Early on in the days of the world, when borders were still fluid and civilizations were as distant from each other as the stars in the sky, the humans created warfare.

  Of course, there had always been conflict between the different groups; Fyra did not get a chance to perfect humans, and so values such as respect, understanding, and patience are flawed in them. But overall, most disputes were mere squabbles. Some people died, but only in small numbers until the tribes or clans or whatever they called themselves were satisfied, and then they walked away to lick their wounds and ignore each other.

  But ...that was different. Eventually, one group developed new, more efficient ways of killing more people at a time, and those groups decided that they didn’t want to lick wounds anymore. They wanted to

  Large scale, violent, murder-for-murder battles became the norm. Endless fighting spread across the continent. Absolute victory was the beloved cursed child long before the idea of diplomacy came to be.

  I was ancient by human standards, but I was still young and coming down from unspeakable grief. In the interest of avoiding a chasm of self-pity, I chose to travel and learn about the humans that Fyra made. Though they had made many wonderful things in their short lifetimes, the battles they waged were terrifying to watch. Terrifying, but the art of combat was a deadly beauty that could not be ignored.

  If I wanted to interact with the world, and not just a passive observer, I needed to learn to become a human. And at that time, being human also meant being a masterful butcher.

  It was a decision I grappled with for the longest time. I was fully against killing any of Fyra’s creations, and for the most part, I didn’t need to. I was not dependent on food to live, so I didn’t need to hunt or farm. To this day, the only sort of pleasure I get out of eradicating Abyssal cults was the knowledge that they won’t use my name to hurt anyone else. But if I wanted to fully immerse myself in the human culture, then I needed to master the art of the kill. Whether I chose to use it or not was up to my discretion, which ultimately swayed my decision. Just because I do something, didn’t mean that I would. But if I was going to kill, I needed to be efficient and exact.

  So I sought a teacher.

  Each culture had its own Great Master. I searched for them, found them, and I came to be an expert in the different styles of weaponry piecemeal. Half a century passed, and it was then that I heard a whisper while in the steppes of what is now called the kingdom of De.

  Two warriors traveled through a handful of years prior. They were tall and proud, covered in tattoos as a symbol of their prowess. The tribesmen of the grasslands shivered as they passed, for it was said that their strength, speed, and precision was the result of sorcery and animal sacrifice, both of which, at the time, were taboo. The warriors made it to the coast where they purchased a simple fishing boat, little more than a raft, and the two sailed away across the ocean in the direction of the untamed Arrow Isle.

  I followed the rumors, eager for teachers that could teach me what I wanted to know. I flew tirelessly, over grasses and sands and waves, until the rocky outcroppings of Arrow Isle came into view.

  Much to my surprise, my teachers were waiting for me on the beach. Two women, tall as cedars, standing side by side. One had long straight hair that was pitch black with toasted skin, and the other had skin that was black as wenge and a nest of curls that wreathed her face. Each of them had an expression of solemn serenity and a mosaic of tattoos; the lighter woman’s tattoos were made using a black ink, the other, a white. I landed on the beach, still in my albatross form.

  “There are no secrets here,” they said. “Honesty and trust will be met in kind.”

  I am an

  creature, and though I can be impressed, it has been a long time since I have been amazed. But these women, these masters...I was in awe, and I was humbled. I transformed into my then go-to form, an average woman with average features. Unassuming, the perfect camouflage. And they smiled.

  Long gone were the days when giants and titans roamed the land. The art of combat was everywhere now, and mastery was relatively achievable for those who put in the time and effort. Even so, in all the kingdoms and domains I had seen in the last few centuries, the rangers were the closest to meeting the legacy of my masters.

  The rangers of Alfreyad were held in reverence. A silent army, the knife in the quiet. They were ghosts, but made themselves visible enough that only a fool would doubt their skill. No one knew how many there were, or if there was only one, a solitary agent whose only allegiance was to the crown.

  And that was the important thing. Unlike the rest of the Alfreyadan military, which took orders from the king on behalf of the Eternal Hearth, the rangers only answered to the king. How they received their orders was unknown. None had ever been seen in Darluth, I’d been told, but that could not be accurate. The truth was that one had never been .

