My eyes slowly peel open as awareness creeps in. For a brief moment I want to believe that everything that happened was just a bad dream, but the burning pain throughout my body tells me otherwise.

  I’m alive?

  The stone ceiling above me is no different than the one in my home, but everything else is wrong. The sheets are a rough white wool and the bed is stuffed straw, but it’s the bright light of the illumination enchantments that informs me I’m in an infirmary bed. I hear coughs and hushed voices from beyond the cotton privacy curtain.

  “Hello?” I call out, unable to move under my own power as my wounded body is far too weak.

  It only takes a few moments before I hear the shuffling of feet and the flap of the cotton curtains as they’re flipped open. An older man in white robes enters my small recovery space, deep wrinkles and a soft gentle smile on his face.

  “I’m glad to see you’ve finally awoken, how are you feeling?”

  “Where’s Sierri? The woman I was with, where is she?”

  The look of pity on his face tells me everything I need to know, but I don’t dare believe it. I refuse to believe it. Even when he answers me, even when he confirms what I already know.

  “Why?” I ask, my tone a void of emotion.

  “The Skypeaks Empire attacked us, they slipped through the tunnels somehow.” He answers with a grimace, the pain visible from his clenched hands. That explains how they got into the city so quickly, but I shake my head, he misunderstood my question.

  “No, why did you save me?”

  I don’t receive an answer this time, unless a heavy sigh counts as one.

  Is there even a right answer to that question?

  “Who else died?”

  “Perhaps you should rest-”

  “Who else was killed!?” I shout forcefully, a blazing madness filling my voice. How much more suffering has been inflicted, how much has been lost. The answer is everything, I’ve lost Sierri, what does anything matter anymore? The old priest shrinks back from my words, but he doesn’t leave or turn away. He locks his eyes with mine, sorrow and determination radiating from inside.

  “Over half the district is gone.” It comes out as a strained whisper, but hammers into my skull with the force of a battering ram. Words about vigils and memorials slide off my rattled mind.

  Half, hundreds of deaths, and for what reason? Money? Revenge? How many who survived are ghosts like me? The questions swirl around in my thoughts only to be washed away by one simple fact.

  Sierri is gone

  Like the tolling of the bell it comes and goes, reminding me of my loss. Forcing me to acknowledge that my life is over. The years may stretch on, but they’re just a countdown to my inevitable death. Day in and day out, another grain of sand in the hourglass of time.

  “Where is my armor? The one I was wearing?” I growl, causing the priest to flinch.

  “Please, you need rest-” He begins before I snap my eyes toward him with blazing fury.

  “Where! Is! My! ARMOR!” I roar, throwing the cloth off as I push my shaking limbs up, gritting my teeth against the strain. The man stares me down, but I refuse to give an inch until he finally relents.

  “So be it.” He turns on his heels in a huff and exits my partition space, to gather my belongings if he knows what’s good for him. Alone once again I breathe in deep, not to calm myself but for the force of will I need to move my aching limbs. When the priest returns with a crate I’ve managed to fully stand up, though my knees shake from the weight. He doesn’t talk or try to stop me, just puts the collection of my things down nearby and leaves in silence.

  The next few hours are a blur, I’m not sure how I was able to get the armor on and even more surprised I was able to drag myself all the way to my shop from the edge of the lower district. A faint pulsing of life that I know is Sierri’s soul is the only thing that keeps me going. When I finally open the steel door to the forge I come upon a ransacked mess. What’s left of my tools are scattered haphazardly and everything from my finished equipment to the adamant hammer has been stolen. It should be devastating, but I can’t bring myself to care.

  What use are they to me now? Perhaps the truest sign that Eliza Maugth Miirx is dead and I’m just a phantom that inhabits her body.

  I trudge over to the storage area, crates smashed and emptied, but I’m only here for one thing. Collapsing down on to the cot, I lay, forgetting about the world as I stare up at the ceiling in emptiness.

  I feel cold, so very very cold. Warmth seeps from my bones, from deep in my heart. Time has lost all meaning to me and I remain frozen in place, trapped in the moment of Sierri’s Death. The scene a waking dream that revisits me in one continuous stage play of never ending despair.

  Minutes? Hours? Days? I don’t know, it’s all the same to me now. Silence and a dark room, the growl of my stomach and cracking of my lips repeating endlessly in the background. I want to waste away into nothing, to join the others in death, waiting as hunger and thirst assault me.

  It’s the faint pulse of the soul trapped in the armor that finally stirs me to move, reminding me that I’ve sinned and must atone. I’m not worthy of eternal rest, of an after life. Death would be a freedom that I don’t deserve.

