Coloured light shimmers into the church. The tinted glass gives the old church a vibrant atmosphere to it. The plain marble statue stands proudly at the end of the church, and at a certain angle, the light gives it a sort of angelic glow. Giving the statues white hands a tint of yellow, the dress a tint of blue, and the hair a harsh red. A clever piece of artistry.

  Upon further inspection, it is clear that the statue depicts their goddess of fortune and harvest, Wrathisa. She wears commoners' rags, which makes her look like a homely and motherly figure. Her arms are open, as if she is ready to comfort those who pray at her altar.

  The stone walls are old yet well looked after, the pews have been used a thousand times, and the hard wooden floor eroded by the usage of time. All of it makes me sick to my core! Even though I cover this building with straw and small logs of wood. This here shows why I despise their kind. Places like this have history, something the Cinari can reference to show them what makes them who they are.

  But my people. We have nothing! Nothing besides the scars of servitude. There are no structures of my people, no identity or history of the past that we can cling to. Yet the Cinari have it all! We gave them metal and food, yet we have nothing of our own. It is unfair.

  Furious, I draw my sword to swing at the statue. But stopping myself as a single tear of blood runs down its stone face. A sick trick, it has to be. An illusion that the priest uses to trick the foolish population into believing their false deities.

  I get to work, hacking at the statue with all of my might. Chipping large bits of stone, chunk by chunk. The blade of my sword twists and bends with every blow till the moment my sword snaps in half and the head of the statue detaches from the rest of its body.

  Nothing, no tubes or pipes, only stone and marble. I examine the head, rubbing its bloody tears away with my thumb. I can’t even see anything that can explain the existence of the blood. A mystery, and one that I will not look into any further. My mission is complete.

  I chuck the stone head and my sword down as I make my way to the exit. The priest hangs from a post, the town of Maldrix already empty yet still burning with fresh flames. The town didn’t even put up a fight, except for the silver warriors bolted to the walls of the church.

  I remember facing soldiers like them last year, how their curved spears can fire a beam of light and melt the flesh of their target. Instruments of barbarism! They are cowardly to use those and their flying sky beast. Using magic that should’ve died out. Yet they love to feast on rotten flesh believing it will keep them safe.

  Though, strangely, I haven’t encountered any sky demons. Never mind, I throw the spears into the church, they will perish with the others. Some say we should use their weapons against their kind, but I refuse to stoop low to use witchcraft. Magic is an abomination that needs to be destroyed at all costs, even if they are powerful tools of war. But we can make our own, and they will always be better than what the Cinari will ever have.

  On the road are the cowardly Cinari who surrendered to us. All of their hands are resting on their heads, their arms bound to prevent them from moving around. Weirdly, according to their written orders, the soldiers came from the city of Dalgina. That place is way too far north. Perhaps the Cinari are desperate and are sending in their reserves.

  However, I need to start making moves to dominate this region. I don’t have enough food to feed the captured Cinari, nor do I desire to keep them with me. No, I want to use them as an example.

  ‘You!’ I point at one of the Dogs, they stand up straight, ready to spring into action at a moment’s notice. ‘Get Vern here, I want him to be a witness.’

  They nod before heading off into my war camp. Fortunately for them, it is a few minutes away.

  I can’t help but crack a smile. A town like this should have walls or some form of protection. Yet there is nothing stopping me from walking in and taking it. As promised, I let the civilians escape, but that is only so Volas can keep his end of the bargain. With every Cinari gone, it means there are no outside witnesses for what's to come. Except for Vern.

  Vern appears, shivering from the cold, as the Dog forces him onto his knees. ‘Oh look, the cunt of the year finally achieved something.’ He insults with a smile.

  Even when his face is almost black and swollen with bruises, he still tries to get under my skin like a pathetic child. Yet regardless of his verbal thrashings, it’s my turn to get under his skin. To hurt him where it matters.

  I click my fingers at the Dogs looking over my Cinari prisoners. ‘Put them in the church.’

  The other Dogs in delight force the prisoners on their feet and push them into the small building. Some resist, only to be knocked in the face with the butt of the crossbow. Vern watches, shouting more insults at me, but I ignore him. There is no point in entertaining the fool.

  As the last of the Cinari enter the church, my Dogs lock the door behind them. Vern’s eyes widen, his breath hastens as it becomes apparent what is about to happen.

  ‘Don’t!’ He cries, ‘this is a sacred site. We are on holy ground, we shouldn’t be here to begin with.’

