They began heading towards the city gates. She felt hollow inside. Fear and anger began to mix and created the most vivid images of her family disappearing before her. Thoughts of concern for their safety, and the looming threat of being abandoned gnawed within her.

‘Mariel. You really should put all those thoughts away. There’s a limit to how much I can alleviate.’ She somehow felt Siah kick her mind.

“Chin up, okay? I bet they’re out looking for you.” Siravin’s voice did nothing to alleviate her problems, but it did put her mind at ease.

‘Listen to him. He does give good advice, even if the rest of him is kind of lacking.’

Approaching the gates, they found but a few guards on duty. They seemed in a bad mood, cold and throwing longing glances at the guard post which was no doubt very warm and cozy.

“State your business strangers…” One of the guards took a step forward, which seemed to make him a little less annoyed, given a reason to at least move a little.

“Trade envoys, we’re here to negotiate for next season’s harvest.”

“Let me see your faces…” The guard grumbled.

“Why?” Siravin immediately threw back a question of his own. The guard pointed towards a partially snow-covered note hanging on a small board on the guard post. “By Imperial decree, all demonkin are to be arrested and sterilized.”

“How come? I thought Firanen was an independent city… What a shame, I was hoping to conduct some trade in demonkin come spring…” He was interrupted by the guard who nonchalantly pulled his hood off him.

“Alright… Go on… Next.”

She lowered her head and turned around.

‘Quickly Mariel!’

She hurriedly took the flask and had a sip, masking her action as best she could.

“Forgive my partner! She is a little self-conscious about her drinking habits.”

“Doesn’t matter to me.” The guard pulled off her hood and just as nonchalantly motioned for her to pass. They crossed the drawbridge and entered the city. It was as she remembered it to be, the buildings, the streets, but instead of the usual new year’s cheers, she was met with rows upon rows of heavily armed and armored soldiers conducting drills. Switching formations, mock charges, imaginary riot suppressions.

“Not as friendly as I remember…” Siravin mumbled as they made their way through the square, an officer waving them through.

The streets here too seemed empty, desolate. All the lamps were lit, and people were still working, trading and inhabiting, but the hushed bustle seemed on edge. From time to time, a crying child would stick to its parent’s leg, the man or woman dressed for war and all bearing the same saddened, foreboding expressions.

“Good people! Rejoice! Humanity’s powerful fighters, bravest warriors and skilled leaders are claiming glorious victories for our kind! Even now, the filthy demons lie dead on the fields, their foul blood tainting their blighted soil! Our army claims victory after victory! Another levy will be called up this evening!” A town crier announced from the balcony of a nearby guild house.

“There is one! Stop him!” Suddenly, loud shouting erupted out of a nearby street. Turning the corner was a rag-wearing, bloodied and beaten slave of their own kin. Following behind was a group, not of city guards, but equally armed people wearing insignia she could not recognize.

“I got him!” One of them shouted, and before she could react, Siravin had seized hold of her, flipped her around and slapped her across her cheek.

“Quiet! I’m growing sick and tired of your whining!” He shouted to her. From behind, she could hear a loud scream of pain, followed by a series of pained grunts, some gurgling and silence.

Looking back, she saw him, the dead slave on the ground in the snow. Six spears stood protruding from his chest and legs, and a snow around was slowly staining in blood. Without a word, Siravin pulled her along, continuing towards some answers, she could only hope.