  Is this the kind of scum you are now? Dooming your love and running to your end like a coward!?

  The thought blasts through me like a ray of disintegration, corroding my peaceful emptiness and screaming at me to do something.

  “You’re right Sierri. I-I have to fix this.” I whisper hoarsely, wanting nothing more than to drown myself in despair, but it’s not a luxury I can’t afford.

  My muscles burn as I lever myself to my feet, staggering from the sudden dizziness. With unsteady steps I walk over to one of several jugs of water that survived the plundering. Gently unstrapping and lifting off my helmet, I heft the container up and drink deeply of the cool water. Instantly relief pours through me as my desperately thirsty body is finally given what it wants. A heavy sigh drains some tension from my muscles and my shaking limbs gain a steadiness to them, but my growling stomach reminds me of how much I’ve been neglecting myself as I perform a facsimile of my morning routine.

  Grabbing the small pouch of gold hidden beneath the storage floorboards, likely my only remaining wealth, I prepare to venture out to the upper district markets. Walking through the forge doorway I feel the icy wind cutting across my metal shell, the adamantine a poor replacement for my thick furred cloak. I’m greeted by the fading light of dusk casting deep shadows across the ground. With a shiver of both chill and a small dose of apprehension I slip out into the streets, avoiding the main roads as much as possible. The alleyways between houses are packed with snow, forcing me to trudge through the waist high obstruction toward the outer edge of the district.

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  Even on the very edge I feel the ghosts of my memories haunting me. The days I walked through these streets as a child on my way to Zovruh’s home to learn my letters, scared and alone in a new place. Sitting by my lonesome in the large learning space only for a little Sierri to come asking why my scales were a funny color.

  If I took a left at the exit of this alley Miss Zovruh’s home would only be a short walk away, but I can’t bring myself to check what remains. Instead I head to the right, where the road tilts up heading toward the peak of the mountain and the upper district. The same path I took when I ran away from class so many years ago. I longed to return home and in my blind rush ended up running into old Bardin, knocking his crate of parts into the snow.

  That was the first time I had spiced hot chocolate, something to warm me up after I helped him pick metal cogs and springs up out of the snow. Are they even still alive?

  Pushing aside the worries from my mind for now, I step through the wrought iron gates separating the districts. The buildings of the upper district are as ostentatious as I remember. Marble and gold and silver and every gem and shiny treasure filled to bursting. Supposedly a tribute to the city residents’ draconic heritage, but knowing it was elder Olbricht who commissioned the work all I can see is a disgusting display of greed.

  Perhaps if they’d spent this money on more defenses we’d not have been caught unguarded. My jaw pops with the force of my grinding teeth at the bitter reminder.

  Shaking my head to focus I walk up to the pristine marble building housing the many shrines of the deities worshiped in Dragonforge pass. The tall oaken doors are shut tight to keep the heat in and the wind out, but the locks are open for a few more hours yet. I press open the heavy ornate barrier, making my way into the vast entrance chamber. Grand arches and elaborate murals bring a sense of sanctity to the space, though it now sits sourly on my tongue. Alcoves line each wall containing shrines to the separate gods, fashioned in their image and domain. I have to bite back my fury as I pass the hammer and scale mural of Barthias.

  Just a little blasphemy in the temple of the divine, I think ruefully with a sharp snort.

  My stomach gives another warning about my continued neglect, but I ignore it as I stride across the hall toward the bandaged shield symbol of the healing mother Calyndra. The priestess for the ever popular goddess finishes blessing a teary eyed mother and her sickly looking child while I wait to speak with her. I can feel the flash of divine energy even from several long steps away as it washes the sickness from the boy’s body. A speck of joy mixes with melancholy at the sight of the now energetic kid as he drags his mother out of the temple.

  “Are you perhaps here for an injury?” Calls out the dragonkin priestess, her voice gentle and infinitely patient.

  Based on the fact that I’m in full armor?

  I step forward toward the woman as I unlatch my helmet, not wanting to seem rude when asking for help.

  “Not quite, I require a cursebreaker or some way to free a soul.” I respond while holding the loose helm under my arm and attempting to sweep my disheveled hair from my face with my free hand. She seems unfazed by my appearance, though has likely seen far worse. Realizing there’s no reason to be discrete here I add. “There is a soul trapped in this armor.”

  Her eyes widen in surprise while a sudden pulse of panic flows through me from Sierri’s spirit.

  Can she hear what we’re saying?

  The priestess casts a small spell on me and her expression twists into alarm when it finishes.

