For the first time in his illustrious forty-year career, Melchior was nervous. In his arms rested a pair of elegant cases which contained the fruits of the last two months of his labor. He had no concerns about their quality. They were the best pieces he had ever created, the product of a feverish obsession that had occupied his thoughts every waking moment. He had visited the library for new tomes on the subject of his craft, the first time he had done so since his apprenticeship. He had studied and learned every part of it, progressing from bewilderment to understanding to deep appreciation of the minds that had refined such a design. 

It was the first time Alexander had ordered a new weapon for the Holy Armory in Melchior’s lifetime. In fact, he had ordered two. Melchior had awoken, stupefied, at the glow from the Midan Knot that carried the request from Alexander on high. It hadn’t been necessary to create a new weapon in three hundred years. All the bearers of the Creator’s Knot had been content with the treasures that existed: a sword-bearer here, another sword-bearer there, a spear-wielder now and again, one that liked a shield with her sword, and of course Saint Melija who had shaken up the armory for the first and only time with her preference for a mace. Two at once was unthinkable.

Melchior had lamented his talents going to waste on the routine bits and baubles and symbols of status that had been his role for the Midan Knot for forty years. In the whirlwind of his passion, he had never once stopped to think about the reception of his work.

Yet now he stood in the waiting chamber before the throne. There was no more time to think. It was the will of Alexander, Melchior assured himself. It was unquestionable. No matter what the king or court thought, there would still be that.

“Sage Melchior, head craftsman of the Midan Knot, entering!” boomed the guard on the other side of the door. Melchior raised his chin. He had everything to be proud of.

The doors flew open, and Melchior strode down the red carpet, the claps of the assembled court striking his ears like raindrops. The grand balcony at the far side of the hall showed a fine, sunny day over the distant mountains. The king awaited just before the balcony, resting on the throne. The Gordian Knot. A mass of bluish green crystal with elaborate gold brackets and fittings to render it into a sittable surface. The crystal was a gift from Alexander and was said to be unbreakable by any means. If the Gordian Knot ever cracked, it would be the ultimate rejection of the king’s right to rule.

The king was applauding as well, smiling, happy. Melchior hoped that would last. Beside him stood his recently appointed advisor, a thin and bird-like man with long red hair. His face was like the moon: white, flat, and gave Melchior the impression he might look out his window one night and find it staring back at him. Melchior misliked the man.

The king’s booming voice commanded the applause to quiet. “Sage Melchior, welcome! This is a joyous day!”

“As you say, my king.” Melchior took a knee before the throne, a task he found harder than in his youth.

“The first weapon in three centuries! And not just one, but two! The Creator has blessed us indeed.” The king paused to allow more applause from the court.

“As all members of the court know,” the king began, seamlessly transitioning from his celebratory tone to his officious, regal voice. “Our kingdom met with a great tragedy six months past, with the loss of Saint Lauria on the distant shore of Fortenburg. I thank you all for your confidence in this matter. You’ve all had many questions about the status of the Knot of the Creator, that was lost along with Saint Lauria.

“Our soldiers saw she fell in the midst of Fortenburg soldiers, and to keep it from falling into enemy hands, she cast Comet to send it away a great distance. If the Creator has requested weapons to be made, then even if we know not where she is, it seems that the Knot has found its way into the hands of a worthy bearer. The Creator be praised!”

The court erupted again into the expected applause. “Which brings us to the man of the hour. Sage Melchior has brought us the two weapons that have been crafted for this new bearer.” 

With great care, Melchior opened the first box. He carried them one on top of the other, and he had ensured to place the one that would go over better on top. It was a bladed whip, forged in brilliant white with a gilded handle. It rested coiled elegantly on a cushion of red velvet.

A hushed sound of awe spread through the crowd, even from people behind that couldn’t have actually seen it. 

“A whip!” the king exclaimed. “Why, nobody in Alexandria has ever considered such a thing.”

“It shall be called the Sacred Scourge, my king.”

“Ah, wonderful. I can see the day where our kingdom’s children play hero with lengths of rope instead of sticks… perhaps they’ll put less scratches on our walls that way.” The court returned the king’s joke with polite laughter.

Perhaps this would be the best moment, while everyone was enjoying themselves. Without waiting for the king’s request, Melchior opened the second box. The king leaned forward in his throne for a better look.

“What is this, Sage?”

“It’s a pistol, sire.” Eager to drown the revelation in talk, Melchior continued. “A weapon designed to launch metal slugs using explosive powder. It shall be called the Turtle Dove. Firearms have been rising in use in Midgard for some time. This style was particular to the natives of Landsoul, which was a recent acquisition of Fortenburg. It’s likely that the bearer of the Knot is there.”

“Pistol? Firearm?” the king interjected. His advisor leaned close to whisper something in the king’s ear. “A gun, you mean? The weapons of those Fortenburg cowards and assassins?”

Melchior lowered his head. “Yes, sire.”

“These weapons have cost us so many knights. Saint Lauria herself was a victim of these devices. Knights who were cut down without even seeing the face of their opponent!” The king pounded his armrest with a clenched fist. “You know the contents of the Holy Armory. We fight our enemies honorably, and well. What honor is there in a weapon like this? To settle a fight without bravery, skill, nor effort?” 

“It was the will of the Creator through the Midan Knot that this weapon be made, sire.”

Without a counter-argument, the king sat back in his throne, drumming his fingers against his chin in irritation. With regained composure, he began again. “Well. Of course you are right. The Creator knows more than any of us, and we should strive to seek his wisdom every day.” The king raised his arms, spread wide. “Praise be to the Creator!”

The assembled court applauded, though more because it was expected than anything. They, like most of Alexandria, held much the same opinions about firearms. 

“We will reconvene in just a moment. I’d like to share my congratulations with Sage Melchior personally.”

The courtiers were more than content to babble amongst themselves and file out. This was the reaction Melchior had been afraid of. Still, he had done the Creator’s will. He was not responsible and had nothing to be ashamed of. Moreover, he had to admit a fascination with the workings of firearms. The careful assembly of precision, moving parts presented him a challenge unlike any he had ever undertaken. In the time since completing his work, his thoughts had been filled with the gun designs he had read about.

“Now, what were you saying about Landsoul?” the king asked, when the courtiers had departed. 

“This make of gun is from Landsoul. It’s the designs that Fortenburg has appropriated to make guns for themselves. It’s likely whoever has found the Knot resides there.”

“It goes without saying we need to recover the Knot.” The king sighed and rubbed at his brow. “Let’s get some of our agents in Landsoul right away. It seems as though a foreigner has gotten her hands on it. A gun… of all things.” 

The king’s advisor bowed. “If I may, sire. The people’s faith has been shaken by the loss of Saint Lauria to those… savages. Now would be the time for the next bearer to be an exemplary Alexandrian.”

“Mm. I agree.”

“It goes without saying it will cause an uproar if the next bearer is a foreigner. Such a thing would be unprecedented.”

“If she’s Fortenbran, we can discount that right away,” the king said with a wave of his hand. “Not that I think the Creator would accept one of them as the bearer.” The king stayed silent for a moment, and his advisor didn’t interrupt him. “Alright. Find this person. Bring her here if we must, but don’t let people know about it just yet. If she’s not suitable, we’ll acquire the Knot from her.”

Melchior raised his head in alarm. To dispute the Creator’s choice was unheard of. What had changed the king so?

“Ah, yes, Sage Melchior. The whip is one thing, but don’t show that… gun. I don’t care what you do with it. Throw it into the sea if you must.” When Melchior hesitated, the king raised his voice. “Questions?”

Melchior quickly shook his head, packing away the weapons in their cases. If he wanted to preserve them, he felt he had to act quickly. As he scurried away, the king’s voice echoed through the chamber, a lament intended only for his advisor.

“Who’s filched our national treasure, Kahr? What strange person…”

* * *

The sun set over the prairies of Landsoul, so bright and so red it looked like it might set the land ablaze. The only person for miles rode her horse across the plains, stopping in the shadow of a tree in the shadow of a small hill. 

She dismounted, running her hands through the horse’s chestnut fur. “What do you think, Tess? Think that gang will remember the name of Sunny Goodnight?” Tess didn’t answer, as usual, at least not in any way anyone but Sunny could detect.

Sunny pulled her hat off her head, shaking out blonde hair long tousled and unruly from the road. She quickly put it back on again when she turned toward the sun. “Redder’n those bandit’s faces when we turned them over to the sheriff. We better hope it don’t set the prairie on fire while we’re out here.”

She led Tess further into the shadow of the hill, where a small pond lay in a depression. Tess bent her head down to drink, and Sunny kneeled down to do the same. She looked up after her first couple gulps. “It’s bound to happen soon. It’s so dry the bushes will start following the dogs around.  If we don’t get a proper gully washer soon…”

Sunny swiped her hand through the pond, splashing a bit of water onto the shoreline as if it’d do anything for the dry prairie. As her reflection cleared, she wiped some dirt off her cheek. That old lady in the last town had said she had a pretty and honest face. That old granny had been right pleasant. Maybe tomorrow morning would be the time to have the biscuits she’d given as a parting gift.

When Sunny and Tess had their fill of water, Sunny strapped the feed bag to Tess’s muzzle. As always, Tess’s feed supply was in better condition than Sunny’s. Sunny pulled her pistol from its holster at her hip. She’d fired a lot of powder today and it would need to be cleaned before it corroded her gun. She took also a kettle and a beat-up canteen of bomb oil from the saddlebag. The leaf litter and shrubs provided ample kindling to heat water in her kettle.

“Now let me tell you a story about Chocobo-Claw Pete,” Sunny began, referencing the bandit they had just put behind bars. She drew from the small tidbits she’d heard about his life and a generous amount of improvisation to sing Tess a song she’d composed in the hours since their battle. She pulled a harmonica out of her pocket to accompany herself between verses.

Chocobo-Claw Pete said to his papa 

Strapped sixty pounds to my back all day, 

Before that mine empties, I’ll fall down to the floor 

Make me go on down and you will see me no more, 

Pa said, Peter, you will go on down.

At sixteen young Peter gave it up for good,

Spat in pa’s face, shoved him down the stair

Of breaking rocks he was tired and he was sick 

Pete threw down his shovel and he threw down his pick

Said no, papa, I won’t go on down.

