The snow drifted carelessly around them. Dense forest guarded either side, stretching endlessly beyond. Overhead, the sun had peaked. Yet, Alyse could feel no warmth upon her skin. The wind pulled at her cloak. She drew it closer to her body with one hand, watching her breath condense to mist. She turned to Reuben, pale hair shielding her face. “How much further?” She asked, voice thin. He peered intently at the horizon before shrugging. “Soon,” he offered tiredly. He glanced at her. “Are you tired?”
She curled her lip. “No.”
Reuben rolled his good eye, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. She leaned into him, burying her face in his shirt. They stood still for a moment—the world suddenly distant and dreamlike—before slowly separating. She met his gaze. “Reu—” But he caught her wrist, running his thumb across her palm, face pained, and shook his head. “No more than this,” he reminded her softly.
Her face flashed with jealousy. “I know,” she spat, turning viciously on her heel. Then, again, trembling: “…I know.” He touched her arm but she jerked away, shaking her head. She knew, of course. She had known since the very beginning. She only allowed herself to look—when he had gone, receding into silence—to watch his hand, almost absently, close around the amulet at his neck.
The war had begun a decade ago. They came from nowhere, materialising suddenly on the horizon. Altazia was the first to fall, led by their hubris; an era of peace coming to a brutal and bloody end. The world stood in mournful silence, in awe of this organic construction that pushed relentlessly forward, unfazed by man nor beast.
And now, an uneasy calm had descended upon them. They lived in the shadow of these colossi; men sacrificed by the legion to keep them at bay—and death’s calling card: an envelope bearing the king’s seal. The Red Keep had received their own a month before. Alyse remembered it clearly: the table ladder-lined by light and shadow, and the pungent spice of incense.
“No!” Alyse swung a fierce gaze around the room.
“We cannot defy the king,” Elizaveta said. Her voice held a thick accent. She wrapped an arm around her waist; her cloak falling still at her feet. For once, she had been stunned to near silence.
“You’re condemning us,” Alyse hissed. There was a ripple of reluctant agreement.
Elizaveta scowled. “Is there a choice?”
Alyse’s face hardened. “A mindless death, is that all there is for us?”
The Construct took her breath away. It was hideously beautiful, suspended in the air, floating—a sentinel cleaved from stone. It carried a large, creviced orb, as if it had plucked the moon from the night sky. The light danced along the pallid surface of its skin, and Alyse realised that it was not stone, but marble. It was carved with a master’s precision—delicate, as if a slight breeze would shatter it into countless pieces.
“It’s moving east,” Alyse whispered. It had yet to act, seemingly unaware of their presence. They were hidden behind low-growing brush, almost pressed against the dirt. She had her sword ready, hand resting on the hilt. It was disportionately large for her size; and yet, she swung it with relative ease. She joked that she must have been chosen, that Morag held some mystical power, like legend.
She felt a hand on her shoulder. “I’ll see you after,” Reuben said. They shared tight smile before he disappeared with Alain into the forest. She glanced at Elizaveta. “Alain was an idiot,” she said snidely.
Elizaveta snorted. “What is the point? We will see each other again.”
Alyse blinked. Her face grew hot at Elizaveta’s smirk, and she turned away, flicking her hair. She breathed in; the brief camaraderie, if only fleeting, calming.
“Obelyn.”
She looked. Reuben and Alain’s magic, together, had allowed them to summon fire. Crimson-orange swarmed the Construct and, momentarily, it was human: caught off-guard, confused. She and Elizaveta moved forward, unsure, but with growing confidence. Maybe, they could—
It opened its arms, the stone arcing up into the air, effortlessly, held by an unseen force, and then slamming into the ground before them, throwing them from their feet. Alyse rolled onto her front, sucking in air, pushing herself up. It stared at them, face impassive, yet she felt emotion, electric and real; it made her skin crawl.
Behind it, she could see snow, a torrent of white, uprooting trees and scattering birds. She turned to see Elizaveta shouting, soundless. Then, she was gone, flesh seared from bone, until all that remained was a glimmer of the light-ray that had erased her from existence. Around her, those who had yet to flee suffered a similar fate. No space, no time to think, she let her feet carry her. Her breath was like thunder in her ears.
One moment, she saw sky, and then all was dark.
In the distance, she heard someone scream. She bit her tongue, dragging herself forward. Her leg was broken. The pain was like white-fire. She looked around. A body lay close by. A familiar glimmer of silver.
