Fatality ━━ Matt vs Chris Sturniolo²

𝖑𝖝𝖎𝖎. The Invasion

Her hands drop, leaving half her hair undone, and she squints at the massive structure spanning the river. The other side of Archeon gleams beneath the rising sun, its many buildings crowned with steel and bronze birds of prey. Nothing seems amiss. It's still busy with transports and a roving populace. So is the Bridge, all three levels of it bustling with traffic. Less than usual, but that's to be expected.

It's the airports below that worry Valencia, and the water breaking around them. Still steady, moving at the same speed. But the current, the wash of white breakwater at each base . . .

The river is flowing the wrong way.

And it's rising.

Valencia bolts through her bedchamber and the adjoining rooms, seeing nothing until she reaches Damon's quarters. The locked door unlatches without a thought, blowing back on twisted hinges as she sprints through. She barely hears herself shout his name. The buzzing in her head is far too loud, overpowering everything but the cold, acid rush of adrenaline.

He stumbles out into the sitting room toward me, half dressed. Valencia catches a glimpse of rumpled bedsheets through the door behind him, as well as a blue-black arm. It moves, pulling out of sight, as Kora Abbott busies herself with her clothes.

"What is it?" Damon asks, his eyes wide with panic.

Valencia wants to run; she wants to scream; she wants to fight.

"The invasion."

OF COURSE, there are plans in place. Tactics and strategies for defending the capital against an invasion. After a century of war with the Lakelanders, it would be foolish to think otherwise. But whatever the Sturniolo kings cooked up to fight the Rivers nymphs relied on things that no longer exist. A Nortan army at full strength. A country united. Tech towns operating at full capacity, churning out electricity and ammunition. Matt can't count on any of it.

The barracks and military facilities adjoining the Square are the safest places outside the spiraling vaults of the Treasury, but Valencia doesn't fancy burying herself below ground with only a rickety train to rely on. Her parents take up refuge in the nerve center of War Command, overseeing the many reports flooding in from the circling Air Fleet. Valencia suspects her father enjoys standing in a place of such power, especially while Matt is readying himself to lead a battalion into the fray.

Valencia herself is less inclined to stare at printouts and grainy footage, watching battle from afar. She'd rather trust her own eyes. And she can't be close to her parents right now. Somehow, the approaching army, the ships hidden on a cloudy horizon, make her choices very clear.

Damon sits with her, perched on the steps of War Command. His armor ripples slightly, still taking shape across the planes of his muscles. Trying to find the perfect fit. He inclines his head skyward, eyes roving over the gathering grey clouds overhead. They thicken with every passing minute. Kora is close by, too, hovering at his shoulder, her hands bare and ready to heal.

"It's going to rain," he says with a sniff. "Any second now."

Kora looks past them, toward the Bridge of Archeon on the far side of the Square gates. Its many arches and supports seem faded, as the oncoming mist bleeds into the city. "I wonder how high the river is now," she murmurs.