At market a horse-bird fetched a fine sum,

A whole flock he thought would be his,

In the dark a whirl of feathers took his left eye,

Lord, he lost his eye in a worn-down horse-bird sty.

Said no, horse-bird, I won’t go on down.

Wore its claw ’round his neck every day,

As he roughed and robbed fine folk of Landsoul

His gang rode into town, all gunmen outta heck

Robbed ’em blind with a chocobo claw ’round his neck

Said no, Landsoul, I won’t go on down.

From the west rode Tess, a brown mare,

and Sunny Goodnight in her saddle 

At noon Pete faced her on the high plain

Gun drawn, Sunny said, come quiet or there’ll be pain

Said no, Sunny, I won’t go on down. 

Said no, Sunny, I won’t go on down.

Sunny paused with a sheepish expression. “Well. No more needs to be said, right, Tess? It’s his story, after all, not ours.” Tess meandered over to her usual spot behind Sunny where she sat. “Fun time’s over, I suppose.” From the saddlebag she produced the tools for cleaning her pistol: a cleaning rod for the barrel, powder soap to go in the warm water when it came up to temperature, and bomb oil to keep everything running smoothly. These were Sunny’s biggest expenses. 

She kicked dirt on the fire after she was done. Tess settled down behind her, and Sunny in turn leaned back against Tess’s flank.

The moon was bright tonight. Sunny tilted her hat down over her eyes. Her hand stayed near the holstered pistol at her hip. It was rare to be attacked, but with those unbeatable “silhouettes” in these parts since the Fortenburg invasion, it was more dangerous now. Not that her pistol would help with those. 

She remembered, with a cold feeling in her stomach, that none of this had brought her any closer to reuniting with her parents. As silhouette activity rose, something she could do nothing about, the sense assaulted her that her vigilante days would soon be ending.

Well. It wouldn’t do any good to think of such things in the middle of the night. She needed rest.

In moments she was on Uncle James’s ranch, with Mom and Dad too. She knew the setup: she had come to the ranch after fleeing the sacking of her hometown. Warm old Uncle James was there, and her parents had arrived shortly after. It was common enough that she recognized it as a dream right away. The real Uncle James had cashed in years ago, and her parents never showed up. Dream or not, she let it continue. It was pleasant.

It was her turn to make dinner. It was mouse pie. A nice, cheap dish that wouldn’t put a hole in Uncle James’s pocket while they were staying here.  In the pot she boiled the macaroni, and beside it the field mice were frying up nice. It was a fine kitchen, with a full rack of spices and all the vegetables she’d need laid out on the table behind her.

She strayed over to the back door while she waited for everything to cook. Uncle James’s sheep were spread out in the field, like cauliflowers floating in broth. They were smaller and easier to handle than cows, less liable to run you down in a stampede. Who knows when they’d own cows again. For now, they’d escaped the Fortenbran violence, and that was enough. Tess was grazing alongside the sheep not far from the house. The simple life made you understand the parts that were really important.

Uncle James appeared in the kitchen doorway, rubbing his belly expectantly. Sunny smacked his shoulder. “I only just started, you mutton-puncher! Patience.”

Uncle James roared with laughter, and she heard her parents somewhere in the house do the same. She turned back to the stove. It was a special pain, to know she was the only one present who was real. She put a smile on it. A cowhand didn’t let her troubles show.

The mice were burning. She checked the pan. They couldn’t have burnt that quickly. What was that smell? The kitchen was too bright. She looked up. Something was wrong.

Sunny awoke, shoving her hat back on her head, just as Tess started up. A bright star burned in the night sky, huge and close. “What in tarnation? Have you ever seen a shooting star that big before?” Of course, Tess hadn’t. What Tess had seen was the same as what she had seen.

Sunny stood up to watch the spectacle. Mayhaps this was a good sign for her. After a few moments, she could swear the shooting star was bigger. The air grew hotter. The burning smell wasn’t just in her dream.

“Can’t be serious,” she muttered to herself, jumping into the saddle. “Tess, let’s move!” It was impossible to tell the comet’s trajectory. Sunny did the only thing she could do to dodge it, ride Tess in a circle around the backside of the hill they had camped at.

Sunny dismounted, and encouraged Tess to hunker down in the shadow of the hill. The comet was visible over the hill’s crest, now searingly bright at the tip of a long lance of flame across the sky. The flare was still visible over the crest of the hill when the shockwave knocked Sunny to the ground. A hail of mud and rocks pelted her back. Tess whinnied, and being knocked on her side was the only thing that kept her from bolting. Sunny rushed to soothe her as she kicked and snorted, struggling to get back up and take off.

The light was still visible over the hill. It’s going to set the whole damn prairie on fire. Sunny would just have to trust Tess not to run off too far.

She sprinted over the hill toward the impact site. It had landed on the other side of the pond, plowing a deep hole in the earth. Thankfully, only a few small flames were present, perhaps thanks to the shower of mud it had kicked up. Sunny stomped out the flames quickly, and kicked mud over where they were just for good measure.

The comet itself lay on bare earth at the end of a long ditch it had dug out, a ball of molten rock as big as her. Sunny looked back. Tess was standing some distance away in a stand of trees, gazing cautiously at her. All around echoed restless howls and the fluttering of birds that had been disturbed by the comet. Sunny allowed herself to breathe a sigh of relief.

This was a first. She’d heard tell of shooting stars containing rare metals and the like. If it was true, this could cover her expenses for quite a while. Carefully, she prodded at the rock with her boot. The molten rock slid apart in gooey chunks like a warm egg. At the core of the comet, she saw something white glittering.

Sunny shoved the chunks of glowing rock aside, bringing in the butt of her whip’s handle to assist with what she couldn’t reach with her boot. She wrapped her hand in her jacket to try to pull the glittering object out. It was so hot her eyes dried out getting close. Even through her jacket, the core was so hot it was all she could do to yank it free, immediately dropping it in the dirt. It was some sort of white crystal. She steeled herself to grab it one more time, barely holding onto it for long enough to hurl it into the pond. It landed in the water with a towering gout of steam.

Shaking her hand out from the heat, Sunny walked back to retrieve it. She’d been careful enough to throw it so it would land near the bank where she could grab it. In the water, it was bearable to touch for a moment or two. She swished her hand back and forth in the water, pushing away the warm water and bringing in the cool.

Finally, she lifted the crystal out of the water. She had very little sense of magic. The town healer teaching her the basics of Cure was her one experience with the art. Yet she could sense the crystal thrummed with power and felt, somehow, it didn’t belong here. 

On one surface was carved a lengthy inscription, too fouled by mud from its dip in the pond to be legible. She would have to clean it up later. One word, however, she could make out writ large at the bottom. 

ALEXANDER.

A smile spread across Sunny’s face. “Hey, Tess, look at this!” She rose and started towards where Tess awaited. She knew nothing about what this crystal meant. But she knew a sign when she saw one. Just when she was thinking her freewheeling days were over, the skies opened up and sent her a message. She wasn’t done just yet.

The craggy wilderness of Fimbulventr had long been considered uninhabitable by outsiders, and even now, the droves of miners and engineers Fortenburg sent to strip the region of its precious resources and alchemical materials preferred to stick to the base of the mountains, where daylight still reached in winter and snow didn’t slow down their magitek in summer. Nevertheless, the noise of their drilling polluted the air, their controlled explosions brought forth uncontrollable earthquakes and on cloudy days, the pyrite smoke belted out by their machines turned the skies scarlet. It had been a familiar sensation to the people of Fimbulventr ever since their home had been forcibly welcomed into the Principality of Crún, and even now that the tax collection delegations that ventured their way up to the villages flew Fortenburg’s lion rather than the Crúnian crowns, the constant tremors continued. Hunters used to joke about the prospect of the mountains they called home collapsing as their bases were hollowed out. Nowadays, even that casual superstition had the children in town unable to sleep.

A few miles from the Crúnian border town of Inve, one group of miners had started to transform the gentler slopes at the feet of the mountains into a more or less permanent settlement. They had so thoroughly excavated the mountain it now took them about twelve minutes to get from where they had started picking and digging years ago all the way to the other side of the quarry — a round trip that had been alleviated significantly in recent months due to the arrival of a dozen new suits of magitek armor from the capital. An even bigger relief to the miners, however, had been the official deployment of an army peloton to the region. With roving wargs and bandersnatches defending their turf, Fimbulventr was a dangerous place to meddle in. Deep down, the miners might have known that the swordsmen, archers and mages of the 56th were not nearly capable enough to deal with what the woods and treacherous mountain sides could set loose upon them. Yet the ease with which the military dealt with the natives’ poorly coordinated raids offered them at least a semblance of security. Spiteful as it were, it was a relief to know that Fimbulventr’s struggle against a world that didn’t need it anymore was just a tad bit more desperate than their own.

Eventually, desperation came for the invaders as well. Zephyr and Sunny hadn’t noticed that the skies when they rode into Fimbulventr were the same as they had been in Landsoul. Following the path that slithered through the woods and foothills, they were surprised to find their route occasionally intersecting with railroad tracks, that tunneled in and out of the mountains they passed like a woodworm through rotting furniture. The tracks soon became the only visible reminder for the two women of there actually being a destination they were heading. The railroad seemed recently built, but for the last couple of hours, as long as they had been following it, neither Caller had seen or even heard any evidence of it actually being in use. The reason why quickly became obvious. When they arrived at the quarry, Sunny was quick to notice the train stationed along a wooden loading platform, but the imposing crane the miners presumably used to load their findings onto the steaming behemoth was unmanned. Magitek armors, similarly without pilots, stood bent over, scattered along the quarry. Pickaxes and shovels lay amidst the gravel and dust, as if carelessly dropped by labourers taking a break. Yet the main building on the other end of the pit seemed as desolate and abandoned as the rest of the quarry. As night began to fall, it started to seem as if all life had vanished from the settlement in the bat of an eye.

“This weren’t here the last time I was here,” Sunny said, as they inched into the quarry. “’Course, that was years ago. I wonder if this is Fortenburg work, too. You remember the logging at the last village? That used to never happen like that, either.”

Sunny’s hand drifted to the pistol at her hip. “I don’t like how empty this is. Don’t look like it’s been abandoned for long. And I wouldn’t wager we’re just lucky to arrive right when they shut it down. Could be Silhouettes. Could be anything.”

