Before – Homeworld, Millennia Ago, After the Burn #2
It was easy to zone out on the back of Empty Night.
The steady rhythm of her powerful muscles, the measured clunk, clunk of her hooves striking the earth, and the alert swivel of her ears—ever watchful for predators—all lulled Rynna into a semi-conscious haze as they rode south with the great river to their left.
Rynna did not enjoy most company, but she hated solitude even more. When she was alone, her mind unraveled. Memories and sensory fragments tumbled through her thoughts—blinding flashes of pain she could neither place nor fully understand.
If she sat still too long, the fire would seep from where she buried it in her gut and flood her entire being. It would become an all-consuming cacophony of suffering, the convergence of every agony that had ever existed into a single, overwhelming torment.
She’d felt it since the moment she came crying into the world.
She didn’t remember her parents’ faces, only the sounds. The snap of leather against flesh. Her mother’s wheezing inhales between sobs. The man’s voice, slurred with fury, rang louder than her own newborn cries.
“What god did you offend to send us such a pitiful babe?”
Her mother hadn’t answered. Just bled quietly on the packed dirt floor, shoulders hunched inward as if to hide the child in her arms.
Rynna had kept screaming.
Nothing excused what came next, yet she understood why they had stopped loving her, if they had ever felt such feelings for her.
The familiar throb shifted from her belly, crawling up her spine.
“Ahhhhh! Fuck!!” She scraped her fingernails into her forearms until pain and blood answered in relief.
It was a practiced move, a primitive reset that snapped her out of the rising abyss. Her open palms cracked against her cheeks, left hand then right, the sharp SLAP echoing into the quiet night.
Empty Night did not flinch. The mare was used to her rider’s erratic behavior.
Rynna shook the fog from her mind and looked around.
The sun hung high, already on her long journey downward, and in the distance, she spied the beginnings of a large town or perhaps a city.
She must have drifted into sleep to have traveled so far.
It was unmistakably the epicenter of the self-proclaimed Queen’s dominion.
The road leading to the city gates confirmed it: flanked by immense, vividly painted statues crowned with various animal heads.
“What?” The word half-formed on her lips as she neared the giant gateway.
Had she got it wrong? This couldn’t be the capital. No merchants hawked their wares. No farmers juggled hauling carts full of produce. There wasn’t a fresh footprint or wheel rut on the packed earth. Even the river’s raucous birds and scrappy street dogs seemed to have vanished in the eerie hush.
The grand statues—perhaps once awe-inspiring—now radiated abandonment. Their majestic animal heads stared ahead with vacant, unimpressed expressions. And with each step deeper into this ghostly realm, oppressive silence wrapped around Rynna like a damp shroud.
“Something’s wrong here, girl. Stay alert.” She patted Empty Night’s shoulder with a firm hand.
The mare whinnied low and shook her mane, as if to say, Obviously.
No guards approached as she passed through the gate. Normally, vigilant sentinels would have scrutinized any traveler daring to enter this domain. She carried a sheathed sword on her back, a clear statement of potential violence. Someone should have stopped her. Yet the city remained indifferent.
Rynna’s eyes drifted upward as she passed beneath the final statue. The jackal's head atop it grinned, unreadable, suggesting an inside joke of cosmic proportions.
“That’s not at all disconcerting.” She paused for a heartbeat, wondering if she should turn back. No good would come of this.
Then Rynna nudged Empty Night forward, anyway.
The city stretched before her in a maze of sun-dried mud-brick buildings painted in sandy reds, their domed roofs and arched doorways hinting at ancient grandeur and hidden secrets. Carvings traced along walls, suggesting architectural mastery honed over centuries.
But still no people.
Narrow streets wound between the structures, their dusty cobblestones worn smooth, choked with old refuse. A rank odor of decay tainted the air, mixing excrement and rot in a noxious brew.
Empty Night shook her head, snorting.
“No one has cleaned for at least a month,” Rynna agreed. “They left it all to putrefy.”
She slid down from her saddle and stood tall in the empty road.
“Go wait outside the city, girl.” Her sense of unease deepened. “Something’s not right in here. I’m not sure this is something you can fight.”
Empty Night pawed the ground, tossing her dark mane. They had fought countless beasts together, faced horrors side by side.
“I know you can handle anything, girl,” Rynna murmured, stroking the mare’s cheek. “But this place isn’t right. If things go bad, come back for me…or find the Horsemen.”
