3-1

The day was hot with the accumulated moisture of the sea and rivers surrounding the capital, mucking up the atmosphere. Many were cooling off in the waters of Armonia Bay as the local Osa children flung water at each other like it was a miraculous discovery of medicine.

The Ishai were occupying the same space, tossing their flames over the beach like they were playing with a hot potato. Fire flew in tight-knit circles in a wave-like dance as it traveled from their hands to their chests to their feet.

At times, it disturbed Reba the ease with which other archads could use their own god-given abilities. Because it was somehow only the Selplians who were bonded to the ground, while others could simply fly. While they were given wings, she was given a chained anklet, tying her to the earth and forcing her to figure out its lock before she could leave it.

She was always told her archaea was meant to serve others, for that was the nature of the humble Selpil who bowed himself before his brothers and sisters. He was their personal servant and smith, and he never failed to please them.

She kicked her feet off the side of a rock, far from the water, staring at the letter that she couldn’t read. But in her heart, she knew what it said, though her mind didn’t believe it.

Tomorrow she was to report to the high hill where Sachaea Academy overlooked the city. There she would vie for a chance for admittance into that otherworldly academy where untouchable archads were made.

It wasn’t a place she’d ever thought she’d see in her lifetime, and this letter was all she needed to be there. She didn’t know what to expect. She didn’t know what to feel. She didn’t even know if she should go.

It all felt so sudden, and she felt like an imposter. Everyone there would likely think the same. They would take her as a fool and laugh at the mere mention of her name. She didn’t have anything to show for herself. She won no great tourneys. She was not blessed by the gods. There were no Selplian knights. Not a single one in Armonia’s twenty years and counting. She couldn’t even recall hearing of one attempting the determinations.

The touch of a breeze cooled her tension. She stood determined. “Osher Strongbow wouldn’t let nerves get to him. He would blast ahead and slay a spirit with one hand tied behind his back.” She feigned a loud laugh to put herself in a mood.

Then she heard a scream and a thud and poof. All three sounds were too familiar for her to ignore. She turned to see a large group surrounding something a few paces away from her.

Attian archads. The noble types. Expensive doublets. White robes. The kind of people who have never had to fight for a meal in their lives. Their white archaea flickered around them, radiating off them in a way that suggested they were gearing up for a fight.

Reba moved in closer to get a look at what or who they were closing in on. But then she saw her. Crate girl, on her knees, stone-faced, searching for an escape.

Of the group of boys, the leader stepped towards her. He had black hair, a single braid on his right side, and sharp, dark eyes—like a shadow archad. But his arrogant gait and white robes told of a control archad.

He knelt in front of the girl, a knife glinting in his hand, his expression dark and condescending. "We heard rumors of a spirit sighting near these docks. Came as quickly as we could to make sure no harm was done to the locals and offer our services as future Archas Knights.” He tilted his head. "But perhaps we were too late. Looks like it already got someone."

"Well, good riddance, I say," one of his cohorts sneered. There were five of them, all carrying the same hollow darkness in their eyes—the kind that belonged to men who had never needed to fear a fight.

"She’s one of them. A traitor. A spirit lover."

The girl veered backwards. Her gaze locked onto the lead boy’s. He stared back, his eyes gleaming with something twisted.

Pity.

But no mercy.

"I saw your little transformation. No need to hide yourself in this form any longer. I know what you are. You’re a beast in human skin. A mockery." He smirked, tilting his head to the other side. "And look at that hideous scar. The spirits must’ve done a real number on you... Did you fight it? Or did you just let it take you?"

She was silent.

His smirk twitched.

Anger flared in his sharp eyes as he yanked her by the hair, dragging her close. "Did you fight it?" His voice was softer now, like he was teasing the words out of her.

The blade inched toward her throat.

In an instant, she transformed—a puff of smoke, and suddenly, the trembling girl was gone. The sniveling wolf pup had returned.

The boys stared in wonder.

"I've never seen one up close like that," one of them muttered.

"I wonder what else she can turn into," said another.

"Doesn’t matter," the leader cut in. "Wraths are enemies of mankind, and all enemies must be dealt with to keep Attimus’s peace and order. So by the powers vested in me, wrath, I must sentence you to death."

His knife lowered, the blade aimed right between the pup’s wide, terrified eyes.

"Oh, thank the Mother!" Reba interjected, forcing herself into the scene before she could think of a better plan. "You found my dog! I've been looking all over for you." Every muscle in her body ached, but she put on her best carefree grin as if she had simply wandered into this mess and had no idea what was going on.

"Thank you, young fellows. She’s a runner, this one." She reached for the pup, but the Attian boy yanked it away.

"Mind your manners. You are speaking to a son of House Ether—an Archas Knight’s candidate."

Reba bowed quickly, hands folded neatly in front of her. "Oh, certainly! Then I’ll just take the dog... then. And be out of your way."

"This is no dog. It’s a wrath. Are you blind?"

