For a moment, the world stilled. Figures crowded against her view of the sky as she finished stuffing her sketches and materials back into her satchel. Her world whizzed when a tight grip clutched her arm and hauled her up. Thank the gods her cap stayed put, else her purple hair gave her away.

"What are you doing?" a rough voice demanded. She looked up to find the balding man glowering at her. "Who allowed you to be here?"

Two more generals rounded the corner and stopped at the commotion. One was a man with decent features and a woman with her hair tied up. Nelnifa memorized their features, straining her mind in the process. Her hands itched to unsheathe the dagger strapped to her belt but refrained. She couldn't afford to blow her cover so early in the game.

The balding man shook her. "Are you not going to answer, girl?!" he yelled, spit flying in the air. Some of it smacked Nelnifa's cheeks, and it took everything in her to stop her hands from wiping it off and flicking filth back to where it came from. "Who allowed you here?"

She gazed unblinkingly at the boots littering her view. With one arm hoisted in the air, she's stuck in an awkward position, unable to move or squirm. These were the Heiress' men. If they realized the Desaran princess made an appearance in one of the strongholds, it would start an all-out war with their territory as the playground. There might not be something left to rule by the time it finished. If it finished at all.

So, she closed her eyes, tamped down the growing dread and frustration in her gut, and mustered what's left of her courage. When she opened her eyes, the fear she had nursed for as long as she remembered returned, curled at the base of her stomach and rendered her speech shaky.

"I-I'm sorry," she cowered under the balding man's fiery gaze. It's scary; it seemed to be able to read through her entire being, judging her from the day she was born until this moment. "I-it's my first week, and I h-haven't been acquainted with the place and where I can and cannot go. Please don't hurt me."

She made a show of ducking her face behind her free hand. She peeked through the meager gaps between her fingers to find these generals wore their names like badges in the chests of their coats. The man with the kindly face, shaggy light gray hair, lamp-like golden eyes, and a lanky build—Parim Deinu; the woman with pale yellow hair tied in a rigid tail, expressive dark brown eyes, and curvy build—Hycile Lorel; and finally, the balding man with the white-gray bits sticking out of the remaining parts of his scalp—Agan Coeri.

They were important, because the uniform Nelnifa stole didn't bear a single speck of the Ylanenla script. It's a message, certainly. Those who wouldn't perform well and get the Heiress' attention, they were treated as another form to clothe. They're people the Heiress could afford to lose to the fire, or in Desara's case, the salty depths.

Her heart eased into faint beats when the grip loosened and a forceful shove erupted on her shoulder. "Run along, then," Agan Coeri said, before following up with, "Runt." Even if muttered, Nelnifa's ears caught it.

The balding man, who seemed to be the oldest in this bunch, and therefore, the most respected, turned to the other two generals. "Make sure to lead this cub to where she belongs," he ordered. "Don't lose her."

"And you!" Agan snapped at Nelnifa in a tone so scathing the flinch that rocked through her couldn't have looked so real. "I don't want to see you in places you shouldn't be. The next time I do, you'll have to say farewell to one of your hands."

Nelnifa touched her wrist as if by instinct, and from the malicious glimmer in Agan's eyes, he noticed it. And relished in the fear he was able to instill. It's an ego-boost—one Nelnifa needed to make him think he still had the upper hand in this place. Well, not for long.

"Come on, then," Parim braced her wide hips and flicked her hair over her shoulder. "Don't make this harder for us, or Agan's threat will happen sooner or later."

Nelnifa could only bob her head and stride to the stairs she tackled earlier. Apart from the heavy footfalls of their boots against the stone and the metallic clangs echoing from all over the fortress, they moved in relative silence. They didn't cover her head with a sack, seeing as she came here not as a prisoner but as a member, and she capitalized on it by committing to memory every single detail she encountered.

The walls were made of porous rock common in the silty parts of Umazure. The earth sprites could only work with what they have, and in the strongholds' cases, it's this stone built from the sediments scattered by the winds across time and space. When she ran a hand on the surface, some debris popped off and went with her skin.

A tongue clicked, and she turned to find Hycile narrowing her eyes. Nelnifa had never been quick to retract her hand closer to her form. She loved her hands. "S-sorry," she mumbled, hesitating in her steps.

Another shove drove her forward. "Get a move on, witch," Parim snapped. Scratch that. He's not a decent guy. Far from it. Nelnifa scurried away from the generals like she used to do whenever strangers approached her.

As they emerged into the open expanse of the fortress, Nelnifa lowered her vision to the trail dimension, watching the swashes of color flitting in and out of the moving waves of the objects owning the trails. Trail-diving wasn't a subject of study Nelnifa was fond of, but it's useful in times like this.

