Two

Prologue

-chapter 18, Valaria history textbook

"Magic should not exist. It is an impossible science full of incomplete equations and contradictions.

Despite these ramifications, select individuals may opt to tamper with the forces of our realm by using, experimenting, and (or) abusing magic.

Those who tamper with these forces, and the likes of such, will be cursed with a never-ending madness and vast faminie. Heed my warning and do not attempt the following spells, or alchemy in this textbook.

The contents in this textbook are strictly for educating the masses on why magic is dangerous. Do not tilt the balance. The balance will always win. Magic can not exist without consequences. You have been warned."

Chapter One

Ayve Linnet

-beginning of the Great War, start of the vast frost.

My earliest memories are not those of a normal child. A woman holds my hand, frost bitten. I cough, phlegm stuck in my tiny lungs. We walk. I stumble, and the woman holds me tighter. We do not stop. The wind rages on, flurries of ice bustling about and melting when touching my skin. We keep walking.

Eventually, when my knees give way from the excursion, the woman drags me. There had been a time when winter was only a season.

I know that now.

Back then, I thought the cold was simply something that happened to the world. I didn't know that something had changed. I didn't know that the green fields and warm fires I remembered in fragments belonged to a world that was already disappearing.

I don't quite remember before this, before this long walk though.— Except little flashes, fragments that disappear when I try to desperately grip them. So we keep walking. I don't remember for how long. Childhood has no sense of time, and fear makes the picture of memory blur together.

Iron gates stretch before us, rising from the pure white around us and they scream when the woman pushes them open.

Hushed arguing voices float above my head. Letters are exchanged along with silver shillings. The arguing stops. The woman, in her thick clothing turns from me. And disappears into the winter. I remember almost nothing about the woman. Not her face, nor her voice.

Only the strange silver under her coat, catching what little light the winter gave us, and the way she squeezed my hand before letting go. It was almost gentle.

Almost.

I wanted to call after her, I think I did. My voice was so weak that the wind carried it away before it could reach her. I remember thinking she would turn around.

Adults always came back for things they forgot, and I had assumed that whatever I was, I must have been something she'd forgotten.

She didn't turn around. Snow gathered on the iron bars, delicate and white against the rusted metal. I stood shivering, and watched as whatever was left of me disappered with the coming storm.

Her hands were warm, after standing in the cold. She rubbed my arms inbetween her hands as she walked, trying to coax feeling back into them.

Every few steps she would look down at me as though checking to make certain I was still awake. "You're alright now." She murmured.

Though, I don't think she could've known that. "You're alright, little linnet." I didn't believe her. I didn't understand what alright meant anymore.

Still, I wanted to believe her. This stranger of a woman who was now craddling me.

"Let's get you warm, my little sparrow." So I let my head rest against her shoulder and listened to the steady rhythm of her footsteps carrying me deep into the building, away from the iron gates and the snow and the woman who had left me there.

Away from who I was before.

It smelt like boiled cabbage and stale bread, but I fell deeper into the hold. As though I belonged to something. "You're the youngest we've gotten in a long time, baby bird." She said, splashing my face with warmed water. I don't speak. I don't think I know how. Not after watching the woman— whoever she was to me— Walk away.

A tattered rag is drug along my face, scrubbing the cold dirt from the crevices of my person. "I know this probably scary, little one. It's alright to be frightened, my name is Liora."

She continues chattering to me, meticoulsy cleaning the skin the she can. After, she scoops me up and briskly walks to a room full of empty, well-cleaned cots.

She lays my shell shocked body down, and tucks me in.

“Ayve! Baby bird! Please come help me wrangle the kids!" Liora yells from the kitchen, and I slide in my socks across the tile.

I playfully roar, and chase three snot nosed trouble makers away from her smock. She sighs, and continues mixing the sourdough she's attempting to make. "Thank you, my dear finch."

She replies, turning to me as the three children dangle from my arms.

Begs and whining fill the warm air as they all simultaneously ask me to play tag. I laugh, nod at Liora, then dart away from the kitchen. The pitter-patter of small feet trail me as I tightly turn corners. When they catch me, the tallest among them wraps himself around my shoulders and dangles. "Get her!" He yells and the other two grab my legs, taking me down into a pit of giggles.

Liora, peaks her head from the doorway. She laughs at our little group and warmth blooms through the room. "Leave my big girl alone, you heathens!" She demands, continuing to laugh. Her attempt at sounding stern failed through her laughter.

A hearty aroma floats through the space, everything is as it should be, in my little orphanage. My home.

Sometimes, when the memories became too much, too loud. I hid beneath the stairs. Away from it all, the freezing memories of the past fragmented— but there regardless. Like a dagger concealed in a sleeve, gleaming in the moonlight.

Liora always knew where to find me.

She never asked what happened, never demanded I come out and finish my chores. She would simply sit on the floor beside the little gap beneathe the linoliem stairs and slide a mug of water toward me.

"You don't have to talk, baby bird."

Then she'd sit there. Sometimes for minutes, sometimes until I fell asleep.

Faces that once seemed so clear have faded around the edges. Voices have become distant echoes. Sometimes I wonder if some details I invented entirely.

I think about those days more often now that they're gone.

Memory is a strange thing. The older I become, the less I seem to remember the things I once thought I'd carry forever. Faces blur first. Then voices. Then the small details that once made a place feel like home begin slipping away until all that remains are fragments— a wooden spoon tapping against a pot, the warmth of the stove in the heart of the season, Liora's hands smelling faintly of flour as she braide my hair.

Sometimes I wonder whether I remember those things correctly at all.

Maybe memories change because we do.

Maybe the girl who lived beneath those stairs would hardly recognize the woman I became.

Cold mud seeps into my wool socks as spit flies into my face. I blink, and the orphanage is gone.

There's no wooden spoon, no warm kitchen, no little hiding place. Only a brown training yard drowned in brown slush, and twenty-four exhausted recruits. The barracks are an unforgiving place. "Are you ready to die for Illarion, solider?!" Is screamed in my face and I respond in agreement. Commander Rellan tears through the morning air with screaming.

Twenty-three other recruits are locked in a human-chain, linked at the elbows as we do sit-ups in succession. Commanders and drill Sargent's yell at different people that seem to be struggling.

