Perennial possibilities seemed to fracture the woman’s mind, creating ominous tower-height shards reverberating at an unheard octave. She was not aware of her new form, the monster in the mirror; her eyes were locked onto the binding shards, each instead a mirror into her own psyche, replaying events from her past like television screens.

  She was not conscious of the outside world. The fragments captured her attention completely, and she was dragged into memories once buried deep beneath the surface…

  ***

  The city of Sirithis gleamed like a shimmering mirage at the edge of the desert, at the edge of the world. Great regal spires of twisting gold sprouted from the harsh arid land just like the prickly plants that evolved to survive there. It was a jewel glimmering amidst the shifting sands, an entrancing gem that none could ignore for long, as it promised that it would soon sink into the dunes along with the other ancient relics the citizens pilfered, forever lost until uncovered again.

  A young tan girl ran down a dusty street, her heart beating violently in her chest. Bumping into various merchants and pedestrians, she sprinted along the twisting, cramped alleys until her body was about to give out. Searching for a hiding place, she found a shoddy wicker basket and hopped inside, capping it with the lid from within.

  For a while, it was quiet. Brief chatterings of people coming and going colored it, but otherwise there was naught but the sound of her own haggard breaths.

  Footsteps suddenly shattered the silence, and she tried to quell her exhaustion.

  “Damn it! We lost her.”

  “Where could the brat have gone? Her family’s on the other end of the plaza.”

  “Which family?”

  “You dolt. Her father’s Thoth. If he catches us… we’re dead.”

  Noises emanated from them. They were searching the area.

  The girl clutched at the object in her hands, shuddering. She closed her eyes and imagined herself in another place entirely, far from the danger she was in. Shadows cast by the unraveling wicker and the conniving adults drenched her in a warm darkness. Only her eyes shone like a cat’s in the dusk light.

  “Gotcha.”

  The harsh rays of the sun pricked her skin like needles, and a terrible sight entered her view after her vision adjusted.

  “Get out of there!” the man shouted, thrusting his arm into the basket and grabbing at the girl.

  “Stop! Let… Let go of me!” she yelled, but there was no one around to help, even if they wanted to.

  Working together, her pursuers grabbed both of her arms and yanked her out of her hiding place and into the harsh light, throwing her to the ground.

  She got up to run, but the strong, well-built man grabbed her wrists and wrangled the item out of her hands, holding her arms behind her back, immobilizing her.

  The item dropped to the ground, made a clinking noise, then settled with a dull thud on the dirt floor.

  She struggled, attempting to break free from the stronger adult’s grasp, but to no avail. There was no escape. She screamed in Sirithisian tongue for help, but it went unheard.

  The woman chuckled. Neither of them were particularly stunning, and they were obviously poor. They wore pale, tattered shirts you’d find anywhere. Their trousers were held up by large leather belts burnt by the sun’s unrelenting heat.

  “What is it, Isfet? Is it really what he said?”

  “Oh, yes my friend. It is.” Her mind was dazzled by the artifact’s beauty. She knelt down and picked it up, feeling its weight in her dry, sandpapery hands. “Pure, uncut ractite.” The small, priceless ore shone just like gold and crystal, untouched by the greedy hands of goldcutters.

  The brawn of the duo smiled, his concentration waning, dazzled too by the shining stone, though the girl still couldn’t escape his grasp.

  Isfet turned to the child, half-kneeling, still feeling the weight of the object of their desire. “You’re fast, you know that? How about you work for me as a courier, little girl? We’d pay you better than your father does.”

  The girl conjured up saliva in her throat, then spat at the woman’s feet. “My father doesn’t pay me anything.”

  Isfet cackled. “Kahaha! Then all the more reason to help us.”

  The girl’s fierce eyes tore into her, as if she were looking down on an insect.

  “...I don’t like that look in your eyes, kid. Close them.”

  She remained staring, ignoring her command.

  “I said close them, brat!” The woman kicked the girl in the face, a small crack ringing out.

  Blood dripped from her nose, and she began to whimper.

  “Is that it? Your nose is already broken, huh?” She knelt down further, grabbing the girl’s mangled face. She lightly pressed a finger into her bent nose until she screamed. “...Pathetic. Don’t ever look at me like that again, got it? You do, and I’ll slit your throat myself.” She aggressively let go of her.

