Chapter Text
Thunderclouds pressed low over the hillside, an ominous gray rare on the northern plains. Not the ideal situation for sparring in the open, surely, but one that Illuga decided would have to do.
Because his squad member preferred this way of talking.
“Captain—” The clang of metal sliced through Anleifr’s exasperated voice, cracking loudly across the training ground. “At this rate, I’ll die of thirst before I make you see sense. If you simply refuse to change your mind, why let me even try?”
“I never refused to change my mind,” Illuga replied. “It is your own arguments that can’t hold water.”
Anleifr looked ready to murder.
Illuga swung his spear wide, meeting his sparring partner’s sword in another hard clash. “First, you said our situation doesn’t call for desperate measures. Not true. When was the last time we lost four people in less than a week?”
Their weapons parted. Each man readied a new stance. A beat of silence was the only reply.
“I saw the bodies, Anleifr. They still give me nightmares. The normal Wild Hunt alone isn’t capable of this. We need to act before it’s too late.”
The thought of this was like teeth sinking into his heart, and Illuga’s movements slowed. Anleifr didn’t miss the opportunity—a quick swipe of his blade, aiming for his opponent’s flank. Illuga pivoted at the last moment and managed to dodge barely by an inch, skidding on a slippery patch of grass.
The wind from the strike cut into the lamppost behind him, making the lantern rattle atop its stand. Or maybe it was the storm coming closer.
“Oh I’m all in for it, Captain. The act part, I mean. But our Starshyna will make arrangements—”
“Arrangements that will take ages!”
Illuga struck his spear into the ground, steadying himself, and let it all out in a full-force bellow. “Our last unified mission took three years. Have you forgotten? We’ve no time for it now!”
Anleifr cursed under his breath.
“And besides delays, large-scale engagement is simply too much risk. We know too little. What happened once with the Professor and the Evil Eye, I cannot let it happen again!”
The argument was turning more emotional and personal than Illuga liked. His grip on the spearshaft tightened uncomfortably as he tried to stop memories from resurfacing at the wrong time.
Anleifr was clearly aware of this too, because he looked ready to end it with the telltale lift to his swordtip. A distant crack of lightning came just in time to catch on the cold steel, a harsh glint against the gentle lantern flames.
“Good thing you remember the Evil Eye.” The sword came fast this time, aiming furious and true. “What makes you think it’s a good idea to charge in headlong, just like five years ago, and throw away your own life—”
The battlecry halted in surprise as a hard impact stalled the sword’s advance. A brief look of confusion passed over Anleifr’s face, as if he hadn’t at all expected his opponent to find an opening in the attack.
“I wasn’t throwing away my life.” Metal bit into metal, sending sparks flying, and Illuga saw them reflected like stars in Anleifr’s eyes. “And I won’t this time either. These five years made me stronger. I can investigate, stay low, and come back alive. I can stop this before it kills everyone else.”
One final thrust of the spear, and Anleifr was sent half-flying, stumbling backward until he hit a crate with a dull thud, splintering a handful of planks. A low rumble of thunder swallowed his groan.
“Sorry about that.” Illuga smiled ruefully. “I’ve given you the chance, but you can’t beat me, and you can’t persuade me either. So now I will go speak with the old man—and you will not stop me.”
*
Captain Illuga let out a long sigh on his way to the Starshyna’s office.
It was so typical of Anleifr, using sparring as a ruse in hopes of knocking some steam and stubbornness out of his opponent. And the man had put some serious work into it, judging from the tough blows that would likely leave a decent sore on both their ribs.
He’d done it all for his captain’s sake though. This much Illuga was aware of, and thankful for. The Lightkeepers had buried too many of their own, right at the foot of this hill where the headquarters building stood. Inevitable for everyone to grow a habit of fussing over each other’s safety.
But it was for the exact same reason that Illuga had to do this.
The old windows in the entryway had been left open, creaking lightly against the rising wind. It sounded almost like the wailing screeches of ghosts, and Illuga wondered—if the dead truly lingered like they did in fairytales, what would they say? Tell him to stand back like Anleifr did, or offer him clues and help him bring to justice all the evil they had sworn to slay?
His boots tapped a heavy rhythm over stone, his wandering thoughts taking him swiftly across the hall. The next time he looked up, he was already at the double door leading to Nikita’s study.
“Pops—” he began, then immediately paused, surprised to find company.
