The centzon scramble to escape the flames, but there’s no avoiding it this time. The blaze spreads astonishingly quickly. What distance they had is swallowed in seconds, leaving them with nowhere to escape.
Their camouflage coats burn off their backs as the centzon attempt to flee. I now realise it is a cloth made from mermineae fur rather than their own hide.
I relish in the feeling of jest letting go for once. Fire is meant to spread and burn. Holding back for the sake of ‘civility’ or ‘cooperation’, what’s the point of that? These beings are likely just going to work against our interests, just like the mermineae did when they should’ve had every reason to collaborate.
A whistle-like siren blares through the roar of my firestorm. I turn toward the tower now adding to the dissonance, and push the flames toward it. We’re getting well out of my range of control now, but the firestorm is still all too willing to spread.
Grímr nudges me with his beak, but I ignore him. He wants me to pull back, but I won’t. They don’t deserve mercy. I was willing to be friendly at first, but these creatures need to be shown that I’m not to be messed with.
I belatedly note that the centzon are collecting around a few openings in the earth. They pile in one after the other. Do they really think that will be enough to escape? I simply direct the flame down the narrow stone tube after them.
As the last of the centzon close a heavy hatch behind them, I’m suddenly cut off from the fire down with them. I can still feel it — barely — but without a direct connection, I cannot control it.
The centzon beneath the surface are quick to extinguish my flames, but they don’t get away without some serious muscle-deep burns. It’ll only take a few seconds to melt through the hatch… is what I think until I actually attempt to melt the stone. I can’t even feel it heating.
I try burning around the hatch. The earth melts with ease, but as soon as I reach the shaft, I find it made of the same heat-resistant stone. It’s like the suits my Henosis captors wore. The reminder really doesn’t help my mood.
I want to burn after them, but that irritating siren still blares in my ears. The firestorm is just about to reach the tower when the sound cuts out. Heavy banging takes its place. A rhythmic clanging of stone and metal colliding.
All along the edge of the canyon, running hundreds of metres to both sides of the tower, rises a massive stone wall. Sections rise without uniformity, but once they slam into place, a daunting bulwark stands as one. Intricate contraptions of metal line the stone.
If the field of traps is any indication, it will be better to destroy them before their purpose is revealed. I don’t dare think that all their defences are as ineffective as the ones I destroyed without effort.
I push forward, intending to melt the structures as fast as possible, but I’m too slow. From the top of the walls, flowing streams of water shower the stone. Fortunately, I spot the action fast enough to strip the inferno of my inner flame. It’s not instant, but I take them away from the point of impact to get off safely.
The firestorm slams into the wet wall and blasts over it. An immense amount of steam rises, but the wall takes no damage. I consider for a moment pushing my inner flame back into the inferno and forcing it up and over the wall.
Before I can proceed with my plan, huge, metre wide vents slide open along the walls. Powerful torrents of water blow out of each new hole in the walls.
I’m immensely grateful for my hesitation to act. If I’d still had a part of myself in that, I can’t imagine the pain that would follow.
Strangely enough, the firestorm isn’t put out as quickly as I thought it would at the touch of water. A phantom ache stings my chest as I feel the flames at my peripheral dying off, facing opposition to its previously unhampered growth.
I want to take control, to send my flames up the tower and down the shafts, but I can’t. As much as I want to punish these creatures for their attempt at snatching my freedom, the gushing water is far too great of a threat.
Why did it have to be water?
So much of the liquid is blasted out along the wall. In no time at all, the pools of water grow into a flood. I have to climb Grímr’s back as, even hundreds of metres away, the water flows over the land.
They must be pumping an ocean’s worth of water up into the plains. Their stone walls block it from falling back into the canyon, leaving the entirety to spread and fill the pits where their old traps once rested. Lava cools as an immense amount of steam rises.
Soon, the firestorm has no ground to stand on. Only the air burns as the wind continues to feed it, but with nothing to grasp onto, it eventually weakens and disperses.
“Solvei! Are you with me?”
“What?” I ask dumbly. What does he mean? I’ve been here the whole time.
“You need to stop. Remember why we’re here.”
No. I can’t. It’s happened far too many times now. I will let no one get away with treating me like shit anymore. If I let them go, then nobody will ever get it through their heads that I’m not going to let them get away with messing with me.
“Take me over their wall,” I tell him.
“No, you can’t kill them. We still need them.”
“If you won’t help, then I’ll go myself.”