  I’d heard an array of stories about the rangers from all my travels of Alfreyad. That they were a guild of assassins that swore fealty to the crown long ago under threat of utter destruction; that they were secret servicemen that spied on other nations to ensure the safety of the One Fire; that they were a league of magic wielders and druids that were dedicated to hunting the Abyss across the globe. Based on everything I’d heard, there were tiny grains of truth in every story. The rangers’ duties were varied, complex, and confidential to all save the king.

  Tammer could go unsupervised for a few days. I wanted to know more about the rangers before I sold myself to their service.

  Linford was the most logical place to start my search. Given this was the site of the imposter’s attack, surely the rangers would have started their hunt here. I roosted on the now empty belfry in the guise of an owl. The crumpled gilded flame was gone, presumably hidden away in the cathedral until it could be repaired, and the bricks below were clean and free of blood, but there was no way to quickly repair or hide the cracks and chips from where the flame had landed. I remembered the sound of Gentren’s anguished screams and my feathers ruffled.

  The residents of Linford continued about in their normal routines, but the mood in the town was subdued. Given its close proximity to Darluth, I would imagine that some of the enthusiasm for the games would spill over into here, but that didn’t seem to be the case. I wondered how they spun the tourist’s murder to the public. People must have seen the arrow sticking out of his chest.

  Whatever the answer, it wasn’t important right now. I quickly scanned the surrounding area, but nothing immediately came to my attention. It would be pointless and time consuming to fly around the woods behind Linford trying to find a sign, but eyes were not the only tool available to me. I shifted my position in the belfry to something more comfortable, preened my feathers, and waited.

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  Some hours later, the sun finally touched the tips of the trees. I waited a bit longer for it to be completely hidden, and then I reached for the shadows that clung beneath the branches.

  All darkness was mine. Shadows, void, chasms and tunnels, all of it in the entire universe. I could be within as much or as little as I wanted with just a will and have an understanding of everything within it. However, there were some drawbacks. The further I spread myself into the shadows, the less precise my awareness was. If I allowed myself to seep entirely into all the darkness there is, well, I would cease to exist as myself. I would be barely more than a sigh in the wind.

  The couple square miles of forest outside of Linford was doable, though. My senses were dulled, like listening underwater, but it was fine for my purposes. The stars had shifted in the sky, but eventually I was able to detect the minute signs of a group of people moving away from Linford. They were subtle; little more than a bent branch and scattered leaves. But the weight of my shadows settled on the lightest of footprints, almost blown away from the days’ breezes and passing animals. They told me the direction - northwest - and how many there were - about a dozen.

  It was unlikely that the imposter was traveling with a large retinue, and any lay soldiers would have clomped around clumsily and would have made a much bigger impact. Just how apt the rangers were at moving with hardly a trace was astounding. A tracker with great skill would have struggled to find them if he found anything at all. Even with my abilities, it still took me a number of hours and I could have easily missed them. Once I had my trail, I flew in that direction. I had to refocus all of my attention on the owl, otherwise I would have been flying into trees and would have lost the path.

  The markings were old, but they grew fresher as I flew. There were signs where they made camp (a few scattered coals and tramped down dirt), and then paths split. Search parties, no more than two or three in a group. I mostly ignored those, instead searching for another sign of them moving as one. Once it was found, I continued in that direction.

  In the few days since Linford, the rangers had made camp about four times. Most of the night had passed before I picked up voices on the wind.

  The rangers had formed their fifth camp underneath an ancient oak tree. It’s branches formed a clear area on the forest floor, just large enough for their group. They built a modest fire, barely more than embers, and huddled close to it were prone figures on bedrolls. Two were still awake, keeping watch. They spoke quietly to each other, but their eyes were alert and searching for anything unusual.

  I kept my distance, though I wasn’t too worried that they’d spot me. I had been made before, long ago in the humans’ ancient past, but I could never be sure when it would happen again. I chose my roost in a neighboring tree, close enough that I could still hear and see, but not so close that they would be suspicious.

  “A warm night tonight,” said one, his voice slow and clear. Even though they were seated, I could see that he was easily the tallest person among them. His skin was as dark as Tammer’s, but he was more lithe and his fingers were long. “This early into spring, we should still be seeing some frost.”

  “We should, but it practically feels like summer,” his companion murmured, stretching where she sat. She was missing a hand, but if that was enough to slow her down, she would not still be with the rangers. A scar crossed her face, blinding an eye that blinked milky white. “I kind of want to go swimming.”