As if sensing the same thing, Tess’s head swiveled warily from side to side, and her hoofbeats quieted. 

“I agree. I don’t care for the feel of this place. I would ask more, but… this does not appear the time.” Zephyr, only a few feet behind and to the side of Sunny and Tess equally surveyed their surroundings. 

The dread both Callers felt was soon given a sound, as a canine growl reverberated from the twilight air behind them, a guttural buzz gnarled through clenched teeth, audibly drenched in saliva. Accompanying this dreadful assault on the senses was the sound of rocks, shifting underneath the predator’s feet as it seemed to slowly creep around its prey.

Try as she might, she could not sense the usual malice and magical energy that accompanied her usual bouts with the Silhouettes. She hesitated a moment before speaking in a low voice. “Sunny, how accustomed are you to beasts of a more earthly nature?” 

Sunny clicked her tongue in annoyance. “They grow ‘em big around here. Giant wolves and bears… normally I’d never see one of these things, or I’d run into a forest… last resort is to go for the eyes. A pistol bullet’s not gonna bother something like this more than a bee sting.” 

Tess turned around, anxious to go. That she didn’t bolt immediately from such a beast was a testament to her long training with Sunny. 

Stepping out of the shadows, the creature’s appearance quickly proved Sunny’s suspicions right. It was indeed a wolf of abnormal size that was now skulking around the two, its silver coat of fur glistening in the setting sun as it bared its teeth.

“Ain’t a good spot, this quarry,” Sunny continued, Tess slowly circling to match the mountain wolf’s movement. “All this open space. These miners were askin’ for it. And we will be too, if we stay here.” Sunny turned her head to Zephyr, keeping her eyes on the wolf. “You got any fancy magics that could kill this thing?” 

“Don’t!”

From amongst the branches of one of the few remaining nearby trees, a woman raised her voice, leaping down and planting her feet into the dirt. As she rose, a pained expression revealed itself through the errant strands of dirtied, ashen hair clinging to her face that had escaped from the bun at the back of her head. She was wearing a thick, fur-lined cloak over layers of clothing of a quality the likes of which the natives were unlikely to wear, strong enough to provide protection from the cold and wild animals, yet light enough to move around in the way she did. The state of her appearance nevertheless implied that she was used to Fimbulventr’s savage way of life. Her cloak, trousers and boots were worn out and unwashed, and a visible, gnarly scar ran across her left hand, in which she was holding a sheathed blade. More noticeable, however, was the larger sword attached to her back, firmly held in place with leather straps like a rabid dog being held from escaping. It’s weight didn’t seem to bother the woman, as she approached the pair.

“I beg you, don’t hurt him. He is one of the last of his kind.” Without waiting for an answer, she turned to the wolf. “These are travellers. It’s clear they have nothing to do with this. Stand down, Fenris.” Obedient, but not without a skeptical glance at the two Callers, the large wolf abandoned all outward signs of hostility, and withdrew to join its master.”

Wide-eyed, Sunny loosened her grip on her pistol. “This thing is your pet, partner? For cryin’ out loud!” Any further remarks she might have made were cut off by Tess, who nearly bucked with eagerness to flee. Sunny bent over to stroke the horse’s neck and soothe her. Tess stamped up and down and turned ninety degrees left, but eventually acquiesced and stood her ground, eye trained on the wolf.”

“‘Pet’ is… not the word I would use. Direwolves are, and always have been, feral creatures. They are not meant to be domesticated,” the woman replied as she gently ran her hand through the fur on the wolf’s neck. “Unfortunately, we have a tendency to do things to nature that we were never meant to do. No wonder it will occasionally lash out in revenge.”

As she spoke, the woman’s gaze drifted towards the abandoned quarry.”

At this point, Zephyr had long since dismounted her panicked chocobo, which had fled back through the forest. The mage, herself, had remained calm. “You must have a history with defying the laws of nature to befriend a direwolf.”

Her expression was calm and her tone surprisingly non judgmental. “You must have answered the call of the gods, same as myself and my partner here. Am I right so far?”

The woman briefly closed her eyes and exhaled, as if a heavy burden fell off of her shoulders.

“I suppose you could call yourself exceptional if you are able to recognize a direwolf. The Principality of Crún captured most of them when they annexed Fimbulventr. Their mages broke the animals’ spirits, cursing them and their offspring to bend to our commands like common dogs. The results are, unfortunately, irreversible.”

Staring up into the setting sun, she briefly seemed as if she was holding back tears, even if her voice sounded as collected as it had been before. “As for me, I’m afraid I’m just a vagrant. A reject, like this one.” She gently patted Fenris’ back. “I’m afraid that if it’s gods you’re looking for, you’ll find none here. Only fools, and the devils that feed on them.”

“Have you a name, ‘vagrant’? I am Zephyr.” She took a step forward, past Sunny. “Mine is not the kind of magic that can alter the mind of beasts or men, so in that regard, you can rest easily. But…”

Bahamut’s voice whispered to the mage once more, the same he did with Sunny. A single word to answer her question.

O D I N

“…I was not asking about a church you visited as a child. Most of our kind…”, her eyes flashed with purpose as she spoke,  “do not revere the gods who call us to serve their will.”

“I know the kinds of god you are speaking of, traveller. I am not what you want me to be.” Without further ado, the woman climbed up onto the wolf’s back. 

“I would suggest we part ways and you forget about me. The creatures responsible for this massacre care not for the kind of power you harness. They will return upon sensing your presence, and banish you all the same.”

“What are y’all talking about?” Sunny spoke up. At last, she had succeeded in pacifying Tess, aided by the wolf’s retreat and apparent taming. She fixed her hat’s position on her head from where it had fallen askew. “Are you saying she has a crystal like we do, Zephyr? Hey, have you been able to defeat the sill– Silhouettes, there, miss?”

The woman almost shifted out of her seat as her mount turned to bare its teeth at Sunny, growling. Keeping her head down, the woman’s voice was calm, but fierce.

“I told you that you will not find what you are looking for here. I told you that I am not what you want me to be. Twice have I lied to see this conversation to an end that won’t end in bloodshed. But even if your companion seems to already know the answer to the questions you keep asking, you insist on hearing the answers from the horse’s mouth. So let me say this in a way that will put this entire charade to rest.” She reached for the sword tied to her back. “If you do not leave… If you do not forget about this meeting… you oblige me to make you.”

Even though what she had just said was undeniably an ultimatum, the woman sounded more regretful than angry. She didn’t seem to be in the habit of making threats, let alone enjoying them.

Sunny raised her hands defensively. “Hold up there, partner! I’m just someone who found out about my crystal from this gal hardly a minute ago. I ain’t some government spook come to force you into doin’ nothing.” She took her hat off her head, holding it over her chest in a respectful gesture. “I’m just a wanderer who helps keep the peace down in Landsoul near here. And I’ll be going back there soon. I– we— ain’t here to cause you grief.”

With a shake of her hair, Sunny replaced her hat on her head. “Won’t you tell us what monster or animal caused this? From one traveler to another.”

The woman sighed, slowly letting go of her blade.

“If I’m correct, I’ve encountered this kind of creature before. We call it a ballachan, a wall dæmon, if you will. They are born amidst the echoes in large, enclosed spaces from the vengeful spirits that wander there. The miners here probably unearthed an ancient tomb and accidentally set the ballachan within loose. Breaking down the walls enclosing its domain was probably enough to anger it.” 

With a frown, she ran her thumb along her pale, chipped lips and searched her memories.

“If I remember correctly, evicted wall dæmons will absorb the physical presence of their victims and claim it for themselves. It’s the only way for them to survive outside their domains.

“Demons,” Sunny breathed, placing a hand on her chest pocket in which she carried a pressed four-leaf clover in a small packet. “Don’t ever want to mess with those things. Not many in Landsoul.”

Still, she thought it might be different this time. She had the crystal from “Alexander.” If anything could make short work of demons, maybe it would be that. Yet it was clear now to Sunny she had no real idea how to use it. If Kasimira was a crystal-bearer or “Caller” like she was, Sunny reasoned she ought to be able to do the things Kasimira did as well. Flying, magical conjurations, immense strength… all she knew how to do was imbue her normal weapons with the power to defeat Silhouettes.

“Did you come here to dispatch these ‘dæmons,’ miss?”

Once more, Zephyr found herself in worlds beyond her tiny, cyclical knowledge. “I’ve… read of the wall dæmons in my grandmother’s books. They were more emblematic of a time before Silhouettes. Adventurers looking for easy riches in the tombs left behind generations prior would find their journeys cut short at their advance. But… to think that they would exist in this age?”

Zephyr quickly shook her head, as if the cobwebs keeping the dots from connecting finally shook loose. “I must see this for myself. Don’t worry, I am more than capable of handling myself, and I’m not so much a fool as to enter a fight I cannot win. Perhaps we could accompany you?”

“If the ballachan claims you, not a trace will be left behind.” the woman replied. “We cannot afford to lose your crystals to the void. I—”

The woman paused, closing her eyes.

“I cannot ask of you to accompany me. You must understand that the risk is simply too great.”

“I must insist. I cannot leave one like myself  to her fate alone. In my travels, I have aided many of our kind, both in matters of Silhouettes, and of other affairs. I guess one could say that this is my calling.”

Her eyes were resolute as she spoke. “I know the risks. I am not so green as to underestimate the threat you’ve described to me, in fact I believe wholeheartedly how dangerous this will be. But think like this, would it not benefit you to have the aid of a mage? If nothing else, think tactically.”

After a few seconds of contemplation, the woman bent forward to caress the wolf’s cheek, muttering something inaudible. Like an obedient dog, the creature lay back down into the dirt as its rider reached out a hand.

“You are quite unlike so many others, Zephyr. Hop on. We’ve got no time to waste.”

Waiting for the hooded one to clamber onto the wolf’s back — an action that should have in theory cost no more effort than mounting a chocobo, but nevertheless seemed a lot more daunting just because of how unfathomable it appeared — she turned to the other Caller, urging her to get onto her horse and follow along.

There was no need to ask twice. Sunny would have signed on out of simple altruism. This was so close to Landsoul, the wall demons likely would be a problem at home before long anyway. Sunny gave a sigh of pretend-exasperation, but also smiled. It was rare she got the chance to have any aid. There was no sense turning it down.

