EDDY

The kirin known as 'Eddy' had a far longer name than that, if the languages of wind and water were to be translated to the human tongue. It would be something akin to warm air from the north mingles with cold air from the south, striking a spark that ignites the world. Only there was a sense of urgency in the rumble underlying her true name; electricity's inherent need for stability, for its brief existence was brilliant but excruciating, and it always longed for rest. And there was the sense of tension in the atmosphere that could only be felt, and crudely implied by mere words; and the metallic taste upon one's tongue that preceded every storm...

Eddy was easier. And the Kirin had grown accustomed to the name and thinking in what human's called the 'common tongue', barbaric as it was.

It would be difficult to explain the shift in her psychology when she came face to face with the War Queen and her advisors, particularly as she was born of the mighty mare's rootstock.

Eddy peered down at the bottom of the pool, where Red — another name that did little justice to the paradoxical woman who answered to it — was lying on her back, slowly fusing with the lapis lazuli. New crystals were already forming on her brow, pushing their sharp edges through skin and skull, prying up the secrets below.

The essence of the world's first breath flowed through Eddy's veins, fickle and impatient as the wind, but so too did the first drop of water grafted from her father's line. It was his temperance she borrowed as she watched the strange girl fail her test with record speed. So many lies, Eddy thought, but whose?

There was only one way to find out. Eddy found herself hoping — a ludicrous concept for one of Earth's First Children, but one she couldn't quite shake — that Red would survive her ordeal.

The fate of the world depended on it.

GRETCHEN

Armed to the teeth with knowledge of the world, the sisters left their homeland far behind and sought a boon from Rya's Messenger, a legendary phoenix to the North. The journey was a blur, and the creature itself was so magnificent it was impossible to look at directly; Gretchen tried and flung a hand over her eyes immediately, sobbing as her fingers registered blistered skin.

A sigh from the phoenix soothed her burns, but it claimed there was no fixing the magic inside of her, for there was nothing wrong with it in the first place. Instead, the phoenix offered Edith a coal from its very own nest, and told her to start a forge from the coal that would never go out, unless Rya or one of Her disciples chose to reclaim the magic. Edith used it to build the finest forge, the finest cottage, the finest gauntlets — all of them made from iron, cutting Gretchen off from the land. She traded what they didn't need for supplies in a nearby town — but not too near, for Gretchen's talents had to be kept secret — and together the sisters built a home, a life. All was well.

Until it wasn't.

Gretchen's chest spasmed as she saw flashes of the fateful nightmare that dragged her from sleep: mother and baby both drowning in a sea of blood. Edith's stern, oval face loomed over her own, and the Witch of the East was forced to watch again, for the millionth time, as the person she loved and hated most in the world rotted before her eyes, leaving the raven-haired beauty a crone at twenty-two years of age.

When all of Edith's attempts at mixing an elixir of youth failed, the sisters made another pilgrimage to the phoenix's net. Again, all it could offer was disappointing trinkets: two feathers plucked from its own tail, for Edith to fashion into a matching pair of quills. So you need never bear the burden of loneliness, it said, with immeasurable sadness in its fiery gaze.

Realising the time to venture from the Iron Cottage was nigh, Edith packed her bags and promised to write home as she continued her search for a cure, only to leave her quill behind, without even saying goodbye.

If only Gretchen had the sense to stay behind, or to at least wear her iron armour; it was too heavy to move quickly in, and she feared not being able to catch up with Edith or losing her trail.

Instead she'd ventured into town and lost herself in the labyrinth of the market, where the overload of sensory information and thoughts pressing up against her own made her vomit all over her shoes. When somebody pushed her off the path with a noise of disgust, she tried to grab into something, accidentally pulling as she regained her balance.

As she righted herself, every man, woman and child from the well in the town square to the signpost at the distant crossroads toppled over. Power coursed up Gretchen's arms and she felt stronger than she had in her entire life, but the cost of that power quickly soured the giddy feeling. The cold, hard realisation that she was a murderer settled in her gut as she took in all the faces of the dead, recognising the extent of her crime.

Only after turning over every body to check if it was her sister did she finally return to the Iron Cottage, vowing to never leave again. She poured her stolen life into her gardens, but not even the gold, dappled light of a serene morning could ease the pang of loneliness in her chest. She withered a little bit more with every day, even as everything else flourished.

I cannot grow if I do not feed, she realised, shielding her face against the glaring light. I cannot give if I do not take.

Gretchen looked down at the iron gauntlets strapped to her forearms. They were immeasurably heavy, a manifestation of all of her guilt and greed.

One buckle at a time, she let it all go.

RANA

It had been wonderful, at first; exploring the Wylds with her brother and his most loyal Sun Warriors. Kohl was as brooding and stoic as Valor was cheery and bright, and they all became fast friends through their shared adventures. The world was a tapestry that kept unrolling beneath their wings, offering new stories at every turn. Rana savoured every one, for they were made happier by the contrasting danger that stalked their every step.