"No, sir, I think you are blind. It’s clearly a dog. I think I would know the difference between a dog and a beast, and this? This is no beast." She mimicked a salesman’s charm, hoping to sound respectable enough to be brushed aside.

But the Attian boy didn’t budge. Instead, he pointed the knife at her.

Reba froze, hands up.

"Just some builder," he sneered. "You’re a servant class. The Attians are an Archaea of order. It is we who decide the judgment of criminals. And when this girl was turned into a wrath, she was judged a deviant by the gods. And therefore must die."

He took a slow step forward.

"Now, unless you want to die along with her as a wrath sympathizer, you will leave."

Reba took a step back, her hands moving behind her back. "Right."

Behind her back, she was crafting a small iron rod, thin like a wand. Then, before the boy could react, she slammed it against his wrist.

CRACK!

He shrieked, his hand jerking back in pain. The pup fell from his grasp, dropping right into Reba’s arms.

And then she ran.

"SYMPATHIZER!" the Attian boy howled. "AFTER HER!"

The others snapped to attention, their hands flashing with white archaea.

A burst of energy shot toward her—pure archaea, the very essence of order, shaped by their thoughts, manifesting as pure white light.

Reba ducked, twisted, and turned sharply at the sound of their footsteps, barely avoiding each glowing strike.

She had never been touched by controlled archaea before, and she didn’t plan to start today.

But she had no plan.

She was already exhausted beyond measure. She couldn’t find a place to hide, couldn’t find a way to lose them. And she was deep in the Flood District, a part of the city she didn’t know half as well as the Scrappers’.

"Oh, shades, where do I go?" She panted, clutching the pup to her chest. "Okay, okay. Keep your balance. Keep your balance."

She turned a corner—

Bad turn. Dead end.

She skidded to a stop, slamming into the side of a building.

She spun around.

All five of them stood in the alley’s mouth.

Cornered.

"Okay," she muttered.

The Attian boy stepped forward, his knife already drawn again.

He sure loved that knife.

"Drop the wrath," he said. "And by my honor, I’ll make it quick."

Reba’s arms tightened around the pup. "What honor? You’re pointing a knife at a defenseless girl and her little dog."

"No. I’m pointing it at two deviants." The Attian boy took a slow step forward, knife gleaming under the Mother’s moon. "If you don’t understand your place, it’s only a matter of time before you become a wrath as well. And I wonder... what kind of spirit would take you?"

Reba backed against the wall, mind racing for a way out, but more than that, she felt the quivering of the direwolf pup in her arms. She took a deep breath, forcing herself to stay calm.

"Don’t worry," she whispered. "I won’t let them get you. No matter what."

And that was when the girl—the wrath—realized something. This stranger, this girl she hardly knew, was throwing her life away for her. Risking herself. She couldn’t understand why. So many had tried to kill her before. But an instinct in her heart had been given proof about this girl. She was different.

For a brief moment, just like at the docks, she let her fear disappear. Because she didn’t want this girl to get hurt before she even knew her name.

With a sharp huff of breath, she leapt into the air. Smoke whirled around her, and beautiful black dragon wings unfurled from her back. With one powerful beat, she whisked them both into the sky.

The Attian boys shouted after them, hurling white archaea in their wake. But she ignored them. She forced herself not to hear their anger, not to feel their hatred, for the sake of getting them both to safety.

But Reba had already forgotten about the boys, the danger to her life, and even the wrath carrying her.

She was mesmerized.

She was flying.

Looking down, she saw all of Armonia stretched below them, bathed in the glow of the morning sun. She was fifty feet in the air, feeling what wind archads felt.

For a moment, her mother’s voice echoed in her mind.

"Maybe you can shoot fire from your hands or fly if you really want to. Us small people are only limited by our small imaginations. Maybe a small builder with a big imagination can make her own special hands that can do anything they ask it to. Who truly knows..."

Her heart pounded—not with fear, but with excitement. Suddenly, she was laughing. Because flying was fun. And it was beautiful.

They soared over the rivers, over the districts, as tall as the king’s own castle.

She glanced up at the girl who had carried her into the sky so effortlessly. Her face was stone-still and rough with dragon scales.

"Hey. I never got your name."

"Falling."

Reba frowned. "What kind of name is that?"

"No, we’re falling."

Then the flight buckled. The rough scales retreated back into the girl's skin, and the wings struggled to keep their form.

Reba’s eyes widened. "Come on, I’m not that heavy. I’m on a pure potato diet."

But the weight was never the problem. The strength in the transformation was fading, which gave way to a plummet from the sky. The wrath struggled to stabilize their descent. She tried to steer upward, but it was too late.

They slammed into the ground. Bounced. Rolled. Tumbled down the dirt road in a mess of limbs, wings, and pain.

Reba groaned, feeling completely broken. Dying. Suffering. She rubbed her head, dragging herself toward the other girl, who lay sprawled in even worse shape.

"Are you alright?"

The girl moaned but didn’t answer. She was back to normal. Plain tan skin, big sparkling eyes, and that heart-shaped face.

