2412, Strilaxis 13, Briss

Reeca shivered. Anchester's cold winds beat down her body like a whip.

She risked a glance at her back and clicked her tongue. Her wings still refused to unfurl after that stunt they pulled at her in Aspous.

Reeca grimaced at the air before hugging her arms close to her body. Her teeth clattered in her jaw as she gave another visible shiver. The pain on her shoulder had spread to her neck, arms, and spine after days of departing from Asopus. Just how much could this day suck?

Her magic was still in tatters after what she was forced to do as she outran Kymalin in the forest. Reeca blew a heavy breath, her eyes widening at the sight of her own breath frosting in the air. Ugh. It only gets worse when the sun sets.

Reeca craned her neck at the mass of trees with yellow-green leaves and thin, dark gray trunks. The sky beyond the canopy bore the shade of the Crimson Mother's rays. Hurry. She had to hurry along.

There was no one with Reeca on this trail that she was following as soon as she dropped into Anchester. Banshees knew better than to loiter in this forest no matter how thick it was. Reeca glanced at her left, squinting at the higher distance. Would that be where the Necrom Fortress was?

Reeca sniffed in an attempt to clear her airways from the clog of the cold. Anchester was an army base where Carleon's standing army, the Necrom, were known to stay. She had heard of rumors that the army sends scouts into the forest but judging by how quiet everything was over the past hours, she wasn't sure if that was true.

She half-dragged, half-skidded her feet along the trail. Her stomach gurgled with distinguishable pangs of hunger. A sigh escaped her lips before the wind picked it up and turned it into crystals that went as quickly as they came.

Where would Reeca spend the night? She should at least try to ride out the cold somewhere warm. A soldier's house, maybe?

Reeca stepped forward with a brand new mission in mind. Her eyes roamed the trails through the trees and the bushes peppering the forest floor. Her boots crunched against the fallen leaves that carpeted the ground.

Despite the rumors of Anchester being a militarized city, shacks made of strewn leaves and pale gray trunks stood idly at varied intervals as Reeca prowled forward. Who lived in these? Strange musical instruments lay discarded on the ground, sending an eerie vibe in Reeca's gut. Mugs made of ceramic and polished wood were thrown into the ground as if in a hurry.

What happened here?

Her boots hit something solid and she looked down in time to glimpse a round, metallic object. Reeca narrowed her eyes as she bent down and closed her fingers around it. Familiar. A memory sparked in her mind.

Of course. This was what Kymalin was talking on when the banshee was reporting to someone named Peredeira. Reeca pursed her lips. Peredeira. That name seemed familiar.

Reeca shook her head. Whatever this thing was, she won't know how to operate it unless someone taught her. It was of no use to her at this time. The metal made a muted thud against the soil as Reeca chucked the object back to where she picked it up.

What were these things doing around here in the first place?

Her stomach rumbled again and Reeca cursed. She reached inside the breastplate and flexed her fingers. Weaving energy speared for the padding inside her armor before giving way to a hollow space where she stored her potions. Reeca frowned when her fingers only felt one vial.

By the stars. Just how fast has she consumed these things? Reeca glanced to her left. Well, there's no way she would be able to buy any fairy potion until she reached Drodham. She eyed the lofty trees. Looks like she'd have to find another way to eat. Somehow.

Reeca hissed as her shoulder erupted in pain when she unscrewed the vial's stopper with her teeth. She tipped her head backwards and downed the vial's contents in one gulp. Her mouth exploded in sweet flavors, bubbling until they disappeared down her throat. She coughed into her fist and crushed the vial with her fingers. The sound of cheap glass crinkling brought strange satisfaction in her chest.

So where to spend the night? Reeca raised her head and gaze to the trees yet again. The branches looked like they could support her weight if she sat on them. Reeca glanced at her wings and flexed her back muscles, urging them to move out of their locked position. Pain only speared into her temples. Ugh.

No. Not the trees if she wouldn't be able to fly up there. She looked back at the abandoned shack that she just passed a few steps back. That would do.

Reeca picked her way towards the shack. Saterpeda flowers swayed with the cold wind as it rustled the canopies and made Reeca shudder more. Whoever lived here sure enjoyed gardening. Saterpeda was not an easy flower to grow.

