Could –

Hilda reached up and she reached out with a finger, brushing at Plato’s face. Her finger came away wet with tears, shimmering in the faded light of the sun above that shone through the storm. “You are deserving of a peaceful rest,” Hilda said. Her voice was quiet, yet unmistakable even through the wind. Kamila heard Hilda as though she were speaking next to her. She raised her spear, as Plato, in a voice thick with sobs, slowly choked out,

“I’m going to kill you, you and your sister! You can’t run away from me forever! I’ll kill every single one of you! Even if you make it to Kivv, I’ll find you! I’ll catch you! I’ll kill everyone!”

Kamila thrust the spear forward.

And Hilda spoke: “No one is killing anyone.” She reached out with both arms, and wrapped her hands around Plato’s wrists. Kamila’s spearpoint bit into Plato’s back and drew blood. She summoned her strength to push through, to cleave bone and –

Plato disappeared, and Kamila stumbled, gasping and swinging her arm to the side to shift her spearpoint. She avoided impaling her sister, throwing the spear to the side instead and stumbling into Hilda. Kamila, of course, had heard of Banishment. She had wanted so badly to be a Reaper, to be strong like her mother so that she could defend the Vale and the world. She knew she was the best fighter in Etyslund, could best anyone hand-to-hand or with weapons, could hit a target square in the center from a hundred yards, without the wind interfering at least. She had studied the Reaper’s powers as a child in anticipation of the day she would become one.

Still, it was shocking how quickly it happened. One moment Plato was there, thrashing against the grip in which Hilda, far beyond her physical strength, somehow held the larger man. The next moment, he was gone, and the storm was dead, a shower of sand and splinters and dirt and the corpses of birds and insects falling to the earth around Kamila and Hilda and Aleks. Ash began to rain, but thin, distant flakes of it growing more and more sparse as the moments passed.

Flecks of the ash landed in Kamila’s open palms as she straightened and dropped Plato’s spear to the ground. The rushing sound in her ears faded into the background as Hilda fell to her knees, then stood again – as Aleks crossed the gap between himself and his sisters and trudged over to them, kicking away pieces of the broken vehicle until he stood where Plato had stood moments before his disappearance. The circle of sand around them soon broke in the soft wind of the eastern plains, grains tumbling away and up into the breeze and mixing with the stirred black earth.

Hilda began to walk toward the distant rust gates of Kivv. “Let’s go home,” she said, breathing a deep and heavy sigh.

Kamila grunted, her arms shaking, trying to grab onto some semblance of composure. “Home is the other way,” she said, but she moved to follow Hilda anyway.

“Home,” Aleks said, “is wherever we can get a decent night’s sleep.” His voice was dull and soft. He tok his place next to Hilda – between her and Kamila. Had he been taller than Kamila, he would have blocked her view of Hilda. Side-by-side they walked.

Hilda thought for a moment of retrieving her walking stick, as they passed the spot where they’d stood just before Plato attacked. The branch was still there, though it had been blown about a bit by the wind during the assault. She bent down to reach for it, but realized something as she did. There was a fresh strength in her arms. She stood and began to run, testing her legs. They were repaired, and she felt vital – stronger than she’d felt in a long time, in fact.

“You don’t look tired,” Aleks commented, and Hilda found that it was true. She did not feel tired, either. She looked to her brother and sister, who walked with a deep weariness in their bones that spoke of the harrowing fight they’d just endured. But Hilda felt light, and almost… happy. Happy not only that she was safe, but that she was greater than she’d been. That happiness was almost a burden, a terrifying burden, on her, and she wondered what it meant.

A tiny voice at the back of her mind spoke as she stood, her siblings passed by her and she took her place at the back of their little procession. The voice wasn’t quite strong enough to form words, just a tiny thing needling at a corner of her brain, but it had wishes, and it made those wishes known. Hilda’s fingers itched as she felt the sudden urge – to reach out to Kamila, to wrap her hands around her sister’s neck, to squeeze and twist and tighten and push until Kamila was dead.

She pushed the desire down and buried it, looking toward the distant gates. Home awaited, safe and warm, inside ancient walls that even the angels of death could not tear down completely.