City of Cear'hallen, Twilight, Elemental Demiplane, Fate.

"You're back? That was quick. Did you get it?"

"Yes, Jonas. I got the accolade—and the peritia."

After storming into the study, she paced the meeting room under her brother's expectant gaze. The angry swish of her burgundy dress trailed behind the young woman; faded henna tattoos sprawled across the pale skin of her hands and forearms. Large feathers ran through her long, vibrant blue hair, and her eyes burned bright with fury, fury that masked a lingering trauma she could no longer suppress. Without a second glance, she sent over the details of her tenth accolade to her brother.

Accolade: Saviour

Type: Rare

Legend: Awarded for breaking the infernal raid on Witchfen with fire, incinerating infernal raiders and their accomplices. By foiling an infernal ritual that would have caused many casualties across the region, the village of Witchfen and its residents were saved from destruction, capture, servitude and sacrifice.

"Hahaha, yes! Big sis Avril is a saviour," Jonas exclaimed. "So, you're Sovereign rank now?"

"Yes," Avril said, crossing her arms, clearly upset.

His eyes went distant, rereading the details until, sensing her mood, Jonas turned towards her, noticing something was wrong. "Avi, you're shaking. Did something happen?" he asked, a soft concern in his tone. The younger man mirrored his elder sister: the same vivid blue hair threaded with assorted feathers, similar facial features, and an appearance that skewed more bookish than boyish, thanks in part to the fine, silver-framed, enchanted spectacles he wore. Were it not for the slight age difference and their contrasting personalities, many might have mistaken them for twins.

Jonas, closing the large tome he had been reading and folding his spectacles away, gave his sister his full attention, his earlier joy evaporating as a more serious side took over. It was the side of him that had always reminded her of their late father, a side that, when revealed, preceded the advent of a reckoning. Instead of speaking, Avril sent him her eleventh accolade in explanation.

Accolade: Curse Forged

Type: Very Rare, Sorcerer, Titled, Trait.

Legend: Awarded for withstanding a Nalvurian, a High Infernal of the Immortal Rank and wielder of cursed shadows, who struck immediately after the rescue of the villagers of Witchfen. By fighting through and nearly succumbing to curse-laden shadow while driving the adversary to the brink, the user advanced comprehension of the bloodline affinity Sapphire Flame to the rank of Integration (3rd) during combat.

Trait: Karmic Flame, Your fire gains a karmic property. Whenever your flames burn a target, their soul-born impurities fuel the blaze. Flame intensity scales proportionally with the degree of karmic impurity within the target's soul.

"Oh! Talons and tits! A Nalvurian? And that trait… Avril—!"

"Language," Avril scowled. "And a Nalvurian is a giant infernal crow, apparently. A thoroughly wretched creature."

"Are you all right?"

"What do you think?"

Jonas looked over his elder sister, whose blue eyes were now glassy. As Avril bit her lip and Jonas's expression darkened, the appearance of who was older seemed to flip.

"Avi, are you hexed? It says in the accolades that it used cursed shadows. I—I'll try to find someone in Caer'hallen who—"

"I'm fine. I'm already fully healed. The curses are gone."

"I see," Jonas said slowly. "I'm sorry."

Avril sighed, extinguishing the last of her misplaced rage. "It's not your fault. We knew the risks; every divination is a gamble, and forcefully seeking accolades always comes with the shortest odds."

"Still, I've got a lot to learn about divination. Maybe I missed something—or should have taken more precautions." Jonas said with an edge of guilt.

"It's fine. Without your help, I'd be flailing, and we'd both be in the pan right now."

"Are you sure you're all right?"

"I just need a moment," Avril said, biting her bottom lip as the memories of the most recent events flashed in her mind.

"Want to talk about it?" Jonas offered. "Or you could show me? Astral Conveyance can help soothe traumatic memories."