She climbed up on Tess’s back. Somehow, the horse seemed to perceive by now that the wolf was tame, to some extent, and had settled enough to follow.

“Sorry, partner, I forgot to introduce myself. Sunny Goodnight.” 

“Freyja,” the woman replied. “Just Freyja.”

With an open palm, she gently patted the fur on the neck of her mount and as if unleashed from chains tying it down, Fenris darted forward, leaping into the quarry pit and sliding down the rubble. As soon as it had bolted off, however, the direwolf had already slowed down as it came across an abandoned pickaxe. Curious, it widened its nostrils, searching for a scent to inhale. This search soon proved to be successful, as within the bat of an eye, Fenris perked up and followed the trail back out of the quarry, taking its rider and her new companions into the woods to the west.

***

After about two dozen minutes of dashing through the eerie silence that hung over the woods, Fenris slowed down to a careful walk as a growl escaped its mouth. Freyja ran her hand across the side of her mount’s head to calm it down and tried to follow its gaze with her own, eventually noticing what had caused the wolf to slow down.

Not too far off, though mostly obscured by the tall pine trees that riddled the mountainside, she indeed recognized a moving creature, taller than any of the boars and deer that called this place home, and infinitely more dangerous. Though slow and meticulous in its movements, the ballachan seemed on edge — the novel sensation of being outside, being corporeal likely unnerving it in ways only others of its kind could understand.

As the creature, slowly and with a heavy breath, continued its path through the trees, the hunting party was able to get a better view. Somehow, the creature’s presence seemed much larger than its actual body. It certainly wasn’t small by any stretch, but it still, somehow looked as the body it had made for itself was too small for the spirit it used to be. The ballachan’s appearance seemed to give a good indication of the creatures whose presence it had stolen on its way from the quarry. Most of it, from the flesh on its bones to its bipedal gait, looked human, but its skin looked like a patchwork of animal fur, rock, moss, bark and even the occasional feather.

Suddenly, the ballachan turned its head when a sparrow flew off from the branch it had been sitting on, and with it, the sound of scraping and creaking filled the forest. Under cover of the sound, Freyja jumped from her mount and ran towards a large boulder, crouching behind it just in time for the creature to start minding its own business again. Clutching her sheath with one hand, and the hilt of her sword with the other, she nudged at her companions to join her.

Zephyr joined as quickly and quietly as she could. She couldn’t complain, though the journey here had not been the easiest, as she had never traveled by direwolf before. The thought quickly left her mind as she reached for her now-compressed silver ring, folded into a single crescent-shaped segment which fit neatly in her hand. She didn’t dare speak, knowing how serious this mission was. 

“I would suggest you ready your magic now that you still have time,” Freyja whispered. “Its speed increases exponentially with every creature it absorbs. And so does its—”

She suddenly fell silent as the creature raised its head again, growling, only to point at her ears once its attention fell back on the ground in front of it.

Sunny had dropped flat to the grass at the demon’s movement. She crawled on fingertips and toes to where erosion had left a root-infested nook behind in the hillside. She pulled her pistol from its holster, but knew it was not likely to do any good. Against a creature of its size, it would be little more than a bee sting. The true power of the magicite would be all that would suffice: to do as Kasimira could, if she only knew how. She would note how her companions unleashed theirs. Carefully. 

With both Zephyr and Sunny in position, Freyja moved to pick the fruits of her careful observation of the ballachan’s movements. She picked up a pebble and flicked it into the creature’s direction. As it flew past its head and landed onto the hillside with a dry, barely audible thud, the wall dæmon nevertheless reacted, skulking down onto all fours and readying itself to jump at its prey.

Freyja was quick to beat it at its own game, however. With the finesse of an experienced warrior, she leapt out from behind her hiding place, but as soon as her feet hit the ground again, it became obvious that it was more than experience that allowed her to move like this. Her landing amidst the shaking leaves and twigs transitioned into a second leap, but this one was higher and further, a bound beyond the realm of the possible. Lifted into the air by strands of shadow trailing behind her, Freyja was able to quickly close the distance between her and the dæmon. She drew her blade when her leap reached its apex, and upon coming down, aimed its tip right between the ballachan’s shoulder blades, slightly off to the left, where a small patch of skin had not yet been covered in rock.

Like a knife through butter, Freyja’s sword dug into the monster’s back as she clenched her fists around the hilt to prevent the creature from shaking her off. It certainly tried, howling and twisting its body violently as a pitch-black, tar-like substance started to trickle down from its wound to the ground, but Freyja’s grip remained firm. When she tried to plant her feet firmly into the creature’s mossy fur, however, she felt her legs collapse under her own weight. Barely managing to pull the sword back out of the ballachan’s shaking body, she rolled down its side into the mud, causing the agonized beast to lash out against its assailant with its sharp claws. Right in time, Frejya managed to roll out of the way, but getting back on her feet was a bigger challenge. She had made a miscalculation. Her legs would have felt completely numb if not for the throbbing sensation that she always felt when she went overboard like this. At this point, she was experienced enough to have taken precautions against miscalculations, but precautions didn’t prevent her from estimating wrongly to begin with. Something she would never have done as a paladin.

“Distract it!” she cried out. 

A piercing whistle issued from Sunny’s position. There was no more time to watch and learn. Heedless of the danger, Sunny burst from cover, brandishing her revolver. She cast her arm over her eyes and opened fire toward the creature’s face. With what little she could harness of her magicite, she made each shot explode in a blaze of light on impact. Even if her bullets did little against a creature of stone and sediment, it was a blinding and deafening assault. Sunny fired until the cylinder was empty, the final sound the clatter of casings falling on the rock as she opened the chamber for another volley. 

Dazed and bereft of its senses, the ballachan swung its claws in the direction of the light, unaware that the assault had come from several metres away. In the meantime, Freyja pulled a waterskin from her belt and took a swig, wiping the bright red, treacly liquid from her mouth with the back of her hand as the strength returned to her legs. She rose back to her feet and without hesitation dashed back towards the creature, slashing at its legs.

Zephyr, meanwhile, had finally finished focusing her energies around her metal disc. She returned it to a position on her back, though it wasn’t directly attached, rather spinning and hovering a few inches away, though no more or less distant as she leaped from her spot. Her hands began to glow before she released the energy into two distinct fireballs, both of which flew towards the creature’s ‘head’ and would burst upon impact. 

The ballachan howled as flames scorched its eyes, but it became obvious all too quickly that the fire had not affected it as much as it should have had. The flames quickly withered and eventually disappeared, their vivid colours spreading out into thin veins between the creature’s stone scales, like ink into parchment. 

Freyja cursed. “Don’t tell me—”

Readying her blade, she called upon the fury within once more. The contents of her flask had made it abundantly clear that couldn’t afford another mistake, so she had to hold back. As she felt the black blood strengthening her muscles, she grunted when her blade pierced the ballachan’s flesh. Blood started gushing down its leg, but incapacitate it her desperate strike did not. 

“It can absorb magic too! RUN!”

The creature did not fall over. Instead, it planted its arms firmly onto the ground as they mutated into a pair of front legs and the ballachan, its throat now pulsating with the fire’s radiant orange, opened its mouth, breathing an all-consuming stream of fire in Zephyr’s direction. 

For a moment, Zephyr watched the incoming rebounding of her own magical attack, paralyzed from the shock that her method had failed, though in what felt like a condensed moment in time. Reacting on pure instinct, she aimed her ring towards the sky, propelling herself down towards the ground from the momentum of another spell. She felt the searing heat race past her shoulder and neck, and landed on her legs with more impact than she expected, doing all she could to try and roll away from the beast before her. 

“Damned creature!”

Having taken a few steps back when the creature unleashed its flames, Freyja raised her voice at the back of its head. 

“Ballachan! If you’ve become wise enough to use magic, then you are wise enough to heed my words! Your wrath has been satiated! The men who destroyed your home live no longer! Stand down!”

Slowly, the creature turned its head, glaring at Frejya as a raspy hiss escaped from its maw.

“Weeeeeping Blaaaaaade… You woooooounded me… How can you sssssspeak of peace when you dreeeeeeew firsssst bloooood?”

Frejya exhaled to keep composure.

“H-How do you know my name?”

“Because ssssssooooooon… I’ll be yoooooou,” the creature hissed.

Freyja dropped her sword. It slid from her hand, like a hanged man plummeting into the hole at the bottom of a gallows. She couldn’t feel her hand anymore. She couldn’t remember why she had ever thought that the ballachan needed to touch her to absorb her presence.

“Do… not make me kill you. You are one of the last of your kind.”

Growling in delight, the ballachan now turned its entire body to tower over her, speaking more clearly with every word it uttered.

“Holloooooow wooooords from one who is ssssseconds away from unexistencccce. You will not ssssshed tearssss for meeee.”

Freyja’s eyes flashed from the ballachan, to the immobile Zephyr, to the rock behind which Sunny was undoubtedly experiencing her presence being tapped from her like she was, back to the ballachan.

“You can have me if you want to,” she spoke, “but leave the others be. Their powers will decide the fate of the world. They are not yours to claim. That… is my final offer.”

Regaining her posture in front of the immense creature, she reached for the hilt of the claymore strapped to her back.

“You…” the ballachan replied in Zephyr’s voice, “are in no position to make d—”

Before the ballachan could finish, a searing flash erupted as Freyja effortlessly swung the claymore over her head. It cut straight through the ballachan’s head, down its body, reaching its tail before the place where it had first made contact with the creature’s body could even begin to bleed. As the light dissipated, a black geyser erupted from the rift that now separated the dæmon into two mangled parts, the mirror’s image of one another, which both collapsed onto the ground as gravity pulled the blood back to the craggy ground. Frejya had not moved an inch, but she looked different: solemn, clad in black armour and holding in her trembling hand a large blade with the distinctive design of death. As the raining black blood sullied her ashen hair, a single tear fell down her cheek. 

Zephyr could barely move, yet she managed to raise her head in Freyja’s direction, her eyes widened with shock, flickering with a reverence that was not entirely her own, then finally recognition. “Odin. So…”, she coughed a few times, “…you were right. Then… what is my…?” Before she could say any more, her head fell back to the ground, her battered body going limp as she lost consciousness. 

