SOPHIA STONECLAW

  Everything was unfolding very suddenly and quickly, making it even more difficult to grasp the situation. Prior the chaos, it’d been a relatively quiet and uneventful so far, until the calm was interrupted in the most disruptive way possible.

  We were taken by surprise, a preemptive attack from enemies that literally came out from nowhere. Being attacked wasn’t what was frustrating, what was frustrating to me was running. Staying here in the Imperium-controlled Southern Continent was a constant reminder of how weak I was, in fact, too weak for my own good.

  Sometimes I subconsciously compared myself with others strength-wise, trying to know where I ranked in the pecking order, and sadly, I didn’t even rank high up. Surprises like Octavia made things look even worse for me, and It felt like I was loosing everything; my mind, my ego, my respect, everything.

  Elder guards; I had a profound dislike for them, hate was probably the best word that described what I felt for them. It wasn’t just because they were an arrogant bunch that felt like they were above everyone else, I could live with that. My contempt for them was more personal.

  ***

  I’d always been an introverted person, but two years ago, I happened to come across someone—Elyra Oldara. She was the second daughter of a High noble, Vorsath Oldara; an advisor to the Emperor, and also the man who oversaw the general affairs of the Empire. He was one of the highest ranked, if not the highest ranked official of the Azkhan Empire.

  Elyra was the complete opposite of me character-wise. She was loud, very talkative, sociable, and strangely warm. She was always trying to get close to me, and I was always pushing her away with my cold and uninterested demeanor, but she wasn’t the type to give up.

  I remembered our first encounter vividly. I’d seen her once or twice in the past but that was all to it. But in that day, she had escorted her father to the palace as always and I was headed to the palace training ground, accompanied by Orlyo.

  Our eyes met, and she suddenly left her father’s side running in my direction. Surprised, I stood still. When she reached where I stood, she bowed with a flourish that felt more playful than reverent.

  “I’ve been dying to meet you,” she said to me, her tone soft, almost teasing.

  I was a bit confused, trying to understand the reason behind her actions. But she continued talking. She had this poetic way of talking, and initially I thought it was something she did intentionally, I realized in later days that she was already accustomed to it. Not that she can’t speak without poetic inferences, she just can’t help it most times, and I found it interesting.

  “They say that you are a quiet one, but I bet that there is more under that frost.”

  Then, her voice was a spark to my kindling temper, and I didn’t want to entertain it.

  I looked directly in her eyes, my voice flat.

  “I don’t need your company.”

  Most people would have retreated, chastened by my chill, but Elyra simply laughed—a bright, unbothered sound that grated on me.

  “Oh, come on now,” she said leaning closer.

  “I’ve met many like you. I’m Elyra Oldara—Vorsath’s girl, second in line, no pressure to be perfect like my sister. I’ve got stories, you know. Ever hear about the time I snuck into the falx pens?”

  She didn’t wait for my answer, launching into a tale of tangling with a young falx, her hands waving, her laughter punctuating every exaggerated twist. I felt cornered—her energy was a tide I couldn’t stem.

  “Stop!” I snapped finally.

  Her mouth paused mid-sentence, but her eyes sparkled, undeterred.

  “Why? She asked, tilting her head.

  “I don’t like you. People like you, even worse.”

  Each word I said was deliberate and I expected her to leave. Instead she grinned wider,

  “You will,” she promised, leaving with a wink.

  I still struggled to understand her intentions, wondering if she had an ulterior motive, but I couldn’t think of one at that moment.

  Days turned to weeks and weeks to months, and slowly I caved. I became comfortable with her nuisance, with having her around me. She was relentless, and her persistence was soft, yet fierce.

  One day, out of the blue, she said to me,

  “I am joining the Elder Guards,” her tone was casual as if she were commenting on the weather.

  “I am a pure blood after all—it makes sense.”

  The words hung heavy in the air, shock rippled through me, sharp and cold because if anyone else delivered that news, I wouldn’t have believed it.

  I remembered asking her,

  “What happened to you being unbothered by responsibility?”

  My voice carried an edge of disbelief, tinged with something softer—concern, maybe, or a plea for the Elyra I knew.

  She smiled, but it was hollow, a fragile mask that didn't reach her eyes. At least, I knew her well enough to see the fracture beneath it. It wasn't her choice, not fully, not freely, and the realization settled into my chest like a stone that sank in water. I wanted to press her, to find out the truth that she was hiding, but I held my tongue. The smile wasn’t true. I knew that something was wrong, and it wasn’t her decision. But for some reason I couldn’t describe, I didn’t press further on the issue.

  Her response came quietly, but it gave me chills.

  “I guess playtime is over.”

  The words were laced with a strange finality, and a dozen questions surged up inside me. My throat betrayed me, and out of the storm of thoughts, the only words I managed to force out were,

  “I will visit you from time to time.”

