Crintine's fancy socks. Elred cursed, ducking under her arms. Her legs sputtered to action, pumping her entire form forward. She stuck to the walls, sensing where the next turn would come. Where was she going? Which direction? One of the things that didn't matter. Run. It's what she needed to do. And for the first time, she was glad she had gotten good at it.
The rigid breaths, the silent swish of cloaks, the stringent rush of metal swords being pulled out of scabbards, the heavy footfalls of thick soles—all of it echoed and bounced across the walls and the inky darkness. Elred bunched her skirts in her bloodied fingers and got them out of the way of her legs' motions. The throwing knife glinted with every bright spark coming her way for the entire journey.
It's not just her who's being affected by this darkness. As much as it was her doom, it was also her cloak. As long as she made no noise, she'd make it. But...make it to where? She turned this way and that, eyes scanning the horizon in desperation. Some incline, a flash of outside light—anything. Show her any sign this hell would be ending.
The ceiling shook at another collision with a spell. It wasn't to hit her. They were to see her. These lackeys. They always wanted to be flashy. If she was their general, she would have whacked their heads from behind. It's not the way of Synketros. Their goal was to become one with the shadows, not to be at war with it.
A bend signaled by the wall came up. She came towards a wider corridor. Alley was a closer word for it. This new path was wide enough for a two-lane road back in Helinfirth. Which could only mean one thing—she wasn't in the Synketrian dungeons anymore. She was somewhere else. Had she really run all the way? What's the plan from here?
Nothing.
There was no plan.
Elred's chest heaved like a labored kraejen. Sweat rushed down the side of her face and doused her stained dress from the back to her legs. She looked back. No one pursued her. Not a drop of shadow. She froze.
Why was it brighter?
True enough, when she looked down at her feet, she saw everything as well as she could in daylight. A hesitant breath of disbelief filtered past her lips. She brought her hands in front of her. The bright red stain of freshly-spilt blood mixed with the mud, caking in her nail beds and her knuckles. There's no way to know which flecks belonged to her.
She looked down to see her clothes in their real condition. The sleeves had long fallen into strips of cloth barely tied from the front of her bodice to the back. The hem had long been eaten by the growing tatters, climbing up the length until such time there was not a shock of fabric left. This wouldn't do. As a shard fairy, she still had dignity to protect.
She sighed and ran a hand down her form. Nothing happened. Not a flicker light to signal her magic being cast, not a faint and comforting tingle of glamour spreading over her skin. Her eyebrows creased. What's going on? She ground her teeth and tried again, drawing magic from the air around her. Nothing happened.
Fear started seeping into her system. The sudden memory of her brother slammed into the back of her mind. After he got his wings broken, he had been practicing his synnavaim less and less. Until such time when she hadn't seen him conjure a glamour stronger than an average illusion. Would that happen to her? Would a part of her soul wither away and die just because she lost her wings?
The answer didn't present itself to her as the stones around her exploded into a shower of sparks and debris. A whimper escaped her lips. Even someone as great at her, without magic, would be as useless as a clump of dirt. She craned her neck to the ceiling and realized it stretched to a height that shouldn't be possible. This wasn't an alley. It was an entire cavern. And around her...
The stones weren't just stones. They took familiar shapes, resembling roofs, pillars, and statues. This was...a city? Underneath the island? How come none of the races in the upper cities knew about this? A civilization could have thrived underneath them and they wouldn't have any idea. And if said civilization decided to attack...
A glaring revelation slammed into her gut as she turned and started weaving through the ruins of a forgotten city. Maybe this was the reason why Synketros and Cardovia were able to survive for as long as they did throughout the centuries. They simply had to use the underground systems already built for them.
Dark blobs of fairy-like figures zipped through the city along with her. Some ran and leaped through crumbling roofs while others weaved past the pillars and cracked walls with her. If they wanted to kill her, why haven't they tried? Didn't they know she couldn't cast a single spell to save herself? Was that why they were hesitating?
How long would it take for them to find out Elred's as helpless as a newborn foal?
A streak of bright pink fire slammed into the ground by her feet. Rock burst, throwing her forward. Her face slammed into the mud, scratching her cheeks and her wrists as they caught her fall. A billion aches joined the existing ones, gripping her bones and muscles and didn't plan on letting go. A groan escaped her lips as she fumbled to right herself.
The dark blobs turned even more abstract in her blurry vision. They joined the dark webs of spots flickering in her consciousness. Not yet. She couldn't die here. Her fingers twitched, jostling the throwing knife she stole from the Synketrian jailer. Yes...
It wouldn't end here.
As the crunches of boots against silt neared, she curled her fingers around the blade. Tighter. A string of gibberish reached her ear, either because of the loud ringing in her ears or the fact they're using another dialect distinct from Keijula. They approached her, and she forced her limbs to relax. Closer. Let them come closer.
When their shadows obscured the meager light, she wrenched her eyes open and launched herself up. Silver glinted in a deadly arc. Her blade bit flesh, followed by the unmistakable scream and a flailing thud. Male. A soldier rushed to his side, worry evident in the tone of their voice. Female. They're together? Maybe.
A loud whistle echoed in the cavern. Fire and metal screamed for her blood as they rushed towards her. Without magic and a sword, all she could do was to scramble out of the way. And just like that, she was back to running. Until she came across a semi-circle of black-clad soldiers bearing the bands with the Synkterian mark on them.
"Leave me alone," Elred breathed, her voice sounding foreign in her ears. It's felt like years since she last heard it, since she last used her tongue to weasel her way out of situations. "I don't want to hurt you."
"We're not worried about that," the man she slashed earlier spoke. He seemed to be the leader of this platoon. The cut across his face barely missed his eye, but he grinned like it was a badge he could be proud of. "We're worried about Kriachoria knowing about this and taking out her anger on us. No hard feelings, Elred."