I immediately start on growing wings. It’ll be hard to get past their walls with the rising steam, but I’ll do what I must.
“Stop this! Do you really want to leave the merminea invasion unopposed? What about the people who can’t defend themselves?”
Grímr could stop me easily if he truly wanted. The water is flowing past his talon as we speak, after all. But he doesn’t, so I continue my change.
“These creatures have already shown their colours. They wouldn’t help us, regardless.”
Grímr slumps. “Is that really what you want? You won’t put aside this slight for the sake of those back home?”
Why are you looking at me like that? I’m not the one that started our interaction with an attempt to entrap the other side. Why should I be the one to back down now?
The disappointment in Grímr’s eyes is devastating. He’s been by my side so long now. He’s one of the few people I’d trust to always have my best in mind, so why is he against me? Why doesn’t he understand why I need to do this?
“They… they tried to trap me… us,” I manage. “I just can’t let that go anymore. It has happened too many times now. I need to make sure the world knows it can’t keep doing what it wants.”
He needs to understand why. I don’t want him to look at me with those eyes filled with disapproval and sorrow. It hurts too much.
I twist my head toward three centzon that just moved close enough for me to sense. They must notice my attention as they lower their cloaks, allowing us a clear sight of them. They trudge toward us through the knee deep water.
“Let me deal with this, alright? You don’t have to like them, but please don’t attack again.”
I want to refuse. To keep the wrath churning my smouldering flames. But I give in. Grímr’s disappointment has already put an end to my anger. If they decide to attack again, I won’t hold back, even if I have a lot of water to avoid now.
Now that we have a clear look at the centzon, it is clear they relate to the mermineae, if distantly. Their bodies are hardly similar, but their tapered snouts, limb structure, and ears are too close to ignore. In a way, it’s like how áed naturally appear similar to the albanic; alike, only with a superficial glance.
Unlike the mermineae, the centzon are stocky, tall and stand with a slump that leaves their backs raised higher than their heads. In a word, I would describe the mermineae as slender, and these, not.
The trio approaching us each carry a thick pole of stone. I would equate it to a tree log, but the metal braces lining its length surrender its nature as another of their contraptions. Is that their weapon? I’d usually not be concerned about something physical able to hurt me, but they show clear understanding that I can’t handle water. Could they have filled each with the horrid liquid?
They are large, though not exactly tall because of their slump. If they were to stand upright, I’d say they’d stand at the midpoint between an adult albanic and ursu.
Grímr stands still, eyeing the approaching centzon with his wings rested by his side. The trio gets closer. Thankfully, even though they take their time, the water doesn’t rise higher. The vents still pump an unbelievable quantity out over the plateau, but it continues on behind us rather than flood around us.
Grímr rears his beak. “We would like to talk, not fight,” he says with a raised voice.
The centzon stop. Clear surprise crosses their faces as they look between one another. They speak amongst themselves before the centre one steps forward.
“If you wanted to talk, then what was that?” he asks in a gruff voice, gesturing to the damaged land and raised walls. “Do your greetings always comprise destruction and fire?”
“You attacked us first!” I accuse. “Nothing would have happened if you hadn’t tried to ensnare us.”
If they had just listened to us, nothing would have happened.
“Solvei,” Grímr chides, giving me a stare.
I just huff and turn away. My body has completed its transformation now, so I could fly off, but I’m still concerned they might attack Grímr while I’m in the sky.
I keep an eye around us in case any other centzon are approaching. There aren’t any visible to my heat sense. Either these three are their strongest and they’ve been sent here to take us out themselves, or they are distractions for another force.
Grímr addresses the three as they come to a stop ten metres from us. “I apologise for the offence. My junior partner is rather sensitive to the idea of being trapped. Please forgive her.”
I turn to glare at Grímr. They’re the ones that should apologise, not us. And I really dislike the way he phrases my absolute despisement as nothing but a sensitivity.
“I see,” the middle centzon says. “What are you? You carry a weapon and cloth that I am unfamiliar with, so I’m inclined to believe you are not uncivilised.” He indicates toward the bag and spear that rest in my taloned feet. “But I’ve never seen your likes before. An alicanto that speaks and… a fire? Or are you some vermilion variation?”
“We are from across the Alps.”
I watch the centzon’s expressions closely. They seem surprised and curious, nothing overly concerning. They don’t share glances or murmur amongst each other, which I might have taken as them being greedy to travel there themselves. Well, they might still want to. I’m not about to claim to be a perfect interpreter of their thoughts from body language alone.
