Chapter 2 #2
She double-checked her weapons—the sword at her hip and daggers at her belt—while the Black Helmets got into position.
Arnza’s shield shimmered into existence, its golden surface reflecting the faint glow of magic.
Beside him, Larth braced it with both hands, muscles taut.
Silvery-purple light streamed from Pinaria’s palms, and she gave Katell a firm nod.
The familiar power of the Tears surged through her, flooding her limbs with strength and purpose.
She sprinted forward, adrenaline pumping through her veins.
With a powerful leap, she launched onto the shield, heart pounding in her chest. She soared over the barricade, green flames roaring beneath her, but Pinaria’s protective magic held them at bay.
She landed with a solid thud, quickly regaining her footing, senses sharpened. Without hesitation, she unsheathed her sword, the steel catching the eerie light of the flames at her back.
The forest loomed ahead, dense with towering pines that cast long, shifting shadows across the snow.
Near the barricade, crouched low behind a trunk, the Gifted Northerner lingered in the shadows.
He was scrawny, not a warrior by any stretch, but his magic had held the Rasennan line all day.
His lips moved in a steady murmur, his gaze locked on the flames as if feeding them with every word.
Katell stalked straight for him, pulse quickening, her muscles itching for the fight.
The man spotted her too late. His pale eyes widened in alarm, and with a startled yelp, he stumbled back, scrambling to escape. Katell raised her sword, ready to cut him down—
—but a dark shape surged from behind a nearby tree.
A hulking warrior stepped into view, wreathed in shadow, his massive axe catching her blade.
It was the giant leader Romilda had warned them about.
The scrawny Northerner let out a cry and bolted into the forest. Katell tried to pursue him, but the leader’s shield slammed into her mid-stride, forcing her back. Behind her, the searing heat of the green flames began to fade. Distant voices drifted through the barricade from the Rasennan side.
But she had no time for them. The warrior’s axe was already coming down in a brutal arc towards Katell’s head. She ducked low, the blade slicing the air just inches above her.
“These are not your lands,” the giant Northerner thundered, his bearded face set in a stern frown. “Piss off!”
Katell parried his strike and leapt back, muscles taut and ready. “You shouldn’t have attacked us.”
The giant let out a low, rumbling huff. Clad in steel chain mail and furs, he bore all the markings of a battle-hardened leader. Jagged black tattoos ran across his throat, though none shimmered with magic. Obsidian pendants hung heavy around his neck, catching the dim light.
“You attacked first,” he growled. “Your Emperor covets our stone, our salt, and our people.”
Katell clicked her tongue at the accusation. Dorias had made it clear the Northerners launched periodic raids on the Suebi, leaving villages in ruin and forcing them to seek the Emperor’s protection. But she wasn’t about to argue with someone who wouldn’t see reason.
Their weapons clashed, her Rasennan sword against the sharp, triangular axe the Northerners favoured.
Katell’s breath grew ragged. Without the Tears, she’d have been crushed already. The leader loomed over her, both taller and broader than Atticus, a mountain of muscle exuding a lethal aura.
But his bulk also made him slow. Remembering her matches against the Samnites in the arena, she narrowly dodged another brutal swing and darted to the side, drawing a dagger from her belt. With practised precision, she thrust it between the giant’s ribs.
Before she could pull back, his fist hammered into her shoulder. A sharp crack echoed through the air, and she went sprawling onto the frozen ground. Pain flared bright through her arm, but she gritted her teeth, rolled aside, and glanced over her shoulder.
The leader paused, inspecting the blade buried deep in his side. With a guttural roar, he yanked it free and staggered, dark blood staining the pristine snow at his feet.
Yet he remained upright.
Katell’s smirk faltered. She had expected him to crumple under the weight of a mortal wound. She was certain her blade had hit something vital. But instead, the commander—though struggling for breath—grinned back at her.
His laughter boomed through the forest. Katell forced herself to her feet, heart racing.
“You think this small blade will kill me?” he sneered, lifting his chain mail to reveal the bