Far down the main street, the festivalgoers waited – the Sixth Festival in full swing, a celebration for all of Kivv. They knew something, Kamila was sure, of happenings in the south, but it was still far away, and not urgent, and the ones who were suffering and dying hadn’t come fleeing to their gates just yet, so they could still sing and play in the streets. The twin monasteries of Mirshal loomed over, and looking at their towers Kamila couldn’t help but wonder what those within were discussing. Were they making plans to fight the Invictans. Or, she wondered darkly, clenching her jaw, would they rather wait and do nothing because to take a stand might associate them with the Adma, whom so many in Kivv and Mirshal distrusted?

“I said, what is your business here?”

The voice drifted by Kamila, and she continued to stare at the city, her eyes lingering on the Reaper Monastery. It stood, placid and apart. Kamila imagined the building engulfed in flame, soldiers at the gates with their guns and their spears and their bombs. She imagined the pristine stonework, the pride and joy of some mason from generations past, destroyed in moments by uncaring hands, with wicked smiles and joyous laughter.

“Hey, listen to me – what is your business here?”

She was shaken out of her reverie by a gauntleted hand on her shoulder, and instinctively she pulled away, turned, to see a guard standing before the gate, holding a notebook in one hand while the other hand rested near the hilt of a sword.

Inscriptions Kamila couldn’t read wrapped around the visible part of the hilt, spiraling toward an inlaid gem. The slight red glow of the gem caught her eye. “We’re… I….”

“I’m Hilda Zelenko,” Kamila’s sister said, stepping in front of her. “This is my sister Kamila, and my brother Aleks.” Her arms were crossed protectively as she looked up at the guard – a man two heads taller than her, steadier on his feet, standing upright with a hand near his weapon. He looked down at her and a momentary flash of scorn crossed his visage, but he must have seen something in the way Hilda held and carried herself. He blinked.

“And the three of you are…” he began.

“Etyslund has fallen,” Aleks said, turning his back to the guard, and to Kamila. His voice was dispassionate, distant. "Etyslund has fallen and we might be all that’s left.”

“We’re not all that’s left,” Kamila said. “We’re just what’s here. Etyslund needs support.”

The guard glanced down at his notepad, reached for a writing implement, and jotted something down. “How did it happen?”

“Invictans,” Hilda said. That was all that needed to be said.

The guard nodded, a short jerk of his head as his eyes shut. He breathed out his nose slowly. “You three are free to enter – I can see you’re not lying about who you are, and that you’re not a threat.” Kamila almost protested at that last comment, but thought better of it. “I’ll pass along a message, but I can’t leave this post. You’d better find somebody higher ranking than me. My captain is stationed on the South wall, but maybe if you go to –”

“We’ll go to the Monasteries,” Hilda said quietly, her voice almost sticking in her throat. She spoke plainly, matter-of-factly, broaching no questioning even from the guard, even from a man with authority and power and a weapon to back it up. It was not a request, it was mere information. But there was a tremor in her voice nonetheless. And she turned away slightly, as though to hide her face from the guard so he could not see her fear. She stepped away and looked down the road, gazing at the festivalgoers. There was still joyful music and dancing and drink down there, as though the world were a safe and happy place.

“Let’s go,” Kamila said. And the guard nodded, and waved them off, and Aleks and Kamila, and then Hilda, began to run. The guard called up to his companions atop the wall, ‘there’s a message to be sent’, and waved a hand in signal. The Zelenkos ran and, ignoring the festivalgoers on either side of them, pushed their way through the city, casting their gazes left and right. Where the festival grounds stretched over around the road, there did not seem to be any guards who might hear their message. The Mirshal monasteries came close, and they passed the spot between the two courtyards. Aleks glanced toward the Sower Monastery, Hilda toward the Reapers. Neither made eye contact with any of their fellow order members. The courtyards were empty, the monastery gardens abandoned.

Kamila came to a stop between the two of them, glancing to her left and then her right. The scents of vinegar and frying oil filled her nose when she took a moment to rest, drifting from the festivalgoers behind and ahead. Kamila turned and glanced behind her. There were so many people, so many. Just those lining this street, enjoying their festival, could have outnumbered the population of Etyslund before the Invictans came.

