1

The captain, Maria, and Anastasia crowded around a map retrieved from the wagon storage compartment. Freezing rain seeped through the cracks of the collapsed roadside shack, creating a layer of ice-cold water on the ground. Maria kept her hand raised and a blooming six-petaled lily, clear as a glass goblet, shielded them from the rain as the captain pointed to several locations on the map, denoted by icons scrawled with black ink and a name.

“Our first destination is the Seral Plateau. There’s a handful of old fortifications to provide us some shelter,” the captain said while tapping a trapezoidal shape on the map. “There’s also a village at the foot of the plateau where we can stock up on supplies.”

“How do you know the commoners there will help us? In my experience, they pack up their things and hide when they see soldiers approaching.” Maria asked, trying her best to hide her cynical tone. While she respected the citizens of the empire that provided its backbone of support, she was skeptical of strangers’ willingness to provide assistance.

The captain scooted forward and placed her face just inches from Maria’s. “Lieutenant, take a close look at my face. Where do you think I’m from?” the captain asked mischievously. It was the first time Maria had the chance to see her face unobscured by blood or the typical officer’s brimmed cap.

“With all due respect, please stand a little farther away. It is difficult for my eyes to focus when you’re that close,” Maria responded with a hint of annoyance. Anastasia giggled to herself as she watched their exchange. Examining the captain’s face, Maria took note of her straight black hair, small nose, and sharp, slightly tilted eyes.

The lily above their heads shed its petals and melted away. Anastasia, the only one who wasn’t directly under cover, was immediately soaked in a downpour of ice-cold droplets.

“Maria!” Anastasia yelped and dove to cover, soaking herself even more in the puddle covering the floor.

“Oh. Sorry.” Maria raised her hand again and it reappeared.

Maria turned to look back at the captain. “Central Sveshnik, maybe a hint of…Seral? Captain, are you from the Seral valley?” Maria was beginning to understand. Her surprise was obvious from the way she opened her eyes wide and flared her nostrils.

“Yep. I was born and raised there. Parents were merchants. They moved and sold products from our village, and brought back the money.” The captain pointed at herself with her other hand on her hips. “If no one else, at least Mom and Dad will help.”

Anastasia looked at the captain. “Captain, do you have a good relationship with your parents?”

“I do. I still try to send them a letter every month. I didn’t send one last month though, since we don’t have mail.”

Anastasia gently narrowed her eyes and looked away. She hadn’t spoken to her father much since he was rarely home. If he hadn’t had a portrait of himself above the fireplace in his study, she might have forgotten what he looked like.

“It’s a few hours by horse to our stop. Anastasia, can you make an extra horse and driver? We’re in a hurry.” The captain asked the freezing Anastasia. She was crouched in the corner, shivering in her rain-soaked dress. Stray strands of hair poked out in all directions from her normally well-kept curls, and her normally white leggings had been stained by dirty rainwater.

“No. I don’t want to.” Anastasia muttered a barely audible reply.

The captain crouched down to face Anastasia’s eye level. “We can get you cleaned up after we arrive. Please?”

She reluctantly agreed.

2

A flight of birds announcing the coming of spring woke Canary up from his sleep. He’d only slept for a night, but his whole body groaned from exertion. His room was less a room and more a storage closet. Miscellaneous items, mostly boxes and cans, lined rows of wall-mounted shelves. He got up from the woolen mat on which he’d fallen asleep.

There was a knock on the door. Yair entered with two steaming cups of tea, held in carved wooden cups.

“You’re up early.” Yair commented.

“Better to get going early. What time is it?” Canary asked.

“Ha! How would I know? Clock’s broken.” Yair handed him a cup of tea. It was just the right temperature, enough to tickle his lips and tongue, but not enough to burn. It held the faint scent of maple trees and sunflowers.

“Thank you.” Canary looked at Yair and smiled.

“You like it? It’s my own recipe. I’ll give you a few packets when you leave.”

“That would be great, thanks.”

Canary quickly got up and packed a spare bag that Yair had given him. Inside were several jars of pickled beets, dried meat, a sleeping bag, a large waterskin, and a handful of yellow rocks.

“You still haven’t told me what these things are for,” Canary said while twirling one in his hand. It was cloudy and geometric, like a small chunk of defunct pottery glaze.