“Zephyr!” Shoving her pistol into its holster, Sunny ran to Zephyr, crouching at her side. After a moment’s survey of her wounds, Sunny sighed. “I don’t think it’s lethal or nothing, but walkin’ might be awful painful.” 

With a particular whistle, Sunny called Tess, who approached cautiously from the surrounding forest where she had hidden herself during the melee. “I know it’s been a while, but you can carry someone besides me for a bit, right, girl?” She placed her hand on Tess’s neck, stroking the horse’s fur. 

Sunny turned to Freyja. “Are you okay over there too, partner?” 

Her armour disappearing in another flash of light, Freyja wiped the blood off her face with the sleeve of her jacket.

“Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”

Around her, the ballachan’s body started melting into the ground, the earth absorbing it as it had absorbed everything around it in its life. She stepped over the slowly dissolving remains to hunker down next to the wounded black mage.

“There’s a settlement not too far from here. The people there are good. They will treat her wounds and make sure you are well-rested. If we leave now, we can make it there before dusk.” 

“How did you do that with your–” Sunny shook her head. “Never mind. I’ll ask later.” Carefully, she scooped Zephyr up in her arms, looking between her and Tess a few times before piecing together what she needed to do. 

“Ain’t ever had to carry someone who wasn’t awake… partner, can you take her for a sec and pass her to me after I’ve mounted up? Tess and I should be able to take her from there.” 

Frejya complied, helping the girl seat her unconscious partner into the saddle.

“You’re going to have to take this slowly, and there’s no time to waste. Ride on ahead. Fenris and I will catch up with you in no time.

With two fingers to her brow, Sunny gave a salute. “Alright, partner. It’s right this way? I’ll have her there in two shakes of a lamb’s tail. You stay safe out there.” 

Tess took off at an even canter to not upset the extra load. Even after years together, Sunny was impressed at how often Tess knew what to do even without instruction. 

A sigh of relief escaped from Freyja’s mouth as she saw the horse trot off into the woods. She planted her sword into the ground and whistled her own mount to her side, comforting the creature, which promptly licked the bloodstains off of her cheek.

“You probably shouldn’t do that, boy… I cannot tell you what evils the ballachan’s blood contains…”

With another melancholy breath, she slumped onto the ground, leaning her back against Fenris’ soft fur as her eyelids grew heavy. 

After a few seconds, however, a sudden sound of shuffling feet snapped her out of her slumber. Freyja opened her eyes again, and, after a few blinks, noticed what had been the source of the noise. At just a few feet away from her, a hare was standing amidst the trees, surprisingly still for such a skittish animal. So still, even, that Freyja felt as if the animal was gazing into her head, its empty, beady eyes fixated onto hers for long enough to make her uncomfortable. When she stood up, so did Fenris, baring his fangs at the hare, which promptly scuttled off into the woods.

“Easy there, boy,” she tried to comfort it. The direwolf sniffed. “You’re right. We shouldn’t leave them to fend for themselves for too long.”

With a groan, Freyja rose back to her feet and within minutes, was ready to take off again, her sword back into its sheath in her hand and the jagged, crooked claymore strapped securely to her back.

“Alright, let’s go. We’ve got a responsibility now,” she muttered, climbing up on Fenris’ back.

Leaving the ballachan’s blackstained remains to return to the earth, Freyja rode off into the sunset, in pursuit of her new companions.

***

Night had already fallen when Freyja, having rejoined Sunny and the unconscious Zephyr within minutes, reached the end of the forest. Their journey had taken them several miles higher, and by now snow had started to fall, significantly slowing down their process. Luckily, lit torches started appearing by the side of the road. They felt like a relief. Even though Frejya had taken this road many times before, a confirmation of the fact that she hadn’t gotten lost and that a warm welcome was imminent put her worries to rest every single time.

“See these torches?” she asked Sunny, who was following closely behind her, “keep following them and in just a few minutes, you should reach the settlement.”

“Yeah, I can see the torches, if nothing else.” From life lived on the prairie, Sunny could always tell when there was a town nearby, even without any visible signs. There was a certain tension in the air, a sense of obligation that surrounded human settlements to live by the calendar instead of the day. As one drew closer, the impression of someone having been there grew stronger, a nearly imperceptible rise in temperature on the skin from somebody’s recent presence, too large to be a wild animal.

Sunny shook Zephyr again, as she had several times on the journey to try to waken her. “Well, we sure could use the tending of a good healer, if they’ve got one.” 

“Probably not the kind you’re used to, but one that will help you all the same,” Frejya replied, turning her mount around. “Once you’ve recovered, I suggest you travel as far away from here as you can. There’s little to find for you, and much to avoid.” 

Tipping her hat in courtesy, Sunny gave a smile. “No concern of that, partner. I’m planning to turn around and head right back into Landsoul just as soon as things have quieted down a bit. I ain’t no snow bunny or mountain goat.”

She turned to look straight ahead down the darkened road. “Only thing I’d stick around for is for one of you two to teach me to properly use these cryst– magicite things.” 

“The only advice I can give you regarding that thing is to cast it into the deepest chasm you can find. Let sleeping gods lie, Sunny Goodnight. Godspeed.”

Freyja looked into Sunny’s eyes for a few more seconds before nodding and spurring Fenris on. Without another word, she took off towards the woods.

It had been roughly eighteen hours since Zephyr had disembarked from her seabound voyage, from her homeland to wherever she was now. A village, perhaps? It appeared as such, though like most she encountered, there was no sign of life. The Silhouettes– ghastly shades appearing as monsters, not unlike those that plagued mankind in ages before and since– saw fit to make most smaller cities close down. The ones that still stood, at least.

It had been an unknown many more hours since Zephyr had last slept, as well. She wasn’t even fully aware of where she was, or how she got there. This was typical for the woman, cloaked in a deep, navy blue hooded robe, closed completely and her hood raised over her head. In many of her cycles, seeking allies to defeat her eternal enemy, the scene before her was one she had seen countless times before. A village, abandoned or appearing as such, residents long since perished or fled to larger bastions, or at least hiding within the remnants, and Silhouettes left to run amok.

They posed little to no threat compared to Zephyr’s magic, though she hadn’t seen fit to take up arms at this time. The first unfamiliarity to Zephyr in this new part of the world; there were no Silhouettes in sight, at least as far as she could tell. There were, however, signs of combat, fairly fresh, and this trail of dust and ash was the one the wanderer would begin to follow.

Straight ahead lay the edge of a forest, beyond a bare stretch dotted with stumps that spoke to a nascent logging industry. The woods were unusually quiet. The logged field was dry and blazed in the sun, and the forest creatures had fled for the shade. Only wood-boring beetles remained to feast on the sawdust. They, too, were quiet today, perched motionless on the stumps as if watching for something.

The lonely howl of a wolf echoed from within the forest, breaking the silence. It was out of place in the middle of the day, unusual for there to be only one, unanswered. The entire forest seemed to twitch, as every creature and insect great and small flinched at once.

A shot rang out, a sharp period at the end of the wolf’s lament. 

More howls rose in protest of this challenge to their dominance of the soundscape, answered by three and then two shots in quick succession. A chorus of chaotic barks and yelps erupted from the forest, moving swiftly back toward the village. 

A woman on a chestnut horse burst from the woods, hunched low reloading a revolver that caught the sun just as she cleared the treeline. In her wake came a pack of black streaks, midnight spectres in the shape of wolves. Silhouettes.

The horse’s rider whirled around in the saddle, letting the momentum from her motion slam the cylinder of her revolver back into place. A white lance of light followed her bullet out of the muzzle, striking the closest Silhouette in the head. It gave out a strangled whimper and fell, rolling over and over in the dust and forcing its companions to swerve around it. Five shots followed, and five wolves fell, the woman’s aim immaculate in spite of her steed’s meandering path through the stumps.

One wolf remained, with her gun empty. It cared not for the deaths of its pack. It ran up alongside the horse, making a determined lunge for the rider’s leg.

The whip coiled on her belt was already in the rider’s hand. A white trail followed the path of her whip as well, leaving a luminous half-moon in the air as she cracked it against the back of the wolf’s neck. It fell under the horse, taking two strikes from its hooves before rolling away.

The horse circled around and drew up a few gallops away, and the rider dismounted. Though being trampled under a horse would have been fatal for any natural wolf, the Silhouette rose to its feet, troubled only by the glowing wound left by the whip. 

The woman approached slowly at first, gradually accelerating to a run as the Silhouette recovered. It opened its maw to snarl at her just as the whip cracked across its face again, followed by a quick upward swing to its throat. Without another sound, it dropped to the ground, and lay still. 

Zephyr watched the scene unfold before her. It was not entirely unusual to her; many times before had the mage wandered into one town or the next, watching someone capable of taking on a pack of Silhouettes. Some were met with showers of praise, others were given scant acknowledgement, and yet still some were feared outright. It was commonplace for Zephyr.

What was different this time, however, were several discrepancies that caught her eye. Weapons were entirely up to the warrior’s personal preference, ranging from legendary tools uncovered from one ruin or the next, down to the most common of swords. A whip and gun, however, were rarely seen on their own, let alone wielded in tandem. A new style of fighting was not something that could shock the wanderer, however.

But what caught Zephyr’s eye more than anything else, the one thing that brought Zephyr from her stupor, her almost trance-like traveling, was the element in play.

Zephyr had seen the common elements in all her travels. Fire, Water, Earth, Ice, Lightning, and Wind. But never in all her years had she seen, nor in the journals and letters handed down from mother to firstborn daughter, anyone wielding the power of Light. And it was this development, this discrepancy in the cycle that dictated her life that caused her to act now.

“Who… just who are you?”

The horse rider didn’t answer immediately, pausing to brush herself off and holster her revolver and whip. She wore a blue, buttoned shirt under a brown jacket, both with sleeves rolled up past her elbows. She patted her jacket pocket to check her remaining ammunition. Satisfied, she pushed her wide-brimmed hat off her head, shaking out dusty blonde hair. She looked at Zephyr with large cornflower eyes, the rest of her features a little small in comparison, giving her a searching face like a pair of binoculars. 

“Well, hello there, stranger. Sunny Goodnight, at your service,” she chirped, with a pantomime of doffing her hat.