They’re still there, she told herself. We can’t be the only ones left. Dad… Kalai… Luca… everyone else… they must have found a way to survive, right?

Aside from the musicians on the street, of which there were at least a dozen, their songs melding in distant cacophony – still melodious – countless craftsmen were hawking their wares. Everything from whittled wood statuettes to intricately painted metalcrafts was represented. There was even a stall that appeared to be selling blades, ranging from the simplest kitchen knives to intricately engraved swords. The pungent smell of searing meat joined the fray as well, as Kamila found herself staring off into the middle distance.

“Where… where is everybody?” Hilda said, still quiet.

“Maybe they’re all at the festival?” Aleks said. “It’s not that weird to think they’d leave the monastery unattended, nobody knows yet about what happened.”

“You three should come inside if you’re not going to enjoy the festival,” a voice said, and Antonin Voloshko rounded the corner, his hands folded in his sleeve. His long face, flat and severe, stared down at Hilda and Aleks, while Kamila looked level at his eyes. He was too calm. Kamila knew that Antonin wasn’t a fool. He had never seen the three Zelenko siblings together at one time without their mother or father.

No, he was no fool.

“Voloshko, you’re just who we’re looking for. We need help. Mirshal needs to help us. Etyslund is --”

Antonin held up a hand. “I know,” he said. “Word was received –”

Hot rage coursed through Kamila and she felt the blood rise in her face. Her vision narrowed – Hilda and Aleks were far away now – as she looked at Antonin Voloshko. He was so calm. And he knew. He knew! And yet Mirshal remained here, in Kivv, and the festival continued, and he looked down at them with such…

“You knew?” she shouted suddenly, heedless to Hilda’s tugging on her arm. “You knew about Etyslund but you’re still here? How could you –”

“Kamila! Quiet!” The voice was not Antonin’s, but Hilda’s. Kamila, gritting her teeth, jerked her head to the side and looked down toward Hilda. It was not often that Kamila saw anger in Hilda’s face, but now she was angry – and not at Antonin, but at Kamila. Her younger sister’s sudden reaction gave Kamila pause, and she looked toward Antonin.

Antonin sighed and lowered his head. “Yes, I know what happened in Etyslund. We received word from Stepan several days ago, and the Invictans are defeated in Etyslund, but –”

“He’s alive?” Hilda exclaimed, and something in the way she spoke made Kamila smile for what felt like the first time in weeks. Aleks laughed aloud as well as Hilda continued, “You heard from him? How?”

“The radio,” Antonin said. “He told us that it was damaged before, and he was not able to send word earlier for that reason, but now that the immediate threat is gone, it was repaired and your father got in contact with Kivv. He will be relieved to learn that the three of you are together and have made it safe to the city.”

“Can we talk to him?” Aleks asked. “Please. I know how to operate the radio. Can I talk to him?”

Voloshko inclined his head. “Of course. And I am sorry to hear of…”

“What about the rest of the Vale?” Kamila cut in. “You said the Invictans were defeated in Etyslund, but they’re still out there, aren’t they? And they’ll come back in force. If I know anything about the Invictan Empire it’s that they don’t take well to being defeated.”

“I’m sure,” Antonin replied. “They will be back, and they will seek to destroy the Vale. In time, they’ll come to Kivv.”

Kamila blinked. “They’ll march all the way to the city?”

Hilda coughed, and said quietly, “You’re telling us this place isn’t safe either. No place is safe.”

Aleks growled low in his throat. “No place is ever safe, is it?”

Hilda, shaking her head, said, “I don’t believe that. They don’t really think they can take Kivv, do they? The Monasteries…”

Antonin sighed heavily. “They will try. They believe that they can do anything, given the will. But Mirshal is mobilizing as we speak. It will soon be time to defend the Vale, to go and meet the Invictan army in the wilderness and defend the villages and towns from their encroachment. They and their Emperor must be made to see reason.”

“Do you think you can reason with a man who believes himself to be a god?” Kamila asked. It sounded sardonic in her head, but once spoken, it was the voice of a scared child.