From the quietness around, he had assumed the old man to be alone, probably buried under a small mountain of reports. But no. In the flickering lantern light, the Starshyna was standing beside the table, along with a handful of Ratniki, and in front of them—
Illuga froze when he saw the two bodies lying on the floor.
Bloodied, marred. Just like the other four. The stench of abyss loomed over them, an acrid smell of a different sort of decay. The very same that had shrouded Piramida in perpetual gloom for the past week.
The speech Illuga had prepared died on his lips. When was the last time we lost four people in less than a week? He wanted to slap himself for those words now.
Slowly, he looked up, finding Nikita’s sad eyes.
“They were found at the edge of Dreadshade Mire.” The Starshyna sighed. “Likely ambushed a few days ago, given their current state.”
Dreadshade Mire … But hadn’t they already reclaimed that territory from the Wild Hunt? It should be safe enough for travel these days, but how—
Illuga swallowed, trying to calm himself. Lowering his head, he held one hand over his heart. A final salute for the fallen. Then he knelt down beside them.
The Lightkeepers’ uniforms were tattered all over, slashed through with unnaturally sized claw marks. The furs were bloodsoaked, slick with sludge, and the darker spots had already crusted over, knotting into messy purple-black spikes. Ghostlike shadows danced across their stiff forms, as if marking and highlighting them as textbook examples of Wild Hunt fatalities.
Except they were not examples, nor mere numbers to add to a casualty list. They were comrades, family.
Reciting a silent prayer, Illuga brushed aside sticky strands of hair, carefully revealing the victims’ faces.
Beneath the ragged wounds, the skin had already turned gray. A few blotches, tainted a telltale shade of crimson, scattered across their cheeks in unnatural patterns. Cloudy eyes, now out of focus, stared aimlessly forward, petrified in an expression of defeat and despair.
Illuga did not recognize these faces. He felt his shoulders relax ever so slightly. But guilt followed immediately after—even if he hadn’t met them in life, it didn’t change what they meant to him. It didn’t change what he had come here to say.
“Let me investigate this. Please.” He straightened, turning to the Starshyna. “Please, we can’t afford more losses like this. For once, let me put what I know to use.”
The room was stony silent. Only the sound of thunder rolled closer beyond the walls.
The same conversations had happened many times over the past week. It always began with Illuga asking, begging to help, and it always ended with Nikita scolding his adopted son’s recklessness. But today, Illuga wasn’t going to give in. He would not leave until he saw it done.
He waited for the Starshyna to object. To his surprise, however, the old man said nothing for a long while.
“The kuuvahki gauges on their lanterns are full again,” Nikita murmured at last, his brow knitted as if lost in deep thoughts. “Same as the previous ones. Do you realize what this means?”
Illuga hadn’t expected the question. It was, nevertheless, better than an objection. His eyes landed on the oath lanterns buckled at the victims’ hips.
“You mentioned this last time, Pops. None of the four—now six—Ratniki got a chance to use their lanterns. Whatever they encountered, whatever killed them, it did so before they even had the time to react.”
Which meant the enemy was powerful beyond their usual knowledge. It was dangerous, lethal. But so what? Every monster, no matter how terrifying, still had its weaknesses.
Nikita opened his mouth, his expression suggesting a counterargument. Yet again, he said nothing, only closed it and pursed his lips.
Illuga fought back a frown. The old man’s reaction was certainly not normal.
“We might have a new interpretation. Or a different explanation altogether.” The Starshyna gestured toward the table. “Perhaps we should call an all-hands meeting, and let everyone hear it directly from the Lightkeeper who spotted the unusual.”
A different explanation? Strange as the words sounded, Nikita’s tone was even stranger. A foreboding rose in him as Illuga followed the Starshyna’s gesture, turning toward the table.
He hadn’t paid much attention when he first entered the room. The handful of faces gathered here were mostly familiar, the typical group of Sergeant Majors that the old man liked to summon for ad hoc meetings. With one seeming exception, however, judging from the uniforms. Farther from the candlelight, half hidden in the shadows, an extra figure stood—
All the air left Illuga’s lungs when he met the last Lightkeeper’s eyes.
At first, he thought he was dreaming.
He had seen those eyes too much in his dreams, indeed. Those gold, pupilless irises looking back at him, holding his gaze, bright and steady like the beacon of a lighthouse in the dark. At once eerie and beautiful, not changed the slightest from what he remembered.
And the silky, long, blue-silver hair, framing a pale face. A face that haunted him every day, every sleepless night, for so long that it burned like a scar into the back of his mind. A face so unreal that it surely belonged only in his imagination, because there was no way that it hadn’t aged one day in over five years.
