Gaoh had hazarded a few glances into his past in times before his daughter could possibly remember. Had she known where Gibral was, he was sure she would have made her way there without him to satisfy her curiosity. What could have become of her then, he wondered while observing her intent steps. Kro plainly felt just like he did; as if they had come home.

Gibral had exploded far beyond its confines as he had known it in its youth. Maybe that meant Gibralans had somehow become more openminded than he ever dreamed, Gaoh considered. He shook the thought from his head lest it distract him from his goal.

“Shall we?” Gaoh ushered his daughter deeper into Gibral.

Gibralan architecture had been based on its surroundings in the man’s younger years. As a matter of fact, Gaoh had grown in a house hewn from the same stones which birthed the ancestors. He had followed this tradition when making the Howling Cavern where he had raised his daughter more hospitable. Today’s environment still held some influence over the home’s design but was no longer its sole determiner. Refuse from the stone construction, which had once been carelessly discarded, was now chiseled into designs more intricate than even the petrified figures who still stood around the town.

“A little different from what you described…” Kro commented, awestruck.

Ornate ropes climbed into the lush canopy where carefully woven castles swayed gently in the breeze. What was once no more than patches of slung together hammocks had become a masterful tapestry of luxurious quilts. Were these still Gibralans, or did they fancy themselves a community all of their own? Gaoh pondered that almost as much as how they had not yet encountered a member of the legendary Horde though they had come so far into Gibral.

A hacking cough interrupted Gaoh’s thoughts. An elderly man shuffled towards them, blowing weakly into his crooked hands for warmth. Resigning himself to the cold, the man buried his hands in the folds of his cloak. He hummed an eerier tune as he continued; a sound that tore Gaoh from the present and flung him into the past. Everything seemed to stop.

“It couldn’t be…” the colour drained from Gaoh’s face.

To Gaoh’s surprise, a spectre from his youth stood squarely in his path.

“My eyes are not as good as they once were.” the elder man began. “But, if I’m not mistaken, you are in possession of something that has long been lost…” He paused as if realizing the reality of his situation.

“Indeed I am.” Gaoh chuckled, lowering his hood.

“Heavens…” the old man managed hoarsely, moving closer to be sure of what he was seeing.

The two men stood still for a moment, regarding each other with equal disbelief.

“Orek?” Gaoh asked incredulously.

“Heavens..” the old man repeated, overcome with emotion. “Is that you, Gaoh?” He asked, already knowing the answer.

Orek was one of the Horde’s many Heads like his father before him, and his father born from the old stone. Descended from the saviours who stood against the serpent, they directed Gibral. It was him who had been at Gaoh’s bedside when he first returned from his childhood misadventure.

“It is.” Gaoh responded, tickled by what havoc time had wrought on someone whose presence once suffocated. “How are you, old man?” He asked, smirking.

They grasped each other’s forearms by way of a greeting as done among the ancient Gibralans. Gaoh knew that this was a test of some sort which would cause the eyes at their backs to become blades at their throats. Orek sputtered at the realization that it was no product of senility.

“I have either lived long enough to experience a miracle, or inadvertently strolled into the Afterlife on my evening walk.” Tears welled up in his eyes.

“Hopefully more of the former than the latter.” Gaoh laughed deeply. “A notion that I hope is best expressed through whom I have returned alongside.” he gently nudged his child in front of him. “I would like to introduce you to my daughter, Kro.” The man said, swelling with pride.

The old man inhaled sharply as the young woman lowered her hood. She was the picture of the woman who vanished alongside Gaoh so many years prior. Cheeks and chin ruddy from the elements, Kro was a vision of haunting beauty.

“Kro…?” Orek croaked with a mask of recognition as his wobbling legs carried him forward. “...Your daughter?” He stopped short with a wavering voice, suddenly snapping out of his reverie.

Looking at her now, there were minor differences from the woman the old man knew. She lacked the beauty marks forming a crescent from the corner of her left eye to her cheekbone, but she bore the same deep brown eyes as her predecessor. Her darker complexion alone lent her a more fierce air than her mother could ever muster. The older woman had borne a beauty only outshone by a madness over the unknown, whereas her daughter appeared to be contending with something more. Orek seemed to shrink, smiling awkwardly while fumbling with a small pouch tied around his waist with a string. Even from this distance, Kro could tell it was frogskin.

“Yes…” the elderly man said with a twinge of sadness. “Just as much of a sight as her mother.” His smile did not reach his eyes.

Kro leaned against a nearby building while the two men excitedly caught up on the years apart. She smiled, never having seen her father as animated as he was now and felt a warmth at the sight. Her own curitousities could wait, this would be good for him.

The men shared what they had lost and found in such separate positions. Orek spoke about how Gibral had grown in Gaoh’s absence in exchange for how the man had raised his daughter in the wild. Gibral had spread further than the old man had wanted in his younger days, but this had led to lesser visits from the monsters lingering among the trees. Gaoh described some of the creatures he had seen which were unknown to his homeland. He would leave it to Kro to tell the story of conquering her namesake.

Finally, Orek requested that they seek shelter from the cold at the tavern in the towncenter. He described it as somewhere the townspeople always gathered despite the weather as Gaoh should recall his father having done.

“You can’t mean…?” A disbelieving grin broke across the man’s face.

“I’m sure the average crowd of the Orsk would love to learn what such an avid adventurer had done and seen.” The old man enticed.

Gaoh mulled over the suggestion. More than anything, he still held his suspicions that Gibral wore a mask. Someone of Orek’s status could only have come upon them alone by his design. Those tracking them past had carried news of their arrival throughout the town. It felt more like they were being lured in instead of facing something immovable as accustomed.

The man looked at the eagerly shifting elder. Even in their younger days, Orek had made him uncomfortable. Gaoh was sure that this man played some part in his suspicions around his first return from the outside world. His standing had allowed him to make more moves than most as shown when the old man had been the only one there alongside the healer. It was just as likely that he played some part in his family’s departure from Gibral went so smoothly, he mused. Gaoh looked back at his equally discomforted daughter before he agreed.

Kro tried to ignore the movement in the corner of her eye while the men spoke. Orek made her more uncomfortable than anything had before, but she could not tell why. It took more than courage not to pull back when the elderly man’s gnarled fingers reached for her face. Although her father had made her practice patience under duress, it was his reassuring look which emboldened her in the moment. Letting someone like that catch a whiff of weakness could spell her end.

Gaoh smiled at her attention to details that he himself was fighting not to address. Doing so now would upend everything that he intended to pursue in bringing his daughter here. The man briefly wondered whether he should have included her as more than a vehicle towards meeting his goal and started off with the old man.

The girl fell in behind them. Unlike what she had assumed, her father was her sole true tether to the heritage she dreamt of belonging to. The townspeople’s animosity leaked from the windows cracked to keep the houses from boiling over. How different would their experience be if it was not for Orek’s company.

Her head whipped towards the sound of footsteps fading into the distance away from them. She swore she heard the echo time and again as they worked their way through the tangle of mostly empty roads. Kro questioned if the footsteps like the eyes she felt following them were simply her mind reacting to unfamiliar settings. A nervous response getting the best of her after all of her training. Regardless, she gingerly stroked the pommel of one of the blades lining her coat.

Orek greeted every soul they happened upon, urging them to meet at the tavern. He even excused himself from time to time, conducting clipped conversations which went unheard by the two, though they were sure the words remained the same. Tonight, the Orsk boasted more than the regular rabble. They would be treated to tales of great terrors lying outside of Gibral by the first to survive them. Each time, those the old man propositioned would eye the two accompanying him before answering. Their responses were mostly favourable while those who refused scuttled away as if fearing a lash.

“Let us pick up the pace.” the old man said finally, stroking his pouch as he drew his cloak in around him for protection from the cold. “I’m sure you’ve noticed that things in Gibral have advanced beyond what we once preached–.” He began.

“What about the others who were raised in that time?” Gaoh interrupted.

The elderly man chuckled.

“The change did not occur so swiftly for it to be met with much resistance.” He responded, slightly smug.

“I see.” Gaoh accepted without any recourse to challenge him. “Would you begrudge me a moment alone with my daughter before we arrive?” He asked expectantly.

Orek paused to ponder the man’s words. Indeed the girl might have some difficulty with so many characters in one place after growing up without more than her father and the animals. He looked at Kro for a moment and nodded his agreement.

Gaoh herded her out of earshot but kept a hushed tone.

“Things are different like the old man says.” he cast a glance over his shoulder to ensure the elderly man had remained in place. “But, the important locations still remain if the Orsk is any testament.” The man said, hoping she knew he was saying more than the words.

He rest his hands on Kro’s shoulders and gave her a solemn look.

“No matter what happens, do not open this until you know it is time.” Gaoh handed her a small package out of Orek’s sight.

Pressing the mystery parcel against her body, the girl guessed at the contents. Much to her fascination, it felt like a bundle of papers neatly bound. How would she know when it was time? Kro wondered this as she and her father rejoined the old man on their way to the tavern.

“Welcome to the Orsk.” Orek claimed proudly as the building came into view.

A sweeping, three storey building loomed ahead with windows as vast as the Orsk’s immense entry doors which themselves were wide enough to walk a carriage through. Its base had been carved from a great tree in times long forgotten as exhibited by the indiscriminately protruding additions that plagued its frame. Men and women in various modes of undress silently leered at them from the upper levels as they approached. Kro shifted her focus back to her blades.

