-Prologue-
357 Words
Clover arrives at the Capital to find a graveyard where the bones of the city once stood, ash falling like snow over what the gods abandoned.
Burnt bodies crunch beneath her boots, all of them scorched so severely that they are left disfigured beyond recognition. She prays none of them are people she knows… But every time she squints, she’s wrong.
Don’t overthink it. Fall apart later. Do your duty, soldier.
If she closes her eyes, she can almost convince herself that the wind isn’t carrying Malcom’s screams.
“You came,” a cold, snake-like voice says from behind her. His footsteps and shallow breaths slither closer. Through the ashes, Clover can only make out the whites of his eyes—green as emeralds, almost luminous, and horrifying.
“I did,” Clover answers stiffly, dread filling her stomach. “What d’you want?”
He laughs at her with a manic sort of delight, as though he had been waiting for her to ask that very question. A slow, sickening smile curves across his face, the green light in his eyes making his features appear ghoulish.
He says, “Let us finish what you started, Madden. For old time’s sake.”
Upon hearing those words, Clover readies herself for the fight—but before she can do much, silhouettes of an army draw her gaze; their shadows move wrong, synchronized with a precision that no living thing should have.
At her apparent confusion, Anwir starts to cackle—like he knows something she doesn’t.
Clover squints harder, desperate to see what he sees. And suddenly, with a bone-chilling pang of terror washing over her, she realizes:
His army isn’t made up of soldiers.
Instead, she is looking upon thousands of lifeless bodies.
“Life was wasted on them.” His eyes gleam with depraved cruelty, that awful grin twisting his face. “I’ve given their souls purpose.”
She can’t take it any longer: Magic bursts from Clover—white-hot and lethal. The man lifts his hands, and the dead answer as one.
Clover decides then—if she falls here, Cassius Anwir will fall with her.
- Writer
