I stood there numb for a silent moment, staring down at the body as if I could find what part of me I had lost there, as if I could take time back. I had no idea what I was looking for, what I expected to happen. I just stood still and silent for a long minute, a sightless gaze at the dark fur of the beast in front of me. I don't know what I had lost, what the world had lost to me. And I still had yet to learn what I had gained.

My body still throbbed, still pulsed, with an innominate, fey energy. It was fading still, every so slowly, and my pain had yet to become something more than a dull edge. I was on the precarious balance between surrealism and reality. I was scared. I stood there, pondering my mortality as quickly as I had absorbed that of another being. The silence accompanied me.

I eventually broke out of my reprieve, and bent to retrieve my spear haft. Part of the haft, about a foot, was lying on the ground broken to the body, useless. I remembered rolling with the haft between my arm and ribs, snapping it in two. The rest had been driven all the way into the body.

I bent down, squatting onto my heels, and put both of my hands onto the fore shoulders of the deceased beast. I pushed up, lifting the whole body- the whole thing- up onto its hind legs. I stood, silently once again, as I marveled at the strength exhibited. The body was heavy, bone and muscle all it was comprised of. I could simply feel the density of the the bones by touching them through the fleece. Standing under the upraised body, I supported it with one arm, shaking from the strain of the body it was holding, and felt the wound where the spear haft was now embedded. My fingers groped the wound, searching through blood and gore the the end of the spear. I had seen the spear head itself poking out halfway on the other side, but I had no desire to try and pull it out by it's head, lest I lose a finger. Both sides were slick with blood, but this one, though more bloody, was safer. Sticking my fingers farther into the wound, scrunching my face and looking in the opposite direction, I began to wiggle them around, moving against the flesh, until I felt the wood of the shaft. My other arm still trembling, I began to swiftly extract my weapon. My fingers and hands twisted and grouped, until I looked to give me better insight on how to get this thing out if his body. I grabbed and yanked, several times, but I would not move more than a few inches on each tug. Finally I focused my strength, and with one great pull, just as my arm gave out, I yanked the spear, blade and all, clean away. The dense body fell with a grand thump, most of its legs beneath it and head listing to the side. I watched as it's body rolled over onto one of it's shoulders and lay still. Yet again, I pondered my new found strength- did I truly just absorb the strength of this body? Was this really coming for me or was this some Witch Craft? My mind and body couldn't have imagined those feelings, never emulated- I had never felt it before. I flexed my fingers, feeling the strength, testing it.

The haft and spear head were wet with blood, my hand sticky with gore. The feel of the blood between my fingers was unsettling if not entirely unfamiliar. There was just so much. I looked away and walked on, past the body on the ground. The slope we had rolled down, what seemed like an eternity ago. I looked up, and found that it seemed a lot smaller while we were falling. Looking up, I saw it had to be at least three times my height, probably three and half again. But, in an almost ironic twist of fate, the same rocks and uneven surfaces that cut me on my way down to the ground are the same ones that I could use to climb back up.

I took a few steps backward, then studied the ridge and took a few more. I reared my arm back, ran forward the steps I had just receded. I threw the spear up, the blood gleaming a wicked red in the shallow moonlight, and it soared up, over the top of the ridge line, above and out of sight. I nodded, satisfied, and began my ascension to the top of the ledge. I grabbed each hand hold, and worked through my light blanket of fatigue settling over me. I moved slowly but consistently to the top, aching without flagging. The earth beneath my feet became brittle, but stable until about halfway up. The earth was loose, giving way, roots attached to strangling, hanging clods of earth. The earth was too steep to climb up or walk upon.

Damn.

The ground was giving way, slipping beneath my feet. I harbored a strong disinterest for the painful rolling fall down the hill, and that option was becoming a high risk. I looked up at the edge above me, only distinguished by the light shadows surrounding it. At least six feet up- so far away. The ground continued to give way, and earth fell from the grip of my hands. I fell forward, my hands out to stop my fall. The ground continued to slip as I tried to stand. The idea proved to be a bad one, as I only slipped faster, earth tumbling on beneath and below my feet. Desperate, I coiled my legs and jumped as high and hard as I could. I heard the ground fall beneath me.