Orek swung open the doors onto a lively scene with great gusto. Women of the establishment standing under the eaves solicited those they believed worth their talents as long as they could withstand them. Tankards clamoured and their contents sloshed around shouts paired with raucous laughter. Everything ceased when the trio entered.

All attention fell upon them with enough pressure that their knees felt like they might buckle should they stop moving. Kro’s grip instinctively tightened on her weapons. The room held its breath while tracking them to the bar set into the far wall.

“Welcome back to Gibral.” Orek snorted before addressing the tavern. “Be well all, these are my honoured guests.” he called out. “Be well.”

Sparse muttering morphed into fleeting conversations chasing each other around the room while most returned focus to their tables. They wondered whether those flanking the old man were truly who and what was advertised. Was it all really worth the temperatures that Orek convinced them to brave?

Orek ignored the attention as if he was used to it. He rapped his knuckles sharply on the bar to summon the bartender.

“Three ales.” He gestured to those with him.

The bartender offered a nod and scurried off to fulfill the request.

“Some things never change.” Gaoh said under his breath.

“And others do.” Orek contested, offering his guests their cups. “To your health.” He raised his tankard before drinking deeply.

Gaoh and Kro monitored him for some reaction. Satisfied that their drinks had not been tampered with, the two similarly indulged themselves. Slight bitterness was chased by mellow sweetness and alcohol’s tart bite boldly traipsed across their tongues. Orek nodded to a vacant area where they could speak more freely.

The elderly man listened to more about Kro’s upbringing over their drinks. She realized her father was dancing around the revelation that he had taken up residence at the Howling Cavern the more he spoke. Whatever his reason, she would do her best not to intervene.

When Gaoh first returned to Gibral, he had been surprised that no one questioned the hunt which had led to his mangled state. None of his companions’ relatives sought him out for answers, seemingly content with the trinkets borne upon his return. Not even his parents had visited often nor asked too much when they finally got him home. Only Orek and the healer had shown such open curiousity about what he had done.

Every excruciating moment of his endeavour was as seared into his brain as it was etched into his flesh. If Gaoh did not suspect Orek, he would have shared it all with him then. Instead, he found himself carefully picking his words like he was doing again now. Had the healer been interested in more than his wounds, it could have been him that was confided in. He wanted to place his trust in someone who would not weaponize his vulnerability against him. The woman who became the mother of his child was the only offer to unburden himself that he took seriously given her circumstances.

Where everyone else appeared afraid to ask, Kro’s reputation meant she was already exempt. Gaoh had been the first person who listened to her in earnest while everyone else thought that she was insane. In response he shared everything he could recall of the day he became a man.

Since his partner’s passing, Gaoh had a lot of time to work things through by himself. Orek played too great a part in their lives for his influence to go unrealized. The elderly man appeared at too many crucial points for his contributions to be purely coincidental. This would be their only chance to change even a fraction of it.

Orek visibly deflated when he learned the older Kro died in childbirth. His responses to what Gaoh endured in her absence were noticeably lackluster for someone who should have cared. He only truly showed interest again while Gaoh spoke about what hardships he faced in feeding himself and his child with what wildlife lived around their abode. The daughter swore the man’s mood subtly shifted to budding anger though her father continued his tale.

The elderly man questioned how Gibralan the girl could be when raised apart from the Horde. They had made great strides that Gaoh would have not been aware of, he thought with a hidden sneer. There was no way she held a candle to anyone raised under his watch given what the man had described.

“I know I introduced her as my daughter but that is not the accomplishment by any stretch.” Gaoh sipped from his tankard. “For one, she has overcome her own trial.” He put his cup down.

Orek turned to her, surprised by the revelation.

“Is this true?” he asked the woman who nodded in response. “What did you hunt?” The old man queried.

“She found and slew what you and the others told us all could not possibly exist.” Gaoh cut in before she could even offer a nod.

Emboldened by drink and oblivious to the shock settling on the old man’s face, one of the patrons stumbled close. Overwhelmed by curiousity, he lingered in the hopes of catching a sliver of the conversation among the three. Struggling to stay on his feet, the elderly man finally caught a glimpse of Orek’s guests’ faces. Starstruck, the curious man staggered to his table on trembling legs and collapsed into his seat.

His reaction was enough for scattered rumblings to erupt among the customers. What ghost could have made itself known to have such an effect? Tales of a lost son of the soil’s return from the unknown had found further fuel than the old man’s word.

Orek took a deep gulp before he stood and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Silence wafted through the room.

“Welcome one and all to an event I myself scarcely believed I would have the fortune to host.” he flung his arms wide. “Tonight we are visited by a spirit of Gibral alongside what we can call a symbol of what we have the potential to become.” the elderly man shook his head morosely. “Moreover, tonight we allow them to rejoin the motherland, and be of service.” He rested a hand over his heart.

Man and woman alike gaped at the two seated near the speaker as if they had sprouted a spare head between their shoulders. One had been visible from the start while its counterpart could only be seen in the right light. Kro kept track of the perplexed onlookers pouring into the building already swollen with chatter about her father.

“I am not sure how many of you will remember the great Gaoh.” Orek continued. “His story has been something of a cautionary tale told to naughty children who go too far.” He chuckled.

Kro smiled at her father over the rim of her cup.

“You see, after the stone serpent was slain.” Orek paused as the crowd whooped and cheered. “We took to guarding our grounds by building the Horde,” he paused again. “At some point after, we decided to slowly expand our small scrap of land where we began learning to be a society unruled by fear of what awaits in the dark.” The old man said proudly.

“FOR THE HONOUR OF THE HORDE!” Several shout in response with drinks held high.

Orek raised his cup to answer.

“The fact is that since the serpent there have been only two incidents where anything has crossed our borders.” his dark eyes shone as his tone shifted from admiration to frustration. “Both of these involved Gaoh.” He pointed at the man he had been sitting with.

Ever the accomplished orator, the elderly man let the crowd’s gasps punctuate his speech before letting his voice reach the rafters.

“See their black furs?” Orek searched the faces in the crowd. “As some of you were undoubtedly told, Gaoh returned to Gibral wrapped in those skins alone when he became a man.” he moved towards the two and raised the fabric into the light. “Look at the size of it.” the old man marvelled. “Can you imagine the avatar of Death who must have visited him out there, and yet he withstood.” He took a great swig as his eyes took on a manic gleam.

Gaoh wore the ghost of a grin throughout Orek’s exposition. The elderly man had framed him as the wayward child who suffered greatly for his mistake like anyone in his position would. He turned to his daughter who was enrapt in this retelling of her bedtime stories.

The old man continued.

“These midnight black furs are so much more than wards against the cold.” he entreated. “They are symbols of our people’s pride of what we can overcome.” Orek said.

Kro shared the rest of the crowd’s awe. She knew her furs as what she had been swaddled in by her mother since birth. Her father never mentioned any further importance than that.

“Written into his skin is evidence of claws so colossal that nightmares could fathom,” he mimed scratching at the air. “Yet, he came back to us.” the elderly man’s tone simmered. “It is thanks to him overcoming our guard which turned the Horde’s sights outwards as was needed.” he raised his cup, motioning for the audience to join him in the gesture. “We thank you for your contributions to our growth.” The room exploded into cheers.

She nursed her drink while considering Orek’s version of events. Her father portrayed his scars as an eternal reminder of his greatest shame. They were the price he paid to atone for having disobeyed his elders and straying too far. The price of him becoming a man. Kro wondered what else her father had neglected to tell her all these years.

“Unfortunately, these laurels were not to be rested upon.” he said bitterly. “Only to return having produced a gem of their own.” the elderly man gestured to Kro. “Welcome them home.” he turned back to his guests with a cheeky grin. “Best to get it over with, I think.” He said with a shrug.

Phantoms from Gaoh’s past visited them alongside faces reminiscent of that long gone day. He preferred revelling in the nostalgia of nearly forgotten experiences around Gibral instead of succumbing to requests to relive his life in that far-flung cave. All the same, Gaoh made sure not to lose sight of his daughter getting whisked further and further away by the waves of people falling upon them.

Though the talking around her never ceased, Kro felt tense. Maybe it was just her nerves getting the best of her again, she thought while struggling to breathe. The girl recorded every face she could like her father had taught her to do in an effort to calm herself under such circumstances. Her eyes met Gaoh’s then, and he gave her a nod.

Kro emptied her tankard and pushed towards the position she had planned since walking in. The sea of spectators began parting in front of her like a teeming tide held at bay as if sensing her intent. Bannisters lining the upper tiers creaked as those charmed by the old man’s tale leaned over for a better view. Fingers anxiously trembling, she let her furs fall to the floor with a thump. Silver gleamed in the flickering light cast from the many sconces ran from collar to mid-thigh with hints at her shins and forearm. The girl pulled a cowl of thin steel over her head and waited.

“Heavens…” Orek whispered in astonishment.

Shadows stole across the faces of those in attendance while silence reasserted itself. Armoured plates laid over more of their own like feathers, but how could that be? They knew that the technique for working Gibralan steel into such patterns had long been lost to them. Modern Gibralans were only capable of reworking the heirlooms they were handed down. Moreover, such tasks demanded skill and time committed to the craft which the girl could not possibly possess.

All eyes turned to Orek, wondering if they had finally imbibed far too much. The Horde had maintained that nothing existed in this world that was born with its own steel. Tales like those of Kro assuaged the people’s primal fears of what could lie in wait outside Gibral. The elderly man’s gaze grew darker by the moment.