Avril's pacing halted. She knew she was in no state to do what she needed to do. Even now, her body shook at the memory of creeping shadows, stacking curses crippling her from the inside out, the Nalvurian's beak around her neck, her wing snapping under its talons. Blinking out of the memory, she released a long exhale and turned to her brother with a new resolve.

"Alright, do it."

The day began bright with clear skies. Her flight to Dremshire under her brother's divination passed without trouble. From the sky, she saw the signs of conflict: smoke on the horizon, black streaks where cottages had stood, cart tracks running furrows in the mud by hurried wheels. Farther on lay fields strewn with scorched timbers and the massacred dead. The closer she flew toward Dremsway, the more frequent the scars became. She crossed beyond it into the deep south of the continent, where the plains transitioned into forest and rolling valleys and found a raid in progress exactly where and when Jonas told her it would be.

She dropped from the sun and unleashed her bloodline sorcery. Sapphire feathers of flame sprang from her wings like arrows. They struck beasts and riders, burning away the scum of fate into smouldering mounds of ash.

It was the first time she had killed sapients.

She might have found it harder had there not been the urgency of the moment and evidence of their cruelty.

Her Greater Ranker magic tore through the slavers, scattering them into dust with ease. What she had not expected, however, was the shape behind their movements. They were bait; this slaughter a lure set for someone stronger.

After finding the Sovereign-rank infernal who led them, she fought from the sky, dousing the ground-bound slave king with endless flame. The peritia from his defeat and the accolade lifted her cleanly into the Sovereign rank. Power flooded her, increasing her overall strength tenfold. But the man had been a delaying action.

With less than a minute to bask in the satisfaction of saving the villagers below, the Nalvurian fell upon her. The demon crow dropped from the clouds, its cluster of black eyes and knife-like talons, its shadow an extension of its vicious will. It pressed her north and west across forest and rolling valleys with tentacles of cursed shadow.

At first, she relied on the speed and height of her phoenix form, but then the curses bit. Heat bled from her blood; her feathers lost colour at the edges, and she was forced to meet it with fire, blue light against tenebral shadow. Her Phoenix flame held an edge over its cursed darkness, but the Nalvurian stood a rank higher, and the curses had already sapped away half her strength.

They fought a vicious battle in the sky, her first true fight to the death beyond the recent massacre, newly ascended and barely trained in her bloodline magic. Her flames burned shadow, burned curses, burned the sky above the world, her mastery and comprehension building in the life-and-death conflict, until she passed a threshold and the shadows were beaten back until they became nought but a second skin for the demon crow. Unfortunately, just as the tide seemed to have turned, her hold on the contest slipped.

It had been an expenditure of mana she could not maintain, and soon, high above southern Twilight, her defence failed.

The demon bodied her, crushing her throat, tearing her wing, and flung her aside. She fell. Curses crawled through muscle and marrow, and Avril knew she would be dead before she hit the ground.

And then the world turned white.

When her sight returned, she lay tangled in broken branches, wings in ruin, bark and leaf stuck to blood on her wings, but she was alive and, oddly, curse-free. Familiar fragments of black feathers rained across the forest and the sky around her as she surveyed her circumstances in confusion and wonder.

Before she could make sense of it and figure out a survival plan, a sudden awareness spiked the feathers across her breast.

"Hello?"

She saw him then: a man at the nascent rank, dark skin, unfamiliar clothes, and a crystalline wand that shone with prismatic light. Vulnerable and with nerves frayed far beyond her breaking point, she lashed out with surging flames before she could think. Strangely, however, as the blue fire licked the newcomer's skin, it was as if she had gained a new sense, a second tongue. Like a child marvelling at a novel taste, her flames continued unbidden despite the man's protest as she sensed a flavour she could not name.

And then her body locked, her magic jammed in her mind. She watched, helpless, as the man stepped through the heat, approached her… and then healed them both.

"What is it?" Avril said some moments after the conveyance ended, her words breaking Jonas out of the odd fugue he had been locked in after the spell.

