2412, Diori 15, Kindreth

April flew deep into the chaos, her limbs and wings not hers. One order rang into her mind, blaring over and over into the chambers of her head. Destroy Penleth. Take down everyone who fights against you. And no matter how much she tried, she couldn't get it out.

The past months had been a blur. Maybe she did things in her sleep, killed people she didn't mean, but she had no way of knowing. She was lucky if she retained some sort of consciousness whenever the order resounded in her soul. Most of the time, all she felt, saw, and remembered, was black. Endless, merciless, and senseless black.

Now, she needed her eyes, ears, and limbs to swing a sword, and that's what she did. The Sovereign, who had teamed with the Heiress to take down Penleth, ordered for the Virtakios' stronghold's fall, and April was there to follow, along with many others who succumbed to the same spell cast over her.

The day that potion was forced down her throat was still fresh at the back of her mind. She did her best to recall it every time her consciousness returned. It served as a reminder for her stupidity and the truth behind her actions. When she told the Sovereign she didn't want to kill June and do the Sovereign's dirty work, the Synketrian leader made sure April would never utter those words again.

Her wings started folding as she neared the fortress' battlements. From above, April saw the three rings of walls protecting what's supposed to be the inner sanctum, where the command center lay. The fight wasn't there, though. It was in the second ring, where a mass of people crowded towards a small opening. Where were they going?

Her form had little care about that. All it was concerned with was how to hit the fortress where it hurt. That's why it zipped across the sky, weaving around the aerial attacks thrown her way with a sort of expertise April could never do as her own. This couldn't be the Sovereign's power, could it?

April's hands drew the Dwarven metal sword strapped on her side, and as she hurtled past the battlements and towards the flat ground, she swung. The blade bit flesh and didn't stop until blood splattered all over her hair, skin, and skirt. At her feet, fallen forms painted the compact floor with their blood. The tapered edge of her sword flowed with the same liquid. She...

The orders gave her no time to recover. Her legs moved in their own accord, lunging forward. Her arms swung the sword over and over, cutting people down. They didn't even fight. Rather, they couldn't. They're escaping somewhere for that same reason. This wasn't right. As a daughter of the Sylkrana dynasty, or even if she wasn't, striking down the defenseless wasn't the right thing to do. No matter how twisted she was or how much blood already stained her hands, she didn't need any more.

She didn't need more.

The scream ripping out of her throat became a tinge of aggression more than defiance. That's not...

A different shriek ripped her form's attention. A pixie, judging from the pale skin and the dark hair, charged towards her. She aimed to step back, to angle her sword away. Didn't he know the fate awaiting him with that foolish move? Get away. Stay back.

Run.

But this was war. No one who stayed behind planned to run. Nobody would surrender. April's heart cracked in different places when her arms thrust the sword forward, impaling the fairy right where it hurt.

Embers colored the reddening sky.

Overhead, the floating island—courtesy of the spell the Heiress extracted from April's memories—trained cannons over Penleth and rained ammunition on them. Black-clad soldiers as well as Synketrians flooded the fortress in a wave of yells, clashing metal, and blazing spells. It's chaos, and it delighted the foreign magic gripping April's system.

Something whizzed in her periphery and, by instinct, her form whirled. Her sword went up at the right time, blocking the attack. Another pixie—this time, a woman—bared her teeth at April. She was beautiful, with dark hair framing her round face and a golden circlet of a crown glinting beneath her messy fringe. The raging look didn't fit with her otherwise gentle face and lithe stature.

They exchanged blows, each one harsher than the last. The pixie kept April in check, blocking at the right time and attacking April's openings at times she least expected. Similarly, April parried most of the pixie's slashes and sent her skidding back more than once. Sparks glinted against the midday sun, and from the looks of it, the pixie's blade was of special make, able to withstand the deadly properties of the Dwarven sword in April's hands.

Her wings, stained with blood and gods-knew what else, swept the dirt and flung the debris into the pixie's eyes. While distracted, April closed in and stabbed forward. What little resistance left in April prevented her from slashing diagonally and severing a limb. Instead, she yanked the blade out.

The pixie stumbled, her other hand gripping the bleeding wound. Her beige robes colored crimson as the sticky liquid dripped down her arm. It's over. Her flames would flicker off. April's form moved, sword aimed for the final blow.

A huge explosion rocked the entire plain. The floating island—

A growl. A weight knocking her flat to the ground. A sharp edge pressing against her chin. The pixie bared her teeth at April, tears of pain or grief streaking down her cheeks. Ah, damn. April made a girl cry.

Chaos still erupted around them, but the new shred of hope tearing through the fortress was unmistakable. Something happened, but April wouldn't be around to see more. The Sovereign's order blazed inside her head, her form squirming and fighting against the pixie's grip. Within what seemed like seconds, a cheer rose throughout Penleth. The shadow of the floating island zipped away, peeling away from the sky like an ashped with its tail between its legs.