Reeca stepped into the shack's porch and tried the knob. Unlocked. A smile crept into her lips but died again as she reached for her belt. Her fingers closed around the flintlock. Her eyes flitted to all the possible spots where danger would come from.

Nothing out of the ordinary quiet. Good.

She pushed the door to the shack open. Dust greeted her along with the smell of rotten food and mud. She snorted the wafting scent and held her breath. She waded in, keeping her flintlock pointed forward.

It was dark inside, darker than the foggy landscape of Anchester. Windows remained shuttered, their locks too complicated for Reeca to figure out. A simple wash basin was the first thing to greet Reeca. A chest made of rotting wood was next. Most objects were untouched, like that wooden table and three-legged stool propped next to one of the windows. There was not one soul.

A pile of weapons and other shiny things caught Reeca's eye from the left corner of the room. Like an iphik attracted to food, Reeca moved towards the armory and plowed through it. She tossed five daggers aside which clattered against the creaky, wooden floorboards. No use in close combat if the enemy could control semi-tangible souls. A breastplate, a glove, leather boots, and a compass joined the discarded pile.

Reeca's eyes gleamed when she spied a longsword. She picked it up and felt the solid weight of metal on her fingers. It's a bit heavier than the one she previously used, but it will have to do. A simple weaving and this would be the ideal sword for her.

But not now.

Reeca scanned the room for any visage of a mattress. There was not. She grunted. She has to rest if she was to get to Drodham tomorrow. Reeca glanced at her troublesome appendages stuck to her back. Maybe her wings would finally cooperate if she gave them proper rest.

Reeca closed the door which made a satisfying click. That's not enough. She extended her hands and called for her magic. She shouldn't even be doing this after what she went through in Asopus. A small prick of pain poked at her stomach but she ignored it. Her fingers flexed in their familiar routines, weaving threads of spells as she laid them on every surface she found—on the door, the windows, the walls.

Her magic flickered on and off. She gritted her teeth as her weaving energy snaked through the last window. When she finished, the whole hut was coated in a thin film of fool-proof triggers that would emit a loud sound when they were touched by any living soul other than her.

Reeca sighed as she stared at the hard, flat wood spreading from her boots. Looks like it's no-mattress night. She dropped to her knees and laid herself flat on the floor. She had to be careful of moving her wings out of the way to avoid them from sending more pain than they already did.

Her head rested on the floor, its hardness digging through her skull. Her hips, shoulders and legs felt awkward against the flat surface. She sighed. What a night. She would most likely wake up tomorrow with a sore hip, a fatigued shoulder, and limp legs. It's better than busted wings, though, right?

She closed her eyes.

Her mind lulled for a moment before plunging Reeca into a dream. This time, however, it's from one of her memories. A time she wished she wouldn't have to see ever again.

The rain in Reeca's dream was loud and beat down on her wings as she hefted them above her head. Reeca ran from Dad's court bearing a doll made from washcloths she stole from the laborers.

She couldn't wait to show her mother her progress in weaving. Today, she managed to insert a single weaving thread into the fabric and maneuver it until she had sewn a doll with three arms and two legs.

Her bare feet splashed a puddle of water, spraying her dress with flecks of mud. Oh. Flia would not like that. The poor guardian would have to wash off more than what was necessary for her job of taking care of Reeca. No matter.

Reeca's mom would love the doll. Reeca would give it to her mother to cheer her up in her tower, high up in the sky.

She couldn't grasp, though, why Rhys wouldn't let her up into the tower. Mom loved her. Why couldn't she see mom?

Reeca neared the lone tower in the whole of the Royal Estate and she flung the door open with her magic. She giggled when the wood swung without as much as a creak.

Thunder rolled in the sky and lightning followed suit. The rain had not let up for a while. Looks like the rain won't stop for some time, too. Good. More time with Mom with the rain delaying most of the caravans arriving at the Estate.

Reeca took careful steps upward, keeping track of the number of steps.

Thirty-three, thirty-four, thirty-five

On and on the stairs stretched with no promise of finishing. Rain slipped through the windows and splashed into Reeca's face. She extended her wing to block the windows she passed. She continued climbing and counting.

