Time Can Heal (But This Won't) A Darkling Series

Chapter One: Look to the Past

You had found occasional solace in Grisha, people mad with the same power as you. They were confined to their orders- Etherealki could only summon their select elements, Corporalki could affect the body and nothing more. You, however, could reach for as far as you wished- your spells knew no bounds except your own half-mortal body. That was another reason why you always left- you never quite belonged, even with the inhumans.

On the day of the forest fire, though, you'd let yourself grow close to a scattered group of Grisha on the run from Shu Han attackers. You'd defended them from a mess of ambushers just emerging from the Sikurzoi, and in return, they'd allowed themselves the pride of thinking themselves a host to you, letting you camp with them and be warm by their leaping fires.

You can still remember that day, the way the few Inferni had stood around, staring at the towering ash trees with branches that seemed ready to reach out to the heavens. In Hellas, your people use to tell stories of the constellations- foolish kings and prideful queens, long-dead heroes and their spiny foes who'd done enough to land themselves among the stars, forever remembered in the night sky. Sometimes, you wondered if their starry spirits remained there, or if the last vestiges of Hellas had come crashing down just like the rest, leaving no more than bright specks of light to be admired, no spirits left entwined with them anymore.

The Inferni had glanced up at the trees, cursing the way they blocked out the sun and made it impossible to see attackers coming until the arrows were upon them. One particularly loudmouthed fool had raised the question of burning down a couple, even though it might draw suspicion from the few Shu Han soldiers waiting in the mountains. They'd turned to you, expecting disapproval, until you had sighed with a barely contained smile and suggested that you use your powers to hide the sparks of the blaze from sight. You had a feeling that this would go awfully- you intended to see how it ended and laugh from afar. You could do with a little bit of entertainment.

So, you had joined the Inferni by the trees and spread your hands wide. A single word passed your lips: κρύβω. Hide. A word of power, taught to you by your witch mother, another trace of sorcery. Your magic began to flow through you, inky pools of emerald appearing from your palms and hanging about the clearing until no trace of light could be seen, even when the Inferni ceased their nervous glances and let the fire pour from their hands and torch the forest.

Dark clouds of swirling green hide the blaze, disguising all sight of fire from spies and trackers. You let the magic run high among the trees, although not so fully as to stop the Inferni from tracking the progress of the fire. When they were too distracted to contain their scorching embers and the fires lit upon one tree, and then another, it was no one's fault but their own.

Panicked voices began to descend upon the clearing as the Inferni scrambled to extinguish the fires, but the damage was already done. By the time the scant few Tidemakers and Squallers joined together to put out the remaining blazes, miles upon miles of forest were burnt to the ground. Inferni fire then was far more powerful than it was now, and exceedingly difficult to extinguish. Could you have put it out in a second? Maybe. But that was not what they asked of you. To a half goddess who had seen civilizations rise and fall, what does one forest matter?

The forest had never fully grown back. The ground became scraggly and then covered by grasses, eventually rising and falling into foothills, a precedent to the looming Sikurzoi behind them. The Grisha lived their long lives and then died, as did their children. You still lived on. There would be no rest for you, not for many more centuries until your heart at last gave out. Then, the long line of the Hellenids would die with you, and your once vibrant culture would cease to exist, present only in the Underworld with the rest of the damned.

However, you can't exactly cite your history as Hecari of the myths to a particularly insolent mapmaker, and so Milos goes unscolded another day. The rest of the wagon ride to Kribirsk is as challenging as ever, although you find you can't entirely blame the boy for being on edge. Everyone is- you're approaching the drydocks where a town had once lived, now home to the Shadow Fold. Certain death is the only thing awaiting you there.