“Light them on fire. It might sting a bit to hold your hand so close to a torch, but you’ll get used to it. If you find yourself in the forest when the sun goes down, these will hold off the ghouls for a few minutes.”

The two looked at each other. Canary donned a thick wool jacket with a sash wrapped around his midsection, and his baggy pants, combined with the rest of his outfit, made him sweat as he stood.

“You’re the first guest I’ve had in a while. Stay safe out there. And try not to eat too much. That’ll last you a week, but only if you’re careful.” Yair said while pointing to the pack.

“Got it, Gramps.”

“And one last question before you go. How old are you?”

“A hundred and ninety-two.”

“Ha! So you’re even older than me. You definitely don’t look like it. Goodbye, Ivan. I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

Canary stepped out the door and turned around a final time.

“It’s Canary. We…use our own names. Ivan is what I go by when I’m acting human.”

“See you later, Canary.”

3

Far below the bustling crowds and elaborate architecture of the castle walls in the capital, decorative sculptures adorned an expanse of carved granite walls. Stored inside this hall of stone was a sight that hardly a citizen had the chance to hear about, let alone see --- a glistening ball of light, shining rays of green and blue, illuminated the room in an ethereal glow. Smaller bits of light orbited the star, leaving trails of cosmic dust in their path. These shooting stars scattered tiny sparks smaller than specks of dust, which emitted their own light before falling to the ground.

A young girl stood alone, examining it. She stood four feet tall, in a pastel-blue frilled dress and thick reading glasses.

Her hand caught one of the many sparks and watched its light slowly fade and disappear. She clasped a book in her other hand: a meticulously-kept log of the star’s activity, its brightness, the speed of its orbiting stars, and all kinds of minute details that only someone who’d observed it for a long time would notice.

A frantic pit-pat of footsteps coming down the stairs could be heard from behind her.

“Viv!”

A shrill voice called out, and she turned around. An older woman in a long robe and a pointed hat stood at least a head taller than her. Her sharp features facing downward looked as if her face was twisted in a permanent scowl. “Any changes to the star?” She asked.

“Good morning, Lady,” the girl named Viv greeted the woman. “The veil is still torn, and the tear grows daily.”

Viv pointed at a spot on the luminous sphere. It was faint, but a small fissure had opened along its surface. At its edges, tiny pieces of the star broke off and scattered into the air.

The woman let out a loud sigh and pressed her knuckle against her forehead.

“It was with the first fissure that we got the abyssals. Who knows what we’re going to get this time. I asked the ministry last night if they knew, and they have ideas, but no answers.”

“Lady, please tell me. I’m dying to know,” Viv said while standing on her toes to reach her face as close to the woman’s as possible. The woman held the girl’s head in her hands, with one palm on each cheek. With one arm, she lifted her up and spoke while holding her close.

“Viv, my child, do you know where the abyssals trace their origins?”

“The abyss?”

“Perhaps. The first sightings spotted them crawling out of pits and mines, and other places deep in the ground. After they reached the surface, they never went back.”

The girl’s eyes widened and flashed with wonder from behind her glasses as the woman continued.

“We see them as long-living, but that may no longer be true. The first rift brought the long-living abyssals into our world, and the second may be sending them back.” She shuddered at the thought of what she had decided not to tell Viv. An abyssal has been found dead in their home, disemboweled from the inside out. They had died unceremoniously, discarded and decomposing, the way a human would.

“But we still must heal the rift, mustn't we?” the girl asked with a worried expression.

“Yes. Whatever force of nature draws the first drop of blood will draw more. A great catastrophe could befall us all.”

“Lady, what can I do?”

“Stay where you are, and continue watching the star. Your presence alone should staunch the rift’s effects for now.”

The woman set Viv down and returned upstairs.

4

Canary walked along the same road he’d ventured along just a few nights before. The morning sun peeked through the tree branches, lighting the snow at his feet in patches. He could feel just a hint of warmth through his many layers of clothing. Soon the well-trodden path shrunk to just a small indentation in the ground, surrounded by trees. He’d come from the east, and this was the southern road. It seemed nearly unrecognizable to him, but he stepped forward, having nothing better to do. At this rate he might reach the capital in a few months.

Swish, swish, the sound of fur brushing against leaves sounded from below. He instinctively turned his head down to the left. An animal poked its head out from beneath him. It had long ears, a pudgy nose, and fur as white as the snow he was walking in. The snow rabbit briefly sniffed his feet and ran off, vanishing down a hole dug in the snow.