Fifty-eight, fifty-nine, sixty

Reeca hugged her doll tighter as the stairs felt more slippery than ever. Rhys was right. She should have brought her boots. Her feet were now caked with mud and danced whenever she took a step higher.

A hundred and two, a hundred and three, a hundred and four

She huffed, the air has become thinner. Her limbs ached from the climbing; her face was already hot and sticky despite the cold air brought by the rain. She had to show Mom her doll. She had to make Mom love her again. Maybe Mom would climb down from the tower for Reeca.

Mom would love the doll. She has to so she could come down.

A hundred and sixty-six, a hundred and sixty-seven, a hundred and sixty-eight

Finally, a door stood a few steps above. Reeca's heart beat fast. At last, she would see Mom again. Mom would be happy for her.

A hundred and ninety-five, a hundred and ninety-six, a hundred and ninety-seven

She stopped short when she noticed the door was ajar. Mom never leaves the door open. She used to tell Reeca to finish every job no matter how trivial it was. That included closing doors.

Reeca crept closer, her hand closing on the door's edge. The doll dug into her side as she clung to it tighter. Inside, she could hear voices. Has her mom invited someone over? Why didn't she invite her own daughter?

Reeca flattened herself against the wall and slid closer to the opening, straining to hear what they were saying. She couldn't make sense out of any of it.

"I contacted Marthiaq," the voice said, almost like it's singing a song. "He said that she is somewhere over Akaron. Ezril and Jarvik are still out there, looking for a way to get to her without stepping on somebody else's foot."

Reeca's Mom nodded, setting down a sheaf of parchment that contained the Council's seal on a nearby desk. Reeca pouted at the sight of her mom. "Has Eldan attempted to contact you? He hasn't reached out for more than a month now. I'm worried."

"We all are, Phiaris. These are trying times," the voice replied, its tone a little too bubbly for Reeca's taste. She poked her head deeper into the room. Where was that voice coming from?

"This is what I feared most," the voice continued. "When those two had their child, I knew we were wading in deep waters. We shouldn't have encouraged their union. We got ourselves in this mess after all."

"Come on, Anahel," Mom stepped closer to an oval mirror almost her height. Reeca's eyes widened. So that's where the voice came from. Cool. "We could never have gotten in their way. They chose to be bonded and there's no way in Parkane's blood they would listen to us. Jarvik would know that. How's he and Geradine?"

The voice was quiet for a minute. "He hasn't talked much about his wife," the voice after a while, carrying a grave tone. "How is your research about the thrones? Why are Synketros and Cardovia after them?"

"Who knows?" her mom ran her hands down her red locks. Reeca had always wanted to brush it forever and ever. "I'm stuck in Arcole until I have the strength to rule again. I'm thankful Kadra has a knack for it. For all I know, I may never perform the simplest of weavings after that spell."

"But the child is fine, right? That's all she wanted from us," the voice clicked her tongue as if annoyed. "Even I suffered dire consequences. Have you seen the wrinkle in my forehead? Ghastly! You people should have told me that before you dragged me into this mess."

"We did tell you that it will be dangerous," Mom's tone carried an amused tone.

"Oh?" the voice laughed with snide humor. "But you specifically left out that I would get a wrinkle in my forehead! Gods of Calaris, how am I supposed to live with this? Even my glamour is not enough to cover it completely! Phiaris, you should come down to Abshire to see it."

"Hmm. Arcole needs me," Mom said flatly. Reeca from her place by the door pouted again. "Is the line between us still working?"

The voice snorted. "Well, you're talking to me."

"No," Mom shook her head and braced her hips with her hands, imposing. "I meant your experiment in transporting things of great substances across mirrors. Is this still at work?"

The voice gave a flippant grunt. "You know me, Phiaris. I never leave a job undone. Just invoke the phrase and jump straight through. You'll emerge here in my room, nice and whole."

Mom's reply was a bit impatient. "What's the phrase?"

"Beckon the shadows."

"That will activate the portal?"

"You bet," a pause. "I have to go. Zeral is asking for me. You know I give up valuable court time just for our little conferences, right? That's how I love you, Phiaris."