Jonas swallowed, his face pale.

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"That man... The human at the end…" His voice trailed off.

"He's human?" She squeaked with surprise, certain he was of the fae.

"Yes. It seems…" he swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. "they have a new Demon Bane."

"De—Demon Bane!? Talons and tits!" Avril echoed her brother's curse, prompting a soft, ironic chuckle. She glared at him, her heart racing like a hummingbird's as the calm from the conveyance reeled at his declaration. "Are you certain?"

"Yes. I could not read much of the man from your memories, but one of his titled accolades remained unglamoured."

"Tell no one of this, do you understand?"

"No need to warn me. Still, this is big, sis—"

"I was this close to…" She trailed off, fearing the consequences of her rash actions. "A Demon Bane? Are you sure? But then it all makes sense. He was so strong, and a healer? A mage… and a strong one at that. To think… a Demon Bane. Fuck!"

"High Redeemer."

"A what?"

"That was his actual title; his accolade had evolved several times. I'm not talented enough to divine the full accolade from someone in your memory, but I believe it was a legendary one."

"Argh!" Avril cursed.

"Don't remind me," Avril growled, her fingers digging into her scalp.

"To be fair, you were a bit harsh on your saviour," Jonas said.

"I know, I know," Avril groaned.

"But I think the fact he healed you… Well, that is a good sign at least," Jonas offered.

"I… well, it does not matter. It's not as if I'll see him again." She exhaled.

"With his mana still in your blood, I could run a divination to try to find him again if you—"

"NO! No… no thank you," Avril said, face flushing with panic. She still remembered the flash of light before she had passed out. Had it been thunder?

Jonas chuckled. "But didn't you want to taste him again… with your new fire? I am sure if— Ow, ow, ouch. Okay, stop pinching. I'll stop." The blue-haired teen squealed under the assault of his pinched and twisted side.

"Good. And don't you dare divine him or anything like that. That a nascent-rank human could be so scary…"

"He seemed quite nice to me," Jonas countered.

"Trust me, at the time I thought I was done for," she muttered, eyes glassy. "But all is well that ends well," Avril sighed. "With my advancement, we should be able to keep you out of our aunt's… arrangements."

"I really appreciate it. I just wish I were strong enough to contribute more. If I had different talents, if I were stronger—"

"There is still time for you to grow big and strong, Jonas. Besides, don't look down on your talents. The conveyance, the divination, everything. Thank you for helping me."

Jonas nodded, then released a long exhale as he stood. "It was you who risked your life for me. I'm just glad you got back safe."

"Yes, well, I have had enough adventure to see me through for a mortal lifetime."

"I don't envy what you had to do, but thank you", Jonas said.

"You are welcome, dear brother." Arvil sighed, choosing to release the spike of panic from associated revelations from an event of her past that would likely have little hold over her future.

"So, now that you are back, what now?"

"Now I confront her. Now that I am a Sovereign ranker, our aunt cannot touch us, and those vapid reptiles will have to shove off."

Jonas looked her over, then nodded slowly. "And after?"

"After… I suppose we can finally leave this city. You wanted to enrol at Vespasian? Let us do it together. With me, now a Sovereign ranker, as your backer, no one will dare bully you."

Torvolon, Dremshire, Twilight, Elemental Demiplane, Fate.

"Merin! Is that you?"

Mist lay over the barley fields as Merin carried the milk pails from the barn. Dawn backlit the young woman's hair igniting a golden-blonde mane. As she stamped into the kitchen, a mature, matronly woman at least twice her age stepped in front of her and, with a grunt, moved to relieve the blond teenager of her load.

"Ma, you shouldn't—"

"I'm older, not old, dear. Now, what did I say about that hair of yours?" The older woman's hands rose to Merin's flushed face. A calloused thumb stroked her cheek as Merin looked into loving eyes shaded with concern. "Time does pass. It feels as if it were only yesterday we found you, and now look at you. Such a beautiful child, too beautiful and too talented, and not for a small village like ours."