“So you’re still scared of me,” he said to no one in particular. Canary recalled a similar incident on his way here with the captain. The sly, clever captain who’d promised him a safe haven from the war in the faraway countryside if he helped her. They had come across a rabbit, who’d eaten a chunk of an apple core out of his hand. After snatching it from him, it ran off, and he’d thought about when he’d have the chance to see another.

The muffled taps of horse hooves on snow interrupted his thoughts. They were heavy and fast, undoubtedly approaching him at full speed.

“That’s a nice outfit, Ivan.”

Three horses, with jet-black eyes and fur, surrounded him in an instant. A set of thick, webbed wings with a single claw at the end extended from the midsection of each horse. They flared their nostrils and exhaled loudly, clopping their hooves against the frozen ground.

Riders accompanied the horses, dressed in well-kept buttoned uniforms and riding pants, with black rubber boots. A small row of medals lined the chest of each one. The leader of the trio donned a brimmed cap, letting her blonde hair flutter in the wind freely.

“We’re looking for some deserters: a pink haired noble, blue haired doll with a muffler, and a former captain. Have you seen them?” The rider in the middle asked. While her hair was a different color, the way she pinched the brim of her hat when she spoke reminded him of the captain.

“Uh hello, Colonel…” Canary briefly tried to remember her name. He gave up and ended his sentence with an unnatural tone.

“I’m sorry, but I’m not sure. I pursued that former captain to a nearby village, but she soon escaped after killing my horse and riding off on the other one, down this very road we walk on. Are you sure you haven’t seen them?” He lied through his teeth. While he had no fondness for the psychotic creature that inhabited Maria’s body, he clung to some hope that the captain he’d met would be true to her words.

“Oh, really. Then I guess you’d recommend I ask those villagers directly? Maybe they’re harboring criminals. I wouldn’t find out unless I burned the whole place down, would I.” The woman’s face curled into a cruel smile.

So this is why they left the captain to die, Canary thought. When they first arrived, she had collapsed almost immediately after dismounting, and instead of offering a hand, the bystanders shuffled into their dwellings and locked the doors.

“Are you threatening them?” Canary asked. He knew it was a meaningless question, but he couldn’t handle the pressure. It was a meaningless question to clear the air.

“Hah?” The woman’s expression from atop the horse quickly changed to confusion, then to anger. “All units, to the village! We’ve got a conspiracy to uncover.”

“Wait wait wait, I know where those three went. They’re headed east, back to the front.”

“And what are they doing there?”

“Finding Mikail Pomarev, Lady Pomarev’s father.” Canary lied again as a bead of sweat dripped down his forehead. The woman on the horse was furious, her eyes flashing from their natural green, to empty white spheres, to a kaleidoscope of white and blue.

“Tell me the truth, or I’m going to take you and throw you down a pit where you’ll spend the next five hundred years rubbing your own fingers raw as you claw your way to the surface.”

Canary was silent. The elderly Yair had helped him, given him a place to stay, and even provided traveling supplies so he could leave. He glanced at the other two riders. Their faces were nearly expressionless, with their eyes obscured from view.

Before he’d realized it, a cloud cover had descended upon the forest. A shiver crawled up his spine.

“They’re headed to the capital,” he admitted. His eyes turned to the sky.

The lead rider’s narrow eyes and upturned nose remained unchanged even as the soldier to her left fell off of her horse. As the bun on her hair came undone, blood spurted from a gaping cavity on the back of her neck. Pink flesh surrounding the remnants of her crushed spine protruded from the wound. Her innocent brown eyes glazed over as she convulsed and more blood spilled out of her mouth. Her last moments saw her lying face-down, choking in a pool of her own blood. The horse she had been riding raised its front legs in a panic and galloped into the distance, repeatedly trying to extend its wings but finding them blocked by the tightly-packed tree trunks.

The leader took one look at the corpse laying in a pool of blood and her eyes widened in fear and surprise.

“Canary! What is the meaning of this?” she shouted. If she was furious before, now she was ready to rip his throat out.

Her prismatic white-blue eyes were astonishingly beautiful. If only she wasn’t so upset all the time, Canary thought.