“She is an áed. Fire beings from far south. I am…” Grímr hesitates, clearly thinking about what to tell this stranger. If he fears or is disgusted by Grímr’s race, we probably won’t be able to make any agreement with these people. I narrow my eyes at them, asking them to do so. I still want to scorch them to cinders.
Grímr lets out a sigh. “I am not an albanic. I am what is called a portian. We take over bodies of the beasts we beat.”
I drop my eyes to Grímr. It’s surprising he’s admitting it. He is usually so concerned over what others will think of him, that he’ll keep it hidden regardless of how important it might have been to say. He kept me in the dark until he literally couldn’t hide it any longer, and I was his teammate.
The centzon take this in stride, seeming more interested in Grímr now than anything else, including our origin and my race. It’s somewhat amusing not being the target of someone’s wonder for once.
“Like the teki?” the centzon on the right asks, leaning forward.
Their interest and lack of reaction to his self explanation visibly surprises Grímr. “The teki?”
“Yeah, those anatla that possess revontulet and cause all sorts of problems.” Despite his words, he sounds rather excited.
“I’m not sure what an anatla or revontulet are, either,” Grímr says, obviously put off by the direction of conversation.
The centre centzon steps forward again. “Not to worry, any creature related to the ones that put the cranky revontulet in their place is welcome here.” He glances my way. “Though, please control your áed. I’d rather not have to flood our great regna.”
I try to burn a hole in his head with my gaze… not actually starting a fire.
The trio turns around and waves to the tower and the torrent of water shuts off in moments. The centzon gesture us to follow them.
What?
Didn’t they come out to fight? They’ve still got their weapons in hand and everything. I glance around us, expecting this to be some ruse. But no, the water level is dropping and with a heavy clank, the walls unlock and lower back into their original position, hidden beneath the ledge.
They flipped from aggression to friendliness because… Grímr is similar to another race?
I just can’t wrap my head around it.
Didn’t I almost kill a bunch of them? And they are fine letting me in the midst of their city? Grímr takes a few moments to follow behind the trio, obviously as flabbergasted as I am.
Wait, what was that about a flooding?
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The centzon scramble to escape the flames, but there’s no avoiding it this time. The blaze spreads astonishingly quickly. What distance they had is swallowed in seconds, leaving them with nowhere to escape.
Their camouflage coats burn off their backs as the centzon attempt to flee. I now realise it is a cloth made from mermineae fur rather than their own hide.
I relish in the feeling of jest letting go for once. Fire is meant to spread and burn. Holding back for the sake of ‘civility’ or ‘cooperation’, what’s the point of that? These beings are likely just going to work against our interests, just like the mermineae did when they should’ve had every reason to collaborate.
A whistle-like siren blares through the roar of my firestorm. I turn toward the tower now adding to the dissonance, and push the flames toward it. We’re getting well out of my range of control now, but the firestorm is still all too willing to spread.
Grímr nudges me with his beak, but I ignore him. He wants me to pull back, but I won’t. They don’t deserve mercy. I was willing to be friendly at first, but these creatures need to be shown that I’m not to be messed with.
I belatedly note that the centzon are collecting around a few openings in the earth. They pile in one after the other. Do they really think that will be enough to escape? I simply direct the flame down the narrow stone tube after them.
As the last of the centzon close a heavy hatch behind them, I’m suddenly cut off from the fire down with them. I can still feel it — barely — but without a direct connection, I cannot control it.
The centzon beneath the surface are quick to extinguish my flames, but they don’t get away without some serious muscle-deep burns. It’ll only take a few seconds to melt through the hatch… is what I think until I actually attempt to melt the stone. I can’t even feel it heating.
I try burning around the hatch. The earth melts with ease, but as soon as I reach the shaft, I find it made of the same heat-resistant stone. It’s like the suits my Henosis captors wore. The reminder really doesn’t help my mood.
I want to burn after them, but that irritating siren still blares in my ears. The firestorm is just about to reach the tower when the sound cuts out. Heavy banging takes its place. A rhythmic clanging of stone and metal colliding.
All along the edge of the canyon, running hundreds of metres to both sides of the tower, rises a massive stone wall. Sections rise without uniformity, but once they slam into place, a daunting bulwark stands as one. Intricate contraptions of metal line the stone.