I could swear by the stars above that I was soaring, high and far above my expectation; at least that's how it felt. The six feet to the top of the ledge was surpassed, and where I expected to drop pitifully and painfully to the ground once again, I found myself with my forearms on the top of the ledge, supporting my weight. I groaned, and crawled forward on my arms enough for me to rest my chin on the ground. My heart was beating faster than the dirt was falling, my mind moving as fast as the crow flies. I hung there, breathing heavily, before grunting and pulling myself onto the top of the earth, flailing my legs almost in vain, scrambling pitifully to the top. I rested on my hands and knees, the pain in my body, produced from my wounds, more apparent. The power was flowing in my body again, but now less so from when it first entered my body- it wasn't throbbing against each muscle in my body, forcing it to conform, to adapt. It was working with my body, through my body. Everything was there, was where it needed to be, where it was. This was such a new experience.

I rolled over onto my back, where things hurt less, and leaned my head over the side. The ground, where it was once a slope- if steep- was now a sheer drop, at least at this section of it. The earth had fallen and scattered across the ground below. The body of the beast below had been semi covered in dirt and grime, dust a thin haze at the bottom of the fall below, settling as slow as the sun. The wall formed by the lost earth was gently loosing rock, falling in a soft patter to the ground. The whole scene gave a feeling of slight unrest, as if things would never sit still, even if it eternally moved so slow. It was familiar, and yet unsettling, as if this was a lost dream, an image forever fixed behind my eyelids.

I rolled back over, and groaned as I stood. The pain in my body was settling in, only made worse when I had crawled and jumped up to the top of the ledge. Exerting myself had made my pain worse. It was still quiet though, minimal, easily avoidable. The spear was not too far from where I was, so I stretched to grab it. I walked tiredly on my way back home. I don't think I realized that's where I was headed until I started walking, but I had no intention to deviate from that course. I was walking slowly, dazed, when the shallow moonlight caught the edge of a blade once again. I glanced down, worn and tired, eyes glazing over a stray knife on the ground.... wait.

The claw of the beast was set to puncture my chest, but instead hit the knife, sending it flying into the air and the deflected claws to only cut my flesh. His other claw cut into the back of my shoulder. I cried out in pain. His second pair of forelegs landed to the sides of my body, grasping for stability.

The knife! I turned on my heel, and walked over to pick it up. I had forgotten that the knife was there entirely, that I had lost it in the first place. It had been nicked on the side where the metallic claws of the beast had collided with its edge. Despite the piece missing from the blade, it was perhaps one the the most amazing things I had seen in my life - it grounded me, gave me a strong comfort from a past that could not be changed.

I slid the knife into the rough leather scabbard that had come with it, and kept course. I still kept the spear haft in a death grip.

As I stroked the handle of the blade with my free hand and looked up into the moon, or what I could see through the trees, I was reminded of the sling I had carried with me to my once hunting trip, the sling no longer at my waist. I felt again, but found, oddly enough, only the pouch of rocks still attached. Smooth and round stones that could easily crack a rabbit skull. I had no idea when it had left my side, but I was determined to find it.

This statement proved to clash my actions against my words, as I kept my walk leisurely, never speeding or slowing pace. My consistency had less to do with a need to be in control and more to do with my sudden lack of it. I felt as if a mat - no, the floor, had been taken from my very feet. I felt as if I no longer had control over my own fate, my own destiny; I had only reacted, what could I have done? I had always lived an orphan, no chance for family, for fame. I walked the far country with my brother, for a year of my life, living off scraps with scraps we were never sure we would have. I had finally found a family, a home, in a place where food was stable, people were constant. And now I could be forced to leave, killed, because of what I am. Being eradicated because I was forced to survive. I killed, not for necessity or joy, but for survival. There was no choice, no say. Where would I go from here? The blood that stained my clothes and skin meant more than the loss of just one life.

Silent and soft tears leaked from my eyes to run down my face.

-

When I reached the large tree again, my eyes were dry. I walked slowly around, as if afraid that I would once again see the bear and the beast, thrown back to the point when my life breaks, clouded by my ignorance. And it was the beast I saw, dead and bloodied, silent and still. I took one more cautious step, and jumped back as to a startled cat, the sling on the ground crunching the leaves, twigs, and bark beneath it. Far too loud for this night. My breath was moving at a rapid enough pace to match my heart. I took long breaths, staring at the sling to convince myself that it was nothing more, as I tried to recollect myself.