He shook his head to regain his focus and uncovered his own eyes. This was how abyssals fought ---to make up for what they lacked in physical prowess, a pair of abyssals could duel to the death purely within their minds, if they so wished. But now wasn’t the time. The corpse began to shake and shift as if it was reanimated as a puppet. From under it, a familiar face appeared.

Canary had last seen the ghoul in the dead of night. Since the horse was much larger than it, one could believe it was hiding underneath the dead horse. But as it rose out from beneath the dead rider, it was clear that it came not from hiding beneath, but inside.

The leader turned around and began riding away. She motioned for her surviving companion to follow her.

“We’ll remember this. Her blood’s on your hands.”

“Better her than me!” he shouted, but they were already gone.

It was only him and the ghoul, looking at each other. The ghoul studied its prey. It circled around him, winding its grotesquely long neck around and around to cut off his escape.

Many miles away, images of Canary appeared as a reflection on the surface of Yair’s freshly poured cup of tea. The image was small, but Canary’s face, white with horror, was clearly visible.

“Ha! Best of luck, friend.”

Canary hastily searched his pockets for a fire steel and tinderbox. He loudly exhaled as his fingers curled around their familiar shapes hidden in the sash wrapped around his waist.

The ghoul’s head, perched at the end of its elongated neck, circled around him. Tears welled up in his eyes at the odor of rotting meat thickening in the air.

There was no time to light a torch. He plunged the yellow crystal directly in the lit tinder box. A sweltering orange flame engulfed his fingertips, burning them black almost instantly. A shriek of pain escaped his lips as he instinctively hurled the burning stone in a random direction.

It hit the ground and rolled to a stop. As it burst into an expanding cluster of yellow-orange sunflowers, each petal cast a brilliant light onto the surrounding scenery. The sections of the ghoul brushing against it darkened and broke off, and it recoiled in pain, flailing its body around in a wild motion. It made a final desperate rush for Canary’s throat, but was cut off by another flaming stone, and another. He wasted no time in turning tail and running in the same direction the soldiers had fled.

The clearing started as a small point of light, but grew larger and brighter until it was clear that he had made it to the edge of the forest. There was no sign of the ghoul or the soldiers. He was once again completely alone. The sun was beginning to set in the east, just barely clearing the heavy cloud cover above him. His surroundings were silent, with the occasional buzz of an insect or rustle in the brush.

Canary removed his tinder box and built a small fire from the twigs and discarded branches on the frozen plain. His charred fingers had begun reforming into raw pink flesh. The weather was growing warmer, and his excessive winter clothing left him hot and sweaty as he had run through the forest. Removing his outer layers, he placed them beside him and quickly fell asleep, not thinking twice about the dangers of sleeping in the open.

5

The captain laid asleep in the corner of the covered wagon, with her cap covering her face. Her arm freely hung to the side and swayed with each bump. The remaining two passengers stared at each other from opposite sides of the wagon.

Every few minutes, Maria formed a small pellet of ice in her hand and flicked it at the sleeping captain. Her eyes showed no signs of opening.

“I wonder what the captain’s parents are like.” Anastasia said.

“Her mom’s strict, but her dad pampers her with gifts every time he comes home from a journey to the capital. Her mom doesn’t like this, but she’s okay with it because it seems to make her daughter happy.” Maria immediately responded.

“How do you know this? Have you met them?”

“No, I made it all up.” Maria smiled beneath her muffler.

“Her Saint’s Day presents must have been quite the sight.”

“The captain loves childish things, so her room at home is stuffed with stuffed animals, dolls, and all sorts of toys. If you mention any of these around her, her left eyebrow will twitch.”

“You’re not making this up, are you?”

“It’s the truth. When she wakes up, give it a try.” Maria sighed. “Still, I’m glad that we got to bring her along. She always looked her worst after a meeting with the higher-ups.”

“You’ve been to those meetings, haven’t you? What happened there?” Anastasia asked with one eyebrow raised.

Maria looked up and twirled a strand of hair in her finger before flicking another speck of ice. “Only once. It was an hour of yelling and threats of poor evaluations and the like.”

“That’d be enough to crush anyone’s spirits.” Anastasia said. Despite the change of subject, her mind hadn’t moved past the thought of presents. “I miss Saint’s Day. Father was always quite generous.” Anastasia solemnly reminisced. “Especially last year, when you came back from the academy. Those bracelets were quite nice.”