She knitted her eyebrows. Her confusion must have bled to her face because the man threw his head back and laughed. The rest of his goons joined in. "She doesn't even remember who I am," he said. "Have I become one with the shadow now, General?"
Elred bared her teeth and sank into a defensive stance. "Just get on with it," she said. "I don't have time for games."
A wide smile ripped across the soldier's lips. "You shouldn't have run then."
She skidded backwards in preparation of intercepting whatever blow they'd inflict on her. Her mind reached for her the well of magic in her system. Over and over again. She prayed to Dhavo for a sliver. Just a sliver. She'd make do with whatever she got.
Nothing. Her well was empty. Smoothed clean by the Sovereign's magic and the absence of her wings.
A column of burning magic rushed towards her followed by the distinct swirl of the soldiers' weapons flashing for her neck. She swung her blade blindly. It sailed into nothing but air. Her world whirled when a dark shape zoomed past her, tackling her to the ground. A strangled cry ripped from her throat, but she wasn't given a chance to voice a protest when she was yanked up and forced to clamber away.
"Let me go!" she clawed at the dark hand wrapped around her wrist, but it didn't budge. Against her whiter-than-marble complexion, it looked like a band of the void. "What are you doing?"
"If you want to die, by all means, go back there," an annoyed voice tore her attention from the footfalls of her bare soles and the tight grip on her arm to the back of a head. Rigid curls traveled down in fixed braids from his head to his elbows. Muted yellow robes hung from his frame, contrasting against his dark skin. A single cloth band drove most of the curls from his forehead before giving way to the prickly beginnings of his beard. "I would tell Tarmis you chose idiocy over life."
Elred's mouth fell open. "What—"
Something crashed behind her. She looked just in time to see a black-clad soldier fall to his ass against three more colorfully-dressed warriors. Lithe, precise, and deadly. The way they wielded spears and swords, slashing with certain and measured strokes, gave their lineage and training background away. Pixies.
And if they're under the ground dressed and groomed in such a haphazard manner deviant from the usual way the Peltran army dresses, they could only be one thing.
Renegades.
So, they existed.
Then again, when had the Sovereign's intel lied to Elred?
They rounded a ruin of what must have been a building. It's reduced to just a wall now. "What brings you to Ok-Sa?" the renegade pulling her along asked, flattening her against the rubble. The motion drove more pain up her spine, but she held it in. Tamped it down her gut.
"This is Ok-Sa?" Elred said through gritted teeth before smacking the back of her head against the wall lightly. "Of course, it is."
She leaned over at the sound of more weapons clattering to the ground and bodily thuds peppering the expanse. "As for the reason I'm here," she replied before ducking back behind their impromptu shield when the man she cut spied her and sent a spell their way. "Let's say it's a matter of coincidence. I never intended to find Peltran renegades."
"It's safe to say we found you, then," the pixie answered.
"Yarli! We should scat!" one of the renegade's companions shouted from the melee. "This place is beyond our help."
Elred frowned. "What does your help look like?"
The lines in the renegade's face deepened, making him look like he's on the final stretches of his lifespan when he wasn't. "Let's hurry," he said, making a move to grab Elred's wrist again. She whipped it out of the way.
"I can walk by myself," she said, a low snarl tingeing her tone.
The renegade, Yarli, shrugged. "Suit yourself," he said. "Keep up, and don't touch the dark spines."
"What happens if I do?" she challenged as she followed the renegades' colorful robes deeper into the buried ruins of a city.
The grim cloud passing across the renegades' faces told Elred he wasn't kidding when Yarli said, "You die."
Alright, then.
After walking for what seemed like miles and for what seemed like forever, they arrived inside a smaller set of tunnels, giving Elred some sort of dissonance. Were the large alleys and these tiny roads the same part of the underground? Were they still in Ok-Sa? How come they were able to travel such a distance in such a short time? Maybe Elred's sense of time was so whack she couldn't tell an hour and a day apart. But...did it really matter? She's stuck here, wasn't she?
"We ought to not show everything to a newcomer but we should point you to the most basic amenities," Yarli ran a hand down the back of his neck and gestured to a dim cavern looking like a collapsed house rather than an actual residence. "That's the Elder's other office. He drops by to check this region's progress."
Elred arched an eyebrow. "And what position do you hold here?"
A bashful look passed across the renegade's face. "Just a maintenance guy."
Ah. They didn't have a solid structure of power here. "And why have we come here?" she asked. "You could have just left me in one of the connecting caverns."
Yarli scratched the side of his face. "It didn't seem right," he said. "I'm sure Tarmis would understand."
Elred hummed and eyed the passing crowd of colorfully-dressed people. The stark contrast of the abundance of dark hair and the predominantly muted color scheme of Helinfirth jarred her a bit. Fine. A lot. When she disappeared under the placid blanket of light colors back home, she stood out like a sore thumb here.
They continued walking, passing renegades out in their usual jobs. Most hunkered over piles of potted succulents growing despite the lack of sunlight. Others hefted huge bones with webbed green markings scrawled in them. What were those? What were these people doing?
A whiff of blond caught in her periphery. She turned and stopped in her tracks, almost having the other two renegades bringing up the rear run into her. They cried in alarm, having a full view of her wing stumps, and could have screeched to a halt. Still, she didn't move. She couldn't move. Her gaze was glued towards a man entertaining his son while sitting among the renegades crafting baskets or something.
The same blond hair atop both heads. The same smile. The same rings of laughter. As if sensing her attention, the man stopped playing with his son and turned to Elred's direction. The bond inside her—the one she thought to be dormant after all these years apart—stirred, and then, she knew. Without fail. Without doubt. This man was...
Elred's breath shook when she exhaled a name. "Savel."