If the field of traps is any indication, it will be better to destroy them before their purpose is revealed. I don’t dare think that all their defences are as ineffective as the ones I destroyed without effort.
I push forward, intending to melt the structures as fast as possible, but I’m too slow. From the top of the walls, flowing streams of water shower the stone. Fortunately, I spot the action fast enough to strip the inferno of my inner flame. It’s not instant, but I take them away from the point of impact to get off safely.
The firestorm slams into the wet wall and blasts over it. An immense amount of steam rises, but the wall takes no damage. I consider for a moment pushing my inner flame back into the inferno and forcing it up and over the wall.
Before I can proceed with my plan, huge, metre wide vents slide open along the walls. Powerful torrents of water blow out of each new hole in the walls.
I’m immensely grateful for my hesitation to act. If I’d still had a part of myself in that, I can’t imagine the pain that would follow.
Strangely enough, the firestorm isn’t put out as quickly as I thought it would at the touch of water. A phantom ache stings my chest as I feel the flames at my peripheral dying off, facing opposition to its previously unhampered growth.
I want to take control, to send my flames up the tower and down the shafts, but I can’t. As much as I want to punish these creatures for their attempt at snatching my freedom, the gushing water is far too great of a threat.
Why did it have to be water?
So much of the liquid is blasted out along the wall. In no time at all, the pools of water grow into a flood. I have to climb Grímr’s back as, even hundreds of metres away, the water flows over the land.
They must be pumping an ocean’s worth of water up into the plains. Their stone walls block it from falling back into the canyon, leaving the entirety to spread and fill the pits where their old traps once rested. Lava cools as an immense amount of steam rises.
Soon, the firestorm has no ground to stand on. Only the air burns as the wind continues to feed it, but with nothing to grasp onto, it eventually weakens and disperses.
“Solvei! Are you with me?”
“What?” I ask dumbly. What does he mean? I’ve been here the whole time.
“You need to stop. Remember why we’re here.”
No. I can’t. It’s happened far too many times now. I will let no one get away with treating me like shit anymore. If I let them go, then nobody will ever get it through their heads that I’m not going to let them get away with messing with me.
“Take me over their wall,” I tell him.
“No, you can’t kill them. We still need them.”
“If you won’t help, then I’ll go myself.”
I immediately start on growing wings. It’ll be hard to get past their walls with the rising steam, but I’ll do what I must.
“Stop this! Do you really want to leave the merminea invasion unopposed? What about the people who can’t defend themselves?”
Grímr could stop me easily if he truly wanted. The water is flowing past his talon as we speak, after all. But he doesn’t, so I continue my change.
“These creatures have already shown their colours. They wouldn’t help us, regardless.”
Grímr slumps. “Is that really what you want? You won’t put aside this slight for the sake of those back home?”
Why are you looking at me like that? I’m not the one that started our interaction with an attempt to entrap the other side. Why should I be the one to back down now?
The disappointment in Grímr’s eyes is devastating. He’s been by my side so long now. He’s one of the few people I’d trust to always have my best in mind, so why is he against me? Why doesn’t he understand why I need to do this?
“They… they tried to trap me… us,” I manage. “I just can’t let that go anymore. It has happened too many times now. I need to make sure the world knows it can’t keep doing what it wants.”
He needs to understand why. I don’t want him to look at me with those eyes filled with disapproval and sorrow. It hurts too much.
I twist my head toward three centzon that just moved close enough for me to sense. They must notice my attention as they lower their cloaks, allowing us a clear sight of them. They trudge toward us through the knee deep water.
“Let me deal with this, alright? You don’t have to like them, but please don’t attack again.”
I want to refuse. To keep the wrath churning my smouldering flames. But I give in. Grímr’s disappointment has already put an end to my anger. If they decide to attack again, I won’t hold back, even if I have a lot of water to avoid now.
Now that we have a clear look at the centzon, it is clear they relate to the mermineae, if distantly. Their bodies are hardly similar, but their tapered snouts, limb structure, and ears are too close to ignore. In a way, it’s like how áed naturally appear similar to the albanic; alike, only with a superficial glance.
Unlike the mermineae, the centzon are stocky, tall and stand with a slump that leaves their backs raised higher than their heads. In a word, I would describe the mermineae as slender, and these, not.
The trio approaching us each carry a thick pole of stone. I would equate it to a tree log, but the metal braces lining its length surrender its nature as another of their contraptions. Is that their weapon? I’d usually not be concerned about something physical able to hurt me, but they show clear understanding that I can’t handle water. Could they have filled each with the horrid liquid?