“Like father, like daughter.” Orek contributed to the circulating bewilderment.

Nervous laughter sporadically cut through the quiet until the audience again found their nerve. A torrent of questions swept away whatever crumb of the silence remained.

“Did you fashion this from steel?” One asked with eyes agleam.

“Can’t you see it, fool?” another challenged. “These are feathers!” They exclaimed.

“Impossible!” Screeched someone.

“It is before our eyes!” Exclaimed a bewildered voice.

Thirsty for more from the two, the numbers around them never waned or let their cups run dry.

“Where did you find such a creature?” Inquired another person who did not allow her the time to respond.

“How did you slay it?” The next asked.

Kro thought it was amazing how alone she felt among what should be her own kind. Who would have believed she would miss being home with her father as much as she did now. She saw it on his face that he felt the same thing whenever they happened to exchange looks. Maybe she was not Gibralan like the old man had suggested after all.

Orek burped loudly and began moving through the crowd. He cupped his hands over his mouth and shouted above the din.

“I’ll be back shortly!” he called out. “Take good care of my guests while I am away.” The old man said as he retreated up the stairs.

The change in the elderly man’s absence was gradual and nearly unnoticeable had the two not had their wits about them. Kro would wonder if the tension that plagued her throughout the day and forced her to seek fresh air from the nearest window was actually fate making itself known. More than anything, she wondered why her father had not been so lucky.

Gaoh offered no resistance to the knife that flashed at his back because there was no need to. Had it not been for the shocked look on the man’s face when his blade did not connect, Gaoh would have thought that he was just bumped into by someone overeager. He threw his drink into his attacker’s face and bashed the closest person in the side of the head with his mug before anyone else could react. So it begins, Gaoh thought as he overturned a table to give himself some distance.

“KRO!” he bellowed. “GO!” The man ordered with the knowledge that the seed he had hoped for was sown.

The girl pitched herself through the window without a second thought at her father’s yell. Every hand that reached out to hold her back recoiled with deep cuts from the sharpened steel that composed her attire. Gaoh grinned as the sound of her steel faded away into the night.

“FOOLS!” a voice thundered from somewhere up on high. “The creature could possess your family like the girl it has taken the form of.” its every word dripped with malice. “You have only yourselves to blame.” Its last threat faded into a hiss.

Gaoh laughed loudly at the claim.

“Is that the story he has fed you?” his laugh grew. “Is that what you choose to believe in spite of all that you have seen this eve?” the man scoffed. “I see that Gibral has only grown more cowardly, not advanced.” he said regretfully. “Kro is as much of a monster as I am!” Gaoh raised his voice to quiet those attempting to lay blame instead of following her escape. “As much of a monster as her mother was.” He said, attempting to reign in his emotions.

Then came the laugh; a cold, harsh cackle that made his bones shudder.

“So you admit that she is kin to ghosts.” its wicked smile was audible. “But worry not, we will not let you two be apart long.” it said resolutely. “You will not plague Gibral with more of the darkness than what has clung to you since you somehow returned from Hell.” the voice spat in disgust.

“You will only have my life if you come to take it yourself, Orek.” Gaoh drew his axe and waited for the Horde to approach.

The speaker paused as if caught off guard.

“When did you know?” the old man asked while shuffling into the light. “No matter,” he said resolutely. “It’s too late to make much of a difference.” Orek resigned with a shrug.

“While in Hell.” Gaoh said defiantly. “As much as my daughter must have realized something was awry when we met a Head of the Horde but found no trace of a patrol.” The man smirked.

Orek grunted in acknowledgement.

“I admit that I might have been overzealous in my approach because I was so excited at the very prospect of this encounter.” he conceded after some thought. “There is something that you have not figured out yet though…” the old man paused before breaking into a wicked smile. “The Horde now bears only one head.” He said menacingly.

The elderly man savoured the flicker of confusion he saw flash across Gaoh’s face.

“Without characters like you and Kro mucking everything up, my ascent made perfect sense.” his cold stare washed over the readied man. “It was long overdue.” Orek waved away the thought for a more pressing query. “Why did you accompany me here knowing what you did, and with your child no less?” He asked incredulously.

“It was the easiest means to effect change.” Gaoh replied simply. “From the looks of your men, I’d say it has already begun.” Wielding his furs in front of him like a shield, he charged the crowd with his axe ready.

Satha watches Gaoh’s demise for the umpteenth time through the Pools. Kro singlemindedly fled through Gibral, not knowing how these events would haunt her for the rest of her days. Why had she tried to stifle the uneasiness she felt from the minute the first eyes fell upon them? It all teases the fringes of her clouded memory like a faint itch which she could not quite reach.

‘Everything is as it should be’. The mantra echoes in her wandering mind, trying to instill some sense of relief. She wonders for a moment if those Below had anything to hold them so sweetly as those Above. She wonders this though she already knows better. All that those Below had was the prospect of the Afterlife to look forward to where such comforts were commonplace.

A chill runs down Satha’s spine, causing her to hug her shoulders for some respite. She closes her eyes, trying to chase the fog from her thoughts. Who was she? Kro must be contemplating her identity without her father the same way that she was considering hers. The woman shook her head and turned her focus back to the Pool.

Terror at what was to transpire rooted her to the spot. Gaoh had lain waste to more of the room than one may think a solitary man capable on his own. Still, the Horde overtook him with the strength of sheer numbers.

Wicked glee shines in Orek’s beady little eyes. The others had stripped away Gaoh’s clothing and weapons alike to share among themselves before peeling him from the floor. Beaten beyond recognition and riddled with leaks, he is thrown onto the floor in front of the old man. With the last of his strength, Gaoh rolls onto his back and gives a bloody smile. Infuriated, the elderly man falls upon him with his blade plunging into the younger man repeatedly until he finds relief from all the years of frustration that the man had caused.

“As requested.” Orek spit onto the floor.

Satha intently watched the girl grow under her father’s dutiful care and tutelage. What he knew was how to be Gibralan. She must admit that he had brilliantly adopted every quality being Gibralan constituted to his daughter. He had even painstakingly tailored his pursuits to include her at nearly each step.

First, Gaoh needed to feed her. He stalked what he once hunted for meat back to wherever they called home and waited, keeping watch for any trace of their young. At first, the man had considered whisking away his prey while they slept so he could milk them for his own cub. Wrangling them from their dens would be too treacherous without knowing more about what he was getting into. This was an endeavour which he would need to repeat until his daughter was finally weaned. In each instance he improved his technique which he would teach her in turn.

Gaoh taught her how to move among the trees with ease soon after she started walking without assistance. At times he would pretend to send her out by herself while keeping a close eye on her should she falter. Like her mother, she too was his gem. When he grew comfortable with her movements, it was time for her to explore weapons.

The girl learned how to fight with sticks before being introduced to anything edged. Now it was time for his fierce little warrior to learn how it felt to take a life. Such things were essential to being Gibralan, he reminded himself constantly. Each lesson brought her closer to his goal.

Warm with the blood of her first kill, Gaoh taught her what it was to maintain her weaponry after its use. Few Gibralans favoured the practise since their house’s weapon became the source of their pride. Having travelled so far outside of Gibral, Gaoh was sure he knew more than his heritage dictated.

Her success meant her father would lead her back to the hallowed land from whence her parents came. Gaoh had taken special care in painting his origins with colours bright enough to drown out its enveloping darkness. It was all towards her not rejecting what he had modelled into a trophy. After all, if things went according to plan, she would be pivotal to Gibral’s future.

Confident enough in her skills not to worry when she went out to find their next meal herself, Gaoh finally gave his daughter the opportunity to claim adulthood. He had told her many tales of her mother embroiled in battle with a great winged monster which no one else could see. The monstrous bird was one of the biggest reasons why her parents had left home. All the same, her decision to pursue her mother’s demons was still unexpected.

He accepted her proposal with a surprised smirk. Gaoh marvelled at how much the little girl who had growled at him and gnawed happily at his fingers had blossomed into a force all of her own. Should his daughter triumph, the honour to the name she shared with her mother was indisputable. Funny how the man had just hoped his stories would allow his child to develop a bond with the mother she never got the chance to know for herself. Who would have thought his fables would propel her to also go after something greater than any Gibralan dared attempting.

Instructing Kro to prepare their arms, Gaoh reflected on musings with his dearly departed. One of their favourite topics to discuss was where such a creature could reside. The map coupled with their hunting background allowed them the best educated guess as to where the behemoth of a bird might perch. His daughter agreed to his suggestion once he explained their destination using the piece of the parchment. He and his friends had named that place the Porcelain Palace.

The Palace was a massive opening in the Earth made up of uneven layers plunging into a swiftly running stream. Ridges and cliffs were marked by smooth white rocks which made them appear unassailable without wings. Anything capable of piercing those stones which shattered Gibralan steel was nothing the boys dared imagine. Perhaps the fear that thought evoked was what kept Gibral from admitting the animal’s existence. Wispy patches of eerily creaking trees caught in the screaming wind were the only living thing in the surroundings as if something had picked the land clean.

Father and child left the cave in the early Spring, alternating between whom tugged a small cart of supplies which they might need. Avoiding Gibral on the route to the Porcelain Palace meant the journey was lengthened by leaps and bounds, but that would all be time which he required. Gaoh could not help but grin whenever he caught flashes of his little girl in this woman who excitedly inquired about whatever caught her eye along the way. The added time would be filled in with whatever little knowledge he had left to pass on.

