2412, Rab 19, Reshpe

The smell of odian was thick enough for April to see it interlaced with the wind. Smoke rose in plumes from the tongues of flames devouring the brick buildings, the fallen awnings, and deserted carts. Broken wares littered the ground, and none of the nobles' grand estates were left untouched.

Out in the open field, April should have worn something to cover her bare arms. Instead, she opted for a sleeveless blouse and loose trousers. Her hair, a being all on its own, went to a messy bun behind her head. While it exposed her neck, it freed her shoulders and back to the kiss of the wind—one her hair got in the way of far too many times.

It's that damned hot in Lanteglos, and the fires ravaging Thenaserine's manicured roads were hardly to blame.

April pressed her back against a chimney, her feathers crunching against the crude wall of bricks. Her fingers dug a box from her belt and flicked it open by the lid. The bullets' silvery cast glinted against the midday sun blazing in the sky. She gritted her teeth, counting the box's contents. She clicked it shut a few seconds later before unlocking the hatch, shaking the spent box inside, and slotting a new one. Who said these damned things worked as efficiently as a sword?

She hefted the barrel in the air and did the final checks with the wiring, the mechanisms, and the most important one of all, the trigger. Then, she leveled the muzzle to the chaos below, finding her aim. A series of black-clad individuals flitted across the inferno, scratching the ground before running off. What was that about? They're planning something, and she wasn't going to let them succeed.

Blowing a slow breath, she hooked her finger on the trigger, shifted the muzzle's position in her scope, and fired. Her boots skidded against the roof's brick shingles, her form taking all of the recoil. It's not the best way to shoot one of these rifles, but it's enough to disturb the single file of desis gearing for the humongous piece of fallen bread. She wasn't an expert pest controller, but she knew it's better to strike at the root before the colony got too big to handle on one's lonesome.

The bullet found its mark, underlined by the pained yelp the soldier gave in falling down. April yanked at the barrel, reloading the next round. She pointed it to the next soldier rushing to their fallen comrade. Fired. Then, the next. And the next.

Her stomach churned. Something withered inside her every time she reloaded the next bullet in the chamber and pulled the trigger. Every time blood would spark with the embers rising with the wind, her heart squeezed. This wasn't what she wanted or what she expected to be doing in exchange of getting a time to talk with her brother. Maybe she should just kill him for real. It'd make this whole thing go by faster.

But where's the ethic in that? As much as April liked to blurt violence, she wasn't one to act on them unless she had to. And this war, this...pointless destruction of a city and a territory that was to be her dominion—it's the last thing on her list of priorities. That was, if it even made the list.

Still, the Sovereign's soldiers had their hands full in retrieving every single adviser in the Court of the Commons living in Thenaserine. The plan was to gather them in a room and April would speak to them about joining Synketros' cause. That's April's job—convincing the rest of the Unseelie Court to pledge their allegiance to the Sovereign; it eluded her as to why she's out here, picking off Cardovia's soldiers one after the other.

How long would they take extracting those nasty nobles?

More specks of black flitted deeper into the rubble that Thenaserine was slowly becoming. What in Pidmena's name were they doing?

She slung the rifle on her shoulder, spread her wings, and launched off the roof. The wind bit at the locks of hair that escaped her hasty bun, driving them to poke her in the eye or tickle her ears. Stupid hair. Why couldn't she just shave her head and be done with it? The Seelie Court masters would freeze their hearts should they realize April would have to pose for her Imperial portrait as bald as a griten worm.

Then again, her road to the Imperial Crown was one filled with hardships and complications to the brim. It'd be a miracle if she managed to make it back to Edgerift, because not only was the island gearing for one hell of a war, April found herself right in the middle of it. And it's not even the fault of the previous Imperial power. These organizations and their leaders had been lusting after chaos and ruin for as long as the end of the Cardinic Wars. At least, that's what April heard from the inner circles and the rumors circulating the talk among the low ranks.

Her boots crackled against the loose shingles when she landed on a new building. This one could have been a textile shop or a jeweler—April couldn't give more than a damn about it. What mattered was that its sloping roof, accompanied by a long-dead chimney, provided a full view of the Heiress' plan in taking control of Thenaserine.

The black-clad soldiers stood up from their handiwork, revealing a wooden box with a metallic cube slotted in its middle. Several wires stuck in weird arrays around it, a strange red light blinking on the cube's face facing the sky. April squinted through the haze of smoke and disturbed dust, noticing the soldiers push each other out of the way in a sort of panic.

Why would they run? Were they planning to escape the Heiress' clutches through this war? Death would have been a preferable route, wouldn't it?

The entire street exploded. A force threw April backwards, sending her tumbling on the roof's other side. With gritted teeth, she reached out and clamped her hands on the ridge, stalling her fall. Static ate most of her senses. The air bore a specific color of rust and beige—the color of the cobblestones. Did they just...?

A grunt escaped her pursed lips when she hefted her weight up the roof, poking a part of her head past the ridge. Thenaserine burned. The flames climbed up the stone and brick buildings, melting everything in its way into a sludge or a pile of ashes. Screams decorated the afternoon sky, ringing from both the horizon and the immediate surroundings.

This simply wouldn't do. They wouldn't get away with doing this to her people. To her city.

Her magic ripped through the surface. She pointed it towards the flames, letting her trail—her signature—wrap around every rebellious flicker and thick tongues. Then, without much effort, she called the air from their core, pulling it with a force one would exert with a rope. A snuffing wave sped across the whole alley, plunging the cobblestones in another kind of darkness it hasn't known. The dying huff echoed in the silence that followed.