The mage lowered her hood, long, black hair billowing out behind her cloak as two deep, almost wine-colored eyes stared back, almost in disbelief. She then shook her head, with a sigh, and responded. “I suppose I misspoke. To whom do you answer? Whose call?” Pausing for a moment, and finally composing herself, she clarified. “Which Esper is lending you the strength to fight?”

Her routine was slowly returning to her. She’d asked this question countless times in the past, though the answer was usually one of six. The asking was automatic to Zephyr, usually, but being awake and aware to ask it now felt almost alien to her.

Sunny blinked in surprise. “You ain’t from around here, are you? Not from Fortenburg, neither, by the look of you.” She shrugged, giving a good-natured smile. “Well, I ain’t in service to nobody. If there’s any call me and Tess here answer… justice, I guess? Or the wild? Or the road? Take your pick.” 

The wanderer tilted her head. Did this ‘Sunny’ really not hear the voice that granted her her power? It was impossible, Zephyr thought. “…The power to truly vanquish a Silhouette comes from the strength given to us by the Espers. You truly don’t know whose is yours, Miss Goodnight?”

The words caught a bit in Zephyr’s throat. She’d heard some odd names before, but this one stuck out in her mind. 

“Vanquish a…?” Sunny paused, struggling with the unusual word, but soon her eyes brightened with comprehension. “Oh! To kill the sillos. You mean this.”

She reached for a small pouch at her hip. Sunny only opened it partially, hands closed protectively around it as if afraid Zephyr might try to snatch it, but inside lay a small white crystal, glowing faintly with an otherworldly light.

“Is that what this doodad is called? An Esper?” 

Blinking a bit, but otherwise making no movements towards the crystal, her eyes focused on it. Her eyes widened a bit as she sensed the light emanating from both Sunny and her Esper. That Sunny wielded the Light, while a bit ironic, narrowed down what Zephyr had studied from her grandmother’s tomes. And while the facts before her now were undeniable, it was still hard to believe, given what little Zephyr knew of world events.

As if confirming what she saw, a familiar voice echoed through her mind, speaking but one name.

A L E X A N D E R

Zephyr shook her head, as if once again shaking herself loose from a trance. “…More or less. I see I have much to explain.” She paused, realizing that she had not introduced herself yet; a break in the routine, something she was clinging to on both ends. The familiar kept her grounded, the uncharted path kept her aware.

“My name is Zephyr.” She pulled out a small, deep purple crystal of her own, held on a silver chain. “This, these crystals we carry, we call them ‘Magicite’. Through them, we channel the power of the Espers that have chosen us.” 

Sunny whistled in amazement. By now, her horse had come up behind her, and pushed her snout under Sunny’s arm. In a clearly familiar motion, Sunny draped her arm on the horse’s head like an armrest. “I sure am glad someone like you finally came along. The only other fella I’ve seen what could put paid to a sillo was that slommack from Fortenburg. And she ain’t about to talk it over with me.”

As the pair spoke, a smattering of people emerged from the village nearby. They chattered among themselves, some of the men whooping for joy at the defeat of the Silhouettes. An older man, the mayor probably, began making his way to where Sunny and Zephyr were standing, flanked by all the men, women, and children who were interested.

“These things just ain’t natural. Hear how the animals start up again now that they’re gone?” Sure enough, with the Silhouettes dead, the birds in the forest had returned to singing, the wood beetles resumed their rasping drone, and even Sunny’s horse gave a nicker. “Just one more plague the Fortenbrans have brought to us.” 

Zephyr raised her hood as villagers began to breathe life into the ghost town. This was something of a habit for the wanderer, as she didn’t like to draw too much attention to herself. At the same time, it had begun to sink in just where she was, where she had ended up. A continent, plagued by eternal conflict. A pendulum swaying at the whims of the powers that be. Beyond that, however, she knew very little, and thought best not to dig herself in the hole of warring nations.

“Ask me anything”, she said, somewhat subdued, in her usual, stoic, almost automatic responding voice, “and I will plainly answer. All that I can, at least.” Her routine was now at the forefront, her mind repeating lines from a century’s old script, played out an innumerable amount of times over the years. 

“Well, it looks like we, or at least I, have a little welcoming party arriving,” Sunny said, replacing her hat on her head as the villagers drew near. “You look tired, partner. How about we have our jaw over some grub, huh?” She walked past Zephyr to have the village at her back, arms spread wide. “I might not know where you came from, but welcome to Landsoul. ‘Where love will find you home.’”

When the mayor’s posse arrived, Sunny greeted them cheerfully. They knew her by reputation, it seemed, asking if she was ‘Sunny Goodnight’ by name. What followed was a hero’s welcome, with effusive gratitude from the mayor, excited questions from the townsfolk, and kneeling promises made to play with the children later. Sunny navigated her reception with a practiced ease, making polite requests for what she needed and little else. A chance to buy powder, an inn room for a night, and, finally, a seat at the saloon for a decent meal. 

Much to her relief, Zephyr went largely unnoticed as she followed behind Sunny, only responding to her request with a slight shrug of her shoulders. Despite her voyage, she wasn’t really hungry, yet she seemed to know better than to argue right now. This, too, wasn’t uncommon of a sight upon driving Silhouettes from a village, after all. Thoughts crept in the back of her mind, wondering if the comfort of the routine would come with the same outcome, but she shook them off for now.

At the saloon, she would take her seat beside Sunny, only ordering a glass of water with a single piece of ice. Her hood was still raised, and she waited patiently for either the barrage of questions about her, the knowledge she had about the world around them, or for the meal Sunny would inevitably order for herself. 

 After an order of eggs and “overland trout,” Sunny turned her attention back to Zephyr. 

“Of course I reckoned this crystal was what let me kill the Silhouettes. I never used to be able to— neither me nor anyone else— but ever since I picked up this crystal, that light has followed my bullets and it just… works. Never used to. I’m glad I have the chance to beat these things outta our land. Did you find yours in a falling star, too?”  

Zephyr shook her head and took a sip from her glass before answering. “My Magicite has been handed down through the firstborn woman in my family for generations. I am surprised that the Esper within has not made contact with you.” Another sip, and she continued. “But yes, it is that crystal and the Esper’s power that makes defeating a Silhouette possible. No ordinary weapon or magic can damage them. Some call us ‘Callers’, others ‘Conjurers’. It depends on who you ask, I suppose. But in being chosen by the Espers, we are duty bound to eliminate Silhouettes wherever we can.” 

Sunny traced the edge of her glass with her finger, head lowered to where the brim of her hat covered her eyes. “I never thought this were something so big. I just picked this thing up ‘cause I thought it’d be valuable.” She laid a hand on the pouch at her hip wherein the magicite rested. “But I’ve been rooting out the sillos wherever I can find them. I’ve been trying to keep the peace around here a long time before this, against bandits and beasts, so it just seemed natural-like to do. The… ‘espers’ should be fine with what I’m doing, then, right?” 

“I cannot say.” She closed her eyes as she stared at her nearly empty water glass. “Your Esper has a voice I’ve not heard before. Mostly, the individual leaves a will in which the Caller can follow. A strong enough warrior can ignore their Esper’s will, but it’s always there, like an echo. But you’ve never heard your Esper’s voice before. So I cannot say.”

“If I had to venture a guess, however, with what little I know… I would say that your deeds and his will are more or less aligned.” 

“His? It’s a man? It must be magic, right? There ain’t a whole lot of that around here, less’n you count the Fortenbran wizards. I remember our town shaman could use a bit of healing magic. This don’t seem much like that, though.” Sunny looked up, realizing something mid-thought. “Hey, those Fortenbran mages can’t deal with the sillos either. They have to call this one lady every time. Has she got a crystal like this?” 

Zephyr closed her eyes, tilting her head a bit and holding her chin in her hands. “She must, if she can vanquish a Silhouette. For your other inquiries, I will answer them later on, in more private surroundings. I’m afraid, in your situation, things may be more… delicate than usual, if my Esper’s voice is accurate, at least.”

She opened her eyes again, gazing calmly yet firmly against her new companion across the table. “You may need to be ready to move at a moment’s notice, I can say that much with confidence. Are you accustomed to traveling, Sunny?” 

Sunny gave a good-natured scoff. “Traveling? It’s all I do. Livin’ out on the wild range… even back when I were a cowhand, it was the same. I reckon I’m one of the best travelers in Landsoul. Me and Tess.” Sunny pointed with her thumb to where her horse was hitched up outside.

After a brief pause, Sunny changed her tone, narrowing her eyes. “But… what do you mean, partner? Of course I appreciate Fortenburg would want this thing if they knew I had it. I reckon sooner or later they’ll hear about me hunting the sillos and put one and one together. But it don’t sound like you’re talking about that.”

“I cannot say for certain”, Zephyr said, her voice much lower now, “but I do know that carrying around that particular Magicite, far from its usual home, will have very far reaching consequences. You should be ready for anything and everything.”

She raised her hood over her head once more and stood up, her voice returning to normal. “But for now, I think we should retire for the evening. We’ll need our rest, I’m sure.” 

“Oh?” Sunny tilted her hat down over her face, showing a sly grin. “Are you coming with me, Miss Zephyr? ‘Tain’t likely. I mostly ride around Landsoul showing the owlhoots what’s right and wrong. Silhouettes are a newish thing for me. I can’t imagine someone not from Landsoul wanting to spend all their time doing that.” 

“Of course I’m accompanying you.” Her tone was matter-of-factly, speaking as if her idea was set in stone. “I will need to. It is what my Esper is telling me.”

* * *

The two would have left the tavern, and in a blur, made their way to the nearest Inn, getting two separate rooms between them (given graciously to Miss Sunny Goodnight, local hero and scourge of the Sillos!). Zephyr would set her small traveler’s bag down on her bed, then immediately she would make her way into Sunny’s room before the door could close, as agreed en route to the inn.

Zephyr would sit herself down at the small table nearest the window, staring idly at the moonlight peering in as she lit a candle using a spark of flame from her hands. After a moment, she would turn to face Sunny, her expression stoic as she slipped into another common script of hers. “Sunny Goodnight. I suspect I know the answer, but what do you know about Espers, if anything? Besides what we discussed before. And secondly… does the name Alexander ring any bells?” 