I bent and grabbed it, groaning, once again reassuring myself. By now, the pain was no longer muffled, could not be. The power I had experienced earlier had faded to a sliver in the background, gone. Bending made my wounds painfully apparent, pulling my skin apart where it bled. These cuts would scar, of this I was sure. I looked down at the cuts for the first time, seeing where the claws had raked through my skin. I moaned in pain once again, and lifted my shirt off my skin, clenching my teeth momentarily as blood caused fabric to stick to flesh.

The claws that had raked across my chest had mad two sets of four, slanted to the right. They weren't deep, but ragged, and the sting of the wounds being exposed to cool air made the wound worse. It appeared a bloody mess, but I knew that not all of the blood was mine. I tried to lift my right arm to my chest to feel the wound, and cried out in sincere pain. My back lit afire for a moment in time, and all I felt was pain. I agonizingly reached behind myself and touched my shoulder. The blood was thick even before I reached the wounds. My hand felt slowly, and I became mortified as I felt the holes in my back, the blood seeping from them. The claws of the beast most have gone deeper than I thought. I remembered the claws digging into the flesh of my back, the pain. This was worse than anything I had ever experienced. The blood was moving slick down my back, but the wound itself had somehow stopped bleeding. I thanked the Skies, and contemplated my next move. It was simple; go home. Say nothing.

I looked at the carcass of the dead beast, but now no longer felt drawn to it, as if I could delve within its soul. Walking around it changed nothing, and as I knelt to my knees next to its savaged flank I had to wonder why. With reservations, I poked it with first my knife, then fingers. Nothing. I stood again, picked my shirt from the ground, and walked home.

-

Walking home proved to be the easiest part of the night. I held my bloodied tunic in one hand, slipped my blade between the loops sewn into my breeches, and held my spear haft in my free hand. I hadn't let it go once. I got home with little to no problems- the pain of my wounds were the only things that hindered my progress. I worked through them.

The real problem presented itself when I got home. My desire to keep my recent actions subliminal clashed with the obvious scent and sight of blood staining my skin and clothes. A partial solution presented itself toward the east end of the village- the reason for its existence. The large pond was deep toward its center, and the feel of clinging blood leaving my skin was relieving, as if being freed from oppression. I scrubbed my skin with the clothes I removed from my body, then scrubbed the clothes as thoroughly with my hands. I rubbed down the shaft. I wiped my blade. I even wiped my sling. The water around my savaged person turned red, the sins leaving my body marring the pond. When I was done, I stood and put my clothes on. I picked up my wet blades and sling, and began the walk back home.

The second problem presented itself when I arrived at the front door. I couldn't afford to be heard, then have to explain why I went out at this hour armed, and returned empty handed and reeking of blood, sweat, and fear- the children of conflict. I can't simply pass it off as a hunting trip gone wrong.

I sighed, and walked around to the side of the house, covered in ivy and vines, and saw the window up above. I would have had to break it, but for this I cared not. The fence surrounding our back garden was simply too high to climb, which was its intention. I simply had to climb high enough to jump over it. As I stretched my arm up to the vine ahead of me to test it, I found my third problem. The holes in my back. These wounds were crying. I gritted my teeth and pulled myself onto the vine and began to climb. Unfortunately, I had forgotten to test it. I fell a few feet from the ground.

When I had finally made it through the back door and up the stairs, I crept into my room on soft, near silent footsteps. I put my blades down upon my bed, and grounded again. The holes in my back would not leave me lone. I stood there, heaving into the silence, pain racking through my body.

"What did you do?"

I started, and whipped around in surprise. Calkolh stood like a young demon in the shadows, the rigors of becoming a Grim evident. He had manipulated the sound in the room to make his footsteps silent and mimic the consistency of his soft breaths. He had also manipulated the shadows to make it seem like he was still under the covers in the bed across the room from mine. I had counted on his fatigue keeping him silent as I snuck inside the house. I had counted wrong.

"What did you do?", he asked again, unsatisfied with the sounds of bewildered surprise I was making out of my throat in answer.

"I was..., I was out hunting, and...", my voice was low, deep and gruff from disuse and abuse, the only sounds my throat had made recently were moans and groans of pain.

Calkolh moved quicker than I could almost keep track of, his hand coming immediately to my back. I hissed in pain, back and shoulders arching.