I was eighteen when the enlistment letter arrived, I read it three times. Not because I didn't understand it, but because I did. Everyone in the orphanage knew what the letter meant.

The war had been taking boys and girls from villages for months. Now it had reached our door. Liora cries. I hated seeing Liora cry. She sobbed for hours. "Not my little linnet," She wailed as she scrubbed the dishes. I remember feeling guilty. Everyone expected fear from me, but what I felt was stranger and much more complicated than just fear.

Our matron always had the terrible habit of starting chores when upset. She was far from a mother but she was still terribly kind, to a fault.

Basic training was the hardest thing I ever faced. Our kingdom needed soldiers and we were gathered by the masses and shipped to different training grounds across our nation of Illarion. "Commander Rellan is such a hard ass." Tomas, another recruit says, as he shovels gruel into his mouth. I push mine around on the steel tray.

"Like—" He chews through his words and I cringe, "He says 'Do this recruit!' and then I do that, like he wants, and he's still mad!" The woman he's talking too— Silas, I think her name is, laughs then responds. "That's because you never actually do what he's asking you half-asser."

Tomas looks down at his tray, continuing to eat, grumbling something that almost sounds like a rebuttle but it's lost in his meal. "That shut him up." She says to nobody. I shovel the cold mush reluctantly into my mouth and swallow thickly without chewing.

I'm not even sure what gruel is, but I resolve when I have my own life and things to cook, I'll never eat it again. My stomach turns at the sight of it.

My arms ache, and every other bone or muscle in my body screams at the simple mundane task of eating.

I wish, in this moment, for heart faliure.

Then, when the thought leaves me I chuckle to myself. It isn't so bad here. At least my tent is warm at night. That's more than most have since the war became worse.

Most of my people had little to begin with, now the vast majority have nothing. The war has always desecrated our vitality but it's never been this bad in all my short seasons. From what I've heard of the rumors floating through the weeds of the training barracks, Valaria launched a full force attack on the border. Word had been sent from the king that they needed all eligeable members to immediatly enlist. No room for argument, and no questions asked.

Of course, as all loyal subjects, we listened complintly.

I almost hate it, the compliance. The orders, all of it. But how could I wholely and truly hate the place I grew up in? The place I was born to. The simple answer is, I can't. I think I won't ever fully hate this place, Illarion Is my home.

Things are easier when you have orders to follow, and a commanded direction to go to anyway. "Are you excited for our first excapade?" The girl down the table from me states.

I nod, even though I'm entirely sure she's talking to me.

"Silas! Leave the redhead alone, she's obviously trying to eat." a voice sounds, next to Tomas, Alden remarks— he repeated his training for a second year because of some injury he doesn't like to talk about. Tomas snorts, "The redhead? She has a name, man." I hunch lower, shoving more mystery food in my mouth to avoid entering the conversation that's directed around me.

"Shut up, you don't know her name either!" Alden shoots back, shoving Tomas' head with his open palm.

Tomas swats his hand away.

"I could!" He replies and Alden reaches over, continuing to bat at him. "You couldn't!"

"I could ask!" Tomas keeps bickering with the other, pushing back and forth. "You definitely won't, you big coward!" I keep eating, pretending very carefully that none of them are talking about me. Or, at me.

Beyond their bickering, raging war waits for us. A fear we're not ready to face. Yet, we have to be ready to survive. Our kingdom expects us to be prepared, to live to see another day. I can't bring myself on wasting time bantering with others. If I have to be a soldier, then I'll be the best soldier Illarion has ever seen.

Before I can finish my meal, chow time is over as quickly as it started.

Conversations around the hall seem to die all at once, as if never existing in the first place.

I swallow the thick remanents that were stuck to my molars, and chairs squeak as everyone files out of the chow hall. Outside, the weather is mouthy and unforgiving. It isn't like the weather I remember from my childhood, it feels more wild, almost aggresive. But, this is only the forever winter, ordinary and familiar. After weeks of stiff sleeping blankets, even the plain winter feels cruel.

"Cadets." Commander Rellan stands in front of us as we get into our expected formation. "Very soon, you'll attend your first mission."

He paces with his hands folded behind him, his expression unreadable. I'm not sure if we'll be reprimanded or given a pep talk. "Or second." Tomas mumbles toward Alden and they shove eachother a couple of times, laughing amongst themselves quietly.

I close my eyes for a minute, and listen to the mud and gravel crunch beneath my commanders feet. He speaks again, "You, my humble recriuts, need transportation. So today, is our equine choosing."

My breath catches in my throat, my very own horse.

My horse. The words sound unreal, that something could be truly mine. And then I correct myself, it won't be mine. The horses are Illarion army property.

Still, it's the closest I've come to properly owning something. I've borrowed things, sure, even stolen. But nothing comes quite so close as this. She— or he, will be in my charge. To care for.

Rellan signals my platoon to follow, and we march in syncronized steps with his lead. "You've spent months learning the ends and outs of battle, training your bodies to endure impossible conditions. Now, you have to train your horses to listen to you. They have to bond with you in order to be battle-ready."

A part of the grounds that was previously prohibeted comes into view and excited murmurs float through our tight crowd. I have to admit, I chatter to Silas softly. Not even I can deny how thrilling this is. A smile slips through the hardened face of our commander.

Then, reacing the splintered barn doors he unlatches it, and pulls the door on the right open. We nearly stumble over eachother to get first pick, only to find we can't actually choose our own horse. They've been assigned based on temperment because, of course they have.

It's the army after all, why let people have the choice? I walk past the stables slowly, reading the namecards and corresponding recruit names. Shiro; Lelino. Kenai; Vixen. More stables, and more notecards that don't contain my name. Irisha; Ethos. Feena; Silas. I sigh, as people excitedly gush over their new steeds. A very pissed off horse catches my attention— he's shoving at the dirt, and huffing loudly as he half-bucks the back of his stall with his right hind leg. I glance at the name-card and have to force myself to swallow my laughter. Hayes; Tomas.

Just his luck.

In the very back, I finally find my own card.

Branwen; Ayve.

A chestnut mare lies half-buried in the hay, her dark mane spilling messily across her neck. She raises her head when I approach.