Weeks went by on faith before Gaoh offered a further nugget of support. The girl’s mother had put forward the idea that a bird so large would be migratory so as to go so unnoticed. What was worth wondering was how long those migration periods might be. They had agreed that the greatest determining factor in those periods’ length was the motion’s purpose. Gaoh smiled somberly, remembering how they had heatedly gone back and forth in deciding the most likely cause of it all to be the chance to mate. When could that be?

Facing more than one of them was a nightmare multiplied tenfold no matter how one looked at it. Their quarry must have a defined hunting ground near Gibral where it returned to regardless of the season. Of all the locations depicted on the map, the Porcelain Palace best fit the criteria. Its many caves and terraces would offer it safety as it recovered from whatever it had done.

Unbeknownst to the young Kro, Gaoh began grappling with his doubts. Was this all a fool’s errand? He questioned the aim he adopted further with every passing day once a season marched past. No matter, he could not summon the courage to tell his daughter the truth of it all. So what if the bird was a figment of her mother’s imagination? The cart loaded with their supplies caught on an exposed root as if to remind him of what weight they bore. How could he do any of that when Kro had left him to carry on their faith? Gaoh felt his uncertainty lift from his shoulders as he shook the cart loose for them to lurch forward.

Fall playfully nipped at Summer’s heels with crisp breezes darting across the plain ahead of them ending in sheer white walls. That was when the impossible appeared in front of them in the form of what appeared to be a glowing, sharpened steel plate. Kro lifted the shape from the soil to examine it more closely. The figure was an otherworldly hue of white that shone to seem like it was still aflame from whatever forge had crafted it. It was weighted like a weapon meant for ripping victims asunder. At the same time, she felt like it would be difficult to pierce should one use it as a shield. Gaoh observed her in hushed amazement, knowing what it could mean.

“Kro…” Her throat dried up as she tried to speak, passing the discovery to her awestruck father.

“A feather.” he comments, inspecting the piece for himself. “The entrance to the Palace is just up ahead.” he nodded ahead. “We should prepare.” Gaoh handed her a broadsword to which she acquiesced.

Kro accepted the sword forged from Gibralan steel because of its versatility in combat. It stabbed like the shortsword but cut just as well. She wagered she might need both motions in close proximity if she wanted to stand a chance. Watching her father sling his longsword over his shoulder while she slipped the sliver of steel they had found under her light armour. She was determined to give herself any advantage she could grasp.

Her bow and fletch of arrows lay concealed by thick cloaks along with the rest of their weapons and armour, she exchanged a wary glance with her father. The canyon before them created a theatre of death for anyone who entered on the formation’s lower levels. It would not be the first time that the pursued turned the tables on its pursuers.

White stone terraces loomed overhead as others plummet into the furiously flowing waters below. Thankfully the entrance her father had chosen was wider than most of the ledges it accompanied. Still, Kro did not know which opening to focus on when so many blank rocks menaced from above. The two seasoned hunters themselves could not have chosen better settings for an ambush if they had the chance. They would have picked their place atop one of the outcroppings and waited for when the time was right. Steeling themselves against their suspicions, Gaoh and Kro resolved to push onward.

Late afternoon sun painted pregnant dark clouds a reddish orange as the two moved among the creaking trees, snapping under their slightest touch. Hopefully the bird was diurnal like most of the others they knew. Dusk drew its curtain over the land upon their approach, offering them some sense of safety from what they sought.

BOOM! A sharp clang of a blow against metal was followed by an ear-splitting shriek. Father and daughter froze between the quaking walls until they settled. BOOM! The following report and scream shook loose debris as the first faint flicker flashed across the dark sky. BOOM! This time Kro swore she heard the song of countless blades being unsheathed at once sung nearby.

BOOM! Lightning briefly lit up their faces as they briefly shared a look of confirmation. A storm was coming. They stood back to back with swords and shields drawn while the sound of marching armour echoed around them. As suddenly as it had appeared the clamour vanished once it reached a frightening crescendo, leaving the thunder to fill the silence. BOOM!

The steps towards the nearest opening in the white rock seemed to stretch out an eternity while the world held its breath. A peal of lightning illuminated an empty cavern as the heavens burst open. Drenched, Gaoh’s instincts begged him to shield his eyes against the deluge and look up.

Time seemed to slow down as her father’s expression quickly became one of worry. He threw his full weight into her, catapaulting them both out of the way of a massive silhouette which had silently plunged towards them from an unknown height. Terrifying talons tore through the space the two had occupied just seconds earlier. It was only when they landed in a muddy heap that she started hearing the rain dancing on its metal feathers. Her father had been right about the steel plate they had found.

The deafening beat of mammoth wings caught the behemoth of a bird midfall and sent the two flying. Kro and her father lost each other in the sea of toppled trees it had caused. The ground trembled as the creature landed heavily with another mighty flap of its immense wings. Gleaming in the brightening flashes of light was a bird more wickedly beautiful and fierce than she ever dreamt.

Armoured plumage covered most of the bird’s body, ranging from white atop its head to black beneath its wings. Metallic grey highlights its stomach in shifting plates that sing with its every breath. Pitch black eyes the size of her fists coldly reflected all its wildly moving head consumed, shining with a malicious intelligence. Kro could not remember anything she had hunted prior evoking anything near what the creature before her now made her feel.

BOOM! BOOM! Her survival instinct picked her up from the dirt though her legs took a few stumbling steps to steady. BOOM! BOOM! She was running before her feet found their proper rhythm. BOOM! BOOM! There was no time to think about whether the sound was the thunder or her pounding heartbeat. BOOM! BOOM! She could not afford to think of her father’s wellbeing when her opponent could so easily dispatch her. BOOM! BOOM! He would be at her side once able, and if not, she would deal with whatever was left of him when the deed was done. BOOM! BOOM! For now, she needed to concentrate on closing the distance between them and cutting down its range of motion.

The bird shifted its wicked gaze from a splintered pile of wood to the woman brazenly bearing down in its direction. Kro freed herself from her sullied cloak and wrenched her bow free. There was no guarantee that the bird would stay in place for their battle to unfold unless she made a move. Had it possessed the features, Kro thought it might have sneered at what havoc it had wrought.

Suddenly, the woman broke to a side in an attempt to judge the animal’s field of vision. With eyes set in its skull, it had to shift its head whenever something eluded its sight. That could offer her the opportunity to get close enough to it for her to drive her blade home.

In learning how to hunt and hunting what could be similar, Kro had grown to question some details of the tales her father had told. The bird puffed out its chest as if daring her to attack its peerless defense. If nothing else, the animal was thoroughly proud of itself and what damage it can cause. That would come in handy towards her goal.

Coming to an abrupt stop, she notched an arrow and let it fly in one fluid motion. The projectile ricocheted uselessly off of the bird’s plates with a loud clang. Kro smiled at the confirmation of her suspicions. Its feathers were dense enough to act as armour against conventional weapons as she had guessed.

If Gibralans were truly the venerated hunters that Gaoh made them out to be, she assumed that an animal such a society made myth would not be so easily felled. It must have surely overtaken any opposition with similar ineffective weaponry. Knowing such a prize existed, how could Gibral never seek it out? That had always boggled the mind when she contemplated things. No one was brave enough to try before her mother, and she doubted anyone had until her. Kro beamed excitedly.

Curious about the darting speck shooting flecks bouncing off of its iron shell, the animal arrogantly stood still. Kro scrambled up one of the remaining rooted trees onto an upper ridge and took aim. She loosed an arrow at the monster taking her measure with narrowed eyes between sheets of steel.

It exploded into a frenzy as the missile sank into its eyeball. Shrieking shrilly while thrashing, the bird tried removing the source of its pain but only succeeded in burying it deeper. As Kro had hoped, it had thought the arrows less of a threat than the errant eyelash until it fell into its eye. She smirked at her short-lived victory.

The bird’s pained stomping and frantic flapping violently rocked the earth while generating gale forced winds. Kro was sent tumbling from her perch until she found purchase on one of the crackling trees below. Her fingers crunched into the blackened timber she made her anchor while she fought to keep hold. She grit her teeth as the wood gave way and she went end over end into a clump of mangled branches. Slashing her bare skin and snapping under her weight, the trees laid her in the mud with a splash. Though she had stopped, her world continued spinning.

Gaoh wrenched himself free from the mountain of broken branches slipping loose while the bird thrashed in futile attempts to flush the object from its eye. Its suffering screams ran him through the gamut of emotions as his longsword rested somewhere to the bottom of the pile. The man opted for the greataxe cinched to his back and stole the higher ground. Kro was reeling where the rampage had deposited her. He knew what needed to be done.

Pain racked her frame as she fought her way back to consciousness. The mass of broken limbs sapped her strength through every cut etched into her flesh in exchange for having preserved her life. She dreamily watched blood swirl into the waterlogged dirt, nourishing whatever would grow from the ruin. Kro laughed bitterly at the thought of life’s many cycles. The hunter was no more than collateral damage in her own hunt.

She glimpsed movement in flashes before fully waking. Something launching from the trees and terraces amidst the bird’s tantrum with a glint at its side. There was a familiarity to how it moved that invigorated her more than anything she could dream. Kro dragged herself to her feet for a better view of the sight unfolding before her.