“You mean this one?” Maria rolled down her sleeve to expose a silver band engraved with flower patterns, inlaid with differently-sized blue gemstones. They glittered in the dim light seeping through the window slit.

“Yeah, that one!” Anastasia exclaimed. She paused and looked down with her eyes half-closed. “I lost mine, it fell off somewhere at Snowbank. I asked everyone to look but no one could find it.”

“I remember.”

“When we reach the capital, let’s find a goldsmith and have him make another one.” Anastasia proudly stood up with her hands on her hips.

“Sit back down… and I don’t think we can. We have no money, and talking to strangers will be risky. We can ask the councilor if he knows anyone, but if he doesn’t, then I think you should give up on that.” Maria sleepily lowered her half-closed and leaned to the side. “When I was at the academy, we lived near the capital. There are guards posted around almost every street corner, and they won’t leave you alone if you look suspicious.”

“That’s the first time you’ve mentioned the academy since you came back.”

“There’s nothing to discuss. My instructor was poor and her punishments were harsh. I spent all of my time in a cramped dormitory studying the worst element because I’d been assigned to it. The foundation of ice isn’t like the other elements, you know. It’s unstable, inconsistent, and without support anything you produce with it crumbles into nothing. Even these bits of ice I’m making are tiny tulip buds which haven’t bloomed.” Maria grumbled and looked away, leaning her head against the side of the wagon cover.

“If it was so bad, then why go?” Anastasia insisted on continuing the conversation.

“Because…I wanted to be like you. When dolls conclude their service, if they survive, they get a title of provisional nobility. Just like your father did. When guests came to our house and kneeled in front of you and called you ‘Lady’, I wanted that too. It’s why instead of sitting comfortably in a warm house reading books about ribbon weaving, I chose to make something of myself.”

“That’s mean, Maria.”

“Apologies, but it’s the truth.”

“…”

Anastasia peeked out of a thin slit in wagon covering. She hadn’t meant to upset her friend. A thick fog obstructed her vision, but the outline of an expanse of elevated ground loomed in the distance. A drop of water fell through the slit into Anastasia’s eye. She closed it and rubbed the eyelid to ease the sting.

Suddenly, they were shaken by the wagon coming to an abrupt stop. The captain snapped upright, shaken awake. Maria continued to stare blankly at the floor before nearly flicking another speck of ice, stopping herself now that the captain had woken up. Anastasia fell and caught herself before her face hit the floor of the cabin. “My horses,” Anastasia whispered. “They’re gone.” The strands of black ribbon that allowed Anastasia to control her constructions slithered through the window and wrapped themselves around Anastasia’s bare arms. When the captain walked forward and looked outside, all that remained of their drivers was a haphazard cluster of discarded wood and string.

“Those won’t be going anywhere,” the captain concluded after one final glance. “Anastasia, what happened?”

“Something’s pushed me out. My ribbons won’t bind them.”

“Go on then, make some more. We wouldn’t want to be stuck out at night.” Maria said.

“I can’t do that. If I could, we'd be on our way already.”

“We’re not far from the village, five to ten miles are most,” the captain stepped between them. The edge of Anastasia’s mouth quivered, as if she was about to cry. The captain wore a wide smile to break the tension. “I took a look around when I stepped out of the wagon.” She pointed towards the distant plateau. “The fog makes it seem farther away than it is.”

They turned and followed the captain’s lead, with the captain in the front and Anastasia at the back, meekly tailing the group.

6

The three treaded slowly through patches of grass and dead vegetation scattered atop the marshy ground. Anastasia's eyes were wide with astonishment, as even her hands were nearly obscured by the thick fog. Every few seconds, the captain would snap her fingers, and Anastasia ran to the sound. Maria kept close behind the captain, clutching a stray strip of her torn uniform.

“I can’t see a thing,” Anastasia complained while holding her hands in front of her face.

“Captain, be careful. There’s something nearby.” Maria tugged at the stray piece of fabric.

“They’re just tree rats, nothing to worry about-”

The captain’s confident reassurance was cut short by a large drop of water engulfing her entire head. She gargled and struggled for air, clawing at the water, and it broke open, drenching her entire body. Several dozen more drops drifted into view. It was perhaps inappropriate to call them drops. As they came closer, Anastasia noticed their spherical shape and two inverted drops extending from their tops, like miniature rabbit ears. At their center lay a softly glowing core, pulsing with a mix of green and blue light.