  “I cannot help you with this.” She softly says, her eyes distraught and pensive. The sudden declaration throws me off balance and I have trouble holding my emotions steady.

  “What do you mean you can’t help!?” I practically shout, immediately regretting it as she flinches back. “Sorry, I didn’t- could you please tell me why?”

  “Y-yes, a curse removal must be of equal level to the item or the item must be destroyed…” She answers with a slight shakiness that sends pangs of guilt piercing through me.

  Is hurting people who you are now Liz? I think bitterly.

  Her explanation is more than enough to puzzle out the issue, the armor is legendary and indestructible, it would require an ascendant level curse removal to fix.

  “Would you know where I could find someone to help?” I ask as softly as I can, trying my best to put the woman at ease. At the very least she seems to have recovered her nerve, which is impressive considering I’m a full two heads taller than her and wearing a country’s treasury in the form of armor.

  “High priestess Amariya could, but she resides in Linnorm temple.” She responds.

  At the seat of power in Draakir, of course. I’d die from the cold alone if a frostwyrm or ice giant didn’t eat me. I’ll just have to get stronger then. Perhaps Hephtaz could assist me once again as an apprentice? How many years will that take though?

  “I don’t suppose the elders could put in a good word to have her come here?” I say with a spark of hope in my voice, but it quickly turns to worry as I watch all the color drain from her face.

  “You-you don’t know? Oh dear.”

  “What don’t I know?” An ember of panic creeps into my tone, blazing into a fire as I watch her steel herself to answer my question.

  “The elders were slain by the Skypeaks soldiers, only Olbricht remains.” Her steady words are in contrast to the sudden vertigo that claims me, my swaying body kept from crashing to the ground by the priestess’ sudden assistance in holding me upright.

  Hephtaz is gone?

  The possibility hadn’t even crossed my mind, he was nowhere near the middle district, it doesn’t make any sense.

  “The… guards?” I weakly protest, unable to think of a single scenario in which this was possible.

  “Captain Barduk and his lieutenant were protecting Olbricht during a mine inspection; those that remained were slain.” She responds gently, wrapping me in a soft embrace while warm tears gather in my eyes. There’s a despair that wells up inside me, straining to the point of bursting, crushing my heart and soul. Then suddenly it just snaps.

  There are no sobs or shuddered cries, my body too tired and my mind too stunned, just a silent staring into nothing as stinging drops slide down my cheeks. As quickly as they came they’re gone, replaced with a numbness that seeps down into my bones and everything around me feels muted.

  Have I become so jaded so quickly, or does my mind still refuse to accept?

  “Those bastards deserve to rot in the nine hells. Hope a frostwraith gets them.” A gruff elderly voice spits out from behind me.

  Ah, I must be holding up others looking for blessings.

  The priestess releases me as I push myself to stand, but a piece of what the man said catches in my icy thoughts.

  “You speak as if they’re still alive.” I remark hollowly.

  “Not if the gods are just. They scattered like insects when Midland showed up, headed for the east border from what I heard.” The words drip from him laced with venom as he gives a disgusted hmph. A torrent of hate urges me to rush out the door, to chase the monsters down and give them the death they deserve. But it leaks from the cracked vessel of my heart, the violent emotion draining into emptiness once more.

  If only I still had the power to do so, if I ever had any power at all, it certainly didn’t save anyone. Hephtaz is dead, Sierri is in an eternal prison, and their murderers roam free, as if there is any justice in this world.

  As if called by my thoughts I feel her presence, the warmth of a mother’s hands as she gently holds my face. Her deep sorrow, righteous anger, and boundless compassion gazing intensely into my soul. The Healing Mother, The Shield of the Meek, and The Scales of the Just. She places her lips to my forehead with divine essence that flows around and through me. Every grieving parent, every lost friend, every victim of injustice, all of their souls cry out in pain that resonates with mine and for a moment I am not one but many sharing a single emotion. When I weep the world weeps with me, and when I stand they stand beside me. Then I am myself again, but an echo of their souls remains.

  You have been offered the class of Valkyrie to Goddess Calyndra, do you accept?

  Power, it radiates from her offer from their offer with a promise of salvation. A combat class without the years spent training to achieve one, time that I can’t afford to waste. Not if I want to free Sierri’s soul, to bring the murderers to justice, to redeem myself for my sins and my failures. Perhaps I am a fool for believing in a divine being after what happened with Barthias, but then again I was the fool who asked for a trade with the merchant god and didn’t question the details. If I cannot trust the Goddess who weeps for our pain, then I may as well curse the divine itself.

  I'm unsure if I would care even were I casting myself into the hells.

  I accept.