Of course she had seen him hunt in the past, but Kro could not recall ever having seen him so openly enthused. Gaoh met the animal with a leap and heavy downward swing that split a wing from its side. Where the arrows were deflected, his steel slipped under its armour into the soft flesh underneath with a wet thud. Red warmth sprayed as the man’s weight tore the wound open along the wildly bucking bird’s spine. He flung his weight back and twisted to wrestle the axe loose. Gaoh tucked himself into a roll once he hit the ground to mitigate his fall and looked back at the flailing creature. He needed to get clear of its irate swatting and get to his daughter’s side. The thrum of a bowstring’s release brought a smile to the man’s face as an arrow sailed overhead to cover his retreat. It was as if she had read his mind.

Both looked on in disbelief as the furious bird whipped its head towards them without warning just in time for Kro’s shot to blind it. Kro dropped her bow with a clatter and a relieved sigh, drawing her sword and hefting her shield for the final battle. This was when the hunted was the most unpredictable.

Gaoh’s attack had grounded the great animal whose shrieks overpowered the retreating thunder with its wing held helplessly akimbo. Any movement aggravated the injury enough for it to be denied flight. Its scarred eyes were too large for its hearing to play a difference, but it could be used to their advantage. Seeing her stride towards him, he knew she understood and faced the bird with renewed vigour. The man deftly danced around the animal’s blind strikes and brought it to roost with his own well timed strikes to the back of its trampling legs.

Although driven to the ground, the bird beat its good wing angrily. Gaoh sliced this one on the inside upon his daughter’s approach so that its only weapon was its stalwart head which it swung madly and snapped its cruel beak. A double edged sword held in one’s death throes was better than surrendering without a fight.

Stopping to catch a painful breath, Kro moved within the bird’s reach. She banged her steel off of nearby surfaces to catch its attention. Despite not normally relying on its hearing because of its incredible vision, it certainly needed to now. She knew she had it when the creature turned in her direction and waited for her next clash of steel. The bird shot towards her, clicking its beak in an attempt to catch the little foe who had made it a fool. Kro shifted so its attack glanced off her shield with a dazed squawk. Wasting no time, she plunged her sword into the creature’s extended throat with all her strength. She saw herself reflected in its ruined eye as if acknowledging her having overcome it while the light slowly left. Regardless, Kro ensured she had hacked her opponent’s head clean off before allowing herself to relax.

Shuddering with the fleeing adrenaline, she fell to her knees. Kro screamed victory into the fading rain until she broke into a heavy sob. A daughter of Gibral had done the unthinkable and become recongized as a woman.

Kro did not have to look to know her father was proudly observing her. His daughter had put a lot of the knowledge he handed down in her hunt. Anything armoured had its chinks, especially around the eyes. Who would have thought that luck would conspire with experience in their favour? The man rest his hand on her shoulder lightly,

“Gather what you can and I’ll get the cart.” He said gently with a broad smile.

Using her sword to shear off the bird’s protective plates, the woman noted gouges and dents that were earlier obscured. Their fight could not have caused this, meaning that it was recently in combat with something else. Was there something out there capable of preying on these monstrosities? Something that this one had barely escaped and was still recovering from. Perhaps, she thought. Then again, it was just as likely it was recuperating from a failed mating foray. Kro shrugged the thoughts off and focused on her work.

Eager as she was to claim the promised reward, the woman made no mention of Gibral while working. With her father’s help, she fashioned what she could from the sheets of metal; unique blades and a peculiar suit of armour. This was her right as the monster’s conqueror to serve as proof to her feat. Imagine her surprise when they arrived at the edge of a settlement she only recognized because it was somewhere her father had continuously described.

“Welcome to Gibral.” Gaoh told her, smiling.

Satha lost track of how long she pored over the Pools given what time was for what she had become. While countless lives played out among them, she found herself drawn to the Pool holding the hunters. She knew it was the fluidity of their movements while they hunted which hypnotized her more than anything else about them. Occasionally, her tiny, winged companion who she affectionately dubbed Egbert, trotted by before galloping off into the sky to conduct his own duties corralling fugitive Shards.

*

Gibral burst from a patch of exposed earth which disfigured massive mountains of rolling green foliage. As resilient as their origin, the first Gibralans rose from the midnight black rocks shortly after the ground above them grew just as bare. Early life was made up of pulling precious stones from that same source which they fashioned into tools needed for the journey. For a time, Gibral expanded through this process; uncovering more fully-grown Gibralans at the heart of great stones. It was a peaceful existence marked by arduous labour that was only interrupted by the emergence of an unforeseen horror.

Unbeknownst to the eternally toiling Gibralans, predators probed their borders. Monsters relegated to myth in most existences drove the diligent workers to bolster their defenses. Those who took up the task of identifying Gibral’s threats worked hand in hand with those who faced them. They called themselves the Horde and the Hunters respectively in honour of these newfound duties. None of it had been enough when they encountered the stone snake.

Days of the combined efforts of the Horde and its Hunters finally slew the beast that saw them as prey. By then, the serpent had littered the settlement with stone statues who would never turn back to flesh after standing in its petrifying stare. Worse yet was how they knew almost instinctively that the creature’s presence signalled major changes for Gibral.

Those who survived soon realized that they no longer unearthed new Gibralans in the giant rocks. With their numbers diminished, Gibral’s survival depended on growing their forces. It did not take long for them to understand how they would do this.

Childbirth and child rearing were now as sacred to Gibral as the land it was erected upon. Gibralans were now born from the union of two on the outskirts of all their ancestors knew. Tradition saw them continue digging their homes out of the dirt and black rocks that appeared present wherever they went.

Operating outside the realm of their forefathers required minor adjustments on their part. Mothers brought their offspring into the world singlehandedly while their partner stood vigilant against it. Who knew what could be lurking in the wild? It was when the child’s cries were heard that the guardian was now tasked with taking greater care of the recovering mother and growing child. When the family felt themselves prepared to tackle Gibral they would rejoin society though they maintained their initial abode.

As a result, all Gibralan children started training in self-defense the moment they showed a speck of motor control up until they fell their own monster. Although what everyone overcame was not always physical, they all bore the scars of their triumph. Those who excelled were recognized as Hunters. They wore the remains of their prize as a trophy affixed to their clothing or shaped them into weapons which were handed down their lines.

Satha watches losses plague the people of Gibral as intently as she observes their triumphs. Long after the serpent struck, there was a band of boys dreaming of more than those before. Together they dared to uncover the unimaginable with no regard for the cost. Their rebellious spirit stirred the fringes of her memory she could not quite reach.

The boys’ dreams transformed into tragedy so suddenly it was a wonder if they knew what had happened. Those too afraid to leave the beaten path must have felt comforted in the choices they had made. For the group’s sole survivor, lifelong guilt would have to serve as penance.

*

Wrapped in thick black furs, a couple plodded through thigh-high snow. Two moons had passed since they skated past Gibral’s outline under the nose of the Hunters. He was thankful that not much had changed in their routines since his childhood.

He was the only one who could dispute the longheld belief that the outlying houses were the furthest that Gibralans had ever gone. His partner paused, drinking in Gibral for the final time.

“Are you sure?” She asked him, awestruck with how small her world truly was.

Hearths belching hearty flames fought the frost menacing every doorstep and windowsill cast from Gibral’s black rock. Conversations whose speakers must have thought them confidential were whittled into no more than garbled whispers sneaking out from under the eaves. Wayward breezes whisked those words to where the two stood as if calling them back home. Giving her hand an encouraging squeeze, the man leads her to the place he had tried so hard to bury in his past.

Since his late friends he had rarely spoken to anyone and spent most of his time as removed from it all as he could manage in Gibral. He had never thought that he would return here, especially with the mother of his children. The howling cavern had haunted his dreams since he first heard of it from one of the friends it ended up consuming.

Manhood for him had come at the cost of every one of his close friends who accompanied him and more than a pound of his own flesh. Enormous obsidian claws guilty of mangling his torso were strung into a necklace which gleamed wickedly in the flickering orange lights ringing Gibral. Guilt willed his exhausted body back to the settlement before he collapsed under the weight of his experience.

Consciousness came in bursts of indecipherable sounds inevitably fading back into black. Next he awoke with a wince while his wounds were poked and prodded in awe.

“Gaoh.” an attendant breathed shakily once noticing him awake. “What wonders have you seen?” the man leaned closer and asked in a hushed tone. “How did you survive?” The man asked intently.

Gaoh heard someone else say something as they approached them but could not understand what was being said. He was slipping back into unconsciousness fueled by the fatigue of his travels.

“Gaoh!” Someone exclaimed as he passed out again.

He expected to awake to a barrage of questions but was met with silence. How could there be none when he held so many himself? Gaoh was actually there yet so much remained unanswered about what had happened. Why was it him who survived? He was not the strongest, smartest, or most swift, but here he was. At least one of the boy’s families must blame him for their deaths because he certainly blamed himself. Instead, Gaoh received tearful thanks for returning a memento from each person left behind. Everyone appeared too impressed with his survival to pry into his shame until he met Kro.

She was younger than him with bright brown eyes alight with mischief she tried her best to conceal. Dark brown hair fell past her shoulders in thick braids with the faint scent of fresh peaches. Although petite, Kro held an enormous presence Gaoh could never manage to ignore. That weakness was made clear to him by his response to her upon his return.

Before then, Kro had already been made an outcast. She earned her name from a tale told endlessly about a giant flying animal seen above Gibral. The Horde and its Hunters dismissed the story as little more than a girl’s fever dream of what they called the Kro.