Her eyes bore through me, colored of an endless night vacant of stars. The unwavering attention makes me slow without actually intending to.

"Hi there, friend."

Her ears flick forward.

For one brief, foolish moment, I think this is going to be one of those moments people write about. The soldier meets her horse for the first time, the two of them recognizing something in one another despite having never met. I can almost imagine the story already.

The mare rises from the damp hay and steps toward the stall door, hay rolling off her in small clumps. Then Branwen bares her teeth and bites me.

I yelp, jerking my hand away so quickly that I nearly stumble into the stall behind me.

"I don't think she likes you near her bed, Ayve!" Ethos bursts out into laughter next to me, I stare at my own horse.

She stares back at me.

There's something deeply insulting about being judged by a horse. I give the man next to me a strange look, finally recongnizing that he spoke to me.

I don't know how people do that, speak to others casually like they've known me their whole lives. It's the littlest bit unsettling. It conveys trust that has no foundation. I've never spoken to Ethos before— in fact, I learned his name today. So many things about the public slightly disturb me. I give my horse an even stranger look.

She gave no signals of distress that I could read, and moved suddenly. I hoped this new beast in my care would quickly bond with me but nothing can ever be easy in the kingdom of Illarion. "Do you mind?" I say to Ethos. He laughs again and shakes his head "Not one bit." He gleams at his own sarcasm.

At the orphanage, you learned that above all things, people are never permanent. Some kids were adopted, some were exchanged. You never knew what roster of kids would be rotated through the weeks. "You're supposed to bond with her, not stare at her." He put his two coins into my business again. "No, really? I thought this was bonding!" I retort.

"Nopeee, that's staring! And she doesn't seem to like it." Ethos finishes, turning toward his own steed.

"I want a different horse." I decide aloud. "You can't have a different horse." He says back, I huff. Grabbing a grooming brush, and some treats. I chose carrots as my weapon of choice and I silently pray it's the correct weapon for this particular battle. An angry horse is nothing to take lightly.

So I brace myself and slowly open the stall door, sliding my body in sideways to prevent the wild-thing from attempting to nose her way out of the enclosed space.

"Are you gonna work with me or against me?" I say to no one, eyeing the horse as I offer a carrot-bit. Branwen lifts her gums, and I accept the fact I'm about to get bit again when she gingerly takes the snack from my hand.

Surprise coats my face but I recover and go to brush her. She watches the brush carefully, her ears flicking backward as I bring it toward her side.

I stop just before the bristles touch her coat, suddenly aware that I literally have no idea what I'm doing.

Months of military training had taught me how to hold a sword, how to march until my feet learned to stop bleeding, how to sleep through the screaming of other recruits, and how to keep my breathing steady when a commander was shouting inches from my face. None of that had taught me how to convince an angry horse that I wasn't a threat.

"You're gonna have to help me here," I mutter, Branwen snorts. "I'll take that as a yes?"

The brush finally touches her skin and she doesn't freak out. I take that as a win. Slowly, I drag the brush along her side, watching every twitch of muscle beneath her coat. She's tense, but she doesn't move away.

There are small flecks of dried mud caught beneath the hair along her flank, and I work them carefully. Following the direcion of her coat instead of forcing the brush through the knots.

For several minutes, neither of us does much besides stand there.

The barn has become much quieter now that most of the recruits have found their horses. Every so often I hear laughter from farther down the rows of stalls, following by the occasional irritated stomp or whinny.

Somewhere near the front, Tomas is loudly complaining that Hayes tried to bite him, which earns a round of laughter from the others.

Branwens ears and eyes are glued to the sounds.

I don't speak horse, but if I did I'd think she was saying she's worried about missing out on the fun. "You're not missing much," I tell her. "He's probably going to make friends with his horse by complaining about it."

She lowers her head. I continue brushing with slow methodical swipes. Her tail flicks against my arm.

I smile despite myself. The feeling is unfamiliar enough that I almost stop. I haven't smiled much since arriving at training. There hasn't been much reason to.

Smiling during drills earned punishment, smiling during meals usually meant someone was laughing at another recruit, and smiling in your sleep was enough to be accused of having the hots for commander Rellan.

For months, everything had been screaming. Commander Rellan screams, the other commanders scream, recruits scream when they're injured, and sometimes I think the entire kingdom has forgotten how to speak without raising it's voice.

Here, at least, there's quiet. Not completely of course, but it's a different kind of noise. Softer. Almost peaceful.

My mare shifts her weight beneath my hand and I pause until she settles, slowly learning her body language in the same way I have spent my life learning the ends and outs of people.

At the orphanage, I learned that people had their own ways of telling you when they were angry. Growing up with a bramble of kids, you learned what slammed doors meant.

Or what shouting voices meant. Others, you learned that if they became very still and quiet, you had gone too far and you were about to be bruised. You learned when to leave someone alone, and when to apologize, when to offer help, and when to disappear beneath the stairs when Liora was in a bad mood.

Horses, apparently, aren't so different.

"You're just as difficult." I tell her.

Branwen turns her head toward me. "Don't look at me like that. I'm trying to compliment you." She continues to eye me with the same vast dark brown eyes. "Well, I guess I'm not very good at dishing out compliments but, you're not great conversation."

A laugh comes from the stall beside us.

I look over to find Ethos leaning against the wooden divider, watching me with an amused expression. "What?"

"Nothing, ginger." He says. I scowl, I don't like that nickname. My hair is hardly red and yet people comment on it like it's a defining trait. "It's just," He thinks for a moment, changing his position and slinging his arms over the pannel. "You're arguing with her."

"Talking to her is good for our bonding— I think." I say softly, I don't like small talk and this feels a lot like small talk. He shakes his head and goes back to scrapping the mud off his own geldings horseshoes.

Outside, a sharp whistle cuts through the barn followed by Commander Rellan's voice ordering the recruits to return to formation. The peaceful little pocket I had found disappears almost instantly as boots begin pounding against the frozen ground and voices rise around me.

I give Branwen one last stroke along her neck before stepping toward the stall door. "I hope you're comfortable enough not to murder me on our first mission. That would be very unlucky." I mumble. "At least we'll be going together."

The words leave my mouth so casually that I almost don't hear what they mean.

Together.