She studied the generals' trail and looked for specific clues. Parim's trail betrayed him to be a banshee. Hycile's...

It's like a thin layer of see-through veil masked her entire trail. Nelnifa hasn't seen it first-hand, but she heard of its existence. A glamour. Hycile was a shard fairy, meaning the face she wore today might not be the face she would be wearing when Nelnifa launched her plan. She didn't even know how many generals were inside the Oraytan fortress.

Her question was soon answered when they sidestepped a dagrine pulling a cart of hay and sacks of supplies, and another general with an even bigger build than Agan stepped into view. Long blond hair framed his round face. A genuine smile pulled at his lips at the sight of the generals behind Nelnifa.

"Ah, if it isn't my favorite generals," the newcomer greeted. "Did Agan stop terrorizing you?"

Hycile shook her head with a sigh. "We're ordered to keep an eye on a lost runt," she jerked her chin in Nelnifa's direction. Nelnifa shirked from the attention when the newcomer's green gaze flicked towards her. "Have you just made it here?"

Nelnifa glanced at the badge at the man's chest. Viktir Devame. The name didn't ring a bell, but it didn't need to. He would perish like the rest of them.

Viktir chuckled. "That's right, I did," he said. "I just have to iron out some kinks in Thenaserine. You didn't have to wait for me. I'm sure the three of you can set things in motion here."

Parim glanced at Nelnifa and aimed to drive her away with a single sidestep. "We still have to wait for you, General," he said. "We are not barbarians like those in Synketros. Unlike them, we treat our comrades well."

A dark cloud flickered across Viktir's face. Parim's implication must have unearthed some unpleasant memories. Nelnifa wasn't one to pry, so she sauntered a few distances away, straining her ears to catch more traces of their conversation. Her vision stayed in the trail dimension, noting the erratic splotches and glitching colors. A half-blood.

"Let's get this feast started, then!" Viktir patted the two generals on the shoulders and led them away, forgetting Nelnifa even existed. She waited until they're past the line of tents and crates piled high before sprinting towards the land-side gate. She cast one last look at the crumbling ruins of the Oraytan palace, her teeth gritted.

She'd be back, and when she did, she's going to make them wish they'd never treated her like the dirt. For making her resort to bringing out the old self she fought to forget, she'd make them pay. For destroying her home and the lives of so many people who didn't deserve it, she'd ensure they got their end of the bargain.

Even if she had to become justice herself.

2412 Qintax 22, Kindreth

"Do we really need to keep blowing into this clametis branch like a godsdamned lunatic?" Ilphas raised an eyebrow at Nelnifa. "I feel ridiculous."

Nelnifa resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "Would you like to switch with Gerphie, then?" she asked, referring to Marshal Roasan. "I won't mind pulling her out and staking you to the fire. She'd love you forever for taking over her task too. It's a win-win situation."

At that threat, Ilphas clammed up. "I guess clametis doesn't sound so bad," he said. Nelnifa jerked her chin at him, and he stuck the brittle, conical leaf into his mouth and blew into it. The distinct sound of a howl pierced through the darkness. From the distance, Gerphie shook the salvia fronds, imitating the scratches of claws against stone. Laie was somewhere near the land-side gate, playing with the shadows with her hands and torches.

Nelnifa and Ilphas sat on the battlements, staying hidden in three directions by tall piles of sacks of odian. It's a smell she wouldn't forget for a long time. Their backs pressed against the crenelations, the sediments digging against Nelnifa's cloak and into her exposed arms.

"Again," she whispered.

Ilphas blew into the clametis leaf, Gerphie shook the salvia fronds, and Laie ran across the battlements to make it seem a shadow of a beast passed over the fortress' center. Nelnifa flexed her finger and collapsed the ball of water she suspended over one of the pyres. The splash doused the flames, the wet noise masked by the deep, clay brazier. To a passer-by, it'd look as if the flames snuffed out on its own.

"Again."

The same thing happened, and this time, Nelnifa snuffed out the next pyre. And the next. And another. Until a chorus of screams and scuffling emanated from the ground.

The Kaulula has arrived.

Nelnifa stamped out more of the pyres, and Ilphas, seemingly getting absorbed to the elaborate prank, blew a stronger breath into the clametis. The sound that echoed across the manicured plain was nothing short of an angry roar.

"Get the Marshals out of there," Nelnifa turned to Ilphas whose eyes twinkled against the glow of the remaining pyres burning below. "Meet me in the palace."

Ilphas' expression turned grim, but he peeled off the crenelations and stuck the brittle leaf into his belt. "Avraja, Princess," he said.