"Come now," Mom said, a smile playing on her pretty lips. "Go back to your loving husband and have more flower children."

"I already have enough, thank you," the voice dismissed. "My only girl is giving me a pain in the wrinkle lately. She's gone for more than a week now! Who knows what that child is up to? Can't even stay for one family makeover. Do you know how many times I need to say that her side braid is askew before she actually fixes it? Gods, is she even a shard fairy? You know beauty is our primary concern and this child just goes about and ruins it!"

"Calm down, Anahel" Mom waved her hands in front of the mirror. "Do you think no one has sniffed our activities just yet?"

"Goodness," the voice giggled. "Who would've thought that a shard fairy like me and a varichria like you would work together? Of course, every line is secure since I control it. I don't even know why I gave you one of my magical mirrors! Perhaps Marthiaq forced me. Anyhow, I should go. Remember, when trouble comes, always beckon the shadows."

Mom snorted. "I don't even know what that means."

"It's a secret," the voice said. If Reeca could see the voice, she would have thought that it winked."Diante!"

The air was quiet for a few minutes. Mom sighed heavily and rubbed her face with her hands. Something creaked. Mom must have sat down. Reeca leaned forward to push the door wider when the tower shook. She stifled a scream as she braced the wall, her foot slipping from a step. Her doll flopped a few paces from her, right into the door.

"So this is where you've been, Phiaris," a new voice echoed throughout the tower. This one was heavy and ugly. Reeca eyed her doll lying a few paces ahead. Mom needed to see it.

Mom's voice came crashing back. A thud. She must have gotten up in a hurry. "Who are you?"

"You needn't know that, my dear." the voice said, her tone deeper and scarier. "Just tell me, where is the child?"

Mom's tone changed into a flatter one. "I-I don't know."

"Oh, but you do know."

Mom scoffed. Her wings flapped back and forth, agitated. "I'm not going to tell you."

The new voice gave a resonant laugh void of amusement. "Really? What if I tell you that your daughter is at your door?"

Reeca flattened herself against the wall. The voice knew.

"Come out, little one, and let me deal with you since your mother refused to cooperate," the voice goaded. Reeca's hands shook, her heart a living Temple going in her chest. Her doll lay forgotten beyond her, slowly soaking up water from the rain.

"No!" Mom yelled from the inside of the room. "I can't tell you because I don't know who you are! Leave the child alone."

"You would do well to say everything you know, my dear," the voice snickered. "Times have changed. You royals and your thrones aren't the peak of magic any longer. Shall we test it if you really want your territory destroyed?"

"No," her mom stepped closer to the single mirror in the room. "Instead, I want to beckon the shadows."

Reeca's throat closed up as she tried to scream for her mother. The mirror erupted in a bright light and Reeca watched her mom dive through.

"Run, darling!"

Those were the words Mom last uttered before the light swallowed her and faded. Ever so defiant, ever so strong until the very end. Reeca was reduced to gawking as her Mom disappeared. The tower grew quiet.

Reeca gently tiptoed towards her doll. Mom should see it. Beckoning the shadows. That would bring the bright light again. Where was Mom?

Suddenly, the hairs on her neck stood up. She whirled to find a pressing presence looming above her. She sensed its lust for blood, its fangs for flesh, and its hunger for her soul. Reeca's screams bounced through and through along the tower's stone walls.

"Little girl," the voice rasped. "Shall I kill you too?"

The presence reached for her. She stumbled back, hitting her rear end on the damp floor. The dim light blocked her view. No. She couldn't see the voice because of it. It's like a ghost. Mom told her about ghosts. They're bad. They'll eat her soul. They'll kill her.

Bitter bile coated her tongue as the presence advanced on her. She put her hand up and like in her training, waited for the surge of warmth in her palms. A wall of weaving energy erupted in front of her. She felt the presence collide with it. Sparks flew. A wail speared through the walls of the tower. Hollow. Scathing. Dry.

Reeca ran, leaving her woven doll on the floor of the lone tower in the whole of the Royal Estate.

She ran down, down, down the infinite steps until she came across her brother meters away from the tower's base.

Her brother stared at her. "You killed Mom."