  The girl’s head fell, blood filling her nasal cavity. Tears welled up in her eyes. The sun beamed down on her weak, fragile form like some cruel god watching the event play out without an ounce of pity. Without any emotion.

  “What do we do with her?”

  The dangerous woman licked her canines, lost in thought. She finally shrugged and spoke. “Doesn’t matter. Make sure she can’t walk for a while, then toss her back into her little hideaway. If we kill her… he’ll never forgive us.”

  “Got it.”

  “Stop!” a sudden childish voice rang out, echoing down the forgotten alley. Before he could throw a punch, the large man’s fist slowed and came to a halt in mid-air, inches away from the girl.

  Her two assailants whipped their heads around to seek out the source of the disturbance. It was a young girl, older than the one they had assaulted. She had beautiful vermilion hair that came down to her shoulders and bright, azure eyes. She wore a regal garb, half-robe, half-suit.

  Isfet tilted her hip, revealing a jagged, serrated dagger, and ripped it from its sheath. She played with it in her hands, attempting to scare the intruder off. “Get out of here, kid. You don’t want any trouble, do you?”

  “You already got what you wanted. Let her go.”

  “No, I don’t think I will. We have to ensure she never runs again. It’s just a… yes, a business strategy. We’re just ensuring she’ll be our little piggy bank from now on. Well, if her father’ll even trust her after this. Kihihi!”

  The brutish fellow laughed alongside her birdish cackle, still holding the crying child in a vice grip.

  “I’ll give you one more chance,” the girl with vibrant hair replied. “Leave her be, or you’ll regret it.”

  “Oh yeah? And what exactly are you going to do?” A cruel, conniving smile crawled onto Isfet’s face.

  “Use your eyes, idiot.” The blue-eyed girl raised her arms like wings, showing off her clothes. “I’m a noble. One word from me, and you’ll both be exiled. Left to die in the middle of the desert.”

  Isfet scowled, though half of the sinister smile still remained. “Is that right? A rich kid! Hmph. Then I suppose we’ll just have to kill you quietly.” The sound of scratching dirt. The thuggish woman had suddenly lurched forward into a full sprint toward the little girl’s savior, her blade held forward.

  “No!” the robbed girl screamed, fearing the worst. She didn’t wish for anyone to help her at the cost of their own life. If anything, it just bought her time. But time to do what? She was powerless against the strength of the man who held her. No matter how much she struggled, no matter how much she tried to wiggle free from his arms, there was nothing she could do. She couldn’t save anyone. She could only watch as the woman gutted her savior right in front of her. Then she’d beat her to a pulp and leave her to grovel and cry and lick her wounds. Despair and gloom entered her heart, and she turned away from the scene before her as if to prepare for what was to come.

  This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

  A scream entered her ears. Despite her aversion to watching the murder unfold, she had to witness it. She had to carve it into her heart, lest she’d let herself forget her savior’s visage and sacrifice at the moment of her death. She had to look. She had to see the conclusion, no matter how much it would crush her heart. No matter how much it would shatter her psyche.

  But she didn’t see a bloodbath. She didn’t see what she had imagined. Isfet wasn’t on top of the scarlet-haired girl, stabbing her to death. She wasn’t holding her knife at all. The weapon was on the ground, reflecting the vibrant, horrid display before them.

  “Isfet! Shit!” the man holding her let go and ran toward his colleague.

  The woman’s face and hair were ablaze, auburn flames scarring her and licking at her body. It was Isfet’s scream all along, her form burning and blazing beneath the searing sunlight. The flames banished the shadows of the alley, revealing the dark actions of the girl’s torturers.

  “Come on! Run!” Her savior was suddenly at the girl’s side, holding her hand. She urged her to follow, to run away with her.

  She finally realized that she was free. Isfet’s strongman had left her and was pouring the contents of his water pouch on his boss’s face, scattering the flames to nothingness.

  Her savior yanked at her again, urging her to run and watch the chaotic scene no more. At last, she came to her feet and obeyed her savior’s call. The two girls ran off, vanishing into the wayward shadows of the city.

  There was a period in which they still feared they were being chased. For an awfully long time, neither of them said a word to each other as they crossed the threshold of the plaza and entered into the safety of the upper-class district. It wasn’t as lawless and foreboding as the outer rim of Sirithis. Guards and the upper echelon of the city’s military passed through where they hid in greater numbers. Isfet and her crony couldn’t follow them anymore. They had completely lost any hope of catching up to the girls and finding them.