I've never had to use that word with meaning. The way I grew up taught me nothing stayed forever, and the army only reinforced the lesson.

Yet as Branwen watches me from inside her stall, I find myself wondering whether perhaps, for once, something might stay.

Birdwatching of Valaria

a comprehensive guide

-chapter three, common birds of valaria.

The linnet, is a small songbird commonly found throughout northern kingdoms, most frequently inhabiting open fields, hedgerows, and the edges of woodland where shelter and seed may be found.

They are mostly unremarkable in apperance, but possess beautiful russet plumage that allows them to disappear easily amongst the grasses and dying leaves. Despite their modest appearance, the linnet is regarded as one of the more enduring birds of the realm.

They remain where many other birds abandon their nesting grounds at the first signs of an unforgiving season, enduring winds and scarce food until the land becomes habitable once more. For this reason, the linnet has long been known as a symbol of perserverance.

According the illarion folklore, a linnet will stop at nothing when it's home is threatened. It's said that the bird will continue singing so long as the predator is nearby, making no distinction between safety and sacrifice. Whether this is instinct or something more cannot be determined. Still, the old belief remains. Where the linnet sings, life remains.

Readers are reminded that such interpretations are folklore, and shouldn't be confused with established natural science. No evidence exists to sugget that the linnet possess any connection to magic, prophecy, or the forces responsible for disturbances within the realm.

Such claims are remnants of a less educated age. The linnet is only a bird, it survives because it must.

Chapter two

Ayve Linnet

"I hope you're all well bonded." Our commander says just as the last of us file out of the large doors. I think he's being sarcastic, because a couple of the people chuckle. "Now, you're going to tack up and take your first ride."

"You'll be paired in groups of five, try not to lose eachother, and try not to die." He shakes his head, and unfolds a stack of papers from his pocket. He rambles off names, and my ears perk up when I hear my name. "Ethos, Lelino, Vidar, Ayve, Daisy." I tune him out. Anxiety rests in the pit of my stomach— Or the gruel is disagreeing with me.

The first thing Branwen taught me was that she hated being told where to go.

The second thing was that she hated me.

By the time we left the training grounds, I had learned enough about her temperment to stop pretending otherwise. She pins her ears whenever I tighten the reins, stomped whenever we slowed our group, and is now developing an impressive talent for ignoring every command that wasn't immediately followed by a handful of treats.

Still, she carried me. And in my book, that counts for something.

The road beyond the barracks stretched beneath a sky, the color of old steel, disappearing into the white distance. Ethos rode beside me, occasionally glancing over like he wanted to talk.

I pretended not to notice.

After a long while, he must've mustered up the courage to say something, because he begins speaking aloud. "So, about this mission,"

He trails off, waiting for someone to pick up the conversation. A small smile tugs at my lips when nobody does. He sighs, "Were just supposed to—what?— Pick up this letter and bring it back to the ground?"

Lelino nods, beginning to entertain the man. "Those are our orders, just like you heard them."

Ethos huffs loudly, shifting in his saddle. "It feels too easy, and the other groups had missions just like ours? I don't know," He dosen't finish his train of thought and I softly shake my head.

The woman, Lelino, keeps entertaining his nonsense. "Try not to think about it too hard, not everything has to be life or death. They just want us to get used to riding."

I don't contribute to the conversation. Instead, I loosen my grip on the reigns and Branwen speeds her pace naturally. "Ayve,"

He says, I glance back haphazardly, "What?"

"Nothing. Just figured I'd actually talk to you."

How do I always end up getting chattered to? I have patience for children, not big children, like the one recruit talking to me. "I haven't been stopping you." I shrug. "You really don't talk a lot though."

Vidar, another woman assigned to our mission speaks up. "She's probably trying to enjoy the quiet."

I nod sincerely. The conversation dies there.

I don't mind.

It's comforting riding without having to fill every quiet moment. The horses seem to understand that fact better than we do.

Branwens breath rises in pale clouds before disappearing into the air. I watch it for a moment. The cold has become so ordinary that I hardly notice it anymore. That thought bothers me more than the cold itself.

The five of us fall into a loose formation as the path narrows, wild brambles overgrowing the old road. My mare walks beneath me with a steady, almost irritating confidence, occasionally tossing her head when the reins become too restrictive. She seems to respond better when I give her room to make her own decisions, which is inconveniently similar to how most people seem to function.

This mission is supposed to be simple. A letter to retreive, and instructions to return the next day.

There's no enemy territory involved, no battle, no specific reason for five inexperienced soldiers to be particularly concerned.

"You don't make it easy to talk to you." Ethos talks toward me again.

Vidar laughs, "Give up, Ethos."

"I will not!"

"You've known her name for what, a day?" She keeps arguing.

"I've known her name since the first day, thank you very much. So I've got plenty of time."

I look at the two of them go back and forth, this seems to happen around me a lot. I don't understand his determination, but I suppose these are worse things than someone attempting to be friendly.

A bird bursts through the brambles, Branwen startles beneath me and I instinctively tighten the reins. "Easy!" I nearly shout, her ears flick backwards and she attempts to turn us around.

When she fails, she stomps anxiously, whinnying loudly. I look toward the sky where the bird disappeared, then back down at my horse. "We're jumpy, aren't we?" soothing her by petting her neck.

Branwen tosses her head, blowing a long breath through her nostrils as though she's offended by the entire situation.

Ethos looks over his shoulder, "What happened?"

"Bird."

He looks toward the trees and brambles. "You nearly yelled yourself off the horse over a bird?"

"I didn't— She— I—" I gron, and stop trying to defend myself when he laughs loudly.

I remind myself to stay focused. Retrieve a letter, return to the training grounds. Simple. I repeat it to myself as though they might become more reassuring if I hear them enough.

We keep going, the horses hooves breaking through the thin crust of frost that coveres the sandy road. Every now and then, one of them snorts or shifts but otherwise the journey is quiet.

Ethos doesn't seem capable of appreciating silence for long. "What do you think is in the letter?"

I sigh, "How would I know?"

"You could guess!" He waits, I don't say anything. His shoulders drop, "You're doing that on purpose." I give him a strange look. "The whole being difficult and broody!"

I scoff loudly. "That's a really bold saying for a guy who doesn't know jack shit about me."

