is not the same.

Well, it’s not the worst. While she’s taking a nap, I dry out some fallen trees before eating. I could easily burn through them as is, but with how soaked they are, it’ll hardly be an enjoyable feast.

While the logs roast in my proximity, I glance over the flooded land we just passed. The waters reflect the dark red clouds as far as I can see. We’re incredibly isolated here. Hundreds of kilometres from the nearest settlement. Besides the bugs that rush towards my heat — and proceed to incinerate in an instant — there is no life anywhere. Nothing sentient, at least.

How much of the world is inhabited? I’ve known this area existed to the east of New Vetus, but until I arrived, it never felt real. It is the same for the Warring Isles, Henosis, and even Riparia. They are all places I know exist, but they feel more like a loose presence than an actual part of the world without having visited them.

The thought makes me think further. What lies beyond? What lands remain unknown to the nations isolated to this side of the Alps? What is further than the ocean?

My world only feels as big as what I’ve experienced. Even though I know there is more out there — know there are cultures at the very edge of the Euroclydon’s Hunting Grounds — none of it becomes present in my mind until I actually arrive.

What would I have been like if I’d never left the Wasteland. If I’d refused Gerben’s help when I first met him, I may have never seen the green lands beyond our sands. I would have never seen the ocean. No; I would still be petrified of it.

If I was never curious about the outside world, the wasteland would have been my entire world.

I love my home, but it is the most boring of the places I’ve seen. Never could I regret the actions that have led me here, even if I wish some things could have gone better. While the concerns of Armageddon are terrifying, I can’t deny I’m looking forward to exploring new lands — isles they may be.

My logs are finally dry enough to enjoy, so I scorch through the few I gathered. Once done, I lay down to rest. I don’t need to anymore, but that doesn’t mean I can’t. Unless it has no thermal presence, I’ll feel anything dangerous long before it’s near us.

❖❖❖

The next week and a bit, we fly along the Mrtyuñ Coast. There is plenty of land between the mountain-range and the ocean, but all civilisation is concentrated near the water.

Of the hundreds of villages we’ve passed, not a single one was built more than a kilometre from the crashing waves. An oddity, considering the heqet are infamous for their coastal raids. Would it not have been safer to build further from the water?

After experiencing both the pact nations and New Vetus — particularly the latter’s recent technological advancements — it is rather odd to see the primitive villages lining the coast of Mrtyuñ. Each settlement consists of dozens to hundreds of huts. Those huts aren’t all that complicated in their design either; green foliage of the forest seems to be the primary construction material.

From what we’ve seen as we fly over in the day, all the residents — khirig only, surprisingly — swim out in the shallows. They don’t have boats, but it seems most of their livelihood comes from fishing.

Lacking any identifying landmarks to point out our location on a map, Leal and I agreed to fly for only one more day before we turn to cross the ocean. Like the wasteland, the ocean is a massive place; if we simply fly straight across, we are likely to miss the Isles entirely. From where we are, it should be much easier to follow the line of islands away from the continent. But while easier, it isn’t an assurance.

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Well, at least it isn’t raining anymore.

I feel it long before I see it. An inferno. Far in the distance, under the overcast dark crimson sky, a village burns.

My pace picks up, jets shooting us forward rapidly.

“What’s wrong?” Leal asks, startled by my altered pace.

“There’s a fire ahead of us,” I say from a mouth formed in my flames right beside her. “A village burns.”

“Really?” Leal asks, confirming that the improvements I’ve made to my eyes beat her sight. That doesn’t last long, as Leal creates that lens of pressurised air. “I see it. What do you want to do?”

“We’ll check it out.” We have no reason not to.

Despite my improved speed, it still takes a while to arrive. The dot of light on the horizon grows to reveal fifty huts burning like individual pyres. Strangely, I can’t see a single villager moving around despite the blaze.

As soon as I’m within range, my influence spreads through the inferno and I snuff it out.

In the next minute, the two of us land in the village. Each building stands half scorched, but intact. Still, there is nobody in sight. It may have been pessimistic, but I’d expected to see corpses lining the earth, but not even that greets us. The khirig are simply missing.

“Where is everyone?” I ask Leal. Even amongst the cinders, there isn’t a single burning body.

“Could they be in the water, or up the mountain?”