Enough.

She had seen enough.

Destruction wouldn't solve anything, and neither would trying to get more people to join a madwoman's cause. April speared for the heavens, leaving a trail of fluttering feathers in her wake. Her eyes scanned the pockets of space below her, searching for the black spots disturbing the near-empty place.

Ever since the fighting had started at the border, more people had fled either to Rabante, Akaron, or Ansevir. But with the chaos eating away at Umazure, those places weren't spared from the spells of destruction either. The only people who thrived in such places were the soldiers dressed in black, and the likes of April—slaves to the Sovereign's whims.

It wasn't clear who was winning in the streets, but the General whom April reported to told everyone Synketros was winning. Doubtful. As she flew, the forms that hadn't melted into their respective base elements bore both Cardovia and Synketros' insignias. It's an equal divide, and it's April's job to avoid ending the day as such.

She picked the spot with the most black spots coagulating against the warm sienna and ecru of the paint used in the part of Thenaserine they chose. Big mistake. It made it easier to put a target on their backs and for April to hit them. She threw her weight to the side, sending her form to a whirl. Then, she released the spikes hidden in her feathers, straight where she wanted them to strike.

They fell at the same time, sporting glinting horns on their foreheads, backs, and necks. Those were the easiest spots to hit that'd ensure quick death, and April was feeling charitable today.

She unslung her rifle from her shoulders and used the remaining bullets to flick off those who got away from the players' board. If this was a game, maybe she'd be the biggest piece across the campaign now.

Before her mind got caught up on karavag references, she angled her form and sped towards the next spot where the Heiress' people met up. If she understood correctly, Cardovians didn't let their soldiers wander on their own too long. They always had to get back to their platoon. The Heiress hated losing able forms more than losing a city or two. It's what April could see from how she had her Magistrates conduct the numerous raids and attacks April had seen.

It's getting sloppy now that April has been putting pressure in their defenses and their strategy. As someone who could bring down an entire platoon with one blow, staying together proved to be fatal. But what of the Heiress' orders and their protocols? A smile itched on the corners of April's lips. It's the sense of confusion and dissonance between a commander's principles and what's happening in the battlefield that's going to tear any militia apart.

That's why April never stopped having prey the deeper she went to the heart of Thenaserine. Her spikes—what's left of them anyway—brought their targets down with terrifying accuracy. The last of the box of ammunitions—which Synketrians referred to as "magazines"—went to its rightful heirs, sending them plopping to the ground face-first, their black-clad forms following suit.

She did this until a yellow flare zipped through the sky like lightning. If she had been a damned storm sprite, she might have been able to tell the difference. It's a signal, though—one telling her to hurry up and meet with the rest of her platoon. They must have captured the rest of the Unseelie Court.

The wind shifted her tangled locks when she steered herself towards the meeting place's direction. When her boots touched down on the grass, she was greeted with soldiers bearing the Sovereign's symbol on their forms—whether in their sleeve, their headbands, or their rifles. April didn't need to. She's the only air sprite foolish enough to defy the Air Potentate and go against the Heiress—at least in other keijuis' perspective. The truth couldn't have been more far. April was here not because she needed to. She was here because she wanted to.

Her gaze landed on the dilapidated shed guarded by Synketrians with rifles on their shoulders. She gave them a quick nod before pushing the doors and stepping inside. Two more guards accompanied her, not missing a beat with April's stride and staying a few, consistent paces away.

A row of at least ten nobles knelt on the hay-strewn floor. Streaks of dust, blood, and tears lambasted their clothes, skin, and hair. Gone were the haughty look in their eyes—one that believed they still deserved a seat in the Seelie Court and that their demotion was an unfair decision on the High Queen's part. A sliver of it came back when their gazes landed on April, though.

"You," a woman with mousy brown hair spat when April stopped a few distances away. "What do you think you're doing, allying yourself to these terrorists and desecrating your mother's dynasty?"

April snatched a flintlock from the soldier to her left. Before anyone could react, she pointed it to the woman's leg and fired. The scream ripping off the woman's throat chilled the blood in her veins and plunged endless shivers down her spine. She held them in. Her teeth ground against each other until her jaw hurt. Her grip on the flintlock tightened.

"Anyone else have something to say?" she inclined her head to the other nobles who wisely dropped their eyes to the ground and started shaking. "Or are you ready to swear your allegiance to the Sovereign?"

They threw themselves to the ground, words nothing but blubbered promises in April's ears, but probably music to the Sovereign's. She had done all she could here.

"How many are left?" she turned away from the prostrated nobles and towards the soldiers with her.

The soldier whipped a clipboard behind him bearing information on the rest of the key players in the Unseelie Court. Those scratched off with red ink where the ones Synketros had under its thumb. The ones with blue were those who ran to the Heiress before the battle in Thenaserine even started.

"We're even with Cardovia," the soldier said. His name slipped April's mind, and he wasn't anywhere near a general or someone important to have a nameplate on his chest. "Today's catch got us to that stage. Congratulations, Officer."

April ignored that. She wouldn't be here for long. Come evening, she'd start patrolling the city for any sign of June. Until she hadn't found him or until he hadn't set foot in Lanteglos, she had to keep up the facade.

She gave the soldier a nice tap on the arm on their way out. "We'll get more of those numbers starting tomorrow," she said over the pained wheezes and terrified mutterings behind her. "We've got our work cut out for us, Officer."