It's...over.

For the first time, the haze and the tight leash over April's magic and form ebbed enough to let her rest her head on the ground and welcome the blow that'd end her. She's more than ready for it, and she hoped the pixie wasn't a coward like she was.

The blow came, tearing through the side of her head, right where it hurt. Darkness ate away at her entire being. At last. Freedoom.

Instead, it wasn't.

Her eyes opened to the harsh brightness of the flickering flame. The leash was back, this time, confined to her arms. Muffled voices rose and fell in her ears, arguing and shouting. Shut up. Stop talking. It hurts...

"-ut up," a weak but grating whisper went out from her throat and into the wind. The voices followed. The patter of boots and the blobs dancing in her frayed vision replaced them. Annoying. They were all...annoying. "Shut up," she rasped.

"If you have an ounce of shame, you would not demand such an atrocity," a voice snapped somewhere in the heavens. Did the gods descend to retrieve her soul personally?

A cough rippled off her chest, and she gave in to it. Her mouth tasted strange—it's like something flushed down the blood in her throat with something bitter yet sweet at the same time. What...

"Where am I?" she asked. The haze still hasn't quite lifted from her senses, leaving her in a muddled version of Umazure. "Who...are you?"

Her vision cleared enough to make out another boy beside her, a hand resting on her shoulder. She hated being touched, but somehow it felt...welcome. Safe. "You've been under the Sovereign's control all this time," the boy said. Dark hair, green eyes, and an undeniable charm despite the ears sticking out of the side of his head. April remembered the face, but she couldn't place a name on it. "Thankfully, Rhys has an antidote, and he taught me how to do it."

The rest of her senses returned in gradual blaze, along with the memories of the entire afternoon. She doubted they'd be able to get the stain of blood on the ground, much less in the hearts and souls of everyone involved. Seeing as murder was done with her own hands, was she responsible for their tragic end? Maybe.

Surely.

"I'm...sorry," the words flitted out of April's mouth despite regaining a semblance of control over her form. "For the people I hurt...I'm sorry."

A scoff rang from the person in the heavens. Only she wasn't in the sky. She just loomed over April because she was standing and April settled on her knees while her arms were...tied to a tree, apparently. How glorious. The once-proud soldier and honorary Potentate-General in Falkirta was reduced to a blubbering girl with disheveled hair. She couldn't even find the will to get away from this damned tree.

The tall girl snorted. So, this was the same pixie who knocked April unconscious earlier. "Lot of good that apology will bring to those people," the pixie said, her nails digging on her arms from their crossed position. "It won't bring their lives back."

"Canelis," the boy stood up to match the pixie's stance. His tone carried an urgency enough to mark it as a command. "Can you leave us alone for a moment? I need to talk to the prisoner."

Prisoner. So that's what April was now? How the mighty has fallen.

The pixie, Canelis, clenched her jaw. Her eyes scanned the bustle of the fortress for a beat. Then, she blew a breath and lowered her arms to her sides. "Fine," she rasped.

"I'll keep her in check, don't worry," the boy assured. It sounded ridiculous to April, since the last time they met, she pounded the hell out of this vermin. "I just need...something from her."

Canelis gave the boy one last pointed glare before striding away. The hostile air around April vanished.

"April," the boy said, catching her attention again. Was she so popular around here that they could address her by her first name? "I want to ask you one thing."

"What makes you think I'll answer?" April spat.

The boy's green eyes hardened. "We're not bargaining here," he said. "I want one thing from you, and you will give it."

April looked away, not trusting herself to speak. She received enough mercy from her captors. She needn't push it.

"Why are you working for the Sovereign and the Heiress?" came the question she couldn't avoid.

It delved into the core of this whole mess, starting from the heights of the floating island hidden deep in the clouds to the murky depths of her motives and the truth she wished to conceal, even for herself. Why did she choose to work for not one, but two, ingrate witches just to get what she wanted? What did she want in the first place?

"I don't want to be a part of this war," April said, for once terrified she regained her control over her tongue. The horrors she's about to spout. They were horrors...because they were true. "I don't want to kill my brother. I've been trying to save him since I learned he's my mother's assassin at that age."

An understanding passed across the boy's eyes. They're tight-knit, these three. Of course, he'd know, or at least have an idea.

"I just..." April sighed and looked away. She couldn't stomach the boy's unwavering gaze on her face. "I want to save him, but with power, without being who I need to be, I can't. So...I had to."

"Saving people is a complex art," the boy straightened and dusted his hands. His eyes couldn't be more stern and kind at the same time. "It takes a lifetime to learn."

With that, he turned away, and after speaking to some soldiers, vanished into the flood of faces and forms, leaving April alone in the light of a torch that'd be snuffed out by morning.