"Woah— I'm sorry I didn't mean it like that I'm just trying the whole bonding thing."

I roll my eyes and end the conversation for what I hope is the last time.

"Awkward." Vidar mutters.

I have never been someone who enjoyed company simply for the sake of having it.

There had always been children running through the halls, voices echoing from the kitchen and bedooms, someone crying because another child had stolen their blankets or their blanket or their spoon or their place beside the fire.

There was always someone demanding something from someone else. Silence had been the rarest luxury we had.

Now, surronding by four other recruits and five horses, I find myself beginning to understand that there's different kinds of noise.

Ethos is noise. Lelino's corrections are noise.

The horses shifting beneath us, th leather of our saddles creaking with every movement, the wind scraping through the bare branches overhead— those are all noises. But none of it feels unpleasant.

We ride for another half hour before the first sign that something is wrong appears. It's so small that I almost miss it.

A ribbon.

It hangs from a low branch beside the road, faded to a light pink from the harsh weather. I only notice it because my mare turns her neck and snorts toward it as we pass, and the loose end flutters near her cheek.

I reach out and catch it before it can snag on her bridle. "What's that?" Ethos asks. I hold it between my fingers. "Just a piece of cloth."

Lelino rides closer. "Don't throw it away." I look at her, as she studies the ribbon for a moment before nodding toward the road ahead. "Markings."

A strange look must paint itself on my face because she continues, "I don't know what they're for."

That answer sits poorly with me. I look at the trees again, looking for an answer to shout at me. I don't see one. A few minutes later, we find another. "It's probably nothing, right?" Ethos questions.

"No." Lelino responds. The joking has disappered from his voice. I glance behind us. "Could be an old trail marker?" Vidar offers. "Could be." I reply. I don't sound convinced.

The forest seems different now that I've noticed them. The branches seem close, the road less familiar, and the silence between the trees has become something I can feel rather than something to hear.

Branwen notices it too.

She's no longer eager to move forward, and every few steps she ifts her head as though trying to catch a scent carried on the wind. I let her choose the pace instead of forcing her onward remebering how quick she is to jump.

"We should keep moving," Vidars anxiety floats through the air like static. I gather my reins but before I cann urge my hore forward, a sound reaches us from somewhere beyond the trees.

A distant whinny, then silence.

The nearest settlement is several miles away, and the mission route we assumed to be empty except for the courier who left the letter at the watchpost we're ordered to travel toward.

The sound comes again. This time closer.

Branwen's ears snap forward, and the other horses react immediately. Ethos' gelding lifts his head so sharply that the bit moves against his teeth. Vidars horse sidesteps beneath her, forcing her to gather the reins desperatly. Nobody speaks.

Ethos has nothing to say.

I stare into the trees, searching for movement between the bare trunks. The branches are tangled together, their limbs stripped of leaves and glazed with frost. Nothing moves. Not even the wind.

"What is it?" I whisper, though I know no one can answer.

Something about the sound makes my stomach tighten, it isn't the impatient call of a horse waiting for its rider. It sounds alone. My mouth feels dry.

I glance toward the ribbon that I've tied around my wrist. The faded pink fabric trembles slightly in the wind. "How many of these have we passed?"

Lelino thinks, "Three."

"Four," Vidar corrects quietly. He points behind us. "Thre was one before the first."

I swallow, but there isn't any spit in my mouth. "We should turn back." Vidar says.

My mares muscles are rigid as stone, every part of her body listening to something I can't hear. She isn't trying to turn around anymore.

"We can't go back without the letter," Lelino says.

"We don't know what's ahead."

"That's kind of the point of the military." I finish. The words, the argument settles over us. I look over my shoulder, the road stretches behind us as it had before. White sky, brown slush, bare trees. Nothing remarkable. But the further I stare, the less familiar it becomes.

The forest has a way of making distance feel deceptive. "Let's just hope we're close." I say. Three pairs of eyes turn toward me.

I don't know why I've said it. Maybe because going back over a little anxiety would mean admitting that our training meant nothing.

Maybe because I'm eighteen years old, wearing an illarion uniform, carrying a sword I have spent months learning to use, and I want to discover if I'm the capable woman I believe myself to be.

Nobody speaks. I understand why.

There's something about the forest that has me hung up on our surroundings. It makes our conversations feel innapropriate, even the snow seems untouhed apart from our disturbances.

Finally, after a few more greuling moments, we see the watchpost. Or what's left of it. The small wooden structure sits crooked beside the road, one side of the roof collapsed beneath the weight of the snow. A wheathered sign hags from a single hinge, knocking softly against the wall softly the wall whenever the wind moves it.

We stop. "I wish they gave us more to work with." Vidar sighs. I nod. She dismounts and we all follow. There's no smoke from the chimney, and it's been incredibly unkempt.

"Does this seem weird to you guys?" Ethos asks, approaching the worn door. I nod, which I seem to be doing a lot. "What part?" Lelino asks.

"All of it." He responses. I looked between them, listening to the familiar voices settle over the group, and for the first time since entering the forest I understood how badly I had needed to hear chatter. Fear became something larger when it had nothing to compete with, filling every empty space until there was no room left for anything else.

Ethos reaches for the door and tries the nob. It doesn't move at first.

He tries again, putting more of his weight against it until the wood finally gives with a long, strained creak that seems to groan the entire structure.

He looks back at our group before tentavily stepping inside.

I smell the building before I step foot on the worn wood.

Cold wood, damp ash, and something stale behind it that comes when something is left alone for too long. I follow him, and the others, keeping a hand on my sword strapped to my person. Though I know how little the weapon actually gives me in a place like this. The room is smaller than I expect.

There's a narrow table against one wall, two wooden chairs, a cold fireplace and a desk beneath the window where the courier should have left the letter. Everything is covered in a thin layer of dust and frost. And when I look at the table I realize there aren't any signs anyones been here recently, if it wasn't already obvious.

"Where's the letter? Vidar asks, peaking under the desk like it'll appear. Lelino crosses the room and runs her hands along the table before looking down at her fingers. Nothing comes away on her gloves except dust. "The instructions said it would be here,"

We keep searching when something catches my eye near the edge of the fireplace.