  ‘Or what?’ I reply, enjoying the panic in his voice. ‘No God is going to strike me down. None of them will care about what I will do. If they had a problem, they would’ve killed me the moment I set foot into that church.’

  ‘Then what about the rules of engagement? You can’t kill your prisoners!’

  I glare down at him with an insidious grin. ‘I don’t know what you are implying. Nothing that you are saying happened here. The soldiers were holding out in the building, and they refused to surrender. So, I gave them a warrior’s death.’ I grab the torch from one of my soldiers and wave it near Vern’s face. He turns away, trying to avoid the heat, ‘and there is nothing you can do about it.’

  Every step is slow. I want him to watch me approach his place of worship. With a deep breath, I cast the torch through the window. In unison, the other Dogs follow my example as they throw their torches inside to start a chain reaction. Vern screams and shouts, begging me to let them escape as the church’s doors bang with the people inside. All of them cry in agony as the flame consumes their flesh.

  This is what they deserve. To have their history erased, their identity destroyed and forgotten. There is no other befitting punishment for them except this one. No mercy, no respite, except the justice I deliver onto them. I will make the Cinari forget who they are; it will take some time, but I will be patient enough to hopefully witness it.

  Vern is in tears, his mouth wide open like what he is seeing should be impossible. It seems the man with a mouth is at a loss for words. He gags as the smell of burnt flesh becomes unbearable, causing him to yack onto the ground.

  I lean down in front of him to look into the eyes of a beast. ‘I wonder, did my ancestors have the same feelings as you? Watching their holy places burn, smelling their friends and family as flame consumes them.’

  He tries to say something, but he can’t. His words choke him violently, making him release a pained cough.

  ‘And you think your kind don’t deserve this.’ I whisper to him before I stand up to face my soldiers. All of them watch as the fire rages on. ‘Alright, let’s move back to camp and get some rest. We have a long day tomorrow.’

  The moment night falls, a snow blizzard rages through my camp. Snow and wind are pelting the walls of my tent, the cold almost unbearable even when I sit near the fire. How miserable! How can the North be this cold? Not even living in Dragon Mine without blankets is colder than this place. If anything, I should give the Cinari credit for living in this cold wasteland. Come to think of it, this island is just strange. A desert in the middle and a horrible tundra up north. What is wrong with this island?

  I reach for my pocket to pull out May’s buckle, the metal freezing to the touch. Yet I can’t help but feel warm with it. I move the buckle to my chest, imagining myself hugging her, feeling her lively heartbeat at least one more time. With my eyes closed, I try to dream of that world of being with her. To hear her laugh and to witness her antics one more time. To see her excitement one last time.

  May would love it here. To be on the surface and play in the snow. I can only imagine that she’ll complain about the cold and perhaps catch a cold. But even then, it would be pure to see a child live a life of wonder and not of servitude. I know the island under my rule will not be perfect, but unlike the Cinari, I’ll ensure that all of our children will have a future. Something to aspire towards, without fear of death.

  Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  ‘It’s good to see someone is handling the storm well.’

  I snarl at the person who has the gall to barge in, my anger builds when my eyes lock onto the fool himself, the Shaman. Wearing nothing but his trinkets and rag, unbothered by the cold. I assume he keeps himself warm using his witchcraft.

  ‘What do you want?’ I growl, the idiot better have something to say, or we’ll have some problems.

  The Shaman sits down in front of me, and he offers a bottle, but I refuse it. I refuse to share a drink with the enemy. ‘Nothing much, only want to talk about the war.’

  ‘Talk to your own kind,’ I huff as I hold my blanket tighter around me. ‘You already know my intentions.’

  ‘Ah, but the war is changing. The people you call Cinari are mobilising their colonial force against you.’

  ‘And I’ll beat them, it doesn’t change anything.’ I reply after I put the buckle away, glaring at the Cinari while I do it.

  The old man takes a sip of his drink with a smirk. ‘No, not this time. They are not regular soldiers that you’ve fought in the past. They are very different, and very capable of defeating you.’

  ‘Why didn’t my scout give me the news? Sounds serious.’

  The Shaman raises their hands in a careless motion. ‘The blizzard is slowing them down, they’ll tell you in an hour or so. But that is not important to me right now. I’m more surprised with how Alex is doing down South.’

  I calm myself. It’s good to hear Alex’s name again. ‘How is he doing?’

  ‘Good, the only issue he is facing is food.’

  ‘He’ll handle it, I have faith that he will find a way to solve that issue. He always does.’

