The sorceress Genevie and her apprentice rode on the backs of tremts—enormous lizards dwelling in the Dark World but capable of surviving for days in the Living World, unlike other, more aggressive creatures. Their sharp claws dug deep into soil and rock as they crossed the desolate land.

  As far as the eye could see, there was nothing but arid plain. Long ago, much of the continent had been covered with lush forests teeming with wildlife. That changed when the earthmen executed Fren Rheina. Trees withered, rivers dried, and the United Cursed Lands were formed.

  They were not officially within the UCL yet, but could already sense its dark essence brushing against their skin. Soden still had scattered villages and small towns across the barren landscape. If they stayed their current course, they would soon reach one of these towns to restock supplies and rest. Genevie had allotted herself seven days to locate and capture the fae, and she was ready to meet her target.

  Gradually, the land grew steeper. Before she realised it, they were ascending a hill. The sun’s warmth kissed her cheek as she nudged her heels into the tremt’s side. Salomae followed, grunting. They sped faster than they had in hours. Genevie gripped her hat, leaning forward to maintain balance. The climb ended at a cliff’s peak, offering a view of a town nestled in the valley below.

  All the buildings were crafted from grey stone, and not a single lantern lit the streets. The moonlight cast sharp shadows on the cobblestones, shining at its brightest. Genevie strained to listen for signs of life and found less than she had expected. Then it dawned on her that the townsfolk might have heard of her approach. Locals must have spotted the giant lizards from kilometres away.

  “Is it safe for us to spend the night here?” Salomae asked.

  “What choice do we have? We require supplies for the journey ahead. The UCL offers us nothing. This town might be our final stop until Blackwood.”

  The sorceress nudged her tremt, and the massive lizard hissed, dashing down the gravel path. A tall grey wall encircled the town. Entering through the gates, she slowed her pace, taking in the surroundings. Customs offices stood deserted, phones abandoned on desks outside. Tyre marks marred the road. Genevie tightened her grip on the tremt’s reins.

  She strained to hear the heavy breaths of people hiding within their homes—their hearts pounding, teeth chattering. Genevie ventured down an unfamiliar street, continuing her exploration of the town. A dog barked behind a fence wall, its neighbours soon joining the chorus. No hotel or guesthouse welcomed them. Besides, the Sodenite Forces might have mustered the courage to pursue her—or worse, the Henrikian Forces.

  A gasp caught her attention. She gazed up at the second-floor window of the house she stood beside, meeting the eyes of a child. Before Genevie could react, the child pulled the drapes shut.

  Genevie dismounted and caught a quizzical look from Salomae. Disregarding her, she approached the gate, where a family dog charged, growling from behind the fence. It was a robust, muscular creature, short yet fierce. Genevie crouched, allowing the dog a chance to bite her nose if it dared. It snarled, frothing at the mouth, darting forward and baring its teeth. Genevie tugged open her right sleeve, and slid out a silver slip of paper. She pressed it against the fence. The dog lunged—and vanished.

  She turned the paper. There was the dog, trapped on the slip, reduced to an ink drawing. Folding the paper, she returned it to her sleeve. The threat neutralised, she stepped into the small front yard and approached the door. A single knock garnered no response, as expected. Sighing, she lowered her finger to the keyhole, and a minuscule portal opened on her fingertip. Insects from the Dark World crept along her finger and into the lock. A familiar click-click followed. With a twist of the handle, the door yielded.

  The interior was dim, so she switched on the lights. The living room was chaotic, Christmas decorations scattered about. What kind of family began preparing for Christmas in November? A tree stood beside the flat-screen television. A cat meowed, brushing past Genevie on its way outside.

  Salomae giggled from the sidewalk. “The cat likes you. You rid the house of its unpleasant dog.”

  Genevie was about to reply when a family of three appeared on the stairs: a man and his wife, accompanied by the young boy who had peered at Genevie through the window. The man and woman clung to each other’s hands, both gripping the boy’s shoulder.

  “My apprentice and I need a place to rest for the night,” Genevie stated. “We’ll be gone by morning.”

  It was a promise they expected her to break. The woman leaned toward her husband and whispered, “Take him upstairs. I’ll handle this.” She assumed Genevie couldn’t hear. The man hesitated but relented after a stern look from his wife, leading the boy away.

  Taking deliberate steps, the woman approached Genevie, pulling her gown slightly apart. She placed one leg behind the other and offered a slight bow. “Mistress,” she said. “How may I serve you?”

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  “Where did you learn that?” asked Genevie.

  “At the university, Mistress,” the woman replied. “I studied the arts. It’s customary to treat ascenders with respect, whether they are strangers, fugitives, or otherwise.”

  “Prepare something for my daughter, then attend to me. I’ll be using your room.”

  Genevie ascended the stairs and settled in the master bedroom. Salomae brought her luggage indoors, placing it beside a small dressing mirror. The sorceress sat before it, relishing the breeze that drifted through the window to her left. She paused for a moment, smiling at her reflection. A beauty spot marked the corner of her lip, a feature she appreciated. It was one of the many gifts God had bestowed upon her.

  Turning from her reflection, she opened her suitcase, retrieved a notebook, and made space before the mirror. Genevie unrolled her sleeves, and fetched a pen. She turned to a blank page and noted the date. She penned a paragraph, then crossed it out and reworded it.