At first, I think it's another piece of the old buidling but when I get closer, I realize it's a thin strand of thin faded fabric caught between the bricks.

I reach for it, but stop just short. It's the same faded pink, the same fabric. Except this time, a splotch is slightly darker from something that's dried. I pick it up.

"Holy shit, that's blood." I recognize loudly and straighten. I hold the ribbon between my fingers, suddenly wishing I hadn't picked it up at all.

"I don't think these are trail markers."

Facts of illarion

A guide for the young.

The wilderness is rarely as empty as it seems.

Travelers are encourged to observe the small disturbances left behind by those who have passed before them.

Be wary that markings have no universal meaning and should not be interpreted without context.

Animals may also respond to disturbacnces long before they become apparent to us humans. Changes in posture, direction, or behavior may indicate the presence of another animal, an unfamiliar scent, or a change in the surrounding eniviroment.

Those unfamiliar with woodland travel often mistake stillness for inactivity, though many creature remain hidden during the intrusion of predators such as ourselves. Some retreat beneath the earth, while others flee the area.

For travelers, patience is often more useful than speed. The forest reveals itself slowly to those willing to watch it.

All those choosing to travel into our dangerous trails should make sure they are well equppied to handle the elements. It is recommended to double check all necessary gear and to pack for the unexpected.

Chapter Three

Ayve Linnet

My fingers tremble slightly and I hate myself a little for it. I was trained to handle this kind of stuff, but in the face of it, the tiniest splash of dried blood, I feel faint.

Ethos runs his hands through his hair in stress. Every small bad reaction I make feels like I've wasted months on my hard days in the barracks. If I can't handle a little blood what good am I to my kingdom?

I take a steadying breath. "Maybe this is part of the mission? Like a test?" Vidar suggests, I want to believe him but every particle of my being knows somethings wrong. I hand the piece of fabric to Lelino and she inspects it. I rub my temples and lean against the adjacent wall.

I watch Lelino's eyes move slowly over the fabric, her fingers careful not to disturb whatever remains on it. "What do you think?" Ethos asks. She doesn't answer right away. She turns the small piece in her hands over and over. "It's old." She states simply.

I push myself off the wall, "But it's blood?" Lelino looks at me. The nods solemnly. The way she's behaving is making my stomach twist in unpleasant ways. Stomach ulcers may be in my future with the way things are looking.

There's something familar about the fabric, something at the tip of my tongue that I can't quite place. There aren't any markings to tip me toward that recollection, so I have no reason to feel deja-vu.

Still the feeling doesn't leave me, somethings wrong.

I look out the window, it's still the same undisturbed landscape we came from. I keep searching out, for anything that might explain the heavy feeling in my chest.

The snow is falling softly, almost lazily, covering the same tracks we made when we arrived. Branwen is standing somewhere beyond the window, though I can't quite see her from this angle. I can hear the occasional stamp of a hoof outside, followed by the faint creak of leather.

Everythings looks as it should be, yet I remain anxious and bothered.

The forest is too still. I can't hear the wildlife from inside the building, but even the wind feels quieter than it had been when we arrived. I feel as though I'm imagining it.

I've spent the last several months sleeping in crowded areas, waking at the sound of boots in the mud, maybe I'm just too tired. Perhaps this is what happens when you've trained to look for danger so long that your mind starts finding it where there isn't any.

Ethos steps closer and puts a hand on my shoulder, I flinch but don't move from him. "I'm scared too but, we should check the area before we decide anything. The letter could be around here."

An arrow flies through the window, piercing his neck.

Shattered glass fills the room, he makes an awful gurggling noise, reaches for his neck, then drops to the floor. I drop with him, holding his wound while he makes awful blood filled noises.

Everyone is scrambling on the floor now, taking cover. I know they're talking— shouting, yet it sounds distant as I try to slow Ethos's bleeding in vain. He was annoying but I don't want him to die.

I don't want him to die.

My hands are shaking so terribly I can barely keep them where they need to be, and every time I think about what I'm doing, another voice cuts through the room. "Get away from the window!"

"Where did it come from?"

"Stay down!"

I don't listen to them scramble.

Ethos is still beneath me, his eyes wide with something I don't want to name. I talk to him because silence feels awful right now, even though I don't know if he's hearing a word I'm saying. "You're okay."

"it's okay, stay with me." My voice doesn't sound like mine. Someone grabs the back of my coat and tries to pull me away. "No."

"Ayve—"

"No!" I don't know why I shout it. Maybe because moving feels like admitting that there's nothing I can do. Because, if I leave him on this floor, even for a second, something irreversible might happen.

Something already has.

It's Lelino beside me, her face pale but steady. "Ayve, look at me."

My eyes desperately flicker from her to Ethos— still breathing, but weaker by the moment. I don't know how he's still breathing, but I don't want him to stop. "We have to move him." She says.

"Where?" I'm desperate for logic, any sensible plan. "There's a bathroom."

Vidar is already moving toward the doorway, keeping low as she looks down the corridor. "I don't see anyone, but our horses are spooked."

"They could still be out there."

"I know."

Lelino reaches for Ethos, and for one horrible second I don't want to let go. My fingers tighten around his clothes, my other hand holding his wound.

So, I don't let go, I help her drag him away from the window. I keep looking back while trying to stay low, the piece of fabric is still on the table where we left it.

That stupid little piece of fabric.

A few minutes ago, it was the strangest thing we'd found all day. Now I can't stop wondering if it was a warning. Or a trail, or proof that whoever just attacked us had been watching us long before we ever noticed them.

My stomach twists. If this is part of some messed up test, I wish I wasn't a participant. But I know this isn't part of the mission, and this is real. We're in real tangible danger. I feel like I'm going to puke, but I swallow the feeling. I have to help Ethos.

Lelino is saying more beside me and I don't hear the words but I nod anyway, hoping she said something I can agree to. My attention keeps drifting to the window despite everything in me telling me not to look. The glass is scattered across the floor, glittering alongside the pool of blood beneath the weak light coming through the opening. Beyond it, the snow is still falling as though nothing happened.

The forest shouldn't look so normal. I swallow hard and look back at Ethos. His eyes have fallen closed.