Unspeakable horrors lurked in the shadows of even the brightest days, and night brought with it Rana's first taste of fear. Horrid wolf-men hunted them ruthlessly, and then there were the burning villages, the bloody trail of stolen children...

Bannor and Rana shared a loaded glance when they first tortured the information out of a lycan who'd tried to ambush their camp, allegedly looking for unhatched eggs. The stench of wet, mangy dog was unmistakeable; a near perfect match for the scent they'd found in the Hatching Caves only a few years prior, amongst the shattered shells of the next generation. The lycans had opted to smash those they couldn't carry, and all of them mysteriously spirited away save one: the man her father had splattered on the walls like a bug.

In killing him so quickly, they'd lost the chance to find out where the hatchlings were taken. This was the first opportunity they'd had since to unravel the mystery and rescue their stolen young.

"We'll find their base of operations and report back," Rana said, already anticipating Bannor's reluctance to put her in harms way. "We owe it to the people."

"My duty is to you," he said, brow furrowing with concern.

"And mine is to all, if I am to become High Priestess one day," Rana replied, squaring her shoulders. "Just simple reconnaissance, so we can bring back a rescue force. They never need know we were here."

Bannor caved, for it was the first she'd talked of returning to her duties in the Sun Temple. The party forsook the sky for stealth, covering ground that had never been touched by wyvern feet. Kohl, one of Bannor's friends, was lost to a monster in the Rotten Sea, with blood as blue as the sea, so acidic that it ate through his scaly armour. His bones were lost to the vast expanse of murky leaves, deep as any lake, and Rana wept over the loss of his body, for there was nothing of his corpse to preserve and protect his children in generations to come.

It was a party of three that found the Hidden Vale, confirming with their eyes what had only been rumour until then. Bannor wasted no time in announcing that they would fly home at first light.

"There's too many of them to take on alone," he reiterated, sensing Rana's hesitation. The screams that rose from that inky trench...

Rana had seen the logic of his plan, but ultimately chose to ignore it. Terrified of going back home, she resolved to sneak into the Hidden Vale and liberate the stolen hatchlings herself. She was so confident in her abilities, so sure that she would be in and out in a matter of moments! Once she unlocked the prisoners, she would have a ragtag army on her side, tipping the odds in her favour. She imagined those lost and tortured souls rising up with a vengeance, taking over the lycan base in a military feat that wyverns would brag about for decades to come. Her mother would have no choice but to let her join the ranks of the Sun Warriors, and she would fulfil her holy duties by protecting somebody else, somebody more attuned to Rya's words of wisdom.

While the others slept off the sleepshroom she'd dumped in their soup, she snuck back to the Hidden Vale, fully prepared to steal back every last wyvern that had been taken.

She hadn't even made it to the lip of the trench. Lycans ambushed her the moment she stepped beyond the tree line, laughing at her stupidity, for they'd scented her reptilian stench from a mile away. They clapped her wrists in a block of ashwood and dragged her kicking and screaming into the dark, speaking plainly over her pleas and threats, speculating what they should do with her. Rana was a litter older than their usual stock, but the leering leader assured her they would find some use for her. When she bit off his ear in response, he stared at her with an arctic hatred and told the others to hold off on the bridle, whatever that was.

"I want to break you on my own," he whispered in her ear, sinking his teeth into her earlobe. Rana barely had an opportunity to process the pain before somebody kicked her behind the knees, shoving her over the edge of a solitary pit.

It was impossible to climb out, even after breaking her thumbs and trying to slip her bonds. Three days and three nights, she lived through her mother's blindness, suspended in the tortured symphony of the Hidden Vale, a stomach-turning blend of cracking whips and curdling screams. Never before had she felt so powerless, and yet even in her most desperate moments, she could not resign herself to a life of darkness in order to open herself to Rya's light. In many ways she felt like the architect of her own prison, incapable of the sacrifice required to escape.

She could not even starve herself to end her misery; when they threw rank and maggoty meat into the bottom of the pit, she grudgingly clung to life, tears streaming down her cheeks as their writhing little bodies exploded on her tongue. The only water she received was thrown from a bucket, usually when they thought she was sleeping, presumably to keep her from the respite of sleep. Rana quickly learned to sleep on her back so she could catch some in her mouth, gulping it down even though it tasted stagnant and made her break into a sweat.

It was not the story she'd told her friends; this version of events held too much shame, and so she'd replaced it with another narrative, shoving the truth down so deep she almost struggled to recognise it as she watched events unfold now. This time she was an outsider looking in, as if she couldn't bear to identify with what had happened to her. Because of her.

For her brother was dutiful where she was selfish, calculating as she was rash. Valor staged a distraction while Bannor slipped past the thinning guard undetected, and he wrenched apart Rana's shackles with his bare hands, hoisting her soaked and shivering body out of the pit. When Bannor told her to fly and never look back, she listened properly for the first time in her life, and it was only when she collapsed in the woods several miles away that she realised he hadn't come out after her.

None of them had.