Illuga blinked, waiting to snap out of whatever hallucination it was. But the uncanny manifestation in front of him did not go away. Instead, it smiled and inclined its head in a courtly manner.
“It is most delightful to see you well, Young Master Illuga. I am honored that we meet again.”
Illuga just stood there, eyes wide, unmoving.
This could not be a dream, then, or a hallucination. Because this voice, soft and smooth like the most gentle springs, had never sounded quite the same in his dreams. There was a quality to it, a magic that his mind couldn’t quite grasp, couldn’t quite reproduce. But he would never fail to recognize it no matter how much time had passed.
Perhaps the wordless stillness had stretched on for too long. He heard someone clearing their throat behind his back. “Captain Illuga— Ah, it appears you’ve met Mr. Flins before? I suppose that’s expected. He hasn’t been with us for the past five years, but before that …”
Illuga didn’t quite catch all the words. He didn’t quite remember what he was supposed to say, or what this whole conversation was about in the first place. His mind was spinning, whirling. Muddled. Confused.
Nikita, the rest of the group, the bodies, the room … Everything suddenly faded away, and he wasn’t in Piramida anymore.
He was at Cliffwatch Camp, in the infirmary, curled up in a makeshift bed. Barely alive, lightheaded from too much loss of blood. His consciousness was adrift, and the only thing he could feel was his fingers clutching onto something. A gloved hand, textured with firm leather and metal clasps.
The only thing he could hear was the words tumbling out of him, scared, nonsensical. Hopeful.
Will you stay, Sir Flins?
And the blurry figure before him sat at the edge of his bed. Fingers curled back over his. Held him, until the healing draught pulled him under.
I am right here, Young Master.
…
A deafening roar of thunder shook the building. The storm finally arrived.
Illuga snapped out of it. Shook his head, hard. The fog in his mind finally lifted, and he was back in the Starshyna’s office again. He remembered.
He saw red.
“Why is he here?” Spinning toward Nikita, Illuga jabbed a finger behind him, in the direction of the figure that he refused to acknowledge, refused to understand. “He hasn’t reported to the headquarters for over five years! He’s not one of us anymore! Why is he here?”
The pitch of his voice seemed uncomfortably high against the first rush of downpour, and he realized belatedly that he was breathing too rapidly. The room felt crowded, short on air.
He also realized that his comrades, one by one, were beginning to stare at him with a mixed look of puzzlement and concern.
“Ah, well, Captain Illuga, technically,” one of the Sergeant Majors chimed in, “according to our rules regarding unavoidable absence, Mr. Flins is still part of our order.”
Unavoidable absence? Illuga wanted to laugh. And then the Sergeant Major continued, “Additionally, in this particular case, he is the one who found these two fallen comrades and brought them back to us.”
Illuga started. Blinked. Slowly, he turned his head to stare at the bodies, then stared back up … at Flins.
At this shape of a man that plagued and tormented him, time and time again for the past five years. At this shadow of a figure that he had dreamed of seeing, over and over, yet now that the dream had come true, all he wanted to do was to turn on his heels and run away as far as he could.
“It was I indeed.” Flins smiled, oblivious or simply uncaring of these thoughts. A familiar, beguiling smile that devils were so good at wearing, that Illuga had finally learned to despise. “And my suspicion regarding the tragic fate that befell these brave men—may them rest in peace—seems to unfortunately misalign with a few of our current assumptions.”
Nikita let out a sigh from across the table. “Even more unfortunately, Flins, I suspect your reasoning is correct. We need to talk this through. Let us hold the meeting first thing tomorrow morning, urgent.”
A few nods were exchanged. A few orders were passed. The group started rustling about, preparing for the news to come or perhaps getting ready to disperse. Curtains were drawn closed, blocking the flashes of lightning and the sound of rain pelting the windows.
Only Illuga stood still, unsure which way to go, torn between shock and hate and something else that he didn’t comprehend.
Perhaps we should all hear it directly from the Lightkeeper who spotted the unusual.
So they were supposed to … to sit and listen and discuss the current situation with this Lightkeeper, this Flins?
If Illuga wanted to finish what he set out to do here, he would have no choice but to oblige. But—
Will you stay, Sir Flins?
He didn’t know if he could do it.
I am right here, Young Master.
Five years ago, he had barely survived. This time, he didn’t know if he could survive again.