Reba exhaled and fell onto her back. "Well, at least we’re halfway across the city. Those boys won’t be catching up anytime soon."

The wrath girl suddenly shot up. “I’m sorry. I’m so so so sorry. That was completely my fault,” she bowed. “And you’re not heavy, I just can’t fly for very long. Are you going to die? Please don’t die.”

Reba groaned, less at the pain and more at how talkative this wrath had suddenly gotten. She looked ready to cry, shake, and punch something all at once.

“It's fine,” Reba said. “I’ll feel better soon.”

“Feel better? But I just dropped you out of the sky.”

"The Havi."

And right on cue, two figures emerged from the shadows. A man and a woman, blonde hair, dirty white robes, their eyes vacant and knowing.

The girl backed away when one of them held out her hand. "May I heal you?" the Havi asked, voice completely void of emotion.

The wrath girl stiffened.

Reba waved a hand. "It’s okay. The Havi heal anyone, no matter who they are."

The Havi man rubbed his hands, hovering them inches from Reba’s bruised skin. She winced, feeling the warmth spread over her wounds. She could even see it, iny specks of pain leaping from her skin, disappearing into the air.

The other girl hesitated, eyes flicking toward the Havi woman, her hand still extended. After a long pause—

"Okay."

The woman nodded, placing a palm over the girl’s shoulder.

Reba glanced over. "So, I didn’t get your name, crate girl. I’m Reba."

She hesitated, glancing down. Her mouth opened, but she paused.

Reba sighed dramatically. "Look, if anything, I should be afraid of you. And I’m not, so get on with it."

"Altion Vear Eceniere. But it’s easier to say Cen."

After a while, the healing faded. The Havi had soothed the worst of their wounds, but the aches and stiffness remained. They bowed politely and walked away, hands clasped, disappearing from where they came.

"Hey, Cen—" Reba turned and froze.

Cen was a bear. A small, round-eared lavender colored bear with eyes fighting to hold back tears.

Reba stared, sloth-faced. "Do you need a moment?"

 Kreo always hated the sea. Traveling by ship required long hours of endless waves, and water was so volatile as opposed to solid ground. Days on a rocky ship could drive his nerves up a wall. Journeys to the eastern continent meant months on a ship with no easy option of returning. And getting caught by a spirit out on the ocean was a guaranteed deathtrap.

At least the sea air was clean here.

He perched himself on his own chair, careful not to touch too many things on the ship. A shield was strapped to his left arm. The sigil on it was that of his company. A burning rose. He made it himself, as he did with all things he used, not just the conjurable. Even his coat, pants, and boots he knit himself. After years on the road, one had to learn to keep their gear in top shape. And so to pass the time, he went to work knitting a heavier coat with Selplian boiled leather.

Then a figure formed in the air, just in his blind spot. Standing as if he were a fixture of the ship and not a visitor.

Kreo quickly stood to attention, dropping all he had in his hands.

Second Shield Athi Kimble waved his hands about, soothing himself to music that wasn’t there. Kreo bowed his head in a gesture of respect.

“Ah, Kreo. I hardly noticed you come in.” He snickered to himself. “I see everything is in top shape.”

“It is.”

“Mm, so eager to depart when you’ve only just come home.”

Kreo bowed again. “I have been assigned. I must be where I am needed.”

“Yes, about that. I’m sorry to say you must stay for a little while longer. There has been a delay. Shipwreck reports say that there are storms near Scylla’s domain. So the others won’t be ready to meet you for at least another moon turn.”

Kreo was unmoved, face sculpted by unchangeable steel. “As you say, then.”

“This is actually wonderful news, Kreo. You should be there for your family. The determinations are quite the big deal. I know how much they mean to you. You should be their support no matter what happens…” He paused on that phrase, ‘no matter what happens.’

Kreo raised his eyes. “You know that is exactly why I must go.”

“You are superstitious. Whatever happens now, it was whatever the Mother has decided. Take solace in your decision, Kreo. But also remember that you are but a piece in the game of the gods,” Kimble said. “Lovely girl, your niece. She thinks a great deal of you. What I would give for that kind of… admiration among my own kin.”

“It's better this way. Otherwise, I couldn’t stop her from fighting on her own.”

“Do you think? Sending her to the most dangerous place on earth is far from a better scenario than anything in most people’s books.”

“You’re taking them to the spring?”

“As you are a small piece, Kreo, so am I. It is the All Mother’s will that brings them to her. Don’t look so sullen. If you’re worried, you can tell her not to go. There’s no shame in it. Though it’ll be a bit inconvenient to turn down an invitation from an Archas Knight.” Again, Kreo’s face had never moved, or even twitched.

“She is capable,” he said.

“Well, if she’s anything like you, then I’d consider her as such. But my involvement in her affairs is over, aside from my normal duties as headmaster. I must now devote the rest of my attention to Strongbow.”

He turned on his heels to leave the room, Kreo not taking his eyes away from him. “I’ll be on my way. But do remember, I expect my favors to be repaid tenfold.”