"No, Ethos!" I reach for his shoulder, nothing. "Ethos, open your eyes." His eyelids twitch, and relief hits me so hard it almost makes me dizzy.

"There we go, come on stay awake." His eyes open again, unfocuesed and frightened. "That's it."

For a long moment, I remember him this morning.

He'd complained about the cold before we'd even left the barracks, rubbing his hands together and insisting that the army should provide gloves that didn't feel like they were made for children. I feel guilty now, for not knowing his name.

I don't know how long we've been here, time has become strange, stretching and folding in on itself while the other move around us. Someone closes the door. I hear the sound of boots against the floor, then the scrape of something heavy being dragged across the room.

I think they're moving furniture for cover, but I don't turn to look. I have to help Ethos.

"He's still breathing." Lelino states plainly, like speaking of the weather. I don't know whether that's a good thing, I don't know enough about enough about this to know what Im'm supposed to hope for. I wonder if his breathing is a good thing, is he suffering? Is it better to put him out of his misery?

This is all becoming too much for my breakfast to handle, the nausea is too much. "I'm gonna puke— hold him." I tell her, rushed and panicked. She desperately goes to put the same pressure that I was in charge off.

Leaning to the side, hot bile pours out of my mouth as I retch. The actual act of throwing up feels worse than the situation. I'm disappointed in my lack of composure but I can't help my bodies reaction to stress. "Breathe through it Ayve— Deep breaths." Vidar guides from across the room.

I curse myself as my body convulses and expells the disgusting meal of the morning. It's not any better tasting coming up. I follow Vidars instructions to the best of my ability trying to regain some sense of stability.

I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and immediatly regret it when the smell hits me. I turn my face away from my own mess and breathe through my mouth softly. "I'm sorry." I manage.

"For what?" Lelino asks, and I look to her, she hasn't taken her hand away from Etho's neck. Her fingers are red now, her expression frighteningly calm compared to the mess inside my own head. "I'm not sure." The words come out smaller than I intended.

I'm sitting on the floor beside a bleeding man, covered in sweat and sick, shaking so badly that my hands won't stay still. If this is handling it, I don't wanna know what failing looks like.

Ethos makes a faint sound, my head snaps toward him. "Stop trying to talk, you idiot." Lelino scolds, I almost laugh. Of course the chatter box is trying to talk while he actively has something piercing his esophagus.

His face doesn't look like his anymore, maybe it's the blood, or the fear. Or because I've never seen he quiet. I only just learned his name today, I don't want to have to never use it again.

I don't have a reason to be feeling so strongly toward him, but I grab his hand before I can think better of it. His fingers are cold.

I'd give anything to hear him complain about something right now. "What do we even do?" I ask to the group. "There's a small settlement I think— A group of civillians about two miles from here. But my map is in my saddle." Vidar says, peaking out of the crack in the front door.

"We can't, we'll be sitting ducks."

"We don't have a better option."

One of them groans but I don't look to see which.

"Two miles isn't far." I respond, though they continue to argue. I look to the shattered window, it could've been me on the floor bleeding out. There could be someone watching us right now, beyond the trees. "We have to be quick." Vidar decides, ripping a part of his thin scarf apart.

He rushes over and wraps the cloth in an X-fasion around Ethos' throat. The cloth begins to absorb the blood thats still seeping slowly from the wound. "He's lucky, a little more in any direction would've hit something he wouldn't of survived."

His words don't make me feel any better.

I know enough through our medic week that we need a type of carrier. A make-shift one. I throw my jacket off and place it next to the man. "Vidar, help me get him on here." I demand. Before moving, vidar snaps the long end of the arrow off, shortening the rod. He then throws it to the side and wraps his arms around the bottom portion of the mans body. "Lift with your legs, Linnet." And I do, we move Ethos to my large overcoat. My muscles shake and scream, but we do it.

"We're going to have to move him slowly, we have to keep him stable." Lelino says, cautiously releasing the pressure.

She reaches for our carrier, beginning to drap him together. I rush to the dorr and prop it open with my foot. Without a jacket, the cold is worse, my skin feels like it being stabbed by the biting wind. Though, I know its likely nothing to what my companion is feeling.

Once he's through the door, I hurry to Vidars saddle where I find a map and some rope. I shove the map inside my shirt to keep it from blowing away and grab the roap, nearly dropping it when my fingers fail to close around it the first time. "Come on." I mutter to myself.

The horses are restless, tossing their heads and stamping against the snow. I drop to my knees next to Ethos, trying to remember tohe ridiculous medic week. The demonstrations and the acting that we laughed at. The stupid practice drills we complained about because we wouldn't need the skills anytime soon.

My fingers fumble for the utility knife in my jacket pocket before I get it free, I push the blade through the thick fabric of the hood and twist until it tears a hole large enough for the braided rope.

I'm sure my uniform captain will understand my tattered winter gear. Feeding the rope I pull it back on itself, then loop it around the padding loop that sits under the saddle.

I give it a strong tug.

It holds and I audibly cheer. "Okay, we really have to go." Lelino says, pulling me out of my own world. "I'm almost done, let me make jsure he's safe."

Ethos is still lying where we put him, pale and frighteningly still. "I'm gonna tie you down now— for the ride." I tell him, though I'm not sure if he can hear me.

Once he's centered, I take the leftover rope and pass it across his middle, then around the folded edges of the coat. I tie it firmly enough to where I think he won't slip but not tight enough to hurt him— more than he already is.

It's a sled, barely. But it'll move.

I stand and brush the snow from my hands, though my fingers are too numb to feel much of anything anymore. The snow has melted from my body heat and created wet patches on my knees.

I mount Branwen, and click my teeth to call Ethos's gelding.

We follow Vidar in a tight formation, protecting the cold man's body in the middle of us. We just have to hope there's a real medic at this settlement. Or medicine at the very least.

It's somewhere ahead, two miles.

I've walked farther than that during training, we rode further than that to get to the watchtower. Marched until my feet felt like someone elses. two miles is nothing.

Yet every few minutes I look down. Ethos is pale, and unmoving.

"He's breathing." I'm told after Lelino catches me looking.

The horses pick their way through the snow, their hooves sinking deeper than they should. My mares breath comes out in thick white clouds beneath her muzzle, and every so often she stomps as though something beyond the trees has caught her attention.