She acknowledged it with a nod. "Avraja," she said. "And it should be 'Nifa'."

"Return to us alive, and maybe I'll consider it," he answered with a grin. It's a misplaced sentiment considering where they were and what they're in the middle of.

Nevertheless, she reflected it with a grin of her own. "Still driving deals now, Marshal?" she said. "I'll consider it too."

Ilphas was fine with that; he had to be. This was war, and one would be foolish to start swearing by Daexis this time around. Nelnifa watched him turn back and dash across the battlements before anyone could spot them. Wearing the black hood and cloak over their forms helped. She drew her cloak around her arms, and using the veil of night, zipped towards the other direction.

She threw a leg over the crenelations and jumped into the open air. Her magic swirled in a warm flow in her veins. Water darkened the ground, first as a splotch, then finally, a huge pool, emerging from the depths of the sand and seeping past the gaps between the stone floor. Flexing her fingers, she extended her foot. The tip of her boots slammed against a small disc of water, slowing her fall. And just like descending on unseen steps, she used the water to bring her safely to the ground.

Her knee hit the stone floor, her hand touching the ground between her legs. She retreated to a nearby bend made by the occasional tower when two soldiers who weren't water sprites passed by, scratching their heads at the sheer emptiness of the fortress.

She raised her eyes to the heavens where three moons shone overhead. Kamara's orange rays combined with Noglea's green ones, turning the sky a faint shade of ocher. But the Amber Dame and the True Shepherd weren't the sign her people watched over. It was the small, blue moon at the edge of the sky—Murco, the Dark Reaper.

Ancient tales from other territories aside, the water sprites grew up with the tale of the Dark Reaper and its agent, the Kaulula. Born through the shadows made by the moon, the Kaulula would rise from the waves every time Samiri, the Bright Maiden, would vanish from the sky. According to the tales, the Kaulula were unseen, using the shadows to move through the night. They would howl at the moon, rejoicing at the sight of Murco, their patron, and when no one was looking, they would grab unsuspecting water sprites and turn them into more Kaulula.

It's a silly tale used to scare the children into sleeping early, but at the base of their minds, water sprites had a deeply-ingrained fear of the darkness, the night, and the days when Murco was present and Samiri was not.

That's why Nelnifa timed the raid today. They couldn't have had a better timing.

Nelnifa edged away from the bend and lurched towards the soldiers still out of their quarters like naughty children. Water splashed from her hands, slamming with a generous splash across their faces. Imagine slamming face-first into a wall of water from high up. It's probably what her attack felt like.

Heavy thuds echoed behind her, but she didn't stop to check her handiwork. Her boots scratched against the quarry, the absence of sand igniting a feeling of alienation in her gut. The palace ruins lay at the western side of the fortress, and when Nelnifa whipped past the last barricade of abandoned carriages and buckets of water, it didn't take long for her to get to the grove of salvia trees and into the entrance.

She swallowed an oncoming sob at the sight of the place she grew up and worked in reduced to a hollow shell of its former glory. A shake of the head later, she retreated deeper into her cloak on her way towards her goal.

Shadows danced outside the open windows carved from the bricks the palace walls were built with. She recognized the similar dark cloaks as the Marshals caught up with her.

"See, I'm alive," she said, tilting her head at Ilphas. Before he could reply apart from the playful smile playing on the corners of his lips, she turned eastward. "Let's go."

They tore through the empty corridors, dodging fallen chunks of the ceiling and the walls. The patterns of the rugs went under a fine layer of dust, debris, and sand, their beauty becoming lost on her. They reached the kitchens, and Nelnifa wasted no time snatching a metal hook used in taking out bread from deep within the pitch ovens. Before the Marshals could make sense of it, she struck a spot on the wooden floorboards. Instead of making a concrete thump, the wood gave in under the force, betraying the hollow space underneath.

"Holy Elja," Laie breathed, shoving her fingers into her light green hair in shock. "There's something like that buried underneath our noses all this time?"

Nelnifa stuck her hand into the dim void and drew out a rifle. Next came a flintlock. "Only for a time," she replied with the nonchalance courtesy of someone who saw and held these things on a regular basis. "I've been saving them for such a moment as this."

She unhooked the satchel she tucked into her belt and started loading the weapons inside. "Take as many as you can," she instructed the Marshals who jolted out of their reverie at the sound of her voice. "We need to leave before the fortress realizes the Kaulula aren't real."

The Marshals answered with grim nods.

With her father returning from his journey, bearing the items she listed, Nelnifa had what she needed. Now's the time to get what she wanted.