"You got this from hunting rabbits?" His voice was laced with suspicion and concern. His hands skimmed lightly over my back, but I could feel his focus digging into the wound. "I never really learned much in the way of healing and what not else, but this should be enough to stop the bleeding."

"What are you talking about- ahhgg..." I drowned my words as the power of life settled into my wound and thickened, it's power growing. And just like that it was gone as quickly as it came. I could feel the blood of my wound stop flowing, and the pain of my body lessen.

"Not even a rough fall could have given you that. What were you hunting? Wolves?"

"I ran across a bear on my path," I sighed, and eased myself slowly to my bed. Though the wounds weren't closed, they were most definitely better by a stone throw. I leaned my elbows to my knees, letting my hands hang between them. "I didn't know what to do..."

"A bear?", he asked questioningly. I could almost hear his eyebrow raise, his eyes skimming over the cuts marring my body. "How many times did it kill you?"

I couldn't meet his eyes or answer, so I looked off to the side, the shadows twin to those on the floor.

"Kuxalo, what happened?" I looked back at the floor. "Kuxalo - No, its okay. I'll go get a candle and some bandages - Shifting the shadows takes a lot of effort."

Indeed, as he left, the room got darker. When he left the room, it was pitch black. His footsteps were enviously silent, even as he walked down the creaking stairs that suspiciously made no sound. I sat in silence until he came back up. He had a lit candle in one hand and linen wraps in the other. I stood groaning, and he raised my arms as he wrapped me up, pulling the bandages snug and tight.

"Calkolh,could we please - Hrmm- keep this- Ow- between our- Sssss, ahh, that hurts- ourselves?"

He walked around to face me as he tied the bandage off. "And how exactly do you intend on keeping this, 'to ourselves'?".

"Calkolh, -"

He picked up the bandage roll. "You can barely walk without stifling a groan, much less work. You know that they're going to wonder what happened-"

"Calkolh." My voice was shaking as he looked up into my eyes. "Please."

He stood still for a moment, as if debating some inner demon. Finally, he nodded and turned away to the door. "Fine. Once."

I watched my brother walk away with silent gratitude.

I was asleep before he came back up the stairs.

-

The next two days were cow shit. Moving was horrible. Breathing was worse. The day after Calkolh fixed me up, I awoke swathed in bandages and colder than the night. I still remembered the Ivory Moon, the beast above me, its soul moving through its eyes into my body. Me washing in blood in the pond by the village.

I tried to get up, but my body was indeed stiff from the pain and rigors of the night before. I ended up just rolling from the bed, groaning near crying as I caught myself with my hands. My body shook as I tried to get to my feet, first scooting back until I was kneeling on my knees then using the bed to support me until I could gain my feet. I stood heaving over the bed, pain ebbing over my body in waves. The feeling of the bandages wrapped over my skin only emphasized the point that I was in no condition to work today.

A grueling quarter hour later, I was dressed and ready for the lumber mill.

I avoided everyone possible, and looked no one in the eyes. Instead of riding the wagon with my family to get to town, I slept late, pulled on my tunic and breeches, and slowly walked to town while Sariya went to the village circle. I was pretty sure she knew something was wrong, but was too nice to inquire. Every morning I walked to town, I questioned why I was doing this. Yes, if I got on the cart I would have to explain my wounds in depth, but it's not as if they would truly harm me for not giving their questions it's due. . So why did I walk every morning? It was on the second morning that I realized what kept me from riding the cart with the rest of my family. I was afraid. Afraid of what would happen after they found out. I didn't want to lose them; I could take death but not solitude. This was no mere misfortune; I felt like there was something bigger I just couldn't see, my mind wouldn't wrap around. I was scared of what I didn't know, something I couldn't control, and I was more afraid my family was going to fit into that cast. Sorrow is oft as thick as honey.

I worked at the mill in silence, completing the most minimal tasks, doing my job quietly so as not to be noticed. The sun moved too slow for my desires each day, sweat running down my body in rivers, the smallest effort drenching me. I had lost a lot of energy, and I needed rest; but I feared that if I did, I would be found out, and my rest would become eternal. I walked quietly about the open mill, moving small objects, cutting wood, watching the mill do its work. The paddles moved consistently through the water. I watched them turn. I walked outside within the sparse wood in my shift, while the others were working like oxen, I wandered like a stray.