“Alexander? That’s written here on the crystal.” Sunny drew the magicite from her pouch, holding it up in the light and squinting. An inscription was carved on one surface of the crystal. It was quite long for the available space, and the carvers had etched small to fit everything. One word, ALEXANDER, was written large at the foot of the inscription.  “There’s something else written here too, but it’s too tiny. I meant sometime to get a magnifying glass and have a look, but..” 

Sunny cleared her throat. “Anyhow, no, I ain’t ever heard of an ‘esper’ until you showed up. That supposed to be some kinda magician? This supposed to belong to that Alexander fellow? I’ll tell you again, I got this thing out of a fallen star. I didn’t steal it.” 

Zephyr merely shook her head. “Espers are not people. They are mythical beings akin to deities that reside in a world near enough our own. Once upon a time, there existed a specific subset of magi called ‘Summoners’, people who, through intense training and communion, could manifest these primal gods in our world to fight at their side. Or so the legends go, anyway. The art has long since been lost to us.”

“But these Espers, benevolent as they may be, or perhaps in a sense of self preservation, have crafted an alternative to let their unique powers be used in our world. It is in Magicite, the crystals you and I bear, giving us the power needed to fight off the Silhouettes. You see, only an Esper’s magic can truly vanquish the scourge.”

As she spoke, Zephyr placed her small crystal on the table beside her. It bore no unique markings or showed any other signs than that of an ordinary amethyst. “In our cases, we bond through Magicite with the Espers. They lend us their power, so long as we host their will. It is nowhere near as efficient as a Summoner would be able to be, in eliminating this unique threat, but it is enough to prevent the world from falling into everlasting darkness.”

“It is odd to me, because in all my years, in all my mother’s years, or her mother before her, we have never encountered a single soul that bore the strength of an Esper beyond the core elements. Light is… rather a new development to me. But my grandmother knew much of the others, despite not meeting a Conjurer or Caller who bonded with them. And Alexander… on two fronts does this concern me.”

“Like mine, your Esper stands on an echelon above others. He was known to deliver judgment when Light’s last bastion stood to fail, and deliver hope to those who worshiped him. That he does not commune with you gives me pause, yet I have no reason to doubt the things you say to me.”

“But more pressing a matter, I fear. I’ve heard little on my seabound voyage to this land about a kingdom that worships the lost Esper Alexander, and more importantly, its enemies. If you truly are the one Alexander has chosen, then I cannot speak to your safety. I fear the tides of war will soon come crashing down upon you.”

Zephyr waited a moment before continuing. “And I aim to assist you, Sunny, because it is what my Esper, the King of Espers, Bahamut, has whispered to me. It is… something of a calling of mine. I am accustomed to aiding newborn Callers in their power, and leading them to their destiny.” 

For a moment after, Sunny sat in silence, eyes wide. A little too late, she raised her hands, taking a step back. “Whoa, whoa. Slow down. This came from some kind of god? What kind of nonsense are you selling me?” Sunny shook her head. “If all that’s true, maybe I ought’a give this thing back. I ain’t ever heard it speak like you’re talking about. Does that mean I’m gonna get struck down by some angry god for keeping it?

“But… I need this thing. Ain’t nobody around here who will keep an eye on the sill… Silhouettes if I’m not around. That woman from Fortenburg couldn’t cover all of Landsoul even if she wanted to. And she don’t want to. I expect this village would be a bloodbath right now if I— or you— hadn’t shown up.” Sunny trailed off into silence, her eyes on the crystal in her lap. 

Zephyr closed her eyes. This kind of scene was commonplace; a girl attached to one village or another, perhaps her own, suddenly tasked by the call of a higher being for a greater purpose. It was nothing she hadn’t seen before, though any warmth Zephyr had in delivering the news had faded ages ago.

“I’m afraid this village is the least of your worries anymore, Sunny. And I’m afraid that the Silhouettes are the least of their worries, as well. If you worshiped a god, and one day, got news that your god was residing in your enemy’s land, what would you think? Now, let’s say you had a military force that could enforce your will to retrieve– or worse, eliminate– said god, before your enemy could misuse its divine power? If you want to spare these fine people, consider what I’ve said from a much grander scale.”

Zephyr had, of course, needed to deviate a bit from her own usual routine. After all, Bahamut had not commanded her to gather Conjurers, as he traditionally did. His whispers this time around were simply to wander and wait, and let fate take its course. In so doing, Zephyr was on her own for the first time in her life, and admittedly, didn’t really know what she was doing.

She did, however, know that Alexander was an important Esper, even beyond the power assumed in his wielding. Alexander was, from what she could gather on that cramped ship, a somewhat important socio-political tool, one driving the faith-based society of a nation at war, or at least, so she had overheard. Finding a Caller using Alexander’s power here would play into both the merchant sailors’ murmurs, as well as Bahamut’s whispers.

Zephyr needed to get Sunny out of here, and fast. That was all she knew right now, in this moment. 

“Well, I can’t just leave!” Sunny started out of her chair. “I ain’t got nowhere else to go. I’ve always been in Landsoul. Look, look.” 

Sunny strode to the window, throwing open the shutters. In the darkness, only the shadows of the neighboring buildings could be seen, with cat’s-eye slits of light in their closed windows. The prairies beyond were a sea of black, with a thick fur of tree branches visible against the sky. 

The night wasn’t as dark for Sunny. There was a good moon out. She and Tess had rode through darker. The constant din of the crickets was a soothing reminder when sleeping out on the prairie that the prairie, too, was sleeping. In just a handful of hours, the sun would brighten the eastern sky in reds and purples and the scent of the dew would fill the air. It was comfortable. It was routine.

“I wouldn’t have anywhere else to go. And what would I do when I get there? No, no, Landsoul’s where I need to be.” 

Zephyr had, once again, heard this all before. Girls resisting the call for greater purpose. And Sunny wasn’t wrong. Typically, it didn’t take long for either another Conjurer or more Silhouettes to move in to fill the vacuum. But Bahamut typically did not take no for an answer, and neither did Zephyr.

Still, this situation was not entirely like those that filled her cycles in the past, and even her Esper’s whispers were more subdued and quiet than usual. “We don’t need to leave right this second. But I estimate that by sunrise, you will see the truth of my words with your own eyes. We cannot take on an entire nation’s military by ourselves.” 

“I ain’t trying to drive out the entire Fortenbran occupation! Much as we all want them out, I ain’t that crazy,” Sunny retorted. She took a deep breath, pushing her bangs up on her head. “Look. I don’t know what kinda burrow milk you’re trying to sell me, but leaving Landsoul ain’t an option for me. You can run along and good luck with whatever you’re trying to do out there that you want me for. If it’s just killing sillos, I’d rather do it right here. I got no reason to go to some foreign land to do it there. Are we understood?” 

“If you’re not looking to drive them out, then staying here is counter-productive. But my words aren’t enough to convince you. I acknowledge and respect that. But I fear that by the time you see with your own eyes the truth of what I’m saying, it may be too late to escape. And to go down fighting the impossible is… well, it’s not what Alexander had in mind when he chose you, I’m certain.”

“If it’s answers you want, then my path is the one that makes the most sense to follow. If it were just hunting the Silhouettes as they emerge, I would have you stay here. But is that all you want? Or would you like a path that might see the scourge eliminated entirely? …I’m not promising as such, of course. I don’t have the answer. But you won’t find it here. All you’ll find here is occupation and war. If that is your desired goal, then…” 

Sunny stood quietly for a moment, placing her hat back on her head. “Getting rid of all Silhouettes in the world? Come on, partner. It’s all I can do to keep it under control in Landsoul. That’s too much for one or two people to do.”

She sat down on her bed, waving her hand at Zephyr. “Go on, you ought’a go to bed too. I can tell just from the look of you that you ain’t slept for way too long. If you’ve been going at the sillos that hard, then you should know what I mean when I tell you to keep it realistic.”

“That’s not–”, she started, in a rare display of emotion, uncharacteristic for the hooded mage, but she caught herself, shaking her head. “…I will retire for the night. Come morning, we will see which of our paths is the right one. Goodnight, Sunny”, she said, calmly and politely before turning to leave the room, making for her own. 

Sunny sat motionless for a moment, just long enough to make sure Zephyr was gone, then flopped back on the bed with a sigh. Regardless of what the hooded woman said, leaving Landsoul was out of the question for Sunny. She had never left before, and certainly didn’t intend to now. She was still convinced that somewhere in the countryside were her parents, still waiting to reunite after they were separated when Fortenburg sacked their hometown years ago. She wouldn’t be leaving before finding some trace of them.

Besides, she barely even knew the surrounding territories, let alone had any place to go in them. Of course she knew of Fortenburg— was forced to know, really— and knew the snow-capped peaks to the north belonged to Fimbulventr. She had gone briefly into the mountains once before to flee a Fortenbran platoon captained by their magicite bearer. She had yet to see that woman again since she had found a magicite of her own. Perhaps things would go differently next time.

She hadn’t expected to encounter another person with a crystal like hers, yet at the same time it made sense to her as soon as it happened. She knew one day Fortenburg would come for the crystal, as well. Their Silhouette problem was far worse than Landsoul’s. 

Sunny closed her eyes. Just like the night she acquired the magicite, she felt that her life couldn’t continue like this for much longer. She had been wrong then, though, and maybe another sign would come to prove her wrong this time as well.

* * *

The presence of people outside awoke Sunny before they made much noise. Sleeping out on the prairie every night gave one that sense. It was the same alien feeling she’d had one night as a child when a mountain bear had lurched down main street, a hulking mass of knotted fur and hot, ancient breath, an unwelcome beast that made even the sleeping childrens’ hair stand on end.

Silently, Sunny sat up, retrieving her hat. She had left the shutters open, and the sky was grey in pre-dawn. Hers was the corner room on the upper story. She crept to the side window, peeking out through the narrow space gap between the hinge and the shutter. Fortenbran soldiers stood beside their chocobos in the light of the blazing torches they held. Sunny’s eyes narrowed, but she kept looking. They alone wouldn’t explain this unnatural feeling.

Atop a black-armored chocobo, the beast came into view. An ashen-haired woman wearing a mask like a dragon’s skull. She raised her mask, and Sunny retreated from the window at the first sign of the woman looking up.

The heavy thump of the woman’s sword on the ground confirmed she had dismounted. Her weapon was a crude shard of metal, featureless and oddly shaped, like it wasn’t meant to be a sword in its own right but a bayonet on a titan’s rifle. Sunny’s pulse quickened, and she knew that she hadn’t been seen, but the Fortenbran magicite bearer had detected something from that window. 