They are large, though not exactly tall because of their slump. If they were to stand upright, I’d say they’d stand at the midpoint between an adult albanic and ursu.
Grímr stands still, eyeing the approaching centzon with his wings rested by his side. The trio gets closer. Thankfully, even though they take their time, the water doesn’t rise higher. The vents still pump an unbelievable quantity out over the plateau, but it continues on behind us rather than flood around us.
Grímr rears his beak. “We would like to talk, not fight,” he says with a raised voice.
The centzon stop. Clear surprise crosses their faces as they look between one another. They speak amongst themselves before the centre one steps forward.
“If you wanted to talk, then what was that?” he asks in a gruff voice, gesturing to the damaged land and raised walls. “Do your greetings always comprise destruction and fire?”
“You attacked us first!” I accuse. “Nothing would have happened if you hadn’t tried to ensnare us.”
If they had just listened to us, nothing would have happened.
“Solvei,” Grímr chides, giving me a stare.
I just huff and turn away. My body has completed its transformation now, so I could fly off, but I’m still concerned they might attack Grímr while I’m in the sky.
I keep an eye around us in case any other centzon are approaching. There aren’t any visible to my heat sense. Either these three are their strongest and they’ve been sent here to take us out themselves, or they are distractions for another force.
Grímr addresses the three as they come to a stop ten metres from us. “I apologise for the offence. My junior partner is rather sensitive to the idea of being trapped. Please forgive her.”
I turn to glare at Grímr. They’re the ones that should apologise, not us. And I really dislike the way he phrases my absolute despisement as nothing but a sensitivity.
“I see,” the middle centzon says. “What are you? You carry a weapon and cloth that I am unfamiliar with, so I’m inclined to believe you are not uncivilised.” He indicates toward the bag and spear that rest in my taloned feet. “But I’ve never seen your likes before. An alicanto that speaks and… a fire? Or are you some vermilion variation?”
“We are from across the Alps.”
I watch the centzon’s expressions closely. They seem surprised and curious, nothing overly concerning. They don’t share glances or murmur amongst each other, which I might have taken as them being greedy to travel there themselves. Well, they might still want to. I’m not about to claim to be a perfect interpreter of their thoughts from body language alone.
“She is an áed. Fire beings from far south. I am…” Grímr hesitates, clearly thinking about what to tell this stranger. If he fears or is disgusted by Grímr’s race, we probably won’t be able to make any agreement with these people. I narrow my eyes at them, asking them to do so. I still want to scorch them to cinders.
Grímr lets out a sigh. “I am not an albanic. I am what is called a portian. We take over bodies of the beasts we beat.”
I drop my eyes to Grímr. It’s surprising he’s admitting it. He is usually so concerned over what others will think of him, that he’ll keep it hidden regardless of how important it might have been to say. He kept me in the dark until he literally couldn’t hide it any longer, and I was his teammate.
The centzon take this in stride, seeming more interested in Grímr now than anything else, including our origin and my race. It’s somewhat amusing not being the target of someone’s wonder for once.
“Like the teki?” the centzon on the right asks, leaning forward.
Their interest and lack of reaction to his self explanation visibly surprises Grímr. “The teki?”
“Yeah, those anatla that possess revontulet and cause all sorts of problems.” Despite his words, he sounds rather excited.
“I’m not sure what an anatla or revontulet are, either,” Grímr says, obviously put off by the direction of conversation.
The centre centzon steps forward again. “Not to worry, any creature related to the ones that put the cranky revontulet in their place is welcome here.” He glances my way. “Though, please control your áed. I’d rather not have to flood our great regna.”
I try to burn a hole in his head with my gaze… not actually starting a fire.
The trio turns around and waves to the tower and the torrent of water shuts off in moments. The centzon gesture us to follow them.
What?
Didn’t they come out to fight? They’ve still got their weapons in hand and everything. I glance around us, expecting this to be some ruse. But no, the water level is dropping and with a heavy clank, the walls unlock and lower back into their original position, hidden beneath the ledge.
They flipped from aggression to friendliness because… Grímr is similar to another race?
I just can’t wrap my head around it.
Didn’t I almost kill a bunch of them? And they are fine letting me in the midst of their city? Grímr takes a few moments to follow behind the trio, obviously as flabbergasted as I am.
Wait, what was that about a flooding?
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