“No, I would have felt th-” I’m cut off by an oddity beneath a hut.

As the air cools around the buildings, I notice there is a thermal presence filtering through the dirt beneath. It’s subtle, but the longer I watch, the further out of the ground the heat comes. The shape of a khirig climbs into the no longer burning hut.

I cast my attention around, and feel more than just the one climbing through dirt. When I bring my eye back to the first hut, I lock eyes with the khirig peeking through a tiny peephole. They stumble away when they realise I can see them, diving back into the earth, where they soon fall deep enough that I can’t feel them any longer.

“Well, I found them,” I mutter.

“Where?” Leal asks.

“Each hut has a bunker. They’re hiding underground.”

The next person I notice peeking out at us, I wave an arm at, acting friendly so they don’t run off again.

Of course, that doesn’t work. They, and the next three, rush back beneath the safety of the earth before a single khirig has enough courage to open their door. Well, it’s not exactly a door, considering the lack of hinges, but it accomplishes the same effect. A pile of ash falls from the roof when the entrance is opened, but the khirig ignores it and hesitantly steps out.

“Hello.” I smile, trying to calm the clearly unsettled man.

“Why are you here? Who are you?” he asks, eyes flickering between us, then widening at the complete lack of burning huts. Not a single ember remains.

“I’m Solvei. This is Leal.” I gesture to my friend. “We saw the village on fire while we were passing by and came to stop it. What happened?”

The khirig stands shorter than most of his kind I’ve seen, and not by a small margin, either. Most of the antlers that make his legs are simply gone. Cut off not far below the stump of flesh. Looking past him, I notice the same light amber colour of his bone-like growths on the lumpy door.

My eyes flicker to the khirig, then back to the hut. Has he… cut off his legs to make the door?

As I look further into the building through the archway, I realise much of the walls share the colour. Underneath the charred greenery that cover the outside of the hut, it is all made of khirig antler.

Dozens of khirig peer through their homes at us now — likely attracted by his voice — and while I can’t feel their heat flowing through their antlers, many stand only as high as the man in front of me.

Have they made all of these huts with their bone-growths? Why? It’s not like there’s no wood they can use.

The khirig before me turns to the ocean. “The heqet,” he says.

I follow his gaze and see the unfamiliar curves of a black ship far out over the water, only visible because of Ember’s constant light.

“Th-the fire?” he stammers, turning back to me. “What happened to it?”

“I put it out,” I say simply. With a flourish of my hand, an orb of fire twirls around it, then disappears in a puff of smoke.

He flinches at the sight of my fire, but calms when it disappears again. “Will you burn our village?” he asks warily.

“Why would she put it out if she wanted it to burn?” Leal asks by my side. A question I would have asked myself.

He seems to consider it for a few moments, glancing toward a few of the hidden khirig I can feel poking their heads out. He accepts our word and raises his voice to the rest of the village. “Raiders are gone. Everyone out.”

In an instant, chatter overwhelms the quiet crash of waves. All around us, the sound of voices calling orders and directions rises from silence. Hundreds of khirig climb out of the earth and make themselves known to my senses. Surprisingly, most rush off into the treeline up the hill. Many gawk at Leal and me as they pass, but they don’t stop to watch.

The khirig tear leaves and bark from trees before carrying the greenery back to their homes. Destroyed sections are removed and replaced rapidly. As they do, I get an undisturbed sight of the huts’ framework. They really have used their own antlers to build up the base.

But surprisingly enough, the antlers remain untouched from the flames. Char marks line the outsides of the bone-like material, but the antlers themselves remain strong.

“The Heqet set your village on fire?” Leal asks. “You seem used to it.”

“Yes.” The small khirig bows. “Thank you. We will save an hour of work because of you.”

I have to stifle a snort. It’s not good to laugh at one’s misfortune, but I guess I didn’t help them as much as I thought.

“So, why do they raid you?” I ask. As far as I can see, these khirig keep little worth taking.

“Food,” he says. “We have storage for them to take. Stops them becoming bloodthirsty.”

“So you have no more rations in storage?” Leal asks.

He shakes his head. “We shall fish in the morning. That is enough.”

Huh. I guess that’s why there’s so many villages along the water; they don’t suffer many permanent losses to the heqet even when they are raided. Still, I feel like they’d be better off further up the hills.