“R… Reuben?” She shook his shoulder. Once, then again, roughly. Her vision blurred, the sting of despair wracking a sob from her chest. In the distance, she heard a rumble—low but quickly deafening, heralding another avalanche. “Elia, save me.”
She curled her lip. “No.”
Reuben rolled his good eye, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. She leaned into him, burying her face in his shirt. They stood still for a moment—the world suddenly distant and dreamlike—before slowly separating. She met his gaze. “Reu—” But he caught her wrist, running his thumb across her palm, face pained, and shook his head. “No more than this,” he reminded her softly.
Her face flashed with jealousy. “I know,” she spat, turning viciously on her heel. Then, again, trembling: “…I know.” He touched her arm but she jerked away, shaking her head. She knew, of course. She had known since the very beginning. She only allowed herself to look—when he had gone, receding into silence—to watch his hand, almost absently, close around the amulet at his neck.
The war had begun a decade ago. They came from nowhere, materialising suddenly on the horizon. Altazia was the first to fall, led by their hubris; an era of peace coming to a brutal and bloody end. The world stood in mournful silence, in awe of this organic construction that pushed relentlessly forward, unfazed by man nor beast.
And now, an uneasy calm had descended upon them. They lived in the shadow of these colossi; men sacrificed by the legion to keep them at bay—and death’s calling card: an envelope bearing the king’s seal. The Red Keep had received their own a month before. Alyse remembered it clearly: the table ladder-lined by light and shadow, and the pungent spice of incense.
“No!” Alyse swung a fierce gaze around the room.
“We cannot defy the king,” Elizaveta said. Her voice held a thick accent. She wrapped an arm around her waist; her cloak falling still at her feet. For once, she had been stunned to near silence.
“You’re condemning us,” Alyse hissed. There was a ripple of reluctant agreement.
Elizaveta scowled. “Is there a choice?”
Alyse’s face hardened. “A mindless death, is that all there is for us?”
The Construct took her breath away. It was hideously beautiful, suspended in the air, floating—a sentinel cleaved from stone. It carried a large, creviced orb, as if it had plucked the moon from the night sky. The light danced along the pallid surface of its skin, and Alyse realised that it was not stone, but marble. It was carved with a master’s precision—delicate, as if a slight breeze would shatter it into countless pieces.
“It’s moving east,” Alyse whispered. It had yet to act, seemingly unaware of their presence. They were hidden behind low-growing brush, almost pressed against the dirt. She had her sword ready, hand resting on the hilt. It was disportionately large for her size; and yet, she swung it with relative ease. She joked that she must have been chosen, that Morag held some mystical power, like legend.
She felt a hand on her shoulder. “I’ll see you after,” Reuben said. They shared tight smile before he disappeared with Alain into the forest. She glanced at Elizaveta. “Alain was an idiot,” she said snidely.
Elizaveta snorted. “What is the point? We will see each other again.”
Alyse blinked. Her face grew hot at Elizaveta’s smirk, and she turned away, flicking her hair. She breathed in; the brief camaraderie, if only fleeting, calming.
“Obelyn.”
She looked. Reuben and Alain’s magic, together, had allowed them to summon fire. Crimson-orange swarmed the Construct and, momentarily, it was human: caught off-guard, confused. She and Elizaveta moved forward, unsure, but with growing confidence. Maybe, they could—
It opened its arms, the stone arcing up into the air, effortlessly, held by an unseen force, and then slamming into the ground before them, throwing them from their feet. Alyse rolled onto her front, sucking in air, pushing herself up. It stared at them, face impassive, yet she felt emotion, electric and real; it made her skin crawl.
Behind it, she could see snow, a torrent of white, uprooting trees and scattering birds. She turned to see Elizaveta shouting, soundless. Then, she was gone, flesh seared from bone, until all that remained was a glimmer of the light-ray that had erased her from existence. Around her, those who had yet to flee suffered a similar fate. No space, no time to think, she let her feet carry her. Her breath was like thunder in her ears.
One moment, she saw sky, and then all was dark.
In the distance, she heard someone scream. She bit her tongue, dragging herself forward. Her leg was broken. The pain was like white-fire. She looked around. A body lay close by. A familiar glimmer of silver.
“R… Reuben?” She shook his shoulder. Once, then again, roughly. Her vision blurred, the sting of despair wracking a sob from her chest. In the distance, she heard a rumble—low but quickly deafening, heralding another avalanche. “Elia, save me.”
