In the world of Valterra, where ancient forces of light and darkness clash, the Primordials awaken. Marcus, a seasoned warrior, embarks on a perilous quest to unite a group of extraordinary beings known as the Primordials to face the Dark and its mi...
Half out of her mind as she fled Fretram, Daenna, still aflame, ran for her life in a furry of confusion and fear. The calls of the Phoenix beckoned her, but she pushed them aside, dismissing them as mere tales of nonsense and magic. Yet she couldn't help but think of those two Watchmen, who had paid the price, in flesh, for her ignorance.
In what seemed like an instant, she sprinted past the bustling docks, where fishermen and traders were absorbed in their daily routines, paying her no heed. Without hesitation, she raced to the very edge of a wooden ramp, leaping with a powerful kick into the sea below.
The water quelled her flames instantly, and when her head popped up and out, she could hear the Watchmen's calls in the city and the alarm bell chiming in the guard tower. They were looking for her. She swam north as fast as she could, staying under the water as much as possible so as not to attract their attention. Clothes would be handy, she needed them fast. She kicked her legs and held her breath over and over so much that her heart began beating out of her chest. When she slowed, she thought of Jaspel and wished she could take back all the wicked things she said to her the night before sneaking off. Now Jaspel was the only person Daenna wanted, who she needed to get to, the one she could trust to explain what was truly happening. If only she'd listened. Not been so afraid.
She could barely feel her legs when the brush she had used to mark where she had left her belongings came into view. She swam to shore. Once at the beach, she lay there in the small pebbles and shells and let her body warm up and rest in the afternoon sun. It was always hot in Altnaraha, no matter the time of year, and although she was thankful for it, she knew it could be deadly.
Making sure there was no one in sight, she ran to the brush and grabbed her knapsack. She rummaged through it quickly throwing on a beige cotton robe and a white cloth wrapped around her head and the bottom of her face. If she could make it back to the Northern shores before nightfall, she could evade any pursuit. Tired from swimming, hungry, and confused, she followed the coast towards Paderdun. Towards home.
In the night while she slept, two men approached her. "Get up grub." A gruff voice commanded, shaking her awake from a dead sleep. She'd travelled miles away from Fretram and collapsed at the first sign of dark. At first she was too exhausted to register who it was. For a moment she thought she had reached Paderdun, but then she recognized their robes. They were Protectors, those who claimed to Right the Wicked, who thought themselves saviors, though they were merely slave traders.
Daenna had been taught the Protectors were wicked, men who killed and raped. They scavenged for the vulnerable, travelers caught alone and unarmed, or runaways with no one looking for them. They must have thought she was one of the latter, they'd be right to assume she'd been evading them for weeks. She recoiled at the thought of what they may be capable of.
One of them must have been in Fretram and tracked her sloppy and dazed escape. Even so, she thought she covered her tracks. Perhaps they used some kind of dark magic to find her. She had been too focused on making sure to travel far enough out of the Watchmen's range, she'd forgotten the other dangers that could have been lurking. The Protectors had their own agenda, if one had seen her turn to flames, they'd know she wasn't an average catch.
"Careful, fool, she can burn you." A weaselly voice returned. The second man pulled down the cloth she still had over over face and added. "It's her, do it."
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