“Bravery was our default in those days. Cowardice was the rarity. Barely any of us left to remember the difference, fewer that even care.”
A crash.
Walls that felt so secure, now crumpling in like parchment.
Rubble scattered in the frigid air, the Beast’s tail splitting the tower into two halves. Stone and wood and metal turned into shrapnel, caught by the wind and sent careening into the rest of the fortress. It was panic below, flashes of electricity and fire illuminating the twilight, striking a hulking monster that melted into the darkness.
Falling with the masonry, a woman with hair the color of slate felt like she had been taken with the tempest. That she might never land. She was screaming, but the rushing air battering either side of her face was the only obsession of her ears. Nothing formed into concrete sights, just a blur of shapes that only bounced between blinding white and drab gray.
Corvus dragged her down, limbs swimming through its air, stabilizing her spinning body with only enough time to process the snow beneath her before crashing into it. Her mind cried out in preemptive pain, but only found itself struggling with the wind getting knocked free from her lungs.
For a moment, Vale wheezed, clawing at ice that gave her no purchase.
Short-lived.
Another crashing sound, deafening, slamming apart half a decade’s preparation for Beasts that tore it apart in seconds.
Vale didn’t hesitate.
She ran, far into the blinding mist, as far as she could go with the surging adrenaline. It was impossible to judge the distance ahead or behind, stumbling through snow that ebbed from ankle-height all the way up to her thighs.
But behind her- no. She couldn’t even hear the chaos behind her. The Natures screamed, forcing her hair into her eyes and face, stabbing at clothes that were hardly meant for a winter’s travel, especially not this one.
An apron. A fleece shirt. Plenty for a chef beside a roaring fire.
But the warmth was gone. A heavy chill shuddered through her, feeling the extra weight on her eyelids and hair, freezing in an instant.
There were nearby forts, roads that scouts might find her on.
But the dread of having no direction, not a single hint where she had been thrown, and with no help from a murky, ashen sky- the only direction was trudging forward.
An intrusive thought arrived, unwelcome- there’s nothing saying you’re not just walking in circles right now. You can barely even see your own footprints.
But in the same way, there was no going back. Every once in a while sounds pierced through, some loud crunch of stone meeting scales, or more hopefully, a beast’s hide absorbing the impact of someone’s crest, naive retaliation.
Vale knew better than to hope. Knew the stories from bastions that had taken down Beasts, wounded but victorious, only to become a vulnerable prize for the next hulking monster to dismantle.
Hundreds of us, for one of them.
Shivers drew all along her body, her pace slowing. She used her hands to pull against rock outcroppings, but regretted it as soon as the icy texture stung. Each place the stone met her were places for warmth to leave her body. Mocking her for thinking the world around her cared about her peril, for hoping for forgiveness for being a-
A what?
A coward?
A deserter?
There were no alliances, nothing except handshake agreements and self-serving choices. Warriors, soldiers, mercenaries- they were all expected to spill blood and bear that weight. She had borne her own, keeping them fed and satiated, keeping the fire burning when it seemed like the Beast’s looming presence would snuff it out.
They’d hardly be able to put down their spears and feed an army. She couldn’t- no, shouldn’t be expected to fill their duty either.
Something about the thoughts, pleading and bargaining, felt like she was bidding for a kind judgement from the Celestus after her death.
She shook her head, denying the thought at its roots, feeling the miniature icicles shower down all around her that had taken up shelter in her hair. That wouldn’t do. Somehow, she had always escaped death. Besides she had-...
Cupped between her palms, an ever-hidden treasure, a flame billowed away. The space near her heart where she tucked it gingerly was the only part of her not blanketed in snow, extending out in rings. The further out, the more it weakened, the more the blizzard fought back with snarling fangs of ice.
Crests were meant for heroes.
People that stole the power of the Beasts and used it to tip the balance.
She hadn’t asked for it, hadn’t wanted it!
But she stumbled on it somewhere along the way, Vale couldn’t say for sure when. One day, she felt the spark on her fingertips, saw the fracture of her iris, and knew she’d been cursed.
Some said it was a gift, the Celestus giving it with divine intention.
Some in the west said it was a plague, marked by the same things that the Beasts carried, fated to join them one day.
She’d heard the stories of that Being with crimson scales that had doomed a triad of fortresses just like her own. And some days, when she stared at her hands, feeling what was underneath-
The wind howled, finding a new octave to scatter her thoughts. Her fire flickered, putting more of what little energy she had into keeping it burning. Cold burdened her in invisible ways. Greatest of all was the one on her mind, will eroding away, a cavity underneath. She was convinced she should have hit something by now- the treeline, the coast, a road marker, anything. She was really walking in circles like a caged animal. Really dying so close to a heroes’ death, but destined to be mocked as a frozen, scared corpse. It would have been better to stay, to die, quick and with company.
Now she was alone.
…
Her knees buckled and found the snow, soaked and frigid
Never before had she really considered how much harder living was, compared to dying. How much easier it was to bow and watch the curtain come down, compared to sitting on the stage and watching the audience file out first. Nobody around for the final moment where the final candle flickers its eye shut.
Close enough to the layer of snow on the ground, Vale’s flame danced along the frozen landscape, hinting at the dead grass below.
Sadness melts. Anger is all the fire leaves behind.
Her fist slammed into the ice, a shower of ice and sorrow and pent-up feelings too complicated for her scratchy vocal cords and weathered mind. Another, hammering in the same spot, again and again and again until the crater led directly down to the ground below, only making a faint dent in the permafrost.