  They fell flat. It was a promise I wasn't even sure I could keep, but it was all I had to offer in that moment.

  Elyra never made it through the initiation, she died even before she could be called an Elder Guard. She died young—just sixteen years of age. All I was left with was the echo of her false smile, and those haunting words, wondering if I could have said something—done something—to change the ending.

  I lost someone close to me. I lost a friend even though I was too proud, now realizing, I was too stupid not to admit it to her when she was alive. I blamed the Elder Guards for her death and I hated them for it.

  One could say that my blame was misguided, after all, Elyra knew the risks before deciding to join their ranks, or that maybe I should blame whoever or whatever influenced her decision to join the Elder Guards, but there was no way of me knowing that. The fact was, the Elder Guards killed Elyra, and that wouldn’t change.

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  I never truly understood how to process grief until Orlyo’s death forced me to confront it, or rather, forced me to realize how utterly incapable I was of facing it head-on. The sadness was there, of course, a heavy, dull ache that settled into my bones like damp rot, but that was the extent of it—just sadness, no tears, or no tender release of memories to soften the edges of loss. Instead, I discovered something unsettling about myself. It turned out that I’d unknowingly forged a strange method of coping, a way to bury the trauma that grief dragged in its wake. It wasn’t a conscious choice, not something I’d planned or perfected, rather, it was a reflex, a survival instinct that had grown quietly within me over years of smaller, unacknowledged wounds.

  But this coping mechanism was a peculiar one, flawed and jagged around the edges. The pain didn’t vanish; it didn’t dissolve into nothingness or fade with time as I’d once naively hoped it might. No, it lingered. Instead of grieving properly—whatever that even means, I found myself redirecting it, channeling that raw unspent agony into something darker, something more tangible—hatred. That was why I hated the Elder Guards, and that was why I hated the knights of the Order of Death.

  Interestingly, the hate helped me find a twisted kind of purpose. Should the opportunity ever arise, I wouldn’t hesitate. I’d seize it with both hands, clawing my way towards revenge; not for justice, not for closure, but for the sheer satisfaction of inflicting pain equal to what I’d endured. It wasn’t noble, and it wasn’t healing, but it was coping, and I was okay with it.

  The way I looked at Octavia changed the moment I knew she was an Elder Guard. But I couldn’t do much. She was a lot stronger than I was, and I knew I would lose to her in a direct confrontation. We were at war too, so there were bigger issues to face.

  ***

  Duskspire, the capital city of Duskenfell became a shadow of itself. Unbelievably, this catastrophic event happened within minutes—It’s skyline that looked like a forest of spires that clawed the heavens were reduced to rubbles and debris.

  We’d just received word detailing the attack on Conton. The red sky with cracks were similar to the ones on Duskspire but nothing had happened yet at the time we received the message. Vayr made arrangements in preparation for an imminent attacked based on the information we’d received but when they struck, their numbers were overwhelming.

  I witnessed their arrival firsthand. Since we received the message, I’d been on alert, I assumed watch atop a spire at the highest point in the city, waiting expectantly for the enemy that was described in the message. I’d thought that they would fall from the sky since the only signs we could see were the ones the sky presented, but I was wrong. Portals just spawned across different parts of the city, unleashing not one, but dozens of the creatures the message described—skeletal insect-like creatures with jagged limbs, and serpentine beasts with claw tipped tentacles. They spared no one; men, women, children, and soldiers alike.

  I managed to pull myself together, and before I could react, tentacles lashed widely at the spire I stood on, sending it crumbling. I reacted just in time leaping, before cushioning my landing. That was only the beginning of my problems, because immediately I landed, I came face to face with the Dark Ones the message described—horned people, incredibly strong and powerful.

  The one that stood in front of me was a male, he looked young, with straight horns that had a rough and uneven surface, protruding from his forehead. The energy he gave off hit me like a wave, it felt familiar, yet foreign. But that wasn’t the only thing I felt. It was also a signal that told me to flee. I stubbornly stood my ground as I threaded the thin line between bravery and stupidity. Without caution, he charged at me.

  A lot was happening around me—chaos and destruction, but when he came at me, the noise faded, and the only thing I focused on was the enemy in front of me.

  He was quick, too quick for me, but I managed to keep up. He didn’t appear to wield any elements because he didn’t conjure any spells, and I could sense that he couldn’t. He just had his swords, brute strength and sheer speed, propelled by something darker. Black flames licked at his shoulders, curling around his blade like a living shroud, and as he swung, they pulsed—a subtle hungry shimmer that seemed to drink the air itself.