"Ma," Merin said, a lump forming in her throat.

Ten years had passed since the Brindles had found her over the valley from the village, naked, dazed and alone in a crater of earth fused into glass. The woman in front of her, Anya Brindle, had taken her in and raised her as if she were one of her own. In a dairy farm full of working men, the young woman had become the doted-upon princess, and in return, Merin had soaked up all their love and given it back with a conscientious determination to help, to work, and to make life easier for the only parents she truly knew.

"Now, now, we're to take you to Thorncross this weekend, find you a trainer or, better yet, a sponsor. Maybe get you awakened so you can attend that fancy magic school in the capital."

"I'm not even sure if I want to leave."

Anya shook her head. "No… no, I will not have you rot here and be pulled down by the busybodies and fusspots of this village. Even now your looks are drawing attention—Merin, did I not tell you to cut your hair?"

"Ma, I tried to, but… but I couldn't."

"Leave it, Ani. You may as well be asking her to cut off her arm. Besides, if it's this weekend, we are off to Thorncross, then maybe the hair might draw more notice," Bower Brindle, Anya's husband, said as he walked into the kitchen, having overheard.

"I worry it will be the wrong sort of notice." Anya turned back to Merin. "You're too talented to need to rely on your looks."

"How do you know what I can do is even talent? It happens by accident most times. Things float in the air—they would break if I did not pay attention. I can barely control it. Maybe it's more curse than blessing?" Merin voiced her deepest doubts.

"Oh, it's magic, that is for sure," Bower said. "Not sure what kind, but it sets off my tingles the same as the mender down in Dremsway, and to show before awakening… Aye, you have nought to worry about. And even without your talent, you are tough, far tougher than you ought to be. With training, you would be a shoo-in for any of the guilds."

Anya sighed. "Our little girl who fell from the sky, our fate-gifted treasure. We knew we could only look after you for a time, never keep you. I—"

The main door rattled under heavy knocking.

Merin caught Bower frowning as he turned and moved to the door. She carried on with her chores until the distant voices swelled into angry shouts from more people than she would have expected at such an early hour. Wiping her hands on the dishrag, she followed Anya out of the kitchen to see what the commotion was about.

"She's a demon, a succubus. I saw it. Last night it snuck out to bewitch half the men in the village—"

"It's how they set them up, those villages up and down the shire. So many have fallen to the flesh traders. They say they first fall from within before being overrun."

Hearing Karri the Crone riling up the villagers with more fervour than ever before, Merin wondered what this was about. She had known that the old bat had had it in for her, but never to this extent.

"What would any Awakened need with such a convoluted method for sacking a village like ours?" Bower shouted over the din of residents, many of whom were only there to watch a show. "Besides, our Merin is just a girl. She has been at the farm for ten years with nought a bad word said about her since."

"Fel powers she has. I saw it that time, all the jars rattled at Reginald's. Jessop, you were there too. You saw it, didn't you?"

"Aye," a voice from the crowd murmured.

"Come off it, Karri. She might be gifted, but that doesn't make her a demon," Bower shouted.

Half a dozen soldiers stood directly before Bower, burnished metal plate dull in the dawn light. As Merin moved to take in the scene beyond the door, more people caught sight of her.

"Look, there it is, the she-demon. See, can you not see how there is something unnatural about it? Unnatural, I tell you."

The captain, who had been watching in boredom, caught sight of her as she stepped into view and for a moment, there was a cold, deadly serious flash in his eyes. One of the soldiers stumbled back slightly after noticing her.

"Oh fuck me," the soldier muttered.

"Miss, if you don't mean these folk any trouble, surrender yourself and come with us," the captain said. He turned to the men beside him. "Men, apprehend the creature."

"No! Bower!" Anya screamed.