  Mentally and physically drained, they caught their breaths and rested in the shade beneath a shop’s overhang. Their chests rose and fell, eventually calming to the steady rhythm of their hearts beating lightly.

  “Are you okay? You look pretty beat up.”

  “I’m… fine. Thank you. Thank you for saving me.” The small one looked down and sunk into a depression she couldn’t even understand. It was the weight of reality bearing down on her, telling her she was worthless and weak. That she was only alive because of the person in front of her. Such a reality was almost overwhelming. More tears fell from her eyes, mixing with her wounds, dancing with her blood, and eventually falling in crimson and cerulean droplets into the sand beneath their feet.

  A warm hand grazed her cheek. The scarlet-haired girl wiped the tears from the dark-haired child’s eyes. “Liar. You’re not fine. Your nose is broken.”

  “How do you… Ack!” She yelped in pain as her savior barely touched her nose with her fingertip.

  “Yep. It’s broken. Give me a second.”

  “What do you-”

  A faint chime rang out from where they were huddled together in the shadows. A vibrant light came into being, and archaic symbols and bands, almost holographic in nature, revolved around the older girl’s arm. Her eyes were shut tight, and her mouth barely moved as she murmured a spell of some sort that was almost inaudible, even to the girl sitting next to her.

  She moved her hand close to the little girl’s face, and as she did, the light tickled and licked at her wounds. Pleasant warmth flooded her cheeks and spread all throughout her body, calming her thoughts and settling her into a serene equilibrium. The magic reset her crooked nose, cleared her flooded nostrils, and healed her wounds slowly and methodically.

  “Wh-Who are you?”

  The older girl finished casting her spell, the warm light vanishing as quickly as it had appeared, and stared at her patient endearingly. “Just a wandering witch. That whole scuffle just happened to be where I like to walk about the city, that’s all.”

  The tan girl examined her savior for the first time since the incident. She was beautiful. Her features were small and cute, her lips red and alluring, and her eyes were the color of the sky on a bright, wonderful day. “A-Are you really a witch? You don’t look like one.”

  “Hehe! Of course I’m a real witch. Or, perhaps it’s more accurate to say that I’m a witch in training. You’re quite the charmer for someone so reckless. Why on Aeos were you running about with this in your possession?” The witch held up the gold stone as if she had created it from nothing.

  “H-How did you…”

  She smiled. “I grabbed it after burning that hag’s face off. Haah… she was a nutcase. Nearly got me with her knife. If I hadn’t been paying attention…” She trailed off, the ore catching her attention just like the others.

  “Please give it back,” the dark-haired girl pleaded. “My father will kill me if he figures out I lost it.”

  The witch stole one more glance at the gleaming rock, then returned her gaze to the girl she’d saved. “And why did you have it in the first place?”

  “...I stole it. I just wanted to look at it, but then… I dropped it… and it rolled down the stairs and into the street…”

  The witch nodded understandingly. “And then those goons spotted you holding it, and you ran off. But why did you run away? Why not run back inside?”

  She began to weep again, holding her head in her hands. “I-I don’t know! I was scared! I didn’t know what to do…”

  “It’s alright, it’s alright. We all make mistakes. Then I suppose I should help you return it.”

  “R-Really?” she stuttered, gazing up at her savior with hazel eyes. The sight reminded the witch of a crying kitten, a realization that conjured up a deep maternal instinct in her, but she quickly stifled it.

  She coughed awkwardly, trying not to look at the cute creature peering up at her. “Y-Yes, of course. What kind of witch would I be to ignore someone so ador-” She stopped herself, then continued. “I-I mean, so childish.”

  The younger girl wiped the newly-formed tears from her eyes, then stared adamantly into the witch’s face.

  “Wh-What is it?”

  “What’s your name?”

  “My name? It’s… Camelia. Yours?”

  “Ma’at. Your name is much prettier, Camelia. It fits you.”

  “Hehe. Well… I’m a bit older than you. I’m sure you’ll be much prettier than me when you grow up.”

  Little Ma’at shook her head, unconvinced. “Mama always says I’m the runt of the pack. She always says she wanted another boy, not a girl. I can’t be pretty like you. I need to be strong. I need to show her that I’m not weaker than my brothers.”

  Camelia gave her a sad smile. “We’re all weak when we’re young. Just give it time. I’m sure you’ll show her one day.”