“Blegh!” The captain took a deep breath and stuck out her tongue. She turned around to grab Maria’s hand. “Maria. Anastasia. Stay close. It’s dangerous.”

Maria smirked. “Captain, with all due respect, these creatures are harmless,” Maria stated while holding back laughter. “You could defeat one by simply not walking into it.” As if to illustrate her point, she reached out to poke another one of the water globes that drifted between them. It shook and shuddered like a glob of jelly. As if reacting to the poke, the globe playfully circled around Maria’s head.

“Captain! Maria!” Anastasia called out while blindly feeling for her companions. Her hand eventually landed upon Maria’s shoulder. Maria briefly looked towards Anastasia and turned her head away.

“What are these things?” the captain asked.

“I don’t know,” Maria said while staring at a small trail formed by smaller and smaller creatures orbiting her head, like a comet of water. She sensed the lack of hostility, but was every bit as puzzled as the captain.

“Wanderers. Just like in the old stories.” Anastasia balanced one on the back of her hand. Its ears perked up and it bounced up and down on her hand, shooting swiftly upwards and slowly drifting down to her hand. “When many die, some of the dead may reappear, wandering the landscape. Especially in areas with water. Captain, has there been any recent conflict near your village?”

The captain pressed the back of her hands against her chin. “Not for a long time. The Seral plateau has been a peaceful place as long as I can remember. What do the dead have to do with water?”

“Water gains and loses form easily.” Maria chimed in. “They can barely muster the shape of a child’s toy, but if they bother you so, reaching your hand into one and wiggling your fingers will be enough to send the dead back to their graves.” She rammed her finger into a large wandering globe, skewering its luminous core. For just an instant, it shattered into pieces like a glass vase before falling to the ground with a splash.

“Hey!” Anastasia shouted in protest. Maria didn’t look at her.

“Let’s press forward,” Maria said. She grabbed ahold of the captain’s uniform, heavy with water. “Night will come soon and I’m sure you’re not fond of standing around in the cold.”

6

On the morning of a bleak winter day, the emperor was found dead in his chambers. The streams of foamy saliva flowing from his mouth and the patches of purple-blue flesh dotting his body suggested an unnatural cause of death. The disheveled nature of his room suggested that he’d struggled for quite a long time before falling unconscious.

The king’s only child turned nineteen on the day of his father’s death. This was whispered about among the housekeepers and butlers, and everyone who knew the real date of the prince’s birth as a bad omen. However, holding his head high and looking down upon his father’s corpse, he thought nothing of the fact. He’d never met his mother, the king never spoke of her, and their nightly meetings in the dining chamber amounted to little more than a discussion of his day-to-day life.

Pyotr the Conqueror was a powerful personality, feared and loved throughout his nation for his bold, upright personality and his aggressive imposition of his ideas upon the court. At the same time, Pyotr’s use of the military might at his disposal led him to expand the boundaries of his reign beyond that of prior Sveshen kings. His son grimaced briefly as he thought of the irony that his father would lose his life in the middle of an ongoing rebellion.

“He’s died of old age.” the prince declared, his wide-set jaw and narrow eyes concealing the thoughts that raced through his mind. The first thing he’d noticed when he entered the chapel’s basement was the smell. The stink of rotting meat mixed with the pungent odor of oil and incense pervaded every corner of the windowless room. The entire structure was underground, chiseled from a block of stone to contain the essence of death that was locked inside.

“Your High Excellency, we humbly ask that you reconsider-”

“I’ve made up my mind,” He shot the two attendants a look of disgust. “How long do you intend to have me stare at his bloated corpse?”

“Our greatest apologies. If your High Excellency wishes it, please, feel free to step outside.”

The prince turned around without a second look and left.

7

Underneath the low cloud cover, a light snowfall laid a thin layer of white atop hundreds of differently sized buildings. In the very center stood an extravagant castle. Stone sculptures of horses and eagles on each side of the entrance guarded the entrance, their ruby eyes glinting harshly at passerby. In front of the castle was an array of cut stone tiles forming the city square;it was here that the crown would hold ceremonies and important announcements.