"Captain, what is it? What are we dealing with?" one of the soldiers asked. "Just follow orders. Go! Now!" the captain roared, unsheathing his sword.

The situation turned too fast for Merin to react. Fear became a stunned sort of horror. She stood frozen as men with swords moved to advance into the barn.

Then everything became more chaotic. Bower slammed the door before the soldiers could take a step, barring it with the latch before dropping the drawbar. Moments later, the door rattled on its hinges as the men outside rammed against the stout wood.

"Ani, take the pack I prepared for Thorncross and lead her out the back before they catch on," Bower shouted, pushing a large cupboard to barricade the door. "Now!"

Anya wasted no time, dragging Merin back to the kitchen.

"Ma, what is going on?"

"Come, dear, no time for questions. Let's get you out of the village. Grab your cloak. Good. Now come."

They hurried out of the kitchen back into the barley fields, but one of the soldiers circling round the back noticed their flight.

"Over here! Out back!" the soldier shouted.

"Merin, here, put this pack on," Anya said, shoving the rolled pack into her hands as they left the farm. "If you can make it far enough from here, you should be fine. Now run. I will hold them off."

Panicked and confused, Merin obeyed and ran across the open field, unsure where she was going or what she would do when she got there.

More shouts rose behind her, then a shrill scream dragged her glance back. A soldier had tackled Anya roughly to the ground. Batton, one of her older brothers, was beaten down, the back of a soldier's sword smashing into the side of the surprised farmer's temple.

Her confused horror turned to a slow, searing rage at the barbarity done to the people who had taken her in and loved her as their own. The careful control of her power slipped as the rarely felt fury woke something deep within.

They had called her a creature.

She had always known she was not human, but she had happily ignored those slumbering instincts that didn't fit in with the rest of her family, the village, and her life as a human.

Merin was no fool, and neither were Anya and Bower. They likely knew that no normal girl could be found as she had been. And still they defended her, even now sacrificing themselves for a chance for her freedom.

The barley rustled, then stood rigid straight. Loose stones and dust floated into the air as sounds of the farm and activity around it fell away.

Merin allowed an unfamiliar fury to flow like magma through her veins; it channelled it into parts of herself few creatures possessed in ways no human could understand.

Her scream ripped through her throat unbidden, until her throat tore, she couldn't breathe, it was all she could do to hold on to consciousness, before blood rushed to her head, golden horns punched through her skull, as it seemed as if everyone in the village stopped to watch in horror.

Miren's form grew, her limbs shifting into new shapes, her dress and pack folding away with the magic of the transformation. Golden, opalescent scales replaced pale skin as her scream deepened into a roar and rocked the entire village of Torvolon.

Before she realised it, Merin stood above the barn she'd called home. Her new form was long-limbed and unfamiliar, but with it came a strength and agency that felt… righteous, magic that had seemed a burden now twitched and flexed in answer to her will.

"DRAGON!"

The soldier looming over Batton was swept aside by her arm—or rather, her wing. His armoured form, so menacing a moment before, was little more than a rodent to her in this shape. And then a wave of force flung the soldiers away from Anya as the golden dragon advanced.

"Merin!" Anya wailed, a stab wound in her belly. "Go. Run. You must be safe. Be safe, do you hear?"

Merin roared. Her shape made human speech impossible. Frustration, fury and unwillingness clouded her mind. There was so much she still wanted to say, more she felt she could do, but as more soldiers rounded the barn, she knew she would soon be overrun.

"We feared such a day might come," Anya said under her breath, "and now it's time to say goodbye. I love you, my child."

Merin lowered her snout and pressed it gently to Anya's chest. She felt those calloused hands rest on her face once more, now so small and distant, before they dropped, her mother's eyes glassy as hesitant bootsteps drew near. Merin backed away, her steps, however soft, now enough to shake the earth. She took one last look at the only home she had ever known and fled.

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