“I hope we can,” Antonin said. “Either way, Mirshal goes to war. But you three needn’t worry yourselves about that. Come inside, the Reaper Monastery will be your home until we find you a more comfortable place to stay. Or you may return to the festival. I will be here.”

“The festival?” Kamila sputtered. “We don’t have time for festivals right now.”

“I would like to talk to my father,” Aleks said. “Please, Zil-Antonin. I want to speak my with my father.”

Antonin nodded, and motioned toward the Sower Monastery. “I believe you know the way, Aleks,” he said. “No one will stop you.” Aleks nodded and turned toward Kamila and Hilda. He took Kamila’s hands – she realized her fingers were shaking, her palms sweaty and clammy – and looked up to meet her eyes.

“We’re going to be okay,” he said. He went to Hilda and did the same, and Kamila’s eyes stung so that she could not see Hilda’s reaction. Aleks turned away then, and walked through the garden and into the open gate of the Sower Monastery.

Antonin smiled sadly. “Feel free to come inside, Kamila, or to go as you wish. I understand you’re scared and angry, and I will not stand in your way. But know that Mirshal is mobilizing, and that we won’t let the Invictans get away with what they’ve done. But we also won’t let this threat prevent our people from enjoying a special day such as this.”

Kamila sighed heavily, but she did not object. She looked to Hilda. “I’m going to stay here,” Hilda said. “I… I want to talk to you, Zil-Antonin. Please, Kamila… try to enjoy yourself.”

Kamila nodded and turned, looking down the street and toward the festival. When Hilda next spoke, she sounded surprised. “You’re really going? You’re not going to stay here?”

Kamila shook her head. “I need to buy a sword,” she said, and began to walk down the street. Her boots against the cobblestones clicked and tapped loudly, the sound of it echoing in her mind.

Hilda watched her go, trying to keep her breath steady. She wanted to reach out to her sister, now that she was almost alone again. Antonin Voloshko’s presence was a comfort, to be sure – a constant. Hilda looked past Antonin, at the walls of the old city of Kivv, the bastion of the north. Beyond that wall was the lake, where the sunlight still glittered, dancing along the surface. Hilda thought she might cry, with both relief and sorrow at once. But, she found, it was easy not to. Far easier than it should have been. “It’s strange…” she said.

Antonin led Hilda into the garden of the Reaper Monastery, and he sat against the wall, among the trees and flowers. Hilda sat beside him. “What is strange?” Antonin asked.

“Well…” Hilda began. “I – everything.”

Antonin chuckled, though there was little humor in it. He gazed off into the distance, looking at nothing in particular. “Indeed,” he said. “Everything is strange. That I can understand. You’ve come a long way, Hilda Zelenko, since I first saw you in this courtyard with your sister. Neither of you wished to go without the other, you know?”

Hilda nodded. “She’s different,” she said. “She’s done bad things.”

Antonin sighed, and gave a small nod. “Your sister was never going to become a Reaper, Hilda. But that does not speak ill of her value. It is her actions that will determine her worth, the same as it is for you.”

“But…” Hilda folded her hands together. Her eyes caught on a nearby flower – yellow and wilted in the early cold, though no frost had yet come this year. “What if your actions are the thing you’re trying to escape from?”

Antonin shook his head. “It is no different. Hilda, we each have different expectations placed on us. Not only by those around us, but by ourselves, too. If our expectations and our responsibilities are different, that does not mean the same for our worthiness. You and your sister must each find your own ways. And I am…” when Hilda turned to meet Antonin’s eyes, she found him staring at the ground. “I am sorry that she has erred. But she will find her way, I believe that.”

“And me? It feels like a lifetime since we left Etyslund. Where do we go from here? What am I going to do?”

“I don’t know, Hilda. But I’m here to help you the whole way, know that. All I can truly say is this:”

He reached out, and his old and gnarled hands wrapped lightly – like the touch of silk or of a fallen leaf – over her own folded hands. “Don’t forget why you’re here,” he said, and then he stood.

“You can come inside whenever you like, or stay out here. Take as much time as you need.” And Antonin Voloshko stepped through the threshold, into the monastery, leaving Hilda outside. Leaning against the wall, rubbing her hands slowly to warm them, she willed the tears to come, to release the painful tightness in her breath, and yet they did not.