Hundreds of subjects deemed important to the empire stood in neatly arranged rows. It was a day of sadness and joy, as with the old emperor’s passing a new one would be crowned. In the front three rows, men and women of varying ages stood. They each pinned a golden lion to their right shoulders as a symbol of their rank and their status as the crown’s closest allies. Councilor Reshevsky, with his wrinkly skin, long red robes and unkept beard, stood amongst strangers in the third row.

In the middle, military officers stood with a silver swallow pinned to their left shoulder. Each one was wearing the same buttoned white uniform with a raised collar and baggy riding pants. The colonel with blonde hair stood at the very front. She stared motionlessly at the raised platform suspended far above the crowd. Her two subordinates stood in the row behind her, nervously awaiting the important announcement that required their summons.

The quiet buzz on conversation quickly died down as the prince stepped forward into view.

“On this morning, his Great Highness, King Pyotr passed peacefully.” A bald old man, his back bent and twisted, raised both hands as he shouted with great effort towards the crowd. He stood directly to the left of the prince, who remained silent, looking forwards.

“We mourn his passing, and pray that the gods may bestow their guidance upon his heirs. From this day forthwith, his son, his Great Highness Kirill, will ascend upon the throne. The Heir of Heaven and Earth, Ruler of the three seas, all hail!”

“Hail!” A low rumble engulfed the square as everyone in the crowd confidently proclaimed their allegiance. Or so it seemed, but many among them only halfheartedly said the words, as to keep the guards patrolling their ranks at bay.

The Prince had yet to open his mouth. As the colonel shouted with the crowd, she recalled hearing the details of the crowning ceremony during tea with her subordinates. He was expected to remain silent as he watched over his subjects. His voice was too valuable to burn out shouting at a crowd, even if the square carried sound well.

He was dressed in a white suit and cape wrapped around his shoulders. Each end was attached to his collar by a golden pin. To represent his rule, above his breast pocket was a swallow made of gold, stretching its talons upon a trio of red crystal roses. His black hair was combed forward with his bangs nearly covering his eyes. His eyes flashed with a youthful quality, and it was clear that he’d inherited the dashing looks of his father from years past.

The prince raised his hand to the sky. As if reacting to his presence, a clap of thunder directly above their heads sounded loud enough to leave the colonel’s ears ringing. A sickly shriek came from just behind her left shoulder. A dog the size of a horse held the mangled remains of a man in its jaws, a sickening crunch of bone following every time it bit down. Several more screams of terror followed. More than a dozen dogs feasted on victim after victim. Fleeing survivors were quickly pursued and torn apart, leaving a sickening pattern of blood splatters surrounding chunks of gore. The dog closest to the colonel growled and spat something out that made a wet clink against the stone tile as it fell to the floor. It was a single rose, forged from copper.

A gleeful smile spread across the prince’s lips as he stared down at the crowd of panicked spectators.

8

Councilor Reshevsky carefully surveyed the markings along the rows of catacomb halls. It wasn’t difficult to discern the age of bodies by their smell. Newer bodies reeked of decay while older bodies were closer to moldy bread. He poked his head down each hallway before entering, careful to avoid being seen. He held a torch in his left hand which cast shifting shadows of bones lining the walls. After descending two flights of the catacombs, he finally found what he was looking for. The decapitated head of his friend was haphazardly balanced atop his disconnected torso and legs.

“Found you, Misha.” he said with a chuckle as he gazed at a long scar along the body’s chest. “You’ve found yourself in trouble again.”

The councilor hastily stuffed the dismembered body into a sack while scrunching his face to block out the smell. Fresh bodies were particularly odorous, and it was nearly enough to make him vomit, in spite of having already vomited from attending the crowning ceremony earlier that afternoon.

Far away on the outskirts of the capital, he snuck into his own study through an open window on the second floor. Slung over his shoulder was the body he’d taken. Foul brown fluid had soaked through the bottom, and it dripped as he carried it over to a wide wooden table. The councilor laid the body out and rearranged the legs, torso, and head the way it would have been if he was still alive. The skin at points where the body was cut was messy and serrated, hanging off the muscle underneath.

Reshevsky removed a silver needle and thread from a drawer below the table. Beside the body, he placed bottles and vials of all shapes and sizes, each one holding a differently colored liquid. Light emitted from the dimly glowing silver needle enveloped the room.

“I hope you’re ready, Mister Pomarev. I’m not ready for you to die just yet.”