And so she started winging her way home, only to be struck by lightning on the way. She was supposed to be organising a rescue party, but in the end she needed to be rescued again, by a slip of a girl with a dim-witted kirin and a filthy lycan for company.

And worst of all: it was the best thing that ever happened to her. She'd clung to them like a leech, seizing any opportunity to delay the inevitable return to her homeland, where her story could only end. She wasn't ready to give up her newfound freedom, not even to save her brother, who'd sacrificed so much on her behalf. She was hellbent on finding another way to save him, whatever the dangers of the unbeaten path.

In the darkest depths of her mind, confronted by her deepest shame, Rana felt her resistance give way. The sun was beating down on the back of her neck, and for the first time in her life she turned her face up, acknowledging the call.

It was time to grow up.

It was time to go home.

SEBASTIAN

The Blood Moon Village was a crude settlement compared to the organic kingdom of the Fair Folk. Lycans forced the land to obey them instead of working with it, and it fought them every step of the way.

Bastion's feet had taken him there against his will. It wasn't the first time Nya plucked the strings of his soul and played him for a fool, not would it be the last. In the end it was easier to empty himself of all human thought and emotion. He cringed to remember how he'd allowed himself to become a mute vessel for Her will; even worse, a weapon, shaped expressly for his father's hand.

Bastion was thrust into Rogan's care and forced to call him father, but it was the Fae King he thought of when he was crushed against the Alpha's chest, suffocating in the sour musk of his stained linen shirt. The people of the Blood Moon Pack were forced to accept Bastion as the rightful heir to the throne, but their meek tolerance was not enough to satiate Nya, who envisioned her son as a conquerer in his own right.

She drove Bastion into petty squabbles his instincts told him to avoid, forcing him to fight tooth and nail for a place in the pack. Bastion ate, slept, and hunted as they did, pretending to pray and compete with the other boys for the attention of budding maidens, when in reality he scorned the empty heads of all the children his age. Slowly but surely, he came to answer to the new name Nya insisted on giving him, suspecting She was still jealous of the hold the Fae King had over him.

Sebastian Starfall. It was close enough to his old name that his head still turned, but it was removed enough from his painful memories of the Wyld Heart to be bear hearing. His father's wife, Caryn, plucked the stars from his name at every opportunity, until he simply became known to the villagers as Sebastian Fall. Every so often he heard them whisper Moon Cub as they side-eyed him in the Gathering Hall, much to Caryn's mounting distress, for it only solidified his standing as Rogan's eldest son and the rightful heir to the family fortune.

In the end he was thankful for Caryn's simmering hatred, which spat like hot oil at inopportune moments, scalding him when he least expected it. The attempt on his life forced him to realise he wanted to live — even if it was as a wild thing once again, so long as it was on his own terms. The drug Caryn slipped in his tea cut him off from the spiritual plane, allowing him to close himself off from the Night Goddess.

It had been a simple exchange in the end: magic for freedom, and magic reminded him too much of the Wyld Heart anyway. He'd shrugged off his clothes and his memories, waking the wolf that still slumbered in his heart, donning the cloak of the Wraith once more and setting off to haunt a new realm.

It wasn't until years later, thanks to a chance meeting with a coy forest nymph (who rudely trapped him in a hanging net) that he was finally tempted back into his human form. Sebastian was surprised to see how much his body had changed and how many seasons had passed. Seemingly overnight, the wild boy had become a man, and a strong one at that.

He entertained the nymph's advances with a feral enthusiasm that never quite transcended the pleasures of the flesh, already plotting his escape the moment her breathy moans turned to the soft sighs of the satisfied. He stroked her hair when they slumped together, spent, and the moment her cheek hit the mossy pillow he was on his way, a wolf once more.

As little as the nymph meant to him, something about the encounter altered his thinking, tapping into a long buried humanity that was now intent on welling up to the surface. Sebastian was plagued by memories of his childhood, starved for touch and conversation in a way he'd never been before. He returned to the foothills in the west, following his father at a distance, stomach turning as he watched the man commit atrocity after atrocity in the name of his religion. Pacts were made with a suspicious witch in the heart of the hills, great sacks of rare plants and rocks in return for ashwood logs. Sebastian's heart ached as families were torn apart and their homes built to the ground, first with the echoes of their grief, then with an anger all his own. He remembered how much had been taken from him. From everyone.

It wasn't his fault that Arabella died; he was just as much a victim of Nya's vile manipulations as she was. And there was only one way to stop it from happening again and again.

He couldn't kill a Goddess, but he could kill Her pawns. Sebastian resolved to hurt Nya the way She hurt him; to take away somebody so important in Her life that every waking moment without them was agony. It would be the perfect way to claim revenge for the family he'd lost. To ease the lingering guilt he still felt for ending Arabella's life.

All he needed was one ashwood arrow.

The fire he set at the Witch of the West's workshop burned bright against his eyelids, singing his lashes as he fled with a full quiver strapped to his back and a longbow in his hands.