  ***

  “You’re what?” Camelia couldn’t believe her ears.

  “I’m leaving,” she said again. “Mother said I couldn’t fight, so I’m joining the other side.”

  “The other side!?”

  “I’m going to Altruin, Camelia. Come with me,” Ma’at continued. “I can’t sit and watch my brothers be killed again and again. I’m going to end this war myself, where I’ll be able to.”

  “What does Thoth think?”

  “He doesn’t care. He’s never loved me.”

  “You think you can put an end to it all by yourself? You’re insane.”

  “No,” the Sirithisian replied icily. “But I might as well try. If I’m going to die, I’d rather die fighting… even if I’m labeled a traitor.”

  Camelia went silent, at a loss for words.

  “Come with me. Remember all the times you were bullied for having royal blood? For having pale skin?”

  Camelia sighed, the memories flooding back. “Yes, like it was yesterday. And you’d always defend me.”

  “You may have lived in Sirithis all your life, but you’ll never be accepted as a Sirithisian. Just like I’ll never be accepted by my family.”

  “You’re too quick to give up, my friend. There’s a chance-”

  “There’s always a chance. But sometimes, you have to make a decision. I can’t hope for a miracle. War’s on the horizon. The city could be destroyed any day now. I have nothing left here. Nothing but you.”

  ***

  The Relic War raged on. It was nothing more than a feud caused by Sirithis’s great wealth and the artifacts it harbored beneath its lands. A battle of greed that grew and grew like a mosquito drinking the lifeblood of the land and its inhabitants.

  The nearby cities sought the priceless artifacts and technology harbored by the desert folk. The greatest of Technicist achievements had been scattered there amid the dunes and below the city within a huge, expansive Leyline. It was all by chance. Luck and greed caused the war. Nothing more, nothing less. Many fled yet most stayed because the elders stayed. Pushed into the edge of the continent, they delved into their ancient libraries. They relied on the sinful magic contained within an archontic tome. A powerful spell requiring the sacrifice of many to save the whole. But the cost was too great, a fact they hadn’t foreseen. The city was lost to time and what lies between.

  Ma’at had seen it all at the frontlines. The Court Magicians of Altruin had sent their most powerful knights and apprentices. Frostmaw had sent the Wolves of Relkry and innumerable mercenaries from the northern land. All cities had hired mercenaries from all over the world to destroy their common enemies. Great powers once unknown were made known, and terrible tragedy shook western Vastyliad forever. No one was left unharmed.

  Ma’at and Camelia fought together, back to back, staving off their enemies with blade and sorcery alike.

  At the cusp of the final push, as Sirithis was going to be pillaged and raided, defeated and annihilated, a thunderous, malignant chime had sounded. She and Camelia, both at the forefront, ducked and did all they could to defend themselves.

  A viscous, horrible sound like the fabric of the world being clawed at pierced their minds. Then, as soon as it had started, it was gone. And Sirithis was gone along with it. It vanished.

  And the Sirithisian mercenary was left hollow. Her family who she’d both hated and loved were truly gone, and the city that gave birth to her and that made up many of her memories was erased from existence, its form a mirage on the horizon.

  ***

  The kinslayer was met with suffocating tendrils of remorse. Hatred had clouded her heart, had pushed her to prove her worth and to do what she had to to survive, but the city leaving the world meant that her purpose in life had left as well.

  It was then that the King of Altruin declared that all Sirithisians, kinslayers and outcasts, were to be held within the city’s mountain prison: Ironside.

  And there Ma’at and Camelia stayed for many years. Ma’at tried to forget her pain, forget Sirithis. But Camelia could not. She couldn’t accept the outcome of the war. She wanted to make things right, even then. But she couldn’t do a thing in prison.

  They met Draig and Orion, mercenaries hired by Sirithis. Knowing Ironside’s creed, that any prisoners that pass their monthly examination and survive in the city’s arena could become an honorary Altruin citizen stripped of their Sirithisian past, they devised a way to pass the trial and escape the prison forever.

  And thus, they did manage to pass, and were freed. But the two women never forgot their pasts in reality. How could they? The road leading from Altruin led ahead, and the two who’d been united since their younger years eventually went their separate ways.

  The Witch of Warmth pursued magic and a way to bring Sirithis back.

  And the Swordstress of Ironside gave it all up and turned her back on the shimmering mirage beckoning her home.