Reeca jolted awake in the dark with a gasp. The shack's ceiling greeted her once more. Her palms were wet. Tears brimmed at the sides of her eyes. That last part where her brother accused her of killing their mother wasn't how she remembered it.

What happened after was when she stumbled out of the tower, Rhys was there and he embraced her as she shook—out of fear or out of guilt, Reeca had no way of knowing now. The next days were full of scouring and trail-tracking, searching for the monarch that disappeared through the mirror.

Reeca had stood in the middle of it all, absorbing every hushed comment, every whispered gossip, until she and everyone at the Palace confirmed it. Phiaris, Narfalk's mighty Queen and Sovereign has passed to the Afterlife with her body never to be found.

Everyone blamed it on Reeca.

She was the only one who saw the act. She may have been the one who pushed her own mother in.

Rhys screamed at the courts to reconsider. Reeca couldn't have murdered her own kin. But even their father, who should have been the one who would defend them, believed the nobles and moved to banish Reeca from the Palace.

She was stripped from all her privileges as the Crown Princess. Rhys threw a hysterical fit in his rage and tore half of the throne room to shreds before dragging Reeca away.

Since then, it had been the two of them. They did their best to survive daily, using what's left of their influence to command a few of the citizens' favor. However, both of them knew that this would not last forever. The Palace would hunt them down for an unfinished trail to avenge the late monarch. It was only a matter of time before Rhys and Reeca were found and brought back to Arcole.

So Rhys had to move them from one place to another, earning enough from weaving trinkets for traders. It's enough to keep them fed for a few years. Then, they met people after people who pointed them to the center of this whole war. Since then, they were fighting to save Umazure from its own ruin, one step at a time.

Back at the present, Reeca tousled her hair and dragged herself up. What time was it? How long had she slept?

She walked to the exit and swung the door open. No loud sounds during the night that would have woken her up. Lukewarm sunlight kissed her skin, shining through the thick canopies. It's morning. She slept too long.

She went back into the house and gathered her things. Her stolen longsword went to her belt, as well as the flintlock. She would have to enchant the sword on the way.

Reeca glanced back. Her wings remained locked in their folded position. She sighed. No flying today or for the next few days, then. She stepped out of the house and hugged her stomach as it groaned. The fairy potion's effect expired long ago. She had to eat something—anything.

Her eyes scanned the forest, taking in strange fruits and fragrant leaves. Who knows, maybe everything here is poisonous.

Reeca gritted her teeth and walked, going farther into the forest that would take her to Drodham hopefully by evening.

An hour in, Reeca's eyes glazed from hunger, the trees looking more and more delicious as minutes went by. Walking seemed to sap her energy more. She shivered when a cold morning breeze hit her back. By the gods, this was not how she envisioned how she would die.

A noise stopped Reeca in her tracks. The leaves to her left rustled. Footsteps squelched against the mud. Reeca drew her flintlock.

The footsteps turned eager, as if the person was jumping. Faster and faster, it went. Reeca clicked her flintlock, disabling the lock. Her finger fit easily on the trigger. Her eyes strained to see beyond the shadows of trees that Anchester mischievously employs.

Then, a stout man emerged from the shadows. Reeca brought the flintlock up, aiming for his throat. He looked innocent with his big and round eyes and flushed face—possibly from all the jumping around. He smiled at her, revealing teeth rimmed with strange metal with a green sheen.

"Nice day for a walk, eh?" he spread his hands in an open and friendly gesture. "Might as well take a break and flop down to the ground."

Reeca kept her flintlock pointed on him. "Might as well," she narrowed her eyes while keeping her haunches raised even if it sent painful throbs to her temples. Her ears picked no other noises from behind or anywhere, for that matter.

"Little miss," the man picked his nose as if there's no gun pointed at his face. "Put that thing away or we'll have no choice but to chop off the hand entirely. I'ssa shame though. Those are beautiful hands and a beautiful weapon. What are those called?"

Reeca tightened her grip on the flintlock's barrel. Her finger itched to pull the trigger. " 'We'? "

The man grinned. "Of course," he nodded at Reeca. "Oh. Behind you."

Reeca whirled. Too late. A huge, black thing sped to her face. Everything went dark.