Gaoh smiled fondly at memories of her being teased by the other children while he could barely breathe when he saw her. Though they had come further than any Gibralan admitted to even dreaming of, Kro’s faith in him appeared to not waver. She held his hand as firmly now as she had when they walked the streets of Gibral together. Instead, it seemed her curiosity grew as her perspective of the world did.

Her life had been visions of the blackened crag dotted by spontaneous outcroppings of vibrant grass and wildflowers from the late Spring into Summer. Winter sent everything green scuttling for protection from the unforgiving cold wherever it was offered. Here there was more than gnarled limbs frozen black; there was still some colour peeking through the fresh powder dusting every surface. It was all like Gaoh had told her it was going to be.

Moons ago he answered her questions about what happened when he left Gibral. They were lying among the trees in the wee hours of the morning looking up at the sky with their fingertips barely brushing. His dark eyes sparkled as he finally revealed his grand adventures which ended in epic misfortune.

Gaoh and his companions had felt trapped where their predecessors found comfort. They believed their future was more than Gibral, at least in the way it existed until then. Together, Gaoh and the others constructed the first map showing outside of Gibral as more than a dark spot. A worn piece of parchment he retrieved from the folds of his clothing and presented it to her.

Kro traced the lines with her finger to parts unknown while he spoke. He explained how he and his friends began by exploring every inch of Gibral; recording all they saw. True to form, she recognized some of the sites marked out from around town like Orek’s tavern at the center.

As they aged and joined the hunts themselves, the scope of their exploits expanded. They snuck away from hunting parties to discover whatever they could outside the confines of Gibral. Drawings and details of what had been seen were shared with the group once they found an opportunity to meet. It was the combination of those efforts which was represented by this map according to Gaoh.

When a day finally came that all the brave adventurers were assigned to the same squad for a hunt, the boys took it as a sign to strike out on a new adventure. Some of the boys had stumbled upon a sight in prior excursions they wished to explore beside the others. Their destination was a cavernous mouth whose guttural groans shook any who were unlucky enough to cross its path. Gaoh could not recall a time they had been so collectively excited as they were on that day.

Weighed down with additional supplies to satisfy their extracurriculars, the boys arrived at the screaming den. This was the furthest edge to the Northeast of Gibral that they had marked out on their map. The fissure swallowed them whole with only Gaoh managing to pick himself from its teeth.

Kro heard the cavity’s screech before it came into view — tearing her from her thoughts of the past. Instinctively, she stopped in her tracks and tensed, anticipating an attack. Gaoh noticed her frantically looking around and urged her forward with a tug of her hand. A gaping hole arose as they escaped the trees into an unnatural, small clearing — threatening to devour them. It wailed hungrily as she grappled with the reality of the map and Gaoh’s stories. This was where he had marked on the parchment with bloodstains. It was where he had met Death.

She was sure that the animals giving the area a wide berth sensed the same foreboding presence that she did though she still stood so far away. If not for Gaoh, she would have never come anywhere near this place either. They paused and he began unloading their supplies in the shadow of a tall tree. Gaoh kissed her, drew his axe from his belt and entered the cave to ensure it was empty.

Minutes felt like an eternity as she awaited his return in relative silence. Gaoh emerged as she began wondering whether the cavern had finally finished what it had begun so long ago. Gathering up their belongings again, he ushered Kro into their new home.

The air inside the cave was warm and oppressive as if they were within something massive wrapped in a deep slumber. Jagged rocks jutting from the ground and roof like misaligned teeth in a massive jaw did nothing to help that mental image. She still allowed Gaoh to lead her to the back of the cave where the teeth were almost nonexistent and the space opened up.

“Is it suitable?” He asked nervously.

Kro smiled sweetly and nodded. Emboldened by her, he sets to unpacking their things. Gaoh arranged additional furs he had brought along into a makeshift nest which he helped her into before continuing.

“Stay warm.” He kissed her forehead softly and gently touched her plump stomach.

“Bring us food.” She commanded with a pout as her fingers tenderly touched his cheek.

“As you wish, my goddess,” he responded mockingly with a bow. “But first, I must fashion you a fire in case our home loses its warmth.” Gaoh kissed her fingertips. “I do not recall it being this way when I was last here.” He thought aloud.

Gaoh organized some of the firewood he had brought with him from Gibral so they would not suffer a frigid night. It was a miracle in and of itself that he had kept so much of the wood dry under the miserable conditions outside.

“It is unfortunate that I cannot do more to help you when your battle is so much more difficult than mine.” He commented sincerely once he started the flame.

“Why does it take a woman giving birth to a man’s child for him to acknowledge the difficulties that women face?” Kro teased. “Now, leave me to it unless you’re feeding me.”

She stifled a laugh.

“I thought we came here to get away from such conventions.” Gaoh stood at the cave’s entrance in mock pain. “I will tend to you as much as I can when I’m not hunting or preparing our meals.” he swore to her with a hand over his heart. “It is the least that you deserve for choosing to share this burden with me.” Gaoh said with the earnesty that had won her over.

She watches him go to and fro in preparation of their space. While Kro had adored him since their youth, she knew that she truly loved him now. Gaoh had absolutely kept his word to her; they had left their little world to start their own.

Every morning he roused her when he left to find breakfast and collect water for her bath. Gaoh fed and washed her before helping her back into the nest of bundled furs. When he joined her after every meal, Kro marvelled at how he always managed to be warmer while venturing out for three meals daily. He would kiss her deeply after some time and stand sentry at the cave’s mouth briefly before seeking out new prey. Each and every day passed so blissfully until the day they awaited finally came.

Kro roused him one morning with a face dripping sweat and fear. The final stages of her battle to bring their child into the world was upon them with unbridled ferocity. She had tried her best to bear it all alone but this pain was beyond imagining. Hours had passed with the baby struggling to find its way out in an awkward position. As soon as he awoke, she grabbed his hand and squeezed with all her strength as she let out a feral scream.

Gaoh bit back his suffering thanks to the knowledge that hers must be many times worse. Her screams were drowning their home’s howl as if it too held its breath. Who knew how long had passed by the time the fatigued woman collapsed into her long standing nest.

“Water…” she weakly requested from her hesitant partner. “I will be fine.” She faintly smiled.

Promising to be quick with a soft kiss, the man hurried away to fulfill her request. Kro harshly exhaled once she knew he was really gone from the vicinity. Even though this was her first pregnancy, she knew instinctively that something was horribly wrong. The woman touched the warm stickiness between her thighs to find thick blood and laughed bitterly at her fortune. Like Gaoh’s friends, she too might have arrived only to find Death.

Determined not to leave Gaoh alone again, Kro would do her utmost to bring the child into the world. She tried to fix the baby’s position before she bore down and pushed as hard as she could. Gaoh would be back soon and she did not have much time if she was bleeding as quickly as it seemed.

The child came out in shades of blue and purple, silenced by the umbilical cord wrapped around her upper body. Still bleeding, Kro frantically fumbled with a small knife to release her daughter’s suffocating bindings. She severed the cord at the girl’s neck and across her delicate chest, attempting to coax life into the small body. The baby’s cries comforted her enough to give into her overpowering exhaustion.

“Take care of your father in my place, sweet child.” Kro feebly kissed her daughter’s forehead while drifting off.

Gaoh returned to the wails of his newborn with the water that Kro had requested. She did it. Kro had birthed their child and won her battle singlehandedly. He sped inside to the two resting in the nest where he had left them earlier. Kro looked like she was asleep with their little one cradled against her. Happiness had almost taken him over before he realized that she was not breathing. The man froze a few steps away from his family. His voice hitched in his throat,

“Kro…” He croaked as he approached, trembling.

The baby stirred beneath the bundle. Gaoh tenderly extricated the child from her mother’s hold as the tears began to fall.

“Kro.” He sobbed softly, holding his daughter close.

Like any isolated, only child left to their own devices, I have always had an active imagination. My parents were too busy creating the life they wanted as children to know all that life provided me with was fear. I was terrified of how differently I felt beside anyone else, and how easily everyone else could point it out, but never quite explain. If I let myself be known, I knew some day, someone would come to take me away. Keeping to myself was the only way to stay safe.

Until my mother got her driver’s license, we spent the occasional weekend with my father. Even there it was the same. Most time was spent at my grandmother’s absorbing everything I could from her maroon encyclopedia set with spines of pearl. At night, staring out of her kitchen window, I pondered how many others thought the moon was hungrily eyeing its next meal.

Not me. I repeated that to myself every time I caught that hungry stare. Not me. As long as I kept it all inside, whatever was waiting would never reach me.

At least, so I thought until my mother started driving. The moon would rise high above the leaning, cramped houses so that I was clearly in its sights. I hurried to the car as it began its nightly chase while we sped through the winding streets. It stopped when we did, letting itself be known at heights above all else. Every night I huddled in the darkest corner just outside of its reach, repeating my mantra.

“Not me.”

Those must have been the words that kept it at bay for so long, but one day I mysteriously awoke without a voice. Beside myself, I ran to my parents who looked at me in confusion.

“What’s wrong?” my mother asked, concerned as she gave me a quick once over. “Do you think it’s his tonsils again?” she got me to open my mouth to check.

In frustration, nothing but tears came as I broke free and escaped down the stairs. Hidden among unused materials under the house, I pressed my hands against my ears while my name boomed in my father’s voice. Drawing in a deep breath in the wake of those waves of thunder, something unfamiliar surged along each hair it left standing. In a blur, I found myself back in my bed upstairs. I blinked and was back beneath the house where I began.