  “The water’s still cold,” the man said. He picked up a long stick and stoked the coals. They hissed in response. “It comes down from the mountains. It may be feeling warm down here, but up there is still frigid. You try to swim, you’ll come out an icicle.”

  I hopped a little closer to them, confused. The way they spoke...Alfreyadans all spoke the same - quickly, a little slurred.

  These two were not Alfreyadan.

  I was baffled. The others may or may not be from the kingdom - they were asleep, after all - but the fact that in the rangers was a foreigner was shocking. Alfreyadans were distrustful of outsiders, so why did the kingdom’s most elite soldiers include any outlanders at all? Moreover, outlanders that only answered to the king?

  “I like the cold,” the woman said. “It helps me think. And it takes some of the sting out of this.” She waved her stump.

  “You’re from the north, though,” the man said. “You’re more used to it than I am.”

  The woman barked a laugh. The rangers sleeping near her groaned and rolled over. “I haven’t lived in Mistra in years! Not since I was a little girl. Just like you haven’t lived in Naera in that long.”

  “Some things are stuck deep in your bones,” the man said. “I may never see the dry plains of my home country again, but I can still smell the winds, can still feel the sun on my skin. In the depth of Alfreyad’s winters, I remember the heat and how it radiated off the ground like water. And then I am warmer.”

  The woman snorted. “Pretty words, Afee,” she said. “Never thought you’d be one to get homesick.”

  “I did not say that I missed it,” the man, Afee, said. “Just that I’ll never forget it. The only home I know is my heart, and my heart belongs to Da.”

  I tilted my owl head. I knew that word. “Da” was from an ancient dialect. It meant, “father.” No one spoke that dialect anymore. Alfreyad spoke only Parsa now, as did many parts of the world.

  “We all belong to Da Daern,” the woman said. She leaned back on her elbows and smiled at the rising embers. “I remember the first time I saw him. Do you?” Afee nodded. “I’d only been found..oh, maybe three weeks before? I was at the compound, had no friends, barely spoke a word in Parsa. One day, we were all shuffled into the amphitheater and out comes this man. I was pretty small - probably only five, six at the time? - so to me he was huge, a tall looming tree of a guy. He wasn’t wearing anything special, just leather breeches, a cotton shirt, and a traveling cloak, but everyone around me was excited, whispering to each other. I had no idea what they were saying, but now I know they were muttering, ‘King! King!’ over and over.”

  Afee smirked at the story. “I didn’t see him until I took my oaths,” he said. “I’m sure he came to the training compound before then, but I never noticed him.”

  “Probably because you’ve always been a giant,” the woman said. “He wouldn’t have stood out to you.”

  “I haven’t always been this tall, Emlia.”

  The woman, Emlia, shrugged. “He came to meet the new recruits that day,” she said, voice a little quieter. “There were about thirty of us. Everyone else spoke Parsa, or at least enough they could get through a simple conversation. Not me. Gods, I was so scared,” she chuckled. “He gets to me and says something that I couldn’t understand, so I just said, ‘.’ ‘I’m sorry, I don’t speak Parsa,’” she translated. “Da just nodded, and he switched to Sweli and said, ‘Thank you. I’m glad you’re here, Emlia. We’re going to care for you here, and I love and trust you as my own daughter.’”

  “He said the same to us when we took our oaths,” Afee said. “I am glad that it has proved true.”

  Emlia nodded. “I’ve seen his actual daughter. Honestly, I’d say he treats us better than his own kid.”

  “We’ve all seen how Halia acts. Can you blame him?”

  The two sniggered as quietly as they could.

  The portions of the sky that peeked through the trees was now a deep purple, signalling the impending sunrise. I needed to get back to Darluth. With a loud , I flew out of the tree and headed southwest as I pondered what I had just overheard.

  There was much more to the dynamic between the king and the rangers than I had initially thought, and still more that I did not know. Their loyalty was much deeper than just commander and soldier - they were practically family.

  I clicked my beak in irritation. Even if the king actually granted our requests, Tammer and I would only be rangers in name and not in spirit. We were not raised as rangers, and we would not be considered family. And clearly there was more to a ranger than just being proficient at arms and survival. If we got to join, we would be outsiders - distrusted, ignorant, and a burden. We would never be assigned any sort of task that directly involved hunting the imposter.

  I flexed my talons and screeched, frustrated at how this plan was turning out. It was going to take far longer than I anticipated. But I was ageless, and I was patient. I would wait.