  There was a surprise on his face when I conjured an ice spell to stop one of his swords from severing my head clean off my neck. Though I managed to keep up with his speed, he was still quicker. The ice I conjured was shattered effortlessly like he didn’t put any effort to it, but it just bought me enough time to save my head. The surprise on his face still lingered as he pressed on. I continued to conjure spells, mainly defensive ones as we fought, even though they were quickly destroyed. What was even more strange was that the attack spells I sent his way didn’t have any effect on him, like he was immune to them.

  This fight was very different from every other one I’d ever found myself in. I was fighting an enemy that was very powerful, yet I couldn’t feel the weight of the power he wielded. It felt like he wielded a quiet force that nullified anything and everything.

  He pressed forward, relentless. His sword came low, a sweep at my legs but I evaded, jumping before conjuring an ice platform mid-air. Upon landing, I slashed at his neck since I was able to bridge the distance between us with the maneuver I’d just performed. He leaned back, impossibly fast, and my blade only grazed his horn instead, chipping it. That surprise came alive once more, but this time I believed it was because I almost got him. He grinned—sharp and feral, countering with a double slash with both of his swords. I twisted, ice coating my arm as a shield, it would have sustained one hit, the second one came almost immediately, shattering the frost.

  The pain shook me. The only thing preventing my arm from being completely cut into half were just bits of muscles and skin. I shot myself backwards, a precautionary move to ensure my safety, and in that brief moment, the world around me came alive once again.

  Around me, Duskspire crumbled. Spires toppled, their red crystals bursting into shards that rained like blood. Screams pierced the air. Soldiers and civilians, all falling to insect-like creatures and tentacled serpents alike. I watched a woman cry before it was cut off as a jagged limb impaled her, a falx roared, then silenced. The sight was dreadful.

  I managed to pull myself together, holding my wounded hand in a natural position before channeling mana to it in order to heal it. I was just half way through, before he came at me again. I tried to buy myself a little time as I erected a rock wall between us, but he cut through it like it was nothing.

  His blade came at me once again, but there was no way I was going to give up. With my other hand, I brought my sword to meet his with a swift maneuver, and though it was just enough to stop his blade, unfortunately for me, his other blade still came at me.

  His movements were so quick, and everything was happening in an instant. I knew that I’d fought well, my reactions were quick, and the spells I conjured were precise and lethal, but unfortunately they weren’t enough. My reality was that each new enemy I faced was stronger than the one that came before. It was an annoying experience because even with improvements I’d made strength-wise, it just appeared like I had nothing to show for it.

  It felt like time slowed even though in reality, everything was happening in very rapid successions. I watched as his blade came at me, and I panicked. Even though I felt helpless that moment, my body reacted—the Erkvare ritual paying dividends. I could feel the movement of mana throughout my body like my panicked state was sending a distress signal. I had experienced what the Dark One I was fighting could do first hand—my spells had no effect on him, and that was the reason for my momentary helplessness. It wasn’t like I just gave up, inviting him to just finish me off. Rather, it was a situation, one in which I froze for the briefest moment because I couldn’t come up with a solution as quickly as I wished.

  Thankfully, my body wasn’t having any of it. I wouldn’t say I was unaware of what was happening, I knew, but I didn’t put any intent towards it. An icy armor covered my body in an instant, and just as his sword was about to make contact, my body reinforced itself with mana. I awaited the strike, bracing myself for the impact. Deep down, I expected his blade to cut through my defenses like he’d always done throughout the fight, but at least with a reduced impact. If his blade struck true, from the direction of his swing, I was confident that it wouldn’t be lethal.

  The contact never happened. Surprised, I looked up immediately just to see Octavia parry his sword with hers. Their blades clashed a few more times in very rapid successions until my falx, Kralith lunged at him, crashing him into a wall.

  Octavia helped me up immediately,

  “We need to leave, now,” she said to me.

  I understood the situation, and I didn’t let my ego get the better of me.

  “Where are we headed to?” I asked her

  “Galdor. We just received reports that Svan and his sister, Yukina, headed there. Vayr believes that the city, coupled with the presence of the Choryths, offers the best chances of survival. The main transport gate is secure for now, but the window of its safety is rapidly closing, so, we need to move quickly.”

  I tried to warn Kralith not to engage the Dark One in a direct confrontation, but it was too late. The feedback I got was Kralith urging me to leave. I could feel what it felt, it knew it was going to die.

  I turned around to see Kralith for one last time. It was fighting Valiantly, but I knew it was just a matter of time—same time it bought me in exchange for its life. My heart was heavy. I never knew a day like this would come; one where I would feel such emotion for a falx.

  There and then, I realized something, the person I truly hated was myself. I hated myself for being weak; the reason why Orlyo died. I hated myself for not convincing Elyra against joining the Elder Guards, and in that moment, I was hating myself because Kralith’s death would be on me.

  “Your majesty, we need to leave now,” Octavia voiced, with her tone, a mix of reprimand and desperation.

  “Yes, let’s go,” I muttered slowly.