Another soldier misplaced a foot and stumbled into a ditch beside the inn, breaking the silence with a hail of sliding gravel. Sunny peeked out. The Fortenbran Caller was beside the offending soldier in an instant. Her hand shot out from her cloak, silently clenching around his throat. With her skull mask perched on her forehead, Sunny couldn’t see her face, only her teeth, bared and gritted in rage. 

Another knight dared to approach her, giving a meek report in a valiant effort to spare his comrade. Her head jerked toward him, and he flinched. Yet she relented, shoving the gagging soldier away. She motioned with her chin to the front door.

The sound of the latch rattling was quiet in the inn. Then came the pounding on the door.

It wasn’t long before a similar, quiet knock came upon Sunny’s room door. “It’s me”, Zephyr said, as quiet as she could manage while still making sure that it was clearly her voice coming through. “We need to plan, and fast. May I come in?”

She stood outside the door, patiently waiting, yet fully aware that they were virtually surrounded. She had not yet seen the woman leading the invasion, but something in her being knew, deep down, that this opponent was not unlike herself and Sunny. Bahamut had not said anything, but she could tell that his will was restless. They needed to move. Now. 

Without a sound, Sunny came away from the window. She turned the doorknob slowly, opening the door barely wide enough to squeeze through to not risk the hinge squeaking. Without a word, she walked back to the window, pointedly walking around a spot on the floor she knew creaked. She stood beside the crack in the shutter where the Fortenbran Caller was visible, arms folded. She nodded to Zephyr to look. 

Zephyr silently made her way to the spot on the other side of the window from Sunny, gazing down at the Caller and her squadron. She spoke nearly silently, enough for Sunny to hear, but not enough to draw any attention from outside. “It is as I thought and feared. The tides of war crash upon the shore. I did not expect one of our own, however.”

She turned her head towards Sunny, her expression calm, yet resolute. “We need to escape. This is a fight we cannot win.” 

“I know that. See, it’s that woman from Fortenburg I talked about. Must be here about those sillos from yesterday.” 

Downstairs, the innkeeper was speaking with the soldier pounding on the door, a lopsided conversation where the soldier practically shouted his demands to be let in and the innkeeper’s responses were barely audible. 

Sunny shook her head. “You ought to get out of here first. Or just stay in your room. It’s me they’re after and you know it.” 

“If I’d had any inkling towards leaving on my own, this conversation would not be taking place right now.” Her words were as cold as her expression as she gazed back outside. “But I have escaped more dire encounters before. Today is no different.”

“But make no mistake. This is more than just about controlling turf or hunting Silhouettes. The reverence towards your Esper, I fear, is what is driving these people now. We need to go, and now.” 

Sunny sighed and shook her head in resignation. “Take it from someone who plays the hero a lot, you should be careful not to do it too much where it’ll get you in trouble.”

As if in response, the inn’s front door downstairs banged open.

“Well, they can chase us out, then,” Sunny grumbled. “Tess is around back still. I ain’t leaving without her. I’m gonna grab her and go. You’re not in trouble here, but you will be if they think you’re with me. Just think it through.” 

Outside, the Caller woman had left their line of sight from the alleyway to walk in the front. Sunny laid her hand on the windowsill, ready to jump out. 

“My place is here, until otherwise, it is elsewhere. I am not one for interrogations.” Her hand was on the other side of the windowsill, eying a Chocobo that had wandered around, just beneath. “…The world has not given up on me yet, it seems.” 

“I’m sure Tess can take your weight if that horse-bird lets you down.” As soon as she finished speaking, Sunny vaulted over the windowsill. She paused to hang off the outside, to reduce the height of her fall. She landed with a practiced roll, clearly not the first such escape she had made. She scooped up her hat and turned toward the back of the building where Tess was hitched up. 

Zephyr watched the maneuver before slowly sliding out of the window herself, lowering herself gradually before landing uneasily by the wall. After dusting her robes off, she approached the Chocobo, which eyed her warily. She held a hand out to try and calm it down, though it didn’t budge. “…Contingency plan it is, as usual.” 

She reached into her pocket, producing a small handful of vegetation, then set it down on the ground. “Never leave home without Greens of some kind. Be grateful, these aren’t your gil-for-a-dozen Gysahl variety”, she muttered. 

She was shaken from her stupor as the Chocobo let out a sharp, happy “Kweh!”, before beginning to peck at the food Zephyr laid at its feet. 

Sunny visibly jumped at the chocobo’s cry, pulling her gun halfway out of its holster. “Keep that thing quiet!” she hissed. 

A loud thump around the corner was all the warning they got. The dull tip of the Fortenbran Caller’s blade came around the corner first, followed by the snout of her dragon skull mask. “I thought I smelled a rat,” she said, so quiet it was barely audible to the pair she addressed. She let her sword hit the ground, sending a noticeable vibration through the earth.

Sunny’s revolver was in her hand already. “With that thing on your face, all you can smell is yourself.”

The Caller gave a “huh” that might have been a laugh. “Was it comedy night at the saloon? I don’t care. I’m here for that treasure you’ve filched.” 

Zephyr closed her eyes for a moment, as if trying to listen for a voice that would not come. She then stepped forward, holding out her hand as a metallic object began to extend, forming a large, silver ring. “Go on without me”, she said, under her breath to Sunny. “I can buy us enough time to cover our escape.”

She then spoke up so the masked Caller could hear her properly. “Were you a thief in a past life yourself, Miss? I’m afraid my friend and I have no intentions of returning to you a power to which you were not chosen. To disrupt Their natural order… is unforgivable.” 

The Caller scoffed, casting a glance behind her, inviting an imaginary group behind her to share in a joke. The red jewels inset in her mask’s eyes glinted. “Look at you, stranger. You must not know where you are. This is the world of man. This is the nation of Fortenburg. Everything that falls within these borders is the property of the king by right. Including that magicite she has. And yours. They’re just tools for us to use.”

She lifted her mask. The rubies were not part of the mask, instead embedded in her eye sockets, bulging out to fit their position in the mask. She pushed on them to pop them back behind her eyelids. All around her eyes the skin was reddened and scarred.

Sunny recoiled. This was her first time seeing her face. “What kind of freak are you, Kasimira?”

“‘Your Majesty’ is the correct address, hick. Now kneel, or give your blood for Fortenburg.” 

Energy began to swirl around the edges of her ring. “You would give up your humanity for power… there is no saving you.” She stood between Sunny and the ruby-eyed woman as her ring began to glow. “You fancy yourself a queen, yet see yourself standing above the gods. I pity you, I do.”

With a sigh, she continued. “Is it a common trait for Conjurers in this region to be deaf to the voices of those who lend them power?” 

“Kasimira” pulled the mask back down over her face, the rubies pushing back out into the eye holes. A pair of lasers shot out, gyrating rapidly as they traced a sigil upon the ground beneath Sunny and Zephyr’s feet.

“Watch out, dodge it!” Sunny shouted, already backpedaling away. Behind their adversary, the rest of the Fortenbran soldiers fell into line, some at Kasimira’s back and some running around the side, on their way around the building to try to cut them off. 

Zephyr jumped back, just outside of the range of the sigil as a wide beam of light burst forth from her ring, aimed directly at the woman in front of her. No more words could be said now, the only thing was the encounter, and if they were lucky, the impending escape. 

Beam and Kasimira both disappeared behind the explosion of the sigil on the ground. Sunny fired a couple errant shots through the blaze, turning and running for the back of the building.

Tess was there under the awning. Unlike the other horses that cowered and fretted, Tess was stamping and bucking with eagerness to go. Sunny vaulted onto the saddle, blasting through Tess’s lead with a gunshot. Tess needed no more prompting, and turned to gallop away. 

Zephyr fired off a couple small blasts of fire from her hand as a small stampede of chocobos ran past her. The mage grabbed onto the saddle of the last to pass, and much to her surprise, it was the very same she had just fed, and it let her on its back with ease. She guided it to run around the other side of the building, in the same direction she had seen Sunny run towards, and before long, caught sight of the woman on horseback, making strides in catching up.

The other Caller was nowhere to be seen, and she could not sense her power any longer. For now, at least. 

Their destination lay ahead of them: the forest from which the Silhouettes had emerged the day before. Sunny and Tess weaved tightly through the trees, taking routes and maneuvers that spoke to their long experience with the Landsoul wild. Though a horse was slightly slower than a chocobo, their mastery of the terrain more than compensated for that.

“Still there?” Sunny called back after several tense minutes of forging through the woods. “That woman can fly, so we had better stick to the trees for now. And for who knows how much longer, since they brought the whole darn army!” 

Zephyr’s newly ‘acquired’ steed made little time in catching up. “I’m here. Are you in one piece?”, she called back. “I’m not sure we’re being followed, but I also do not know how this military power operates. Where are we going, do you know?”

The mage was well acquainted with the terrain of a forest; her cycles in the past led her to many a wooded locale. The trees were as a second home; assuming, of course, she had a first home at all. 

“All depends on how far they want to chase us,” Sunny said, eyes fixed ahead. “Worst case, we gotta go in them there mountains to the north. That’s Fimbulventr, and they won’t want to march an army up into there. Even if it’s emptier than a banker’s heart.” 

Sunny and Tess slowed their pace as they drew up beside a large clearing dotted with mossy boulders. They corrected their course to stay in the forest, though it was clear the forest would soon end. Up ahead, the peaks of red rock could be seen between the treetops as the forest of trees gave way to a forest of rock at the foot of the mountains. Towering spires rose above the landscape in the dozens, a single large ridge in the distance like the fin of a great fish separating Landsoul from the mountains beyond. The sun was rising now, and soon the rocks would bake red in the morning light.

“Plenty of places to lose them ‘round here. They don’t know this place like I do. Won’t be my first time running into these mountains either, afraid to say.” 

“Fimbulventr… You mean to tell me we’ve actually crossed into another nation entirely?” The voice in Zephyr’s head echoed the name, as if confirming to her what she already suspected. “Then that is our destination. From there, we can regroup. And I’ve more than my share of questions, in return.”

Her chocobo kept stride with Sunny’s horse as the duo rode into the sunrise.