Cartoons taught me well enough to practice my newfound power as much as possible in what little time I had. It was only so long before my pursuer returned, and now that I knew I had been right about myself who knew what it would do. Looking into the darkening sky, I saw the moon perched at a distance in a wicked curve like it was observing my every move. That night instead, that wicked crescent caught up to me and whispered.

“You’ve only tapped into the tiniest inkling of what you’re capable.” it teased. “You could shape universes, or even shake this one if you please.” its grin was audible.

Since then I have practiced crafting life by weaving together its many threads. Beautiful scenes still appear to me whenever I close my eyes; some I have even seen. I have lived so many lives among these pages, and cut so many more short. Here comes the moon again.

In a flash, the woman feels as if something significant has been snatched away so violently that it left her winded. She wanders fitfully through the thick fog scattering her thoughts, feeling about for some semblance of a connection. At the same time, the woman furiously blinks blinding white light into sharp focus – seeing only fluffy alabaster clouds at her feet stretching into the cornflower blue horizon.

“Satha…” Someone gently urges.

Grand golden gates rise out of the landscape bordered by a stone wall towering at dizzying heights. An ivory podium trimmed in ornate gold sits before it, a man whose welcoming face fans embers of familiarity awaits between the two. His bushy white beard and hair tugged at something she could not quite get a hold of.

“I know that this must be confusing.” he says with concern. “Trust that you have achieved something which many will not throughout their entire existence,” the man praised, motioning for her to enter the gateway with a warm smile. “I am afraid I cannot tell you much more than that you have arrived somewhere which contains all you have ever held dear.” he nods pleasantly. “I pray you find peace.”

Maybe she should question it? The woman asks herself, moving forward. Why did everything feel like it was exactly as it should be? Satha wonders, walking through the gates as if being led home by an invisible hand.

“Thank you.” She squeaks, looking back at the man who had already turned his attention to a winding line emerging from the clouds behind her.

Unable to hear her any longer, he says something unintelligible to someone whose features she could not fully define. Recognition lights up the blank face in response to the white-haired man behind the ivory stand as she was sure hers had to those who came before her. Whoever he was, he seemed to understand the plight of anyone who stood before him, treating them all with the same level of respect. The idea sends a lone tear tumbling down her cheek.

Once Satha crosses the threshold, the man and the snaking line he attends to fade back into the neverending sea of clouds. Colossal, coloured crystals burst from the floor in front of her with a dark mass at their cores. The largest of the jewels float about the air listlessly, bumping into each other with the soft chime of tinkling glass before drifting away. Each dark spot appeared to be a person whose face was twisted in unspeakable bliss.

A carob brown pony appears at her side with a light trot, calmly nuzzling the palm of her hand with a soft neigh. Instinctively, she runs her hand down the length of its tawny brown mane and scratches down its back. The small horse paws at the ground in pleasure, flapping the wings just above its hooves. Emboldened by the animal at her side, she edges deeper into the tangle of giant gems.

“Spectacles to all bathed in the splendour of their light...” a voice echoed. “Their true beauty is rarely experienced by anyone who exists outside their glow.” It explains.

Although she could not tell which direction the voice came from, the woman felt no fear.

“Hello?” She calls out into the expanse.

“Overwhelming, is it not?” The disembodied voice queries.

The voice’s owner – a middle-aged man with tousled walnut-coloured hair, observes her from atop a tremendous topaz with his head propped up in his hand.

“It is like that for many of us when we first arrive.” he drops silently to her side, spooking the pony back from whence it came. “Very few understand much of it over the span of several lifetimes.” The man shrugs at the animal's reaction.

“This is the Afterlife.” Satha acknowledges, unsure of when she learned the term.

Suddenly, it occurred to her that she must have died to arrive here. The strangest part of the realization was that she could not recall having a life. The man smirks, realizing she was catching on quicker than the average did.

“Previously unknown thoughts and ideas are swarming your mind right now.” his smile widens as the woman monitors him, intrigued. “As I said, it is like this for many of us when we first reach the Afterlife.”

He continues under her quizzical watch.

“You must be feeling something of a rush right now.” the man says knowingly. “That is the realization that you now know all that there is to know.” abruptly, he touches two fingers to his temple as a sharp pain lances her brain, bringing her to her knees. “The longer you remain, the more of an annoyance it becomes instead of so painful.” The man helps her to her feet. “It happens whenever new knowledge becomes commonplace on the mortal plane.” He says good-naturedly, fully recovering his own composure.

Interested, the man eyes her. Like him, she somehow knew things erased from history.

“Welcome to the Afterlife.” he extends a hand. “My name is Remiel.”

“Satha.” She shakes his hand, knowing what he said was the truth.

“Satha, I think I know where you belong.” Remiel confidently spins on his heel and starts off across the clouds.

Much to his delight, Satha follows without question. ‘Everything is as it should be’, replays in her head like a mantra while tailing him. Truly, this was what the Afterlife was meant to be. Whatever life she had left behind was no more than a forgotten dream.

*

Unseen, two silhouettes track Satha and Remiel’s path. One is a stunning example of the Creator’s existence in their divine splendour. The other was proof of that same Creator’s cruel sense of humour according to mortal standards. Long ears jut out of messy pecan hair and blanched horns sprout from his brow above wide, almond brown eyes.

“Remiel has lured another.” The beauty says softly.

“Apparently.” the other responds huskily. “But, everything is as it should be.” He says with an edge of finality.

“Neither of us would exist were that the whole truth.” mutters the fair one.

“Dina…” The other begins in a disappointed tone.

“I know. I know.” Dina nervously bites her lip, cutting him off.

“This is the nature I was given, much like yours, Michael.” She suggests.

He nods in agreement. Dina was curious where he blindly followed the Word. They could not change themselves however much they might have wanted to.

“We are who we are.” Michael concedes, watching Satha keep stride. “Remiel is an Elder of the Pools, is he not?” He asks in confusion.

“As well as a Seraph.” Dina adds. “Why do you…? she swallows the question, following his line of sight. “Now, that is interesting.”

The two were covering a far greater distance than a newcomer should be capable of doing. What made it more impressive was how few Elders could hold that pace for too long. This woman’s natural aptitude was something Michael normally sought out in inductees to his Search.

“Everything is as it should be.” Dina chides.

Scoffing, Michael spreads his immense hickory coloured wings.

“Time to return to the Search.” he says dismissively. “So we can all get what we want.” Smiling, he lifts off.

Dina watches his form fade into the distance. She saw the allure to his strength which everyone else only attributed to her looks. Her gaze returns to the two making quick progress across the cloudy plains. Remiel was someone who believed that admiring beauty meant possessing it, prior experience with him had made that clear.

Regardless, Dina dare not move against Remiel. Michael would likely consider her an enemy as well if she did. Moreover, Michael would never act unless someone openly challenged his might, or opposed the Creator’s will before him. For now, she would keep watch from afar.

Blurred faces whiz by bathed in varied hues per jewel. Whatever each individual perceived held them in place so firmly that they were blind to onlookers. The idea reminded her so much of confinement that it made her uncomfortable to look at them for too long.

“What are these?” Satha slows, inspecting the featureless faces.

Remiel stops beside her, following her gaze.

“Shards.” he says distastefully. “It is one of the paths one may choose upon arrival.” The man examines a face pressed against a surface, contorted in pleasure.

“They offend you.” The woman pokes her head from around another gem.

“It is an aimless pursuit in the face of this gift.” Disgust is clear in Remy’s tone. “They might as well be among those Below.” he mutters, looking like he would have spit had this not been a sacred place. “They meander so much that they can become a nuisance, as much as those little winged cayuse who at least try to corral them all in one location to their credit.”

Again, Satha knew exactly what Remiel meant. Those above had earned the satisfaction of their lifelong desires while those below were doomed to suffer.

“This is not the place for you.” Someone offers from a cloud of scented smoke spilling from an enormous emerald.

Crowned in pale flowers and tawny brown curls, a man stumbles forward.

“What awaits you is such a higher purpose.” Her reflection swam in his glassy eyes.

“Sel…” Remiel hisses.

“My brother, Remy.” the man wearing the flower crown appears to have just noticed his brother’s presence. “I see, you must be bringing her to those waters you’re so fond of.” The thimble at his waist tinkles lightly at his slightest movement, sending sickly sweet smoke into the air.

The crowned man awkwardly bows.

“I do apologize for interrupting your sightseeing in the Shard Garden.” he says mockingly. “Most who come here do not depart.” Sel clicks his tongue. “At least, not without having spent some more time.” He grins wolfishly.

Remiel gets between the two.

“SELAPHIEL!” he forcefully announces. “Any closer and you will no longer be a Seraph.” His eyes burn with a fire Satha fears would leap out and consume them all.

This stern tone snaps Selaphiel out of his accustomed revelry. He takes a step back with eyes downcast.

“Though this is not your place, you are always welcome.” The man smiles uneasily, withdrawing into an azure shard.

Remy mutters darkly to himself.

“So,” Satha breaks the silence. “That was your brother?” She inquires.

“Unfortunately.” he stares daggers into the spot where his brother had dissolved. “He refuses to directly interact with mortals, yet shamelessly drinks in the pleasure of departed souls.” Remiel fumes.

“Is it only the two of you?” She asks, realizing how little she knew about her companion.

“We are legion.” Remy replies automatically. “But as you can see, we are not all created equal.” he says scornfully.

Everything is as it should be. The phrase repeated endlessly in her thoughts.