I avoided trouble and notice like a disease. I walked the long routes around town, took the busiest and most crowded streets, knowing that there would be more guards there. I avoided Coulin as well, crossed to the other side of the path with my head down. The crowds were never thick, but the occasional guard strolling the dirt roads kept order. I went to buy a hare from the hunters I passed every day on my way home, and used this as an excuse to why I walked that day. I was more than surprised they were selling their game, but I was grateful. The walks home were just as silent as the walks from it, and I remained quiet when I got inside. I laid the hare on the counter when I got home, and walked to the small stream that ran into the pond to bathe. I walked around the tree bend, and cleaned my wounds and bandages. The holes had already been swollen closed, liquids from my body closing over the wound, scabbing over. Every night I went home to sleep in pain, slowly and cowardly flexing my muscles, relaxing my body, as Calkolh reapplied my bandages. Everything hurt.

On my third day into town, I felt something off. I had always been more aware than most, and ever since the soul absorbing, I had been on edge. My nerves were not stayed as I walked into town under the scrutinizing and watchful eyes of the guards. The guards that usually walked the roads of routine now walked with purpose. Their eyes never stayed still, hands on hilts, blades trembling in their scabbards. The aura of the guards extended beyond just their simple hostility. The people walked with the same neutral expressions, but seemed to walk faster without notice. Some twitched like rabbits, and well dressed nobles and noble children- the mayor, The Council, merchants, Barons- walked quickly, forgoing their leisure. They looked around and about, eyes looking as if they were trying to cut through the walls to the horizon. By the time I got to the mill, all the people were sharing looks. The talks and jokes were strong but cautious. We often looked toward the town when hauling wood back to the mill. By the time I got back, everyone had sensed the mood. I kept my head down and continued to walk in silence. But every once in a while, I would look up and into the eyes of some passing person, eyes that mirrored the question in my own; what is to happen next?

-

I walked into a Tavern, the Spilled Maiden, after we had been released from the mill early. It was dawn- the sun had set early today. The Dust Moon was directly above us in the sky, the Ivory Moon on the north horizon. I came here once a month for a pitcher of ale for the mill master, which I would go back and give him before I went home. I had his coppers in one hand in my left pocket, the other a fist on the table. I sat in silence looking down at the table, which had now become a common theme. I listened to laughter and drunken mutters and belches, lips smacking down on meat and pastries. This tavern always had a comfortable feel. This was no different. As I let my guard slip, voices and bits of conversation drifting to me from around the bar, I took a moment to just feel the relaxation.

"...ripped up bear..."

I tensed, my eyes jerking up.

"Truly?", spoke a thick and drunken voice from behind me.

"Aye, " said the original speaker to the rest of the group. I sat still, ridged. "Said it was some mauled bear, and ripped and torn, somewhere in the village woods, not an hour walk from here." The sound of the man taking a swill of liquor, his loud gulps, accompanied his pause. "Said the hunters found it out in the woods, and had Grims crawling over it within the day."

"And how the hell would you know about this anyway?", asked a flat, dubious voice.

"I have a friend that went out there, a hunter himself you ass. Would you shut up and let me finish!?" Quiet muttering ensued into a cup then faded away. I stayed stiff. The speaker cleared his throat. "Aye, as I was saying, the Grims were walking their creeping arses all over the site, hooded and wrong. Found some odd beast, the one you hear about in the Far Lands, children's tales. Said it was a Vovess or some such." I sat straight up. I remembered that- stories told about creatures that once used to roam this world freely, now dead. Six legged killers. Vovess. "Seems they might be suspecting one of dem' corrupt ones- them Soul Eaters or some such."

My heart beat faster than the beating hooves of a horse. I sweat with no heat. A Soul Eater. No. No.

"You speak true?"

"Aye." The conversation went on but I stopped listening. I was lost in my fear until I heard him say, ".. and they brought out their little Grims to, training 'em or somethin'. Forced people away when they were brought out, couldn't go see it none more. Like little demons, those kid Grims are."

Calkolh. He would be one of the one training under them, would have seen the mauled bear and the beast- the Vovess, seen the blood and carnage. And I had no question of them finding the Vovess I had speared far from the fight of the bear and other Vovess, too far to die from it. They would see the wound, he would see the wound, and would know it was made by a blade. He could fit together the pieces, and it would be the end of it. I would be done for.

