An Inheritance of Fire

Shaw pushed essence through his Sigil with a flick of the wrist. The invisible blade split the air as it flew, and the gathered villagers collapsed in a spray of fine red mist, each bisected cleanly at the waist. The fallen mercenaries, for their part, turned to ash– some machination of Voja’s, no doubt.

He’d thought two Spellweavers unnecessary, at first, but a handful of villagers had cut through dozens of his men before a single one could retaliate. The ones with those shadowy birds were the worst. They were all dead, now– as were their pets. Just as well. He could feel his body protest the use of magic.

“Sir!” Shaw turned to see one of the remaining mercenaries. Though their face was hidden, the voice was undoubtedly masculine. “Don’t call me sir. You’re a mercenary, not a soldier. What do you want?”

“The perimeter is almost clear. We’re cleaning up the last few stragglers. There would have been more casualties without you.”

"Rejoin the others, then. Use your gatestone whenever you’re ready.” The mercenary nodded and marched off. Shaw turned back towards the fallen villagers. The flames still burned bright, bathing their dying expressions in a ghastly light. Some were no more than children.

“Shaw?” A hoarse voice called out from behind. Turning, he saw Nalos standing there. The other Spellweaver’s face was pale, and his red eyes were dark with pain. Shaw laughed. “Woke up, did you? You should thank the mercs I assigned to carry your sorry ass.” He paused. “Did you know Voja put another spell in the gatestones?”

“... I figured he wouldn’t want to leave any traces.”

“And you still trust this guy?”

“Must we do this now?” Nalos held up one hand. Already, the scars were beginning to settle. It looked more like a new layer of flesh. “I’m in a lot of pain. Do you need me here? I don’t think I can stay much longer.”

Shaw waved his hand. “Just go. There can’t be many left.” Nalos nodded, then pulled out his gatestone. The air warped, and he was gone. I won’t be able to turn him, Shaw thought. Nalos’ trust in Voja was too strong. Just what did that golden-haired bastard do to win his loyalty? He pushed the question aside. He’ll be expecting a report after being silent for weeks. What should I say? Shaw sighed. Whatever Voja is up to, it’s going to take time. Another sigh. I knew this assignment would be long, but this is getting ridiculous. It had taken months of carefully suggested favors to catch Voja’s attention– and that was before his real work began. But he’s definitely up to something. Something big. Shaw grimaced as his gaze swept around the carnage. The bodies of men, women, and children lay in the half-melted snow. Guilt bubbled up; he pushed it aside. Work was work.

But he could still show his respect. Kneeling, he lowered his head slightly. “Rest in peace.” As if in response to his words, the surrounding shadows reached for his neck. The ethereal knife cut through the layer of essence that clung to Shaw’s skin, drawing a thin line of blood. In the same instant, something crashed into his back. Turning, he found himself staring into a pair of tear-stained violet eyes. They belonged to a boy, younger than those he’d killed moments ago. He held a crude dagger in his hands. The tip hovered uselessly above Shaw’s robe, but the boy seemed not to notice. “Why?” He choked out between gasping breaths. The word cut through Shaw’s heart, but he could offer no remorse. It had been his doing, after all.

“I’m sorry,” Shaw whispered. His Sigil hummed to life. He molded the spell this time, shaping it into a small sphere. He pushed it into the boy’s body– and loosed it. The villager’s torso burst as a hail of invisible blades scattered from within. The same layer of magic that had stopped his attack now stopped the spray of blood. They really have no defense against magic, Shaw thought grimly, then groaned in pain as the world pressed down. He pushed back against the tide of essence as it flowed in. That was too much. He forced himself to straighten. There was work to be done. Shaw’s thoughts turned back to his future report as he strode off. He only made it two steps.

As one, the spreading flames winked out. There was an instant of pitch black before pale red flooded his vision– and then no more.

Held aloft by the darkness, Nyx shivered as the stranger’s body was burned to nothingness. She felt a sense of satisfaction at the sight; at watching the demise of the intruder that had destroyed her home and slaughtered her flock. No, she reminded herself.

There had been another one.

She would remember him.

Vane thrust his sword forward. The elderwood blade pierced through his opponent’s flimsy armor and buried itself in their chest. He stepped back, freeing his weapon as the lifeless corpse turned to ash. The six remaining assailants took a step back at the sight of their comrade’s death, hesitance born from uncertainty clear despite the night's shroud– an uncertainty that Vane shared. There had been ten, at first, but Vane was growing tired. His strength would give out, and when it did, both he and Viria would be killed.

Vane looked back at his niece. He could see the fear on her face, poorly hidden behind red eyes hard with anger. Her lips were pressed together in defiance, but she’d never put her life on the line like this, and it showed. Their attackers had seemingly come from nowhere, faces hidden by their hoods. Vane couldn’t help but wonder if they had come for the two of them. If they were, what had happened to the village? To Corvus?Viria’s eyes widened, and she flung both hands out in front of her. A shield shimmered to life in front of Vane, just barely blocking the strike from a heavy axe. It shattered. He silently cursed himself as they stumbled back. The last year of relative safety had left him dull.

Vane flicked his wrist, and the axe-wielder fell, their throat rent open. The remaining five took a step forward as their comrade’s body disintegrated, recognizing his distraction as fatigue. Vane swept Viria behind him as they approached. Damn it. Is there no other option? He mentally braced himself as, for the first time in nearly two years, he touched the essence that flowed through his body. It responded eagerly, molding itself to his will, but before he could weave the spell into being, one of the assailants spoke.

“They’re human.” Vane strained his ears, but their voice was low and indistinct.

“So? No survivors. Those were our orders. That includes them. Or do you want to cross that scarred Spellweaver?”

“... She’s using magic. Isn’t killing her a huge crime?”

“You saw how much we’re being paid. Did you really think any of this is legal? I’m expecting a knife to the back as a bonus.”

“... Then why’d you accept?”

“Same reason as you, inn’it? Family needs the money.”

“And yo–”

Whatever they said next was drowned out by a loud roar.

Vane squinted as rose-colored light burst forward. A torrent of pale red fire followed close behind. Uneven heat bathed his face, then vanished as the fiery tide receded. Three of the remaining attackers turned to ash, and a fourth fell to the ground, screaming as the flames spread over their silhouette. As the fifth turned to help, talons of pure fire flared to life. They seared through cloth and flesh alike, filling the air with the stench of burning flesh. As the mutilated corpse fell to the ground, the fiery apparition dissolved back into formless flame, flowing backwards to rejoin the raging inferno.

It seemed like the hellish blaze was dying. Fading away. But as the firelight shifted, a lone figure emerged from its midst. No– there was another still-struggling figure held aloft by one hand. Their screams split the air as a tendril of fire coiled around their neck, only to die as their body dropped to the ground below, headless. Another second, and only dust remained.Vane’s astonishment turned to horror as the remaining figure turned towards them. His mind screamed to move, to take action, but his body refused to listen. He felt Viria tremble at his back as the pale red inferno folded over itself bit by bit, becoming more tangible. More real.

It took the shape of a crown; a thin ring split at its front by three spines of jagged light. Lavender eyes stared out from underneath it, bright even against the blazing background. They belonged to a boy that couldn’t have been older than Viria, but the hatred in them made Vane’s blood run cold. The same talons from before shrouded his right arm, an almost solid fixture within the mass of fire and flame. The firestorm settled into a slow, rhythmic pulse as it gathered. Its heat was overwhelming. Vane wove another spell, certain that the inferno would lash out yet again.

Instead, every wisp of flame winked out as the boy’s eyes rolled up and he collapsed to the ground, unconscious.