Abbernathy and the Cat Kingdom

The Promise of Dawn

Six years ago, Kingdom of Aelurus

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Amber light from the crescent moon cascaded through the chapel's windows. Shards of red and orange glass littered the floor around a cloaked figure, reflecting the moonlight, making it look as though the creature stood engulfed by flame. Her slitted gold eyes focused on the world beyond and the plumes of smoke filling the night sky. Her tail protruded from under her cloak, thumping against the stone floor.

Taking a deep breath, she lowered her head, resigning herself to the fate she had been dealt.

"We die tonight," the queen declared.

Her guardsman- an armor-clad creature of grey fur and silver eyes- stood behind her, fingers trembling as they grazed the hilt of his sword.

"Please step away from the window, ben' nessra. The enemy will see you. And even at a distance, they have magick at their disposal and a hundred well-trained archers. Any one of them could-"

"Always mindful of your duty, aren't you, Lain?" She turned toward him, a sorrowful smile plastered on her face.

"Of course, your highness," Lain said. "Your life and the lives of-"

She nodded and moved past him. "I know."

Lain relaxed just a bit as he watched his queen rejoin the others in a windowless corner of the room. The few Vislandra who remained loyal to their mistress huddled together, weeping and praying in High Tongue.

In the middle of the room, beside a rotting pulpit, the queen's Archmage was left alone as he called forth the realm's magick. He swayed back and forth, coaxing a portal to expand in front of him. Blue light illuminated the green robes of his order, casting the graying, greasy Aelurian in an eerie glow. Golden bangles adorning his ears jingled with each of his movements.

"Work faster, old man," Lain growled, tapping his bootheels against the floor.

Soroccah kept his milky grey eyes glued to the portal. "Magick is a delicate process, hessren," he called out, his right arm widening the portal, "You're aware of the dangers, yes?"

Lain scoffed. Of course he knew the risks. The roads between realms were crumbling, made unstable from dying magick; one mistake could prove fatal. "I'm aware."

"Then it's best not to disturb me."

Lain turned away from the mage, glad their interaction had been minimal, and did another survey of his surroundings. The crumbling walls and rotting wood beams would offer little protection from the marching army. Lain sighed. This place would come crashing down with a breeze and Commander Feign brought with him the storm.

Whispers found their way to Lain's ears, making him turn to see a young, brown-furred Vislandra, coming toward him. She navigated the rubble strewn floor with an unsteady gait as she cradled a bundle of brown muslin in her arms. Before she could reach the guardsman, the hem of her dress caught on a stone and threw her forward. Without regard to his station, Lain lunged, catching the kit before her head collided with stone.

Jerking the girl upward, the package slipped from her arms, bottles of milk and red powder spilling out across the floor. It reminded Lain of blood. The kit's body squirmed as she tried to free herself of arms that should never have embraced her. A member of the Queen's Vislandra had her place, just as Lain had his.

"Forgive me, Delhen," she whimpered, as she struggled to pick up pieces of glass.

Cuts formed across her fingertips, blood blossoming and dripping into the puddle of spilled milk. Her tail smacked against a rotten pew disturbing cobwebs and scattering roaches. Retrieving the cracked vial of red powder, she thrust it into Lain's arms to his bewilderment. Then, before he could utter a word, she bowed and scampered away.