A loud crack resounding outside stopped my grim contemplation. The entire tavern went as silent as I, along with several others, picked up on a smell we had neglected in our own musings and conversations; smoke. A loud crash came after to split the short silence, and screams made sure it would never return. The sounds of running footsteps urged me to my feet, and I rushed out the door, hand drawing out my knife hilt. I slowed to a stop when I set foot outside the door. The sky was lit red, and not from the dawn. Smoke rose above the rooftops and chimneys, fogging the world beyond disaster. People ran and scurried in every direction, and fighting through them to get to the fire itself was a pain. I turned a corner around a house to see a hooded man standing above a woman lying on the ground, her hands out in front of her to fend him off. He was dressed in black boots, brown breeches worn and too short, and a thick leather cuirass. He wore a faded and torn red scarf wrapped about his neck and arm, tied in a knot on the back of his hand. His hood was of the same material and color. And he swung his sword through her hands into her neck, down to the paved dirt beneath them. Blood sprayed as her limp body fell to the ground. I stood still as he coldly looked at me and began to walk forward. And I didn't back down. Something happened- I wasn't sure if it was anger at watching a helpless woman being slaughtered, or just stupid audacity, but I met him full force. He smirked and swung his sword diagonally across his body. I swung my blade up, full force. They clashed and stopped cold. He looked over his trembling blade into my eyes first with shock, then with anger. I didn't care. I felt the strength coming back over my wounds, felt the power flowing into my limbs. I stepped forward, letting my blade slide over his as his dipped down from the sudden lack of resistance, and punched him in the chest. Though his cuirass absorbed most of the impact, he still took a full step back. While he was still off guard, I turned my knife point up and drove it into his skull through his chin. His eyes snapped to mine, he shivered once, and died. I pulled the blade out, and wiped it upon his hood as he fell. I stared at the now lifeless woman on the ground, empty. And I kept walking.

The buildings one row over were all aflame- somewhere on this one, just on the opposite side. Flames licking up roofs, walls. The sky around the town was bathed in a sinister red glow. Screams sounded over the dusk, and the Dust moon remained impassive over the assaulted city. I ran around another house to the sound of another loud crack, causing me to slow. I looked up at the six floor town manor, the center of Captain City's authority. A loud boom sounded, and the the building came crashing down, wood and timber flying. The sounds of fighting coming from the center of the city, I guessed a fight for the town manor, stopped, overshadowed by the fall of the building above them. Smoke and splinters went flying, loud crashes coming from all over. I ran, the voices of skirmishes in the air around me, and almost ran full speed into a battle. Three hooded people, dress similar to the man I killed earlier, were fending off a squad of nine guards. They fought fluidly, fending of the nine people with ease. Their swords sparked with every hit, steaming softly, so thin it was almost unable to see. They fought them back, and it was obvious they would win. Brute strength would not win this one, and I was sure that these men would be stronger than me anyway. Suddenly a fully armored guard ran past me, sword drawn, to help.

"Go boy!", he shouted as he ran past, "Find your family and go!"

My family. Before I knew it, I was in motion, running down streets and past fights. My family, I had neglected that they would be here, amidst the flames and murder. I ran past blood and fights, desperate to see my family okay. The sigh of relief I gave when I saw Terira running with Deerea and the little ones in tow, hands clasped over ash and soot, covered in ash and soot. Many of the little ones were crying, and Deerea spoke to them in soft soothing tone, tears streaking down her own face. We embraced, a strong hug ,and simply held each other. Everything else disappeared.

When we let go, I realized someone was missing. "Where's Calkolh?"

"He went to look for Feyion, and for you." Terira responded with a composed dignity that I noticed she still held. Nothing would shake her. She was one last rock of stability in a world of chaos.

I stood still, and noticed for the first time that Feyion was missing. I looked into Terira's eyes, and saw the worry she couldn't disguise. I looked at the little ones, and looked back up. "I'll go find him."