“What…are you all?” Satha nervously asks though she felt she knew.

“You know,” the man fixes her with a piercing stare. “Dogs herding the aimless sheep below.” he says grandly. “And now, dear sister, you are one of us.” Remiel excitedly clasps her hands in his.

Like with the white-haired man at the gates, Remiel’s offer of acceptance almost brings her to tears. Fortunately, or perhaps not, she could not recall why such things have this effect. Something more present was bothering her.

“Why is the Garden not my place?” The woman asks, beginning to wonder whether she deserved to be in this part of the Afterlife.

“Because you are meant for more than just a Shard.” Remy grins reassuringly. “Shall we go?” He offers a hand.

The two start off together. Slowly at first; as the woman’s faith in her companion grows, then; as quickly as their initial pace.

“To the Pools…” Satha absentmindedly finishes his statement.

“Yes.” Remiel smiles. “ I feel the role you are meant to play is there.”

Confusion must have shown on her face after they had travelled a little longer because his hearty laugh shakes his entire frame.

“Worry not.” Remy chickles. “Everything is as it should be.” the man says. “Look,” he points ahead. “Here we are now.”

A man leaning against a tall staff comes into view, peering endlessly into the gap between them.

“Raphael.” Remiel greets him as he walks past.

“New Watcher?” Raphael asks dryly, keeping his eyes trained on the empty space.

“Possibly the one that we never knew we needed.” Remy responds, patting the other man on the shoulder. “More capable than most begin, or may ever become.”

Raphael gives her a quick once over with olive green eyes flecked with fiery brown.

“I see.” He returns his gaze to the distance.

Remy leads her further until exclaiming sharply.

“Welcome to the Pools.” He says.

Pockets of shifting colours dot the floor as far as the eye can see. Like the Shard Garden, Satha did not know this place for what it was. Remiel watches her wander curiously among the pools, occasionally peeking inside.

“What are these?” She asks, fascinated.

“Think of each as a looking glass throughout existence.” The man joins in her inspection. “They have been here as long as us, if not longer.” He muses.

As if aware of their presence, the pool’s surface ripples violently, forming an image as it settles. A young man clad in leathers and animal skins camouflages himself among dense foliage, intently tracking something his lean build hid from sight. Suddenly, he burst from his hiding place, swinging down a warhammer in a vicious arc. His prey notices him only seconds before the weapon shatters its skull.

“Each pool allows a look into a fragment of eternity.” Remiel cuts into her mystified observation. “For some of us they represent an opportunity to seek that which makes all.” He strolls among the many windows in the clouds. “We monitor everything for the slightest hint of ITS location.” the man smirks. “The problem is ITS omnipresence.”

“Difficult to pinpoint something that is everywhere.” Satha responds dreamily, watching the man with the hammer cart off his prize.

“Indeed. A process further complicated by the concept of time which exists fixedly for those we oversee given we perceive everything at once.” Remy steps behind her, sending the waters back into a frenzy.

A boy watches a woman draped in black and white feathers slink through the underbrush on an animal’s tail. Notching an arrow in her bow, she inhales deeply and lets her missile fly. Her mark only registers the projectile whistling its way as it settles between the quarry’s eyes. Triumphantly, the woman slings her trophy over her shoulder and heads home. The boy breathlessly watches the scene unfold.

Satha draws close, her eyes filling with visions of the hunter throughout his days. The boy gradually grows as proficient as the plumed woman in picking his way through the trees in pursuit. It was not long before the woman sat perched atop a branch, regarding him with pride.

“Careful.” Remiel cautions. “These waters tend to pull one in.” he deftly skirts the edge of several pools. “Few who fall in can find their way back.” Remy waves a hand over a pool, returning it to a neutral state.

It was then that Satha realized she was holding her breath.

“What do you think I’m meant to do here?” She ponders aloud.

“I think you’re meant to be who watches them.” He responds.

“A Watcher.” The woman repeats breathlessly.

“Yes.” Remiel smiles at her recalling Raphael’s words. “Watch all.” He spreads his arms wide. “Watch any.” the man shrugs. “Either way, I believe you’re more capable than many who have attempted to occupy this role.” Remy says resolutely.

The woman hesitates. Sighing heavily, the man steps back.

“I suppose I’ll have to show you after all.” Remiel says disappointed, allowing gigantic feathered wings to burst from his back. “By doing this, you too can get the wings which those who belong to your plane dream about.”

“Not everyone gets theirs.” Satha says in astonishment. “Like how not everyone can get past the Shard Garden.”

“Few with wings will even offer newcomers the opportunity to earn theirs.” Remy shakes his head.

‘Everything is as it should be,’ springs into her thoughts as if in response.

“Do I just watch?” The woman inquires, defeated.

“You just watch.” Remiel echoes.

“What do I do if someone else is here?” The thought makes her uneasy after all they had seen.

Remy chuckles.

“Not without Raphael’s permission.” he puts up a hand as concern flickers across her face. “He won’t.” Remiel chortles. “You couldn’t stop anyone who can make it this far anyway.”

“What if someone brings them here like you have me?” Satha asks.

“I suppose it is best to keep in mind that few find their way back from these waters should things go awry.” Remy says thoughtfully.

After having watched the hunters, the woman knows what he meant. She felt like she was experiencing the boy’s formative moments herself. The waters sang to her so sweetly she knew she would have succumbed if not for Remiel’s warnings.

“Are you sure that this is for me?” Satha asks again.

“It doesn’t matter what I feel now.” Remy grins. “Raphael would not have let you leave the Shard Garden if I was wrong.” His smile swells with a sense of satisfaction.

Remembering Raphael’s intense stare, the woman finds herself coming to terms with Remiel’s assessment. These Pools were her duty deemed by the Creator.

“I will do my best.” She promises, returning to the Hunter’s Pool.

“I am sure you will.” Remy agrees, watching her for a while before slipping away.

Raphael’s staff stops inches from his brother’s face.

“You knew it was me before you took that swing.” Remiel nudges the weapon away.

“That’s why I swung.” He snarls.

“So, why did you stop?” Remy asks, amused.

“Because as much as I would like to bash your skull in, it would be the wrong thing to do.” Raphael says sullenly, lowering the staff to his side.

“Pity you didn’t think of the right thing then,” Remiel teases. “Don’t you think?” He asks Raphael, standing beside him and facing the opposite direction.

Exhaling heavily, Raphael faces the same direction.

“What would you have me do?” He asks in resignation.

“Take the hunter who fascinates her to our cache once she rests.” Remy thinks for a moment. “The younger man as well as what becomes his prey.”

“You test me but have no words for Michael.” Raphael mutters bitterly.

“Words offer little challenge to a fiery blade.” Remiel replies blankly. “Besides, my brother.” he leers. “Should I fall, so will you.” Remy puts an arm around the other man’s shoulders. “Moreover, who knows what could happen to those in my care after all that?” He suggests.

Tightening the hold on his staff, Raphael nods in agreement. Their lengthy shadows overlap into a mangled monstrosity of arms and legs many times their size.

“Do you really believe she will do it?” Raphael asks in a faraway voice.

“I suppose we will soon find out.” Remiel says pensively as the Shard Garden continues to grow with the arrival of new souls.

I would wonder where figments of the imagination roam

when Creators choose to let go.

Unfortunately, I've learned

we wander until the Earth itself grows cold,

and finally welcomes us home.

Screaming stomachs starve in every sense.

Eager eyes consume their fill,

watering parched mouths.

Salvation lay among flaked clouds.

No mote of mélange dared widely wander.

Downhill flight stumped in hole or rut.

Fugitive castaways make the best fodder,

bobbing in merry cups.

Sweet rain plumped what obscured heaven from the bunch.

Temperate bounty unfolds abundantly

under the stroke of a cold edge,

tracing lines to stifle shrieks.

Reprieve dribbles out of the gate,

finally free to make its sweet escape.

Twilight, and the ocean breaks along the crag,

drenching the fringes in the spray of its caress.

Night steals in in its wake,

chasing every glimmer away from its resting place.

Slumber belongs to the living.

Those, she swaddles so tightly

they can rarely wriggle free from fantasy,

while the few who manage their escape

believe themselves those living the dream

in a place the others could scarcely imagine.

Twilight, and the ocean breaks along the crag,

drenching the fringes in the spray of its caress.

Light sneaks in as night ebbs away,

settling along the ridges where darkness cowered.

Life emerges from beneath slumber’s cover

to scuttle sunlit shores.

Those whose freedom could not be found

believe themselves living flashes of the night before.

The rest wish they had answered slumber’s call.

   People began avoiding me some time around my fifth birthday. At least, that was when I remember first noticing it. Two women crossed the street, trying not to look my way. They whispered something between them as they hurried off. I probably only noticed because of those three relentless words.

“That’s the boy.”

   Ever since, those words have grasped at me whenever I step outside. Perhaps some subtle variation of the trinity after they cross.

“There he is.”

  My parents said they placed me behind the high walls to preserve me from those people’s reproachful looks. I knew those people were actually being spared from me. No one among the living knew, yet since then, they worried. None except Delphi who my mother brought me to when I was too young to recall. The resulting story of a cursed child served as the most potent reminder of her visit that night.

“I am him.” I have no idea when that became my reply.

  Around my fifth birthday, I first glimpsed what the curse entailed. While the world for the rest of the class revolved around scratching out their names, time for me escaped. I wondered if others met the same fate when they read my page. Their glassy eyes let me know they were transported too. Delphi had warned of this potential.