We've all gone quiet, none of us joke, or complains. No one argues over whose horse is faster or whose map-reading skill are worse.

We just ride. The silence feels heavier than the snow, and to ease my own tension I reach down and run my fingers through Branwens mane. So I have something to do with my tingling hands.

The wind freezes the small hairs on my arm, and my nose feels raw from the wind, the trees begin to thin.

From the time we began this mission, I finally see something that isn't brown, white, or gray. Ahead of us, is warm yellow light. Then another. Small yellow windows glowing faintly through the snowfall. Relief rises in my chest before I have a chance to stop it. I look to Ethos, "Just a little farther." I whisper.

I don't know if he's listening, I don't know if any of us are safe yet. I let myself believe that maybe we aren't too late.

The Great Empire of Valaria

A message from the king

-on the frost.

The frost is not, as foreign scholars have occasionally suggested, an obstacle to Valarian prosperity.

It's simply a condition of the land.

Our people have lived through harsh seasons for generations. Homes are built accordingly, crops are selected in kind, and travel routes are maintained.

We won't falter in the new state of the world, my people are strong. The winters have never prevented our markets from opening, our fields from producing or cities from thriving.

It's worth noting that many foreign accounts exaggerate the severity of this strange new weathered phenominon. Such accounts should be regarded with appropriate skepticism.

Our great land, and people, have endured colder winters than this, and have endured longer ones. Have heart, have bravery, and kindness in these new times.

You, my people, are stronger under your king. And stronger when helping your fellow Valaria subjects.

Endure, history has repeatedly demonstrated the frost has never been what defeated us.

Chapter Four

Ayve Linnet

A few dark shapes sit beyond the trees, barely visible through the thick curtain of white. Roofs, chimneys, thin-wooden fences. People. My shoulders loosen before I realize I've been holding them tightly. "There," I breathe. Vidar follows my gaze. "Keep moving."

Branwen steps forward, and the settlement slowly begins to take shape around us. It isn't much, a handful of buildings gathered close together, their roofs heavy with snow, their windows lighting the gray afternoon.

Two miles, it took us long enough that I stopped thinking about the distance entirely. Next to me, Ethos' drags quietly through the snow. He's still there, I hate that I keep checking. I hate even more that I can't stop.

the settlement is quiet, a thin trail of smoke rises from one chimney, disappearing almost immediately into the white sky. Vidar slows, "Stay close."

My hand tightens around Branwen's reins, the buildings aren't abandoned. I can see movement behind some of the windows now. Shadows passing behind curtains, someone watching us.

They know we're here. A door opens.

An older man steps onto a small wooden porch, pulling a thick coat around himself. He looks at us, then at the bundle being dragged. His expression changes. Vidar cautiously dismounts. "We need help."

The man looks past him, toward Ethos. "How badly?" I don't like the question, I don't like that I don't know how to answer it. "Bad enough that we need a medic." His eyes narrow, then he looks toward the settlement behind him.

The elderly man looks torn, then after aa long while of staring at us he finally speaks. "You're lucky you're soldiers. And that I love my kingdom. Follow me."

I dismount when he turns toward the cabin, then rushing over to the dying man I untie the ropes with frozen fingers. My stomach is churning again, I wonder if it's from anxiety or a terrible rationed breakfast.

Lelino takes over, dragging him across the snow, the elderly man waits for us in the doorway. My stomach seems to cramp harder when I sneak a peak at the red seeping from Ethos neck. We're lucky it's cold, the freezing temperature is clotting and slowing the flow.

I keep thinking about luck.

The cabin is warm and slightly smoke filled from an open fire. It feels like it's setting my skin a blaze with the sudden temperature change, and for a moment I have to stand there, blinking as my body tries to understand that it isn't freezing anymore.

I watch as my other two companions lift Ethos' onto a narrow wooden table. The man shuts the door behind us, the sound is small— almost nothing. But it makes the cabin feel strangely sealed off from the rest of the world. "Sit him up." He says.

None of us move immediately, "You said there was a medic." Vidar says.

"There is."

The man looks toward a second door at the back of the cabin, his face has gone pale beneath the dirt and cold. Ethos' eyes are closed, his breathing shallow enough that I find myself watching his chest just to make sure it moves again.

The blood around his neck is impossibly darker now, soaked into the very fibers of the cloth. I feel the coil in my stomach tighten further, so I look away.

There are shelves lining the walls, stacked with jars of dried herbs. A ketle hangs above the open fire. There're coats by the door, boots lined neatly beneath them, a few wooden chairs pushed against the wall. It felt like a home, a real one.

It hurts a little. I'd spent the entire trip here thinking about the settlement as just some kind of place for us to survive the night that I hadn't considered the people who actually live here. They have blankets, and fires, someone's been chopping wood, cooked over the fire.

Someone was living here before we arrived. Now we've brought our problems at their door, into their house. "Are you all soldiers?" The man asks. Vidar nods.

"You're far from the border."

Vidar's jaw tightens, "We're delivering a message."

The mans expression doesn't change but something in his shoulders does. "I hope it was important." Before the conversation can continue, a woman steps through carrying an array of different items.

She's younger than the man by decades, but old enough that the exhaustion in her face looks permanent. She doesn't bother greeting us, her eyes go straight to Ethos.

She sets her items on a chair down all at once, they clang and scatter. "Everyone out." My heart drops violently like it's been dropped off a stone tower. Lelino steps forward, "He's one of ours."

"nd he's dying." The womans voice isn't loud, it doesn't need to be. "Unless you want to stand over him and watch, get out."

It's Vidar who moves to go first, and he beckons us to follow him. I watch Ethos' chest rise, and stutter, then fall.

Falls.

Rises.

I force myself to breathe with him. Lelino grabs my hand and guides me out onto the porch. The man closes the door between us, there is nothing I can do. I hate it.

The cold reaches me almost immediately.

It crawls beneath my collar, through the damp fabric of my clothes, settling against my skin as though the warmth inside the cabin had never existed. I don't move away from the door, neither does Lelino.

Vidar walks a few steps down the porch and looks out toward the rest of the settlement. Snow continues to fall, to the surprise of no one. It falls soft enough to make everything seem quieter than it should be.