She rose her hand to stop me as I ran off, but I just waved her away. "Just go!", I shouted after her, and kept running, legs pumping faster than they had ever before. I ran past houses, following the softer sounds of people running, sounds of mothers and children crying, names called, straying from the battle and clashing forces. I ran past blood, burnt houses and burning houses, ashes, bodies, lost belongings. I climbed on top of a fallen house, its pieces and large timber scattered across the road. As I slid over the other side of the burning timbers and through the smoke, I got my foot caught between two pieces of wood, and fell to my face. When I looked up again, it was as if my worst nightmare had come true. Feyion was on the ground, on his knees, cradling a burnt arm. He was crying. The man standing over him was also dressed in black boots and brown breeches like the other one, only this time the red material that wrapped around his arm and formed his hood hung like a long scarf at the ends, hanging off his neck half way to his waist. And in one of his gloved hands, he held a flaming sword, flames scarlet red, flickering wickedly.

"No, " I whispered weakly as he slowly raised his blade, Feyion lying helpless on the ground beneath him.

"No." I said stronger this time, the unnatural strength flooding my body again. I lifted myself onto my hands and knees, coiling the strength in my legs to spring at him. He lifted his sword across his body to strike.

"NOOO!!" I shouted as I sprung at him. I felt all the strength, all the power I had, in my arms, my hands, desperate to reach out to stop him. All my strength was forced at him, at the tips of my body.

And suddenly it left my body. I feel the coiled energy I had released, and from my hand flowed, almost dripped, a clear and fluid power, thick and almost maple like form of pure energy, of pure soul. It had no color, like glass, but was seen by its distortion, the way it bent the air and space around me. Quicker than I could get there, the power flowed between the space between me and the hooded attacker, and right before his flaming sword reached Feyion's neck, it slammed into him, knocking him back a full ten paces. The pure energy, pure power, was still connected to me by a thin strand of clear power as thick as a mere string of wool. It's clear fluid energy- my power- was still coated around my hand, flowing around it.

My strength and speed carried across forty paces in less than two seconds, slamming my body into him, my clear power pulled across my arm against the rush, a thin shield of power between the two of us. I knocked him back another twenty paces. I felt his arm brush against his body, and heard his blade fall to the ground. I landed on my knees, breathing ragged and heavy. His flaming sword hit the ground, the fires slowly receding and sparking out. He skidded across the dirt and dust, picking up more as he slid away. My body was ragged once more, wounds torn open, stressed and pulled again the bandages. I felt pain, though intense, was walled off. I could still feel it in every movement, but power rushing throughout my body gave me something to cope with, structure, support. I half stood, half crawled over to Feyion, huddled and eyes wide on the ground, still cradling his burnt arm.

"Fey, are you OK?"

"Tha-, That-"

"No." The voice that carried over equally soft sounds of flames crackling, wood burning and creaking, plunged my heart through my stomach. Before I even turned around, I knew that he knew, knew why he was here.

"No." His voice was shaking, contrary to the small sickle he held in his hand- steady and slick with blood. His voice was laced with denial.

"No." Calkolh voice was more dead than the carcass of the red swathed assassin now laying still on the ground, killing me with each denial. I paid no mind to the body, to the man he killed with such ease. He stood as still as his blade, the metal latch on his brooch cloak floating up into the air, the obvious sign of his instability. My brother stood as silent as I, watching my clear-glass power writhe and fade, both of us watching our family die.

"I-", my voice was lost as the short and sharp barks and cries of coming Grims rang through the streets, death in gray cloaks, their words just like our own- too few and too harsh between. My death in Gray cloaks. My brother. A Grim.

I opened my mouth again. "Go," said Calkolh, looking away from the shouted voices back to my eyes. "Just go." You could hear it in his words. It was over. I was dead. This was just his last farewell, last goodbye. He couldn't kill me. He wouldn't kill me. Not yet.

I looked at him through slow tears in the flickering red light of the fires, the dark skies above us mirroring our souls. Dead and dark. Lost. I stumbled up, my hand feeling out at nothing behind me. Our eyes remained locked, looks saying what he couldn't. Go. My fingers stopped groping over the sidewalk uselessly. I got up, and backed away slowly, dirt clouded in the air as the shouts rose. The building around us fell, cracked and burned, falling to ashes. The shouts got louder, just as present in the air as the pain in my body. I could hear their footsteps now. Go. I stepped back again, watching my brother fade in front of me, Feyion holding his uninjured arm out to him as he was scooped up into Calkolhs own. Go. The footsteps of the Grims were left behind as I scrambled over the fallen logs and clouds of ash, as I ran, knife in hand.