  The Shaman raises a brow, unconvinced with what I’ve said. ‘I doubt it, the young man is struggling with the choices you’ve made. Let alone that he now has to deal with the issue of the people you’ve displaced.’

  ‘The choices I made are for the benefit of my kind.’ I mock him with a grin, ‘you not seeing that benefit is not my fault. It is your kind’s fault for the wrongs you’ve done to my people.’

  ‘And by taking the majority of your people’s supplies.’

  I scoff, ‘we are at war, I needed them for the march to the North.’

  ‘Through the desert? I’m more surprised that any Dog survived the trip.’

  ‘I’m not easy to kill.’

  ‘No, you’re not.’ The Shaman wipes his lips after gulping his drink. ‘Tell me, have you heard of the Tomb of Sid, or perhaps its official name, Ed Grann?’

  I shake my head, not knowing what he is talking about. From the looks of things, he is going to give me some morality bullshit.

  ‘It’s going to open soon. The place holds a lot of history. Not just to the Cinari but the entire world…’

  ‘Why should I care about it?’ I interrupt. The old Shaman eyes me in frustration; it seems the creature doesn’t like to have his monologue disturbed. How pathetic!

  ‘Its importance is tied to what you’ve lost, a future you could’ve all had. But the truth is, the place isn’t a tomb but an ancient fortress of an era long gone. People are superstitious about it, scared of what it is and what it isn’t.’

  ‘Get to the point!’

  The Shaman pauses, picking his words to use like he knows that one wrong move will only make things more difficult. ‘There is a story tied to that place, the tomb will grant the living a wish most valuable. To see the dead once more.’

  He’s pulling my leg. It has to be a trap. But I need to know, I desire to know more. If what he is saying is true, that will mean I can see them again. The people I have lost.

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘The tomb will only allow a select few to enter its facility. There, it will help you see and talk with the dead. A valuable tool, I think we can agree on.’

  ‘Or a lie.’

  The Shaman chuckles, ‘and why would I lie about this?’

  ‘If there is one thing I know during my travels, it is that the Cinari like to mention how magic died. How the wonders of the past are forever lost. What you are telling me is a deal too good to be true. There is a catch. But that is not my only issue, the thing I struggle to understand is that magic isn’t truly dead, isn’t it?’

  The Shaman idiotically smiles, ‘I think we both know that magic is well and truly dead. It cannot be replicated or reproduced; really it is a surprise that some magical things survived.’

  ‘Save your falsehoods for your followers, Shaman!’ I growl, seeing through his falsehoods. ‘You clearly can, I don’t know how, I don’t know why, but you can create magic. What I can also tell is that you are a poor liar at best and a spineless coward at worst. So, if you want to be on my good side, don’t bother bullshitting me.’

  The Shaman frowns, ‘I’m no coward, Dog!’

  ‘You’re no sage either. You can clearly create spells and conjure magic; others have seen it, and I even experience the aftermath of it. I’ll say this again. What really happened to magic? Because for all I know, magic isn’t dead.’

  The Shaman’s frown dies down, as if to admit defeat. ‘The truth is, no one really knows. Magic may not be dead, but it isn’t what it used to be.’

  ‘No one knows, but you do.’

  ‘I suppose I do, though even I struggle with it. I lived during the time of magic and saw its wonders first-hand. But how it disappeared, I don’t know.’

  ‘But you know why it disappeared. No one who lived as long as you would be ignorant to what happened.’

  The Shaman gazes at me, ‘if there is anything I know from my travels. Some things are best left forgotten, some horrors best be unknown. I know why, true, but now it is for the best for everyone to keep their beliefs and falsehoods about the past. It is known as the Forgotten Era for a good reason. People may have an interest in the subject, and they may unearth artefacts of a brilliant time. But if you saw what I saw, you will be grateful that they don’t understand what brought the world to ruin. What made the stars fall from the skies, how the land became corrupted for centuries, and the abominations of nature. There will be people who will say that your current war is the bloodiest conflict the island has ever witnessed. Little do they know, it pales in comparison to what came before.’

  ‘Is that meant to scare me?’ I fold my arms.

  ‘You walked through the desert. That was once a great forest. I’m not trying to scare you, I am illustrating why you don’t want or need to know.’

  For a man neck deep in their own lies. I can believe him in that regard; I can pressure him, and I might get more out of it. But I tire of our conversation. I got what I wanted and heard what I needed to hear.

  ‘You may leave.’ I say to him carelessly. The Shaman takes a final gulp of his drink as they make their way out of my tent. Disappearing into the snow and the darkness.