She didn’t ask for this. She didn’t want to be fucking special, or important, or forced to make these choices. There were enough saviors to go around. They didn’t need her, some scrawny thing that was happy enough if what she cooked could give them a smile, make the days a little less long.
Something in her spirit had ruptured. It felt good. Ignoring self-preservation and just-
Feeling.
It spiraled, twisted, became fist after fist hammering into the ground, not caring about how raw they felt, how the wind was only growing stronger and twisting her hair into her face, how things were only hopeless because she was making them that way.
The last thought silenced her.
Her fist swayed in the air, staring down. Despite the anger and violence, her left arm was still tucked against her body, cradling the flame like a child.
If she really wanted to give up- she would put it out.
Dew drops settled in the corner of her eyes, the howling gale not even letting her have tears, stolen away.
She couldn’t make herself do it.
And it only hurt more that she couldn’t explain why she wanted to keep going.
On shaky, trembling knees, Vale hoisted herself up, apron drenched with icy water, but still choosing to go on.
Forward, again.
She gave a look back, to check to see if the bastion was anywhere in sight to guide her away.
And for a moment- everything stopped.
Gray fur, matted and cloaked in clumps of snow.
Hunched over towards the ground, and yet the mangled curve of its back rose higher than her even when she could stand tall.
It moved in a shifting, stalking way towards her, coiled up like a ballista under tension, aimed straight in her direction.
And its eyes.
They were unflinching, even with the wind, even with the snow. Red, swirling color.
Vale ran.
...she tried to run.
Everything was heavy. Just like the Beast’s fur, the weight of the weather clung to her, unwilling to shake free. But for it, that was just a distraction. For her, it was newfound weight on every inch of her bony limbs, making every motion awkward and slow.
It was like a dream, the heavy, defenseless sensation that had made her feel so terrified during so many unfriendly nights. Nothing but the dread of paws pattering after her, taking four strides before her leg could even land. Panic settled, adrenaline spiked from what little reserves of it she had left.
She lifted her foot, forcing herself to get away, and felt her boots catch on the shin-high tundra. Everything spun once more, like the first Beast that cast her out, but the landing was more certain, more abrupt.
Her body instinctively moved. Not to stand and run from the monster that was right behind her, but to curl around her flame, bathing in it one last time, denying it to the Beast. Even if she knew it would take her crest anyways, no matter how badly she protected it.
The world braced, the wind quieting for the first and last time.
Everything was muffled, like someone merciful had clasped their hands over her ears, letting it all fade away without more pain.
But she couldn’t deny the sickly taste of blood in the air, the way it clung to everything around her. Like the butcher’s table that she felt nauseous around, avoided like the plague, greeting her final moments.
Cruel. So cruel.
But the Beast wasn’t tearing her open. The blood spilled, trailing behind them as they traced circles around Vale. Its paws pushed the snow away, making a divot in the weather, slumping eventually into a heap, covering her.
She could see its nose, prodding, trying to rest near the fire. Wet, the texture almost like the hunting dogs that always came to her for scraps.
And in return, Vale could see why it was stalking away from the bastion, not towards.
Slashes all along its flank. Not a sword, or bows, or the power of a crest. But claws, raking viciously across. Fresh, spilling red. Its singular, morbid color stained everything, seeping into the pale world.
Fear gave way to compassion. Vale wondered if she could do the things she saw the bastion’s healers do with their crest.
Gingerly, her hand lifted towards the worst of the scars, feeling the warm sensation grow in her palm.
A snarl made her draw back, the Beast’s warning sound, spit flying. They weren’t friends, or allies; it would deny her help out of pride.
She was too tired to fight about using what energy she had to help something that had helped to destroy her home. But- the wounds made her stop in the middle of her thought.
As did the weighing exhaustion.
The blanket of fur protected her enough, not to make her warm, but to keep her alive. Her flame crackled, growing in intensity even as Vale drifted in and out of consciousness. Somewhere, something in her mind knew to keep it alive.
Hours slipped away, her body taking permission to rest when given it. Sometimes she woke up, groggy and cold, feeling her companion nudging its snout against her hand, requesting more from the crest, warmth waning.
Eventually, the world stayed dark. Not proper sleep, because some part of her always seemed aware, but something that drifted in the space in-between. She dreamed, in ways that were more sound and sensation than sight. A grumble of something large, much bigger than her, looming. It was her though, but- an old her. It hurt her brain to try to understand, brought the cold back in that she’d barely kept at bay.
The chilly weather felt kinder without the snowstorm. Almost bearable.
Vale’s eyes open, a task in itself.
The heavy mist was gone. Far off in the distance, a pile of stones slumped together, looking like a random chunk of rubble. She’d seen her former home enough times to recognize the central spire’s base, even with most of it gone.
It was haunting to look at. She knew from the stories of past survivors that Beasts would lurk there for some time, and that going back was a death sentence.
She shuddered, a dusty layer of snow falling off of her. It took her a moment to realize what was missing.
Vale turned slowly. Behind her, a trail of blood, innocent as rose petals. Off to the edges of the vast woods that littered this portion of Mordol and were hidden the night before. It had been so close in the moment, but neither could have known.
Gingerly, testing her limbs and letting them wake up, Vale brought herself to her feet, out from the shallow grave covered in snow. She could still see where the Beast had cut her tracks into the ground, where she had chosen to save the two of them instead of leaving each other to their doom.
She was lucky. Undeserved luck. But she laughed, unpleasant and labored.
There went her chance. To die a hero. To have a martyr's death.
Now she got to live something more complicated, and the trauma that riddled it.