Empty Night’s ears swiveled, and she gave a sharp toss of her head.
Then she stepped forward, nuzzling her muzzle into Rynna’s chest, the warm weight of her breath pooling through the fabric.
“I mean it.” Rynna dipped her head, brow brushing against the mare’s. Her voice dropped lower. “I need to see what happened here.”
She didn’t know why that mattered, only that it did.
“I’ll meet you by the river tomorrow morning.” She placed a hand on the mare’s shoulder and gave it a firm push.
Empty Night resisted at first, hooves rooted, eyes searching her face. Then, with a long exhale, she shifted her weight and began to walk, each step reluctant. Her flank lingered in Rynna’s reach for a beat longer, then fell away as she moved toward the city gate.
Rynna watched until the fae horse disappeared around the corner, then squared her shoulders and strode into the market square. The sun beat harshly overhead, lengthening shadows across empty stalls and silent buildings. Mud and waste clung stubbornly to her boots.
No bodies lay in the streets. No signs of battle. Just an unsettling emptiness.
With her sword strapped firmly to her back and a growing knot of tension in her chest, Rynna moved deeper into the silent city.
Pausing outside a nearby structure, the subtle sound of a child’s giggle washed over her. She inhaled, stepping forward, approaching the door, which was now creaking open.
“Hey there.” A smile eased onto her face. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
Rynna caught the glimmer of movement just beyond the warped wooden seam. A small hand moved against the inside of the door, fingers splayed, pushing tentatively.
The gap widened.
An eye appeared first, wide and watchful, followed by a tousled spill of yellow curls. The child’s face emerged next, peeking through the narrow opening with a brightness that didn’t belong in a place like this.
Rynna’s heart skipped as she knelt down closer to the child's height.
“Is that you?”
The door creaked open wider, and the child stepped into view.
Her voice trembled. “You’re not one of the monsters, are you?”
Rynna’s mouth pulled up. “Not a monster,” she said, then winked. “At least not today.”
The child’s eyes fell to the sword on Rynna's back before returning to her face.
“Are you going to save us?” she whispered.
Compelled by a force she couldn’t name, Rynna knelt to meet the child’s gaze directly. “I will try.”
And she would.
Why save this child when her life was ruled by bloodshed? She didn’t know, but she would do it all the same.
The child nodded, golden strands meeting Rynna’s knee.
“Will you come with me?” Rynna asked. “I won’t hurt you. I promise.”
For a long moment, the two of them stared at each other. Outside the hut, the silence stretched on; the city remained still. Then the child took a small step forward, her hand drifting toward Rynna’s outstretched palm.
But before she could close the distance, a large shape surged out from the dark behind the child.
Thick arms wrapped around the small body and yanked them both back into the building’s shadow.
The door slammed shut, and a beat later, the scrape and thud of furniture followed, pushed hard into place on the other side.
“Well, fu—”
The word died as pressure snapped around her neck.
There had been no warning, or sound to mark an approach.
One hand flew to the invisible grip crushing her windpipe, nails digging.
The other searched for her sword’s hilt, fingers fumbling for the weapon’s familiar shape.
Her pulse slammed beneath as ice rippled down her spine in awareness.
The grip at her throat was not human. Five flawless columns of marble cut off her air completely, grasping with mechanical precision.
Then, another limb struck out, catching her wrist mid-reach and forcing it to her side, locking her arm in place. She twisted and strained, but it didn’t budge. The force was absolute.
An exhale, followed by a long, rattling breath, slid over her neck, wet and wheezing. Stench followed—clotted blood, rancid meat, the thick decay of something long dead and never buried.
"You are strong.” The voice crawled through the words, brittle and wrong. “And beautiful. You will make the perfect bodyguard for a Queen. And a God."
Something probed, wet up the curve of her neck, nearly causing her to vomit. The wrongness she’d felt earlier erupted through her senses now, drenching her in dread.
She didn’t know why. She only knew she had to get away.
Too late.
Pain cut through her neck as teeth, razor-sharp and too many, tore into flesh and tendon. Her windpipe gave with a sickening crunch, and blood spilled hot down her front.
Sight scattered and sound collapsed even as her immortal body fought to stitch itself back together, that cursed light flaring under her skin, snapping torn muscle back into place.