  The bedroom door creaked open, followed by the clinking of ceramics. The host entered with a tray, setting it beside the mirror and offering Genevie a cup of tea. The sorceress approved, then turned back to her letter. Downstairs, Salomae conversed with what was likely the man of the house, probably asking silly questions about Christmas. Once the woman departed, Genevie turned to a fresh page.

  Year 316:

  Our mission progresses as planned. Blackwood lies farther north than I initially thought. Locating the fae and capturing her will take more than seven days. This isn’t the only cause of delay. As expected, old adversaries have returned, seeking my demise. They’ve failed, and they will continue to fail. Even now, as I write, an observer lingers outside my window. He aims a gun at me, ready to fire. If I do not continue this journal, the stain you see on these pages is my blood.

  Genevie stretched as she crouched beneath the dressing mirror. Vines surged from the ground, rising through the ceiling amidst the roar of gunfire. Bullets shattered the window, sending perfume bottles, a teacup, and the mirror crashing.

  “MISTRESS!” Salomae’s cry.

  Shards flew across the room as bullets tore through the mattress, scattering foam fragments everywhere. The vines were shredded, yet the gunfire continued. She couldn’t turn her head to spot the assailant. She couldn’t even flinch from her hiding place.

  Aircraft hovered above the building, winds howling. Ropes descended through the window, and a masked figure in black armour appeared on the sill, clutching a large gun against his chest. His masked eyes swept the room.

  Genevie yanked open her sleeve, and a bottle dropped into her hand. She smashed it on the ground. Instantly, black smoke billowed. Charging forward, Genevie screamed, seizing him around the waist. With a forceful shove, they plummeted out of the window.

  They crashed onto the pavement, grappling. She pinned him down, struggling to wrench away his gun. He drove his knee into her groin, then landed a left hook on her cheek. He swung his pistol, aiming it between her eyes. The shot fired.

  She thrust her head into a portal. A darkened wolf consumed the bullet, emerging from the Dark World—much larger than her attacker. It growled at him. A rapid burst of gunfire tore through the wolf’s head. Genevie kicked back, avoiding the splattering bits of flesh.

  She turned toward the gunfire and spotted two military vehicles speeding towards them. Rifles protruded from the roofs, shields mounted at the front. The gunmen were dressed like those already on the ground.

  “Mistress.” Salomae’s voice. She was astride a tremt, hand extended. Genevie grasped it.

  A beam of light descended from above—an unfamiliar aircraft, trailing them through the town, never losing track despite their numerous turns. Boots clanged on rooftops, drawing nearer. Ascenders? Unlikely. Whatever they were, they were not ordinary soldiers.

  Genevie clasped her hands together. A portal opened in her palm, and a colossal bird burst forth, soaring toward the aircraft.

  Bang! A bullet sliced her wrist. She winced, pressing her wounded hand to her chest. The tremt scaled a wall, accelerating before dropping back onto the street.

  A lightning rod hummed. A soldier leapt from a rooftop, bar raised to strike. Genevie ducked, and a portal appeared above her head. A deep-sea creature lunged through, seizing the soldier by the waist and snapping him in two.

  Salomae tugged the reins as two cars blocked the street ahead. Men loaded their rifles, poised to fire. Rooftop gunmen mirrored their actions. Genevie yanked Salomae’s collar, pulling her down just before the rain of bullets commenced. The tremt squealed, ripped apart. Genevie gritted her teeth, bolting to the nearest door. She kicked it down and stormed inside; every door within the house slammed shut.

  “Salomae,” she snapped, and the girl dashed upstairs. Genevie cast a spell, thick vines sprouting around the windows once more. Giant slugs piled against the door. Screams echoed. Salomae dragged a young woman and an older one from their bedrooms. Despite their cries and struggles, the girl remained resolute. The mercenaries pounded on the door once—then again.

  Salomae offered Genevie a smile with lifeless eyes, and the sorceress nodded in approval. The screaming women and child morphed into Genevie and Salomae, while the true Genevie and Salomae took the hostages’ forms. Salomae gave each of them a kiss on the lip, easing their hysteria.

  Swiftly, the women seized Genevie and Salomae by the neck, their yells incomprehensible. A muted explosion blasted the door open, and armoured men stormed in.

  “Stay back, or I’ll kill her!” the false Genevie shouted—not as loudly as the real Genevie and Salomae. “Don’t come closer!”

  A shot rang out, striking her in the head. She collapsed, lifeless. Another shot felled the fake Salomae. Upstairs, screams still resounded.

  “Mama! Anna!” a boy cried, pounding on the door above.

  Mama clutched Anna and sobbed, pushing their feet away from the lifeless bodies of Genevie and Salomae. Mercenaries surrounded the corpses. One prodded Genevie’s body with his foot, signalling to the others. Another drew a short blade from his belt, the weapon extending into a machete. He swiftly carved through Genevie’s body, then through Salomae’s. Two others produced bags, crouching to collect the gory remains.

  These men showed no hesitation, she had to admit.

  When their grim task was finished, they departed. One, however, lingered, his gaze fixed on Mama and Anna through his unholy mask. He advanced, studying them, then glanced at the bloodstain on the carpet where he and his companions had dismembered two innocent souls. After a slow turn, he joined the others on their exit.

  Genevie made sure to read the inscription on their shoulder pads: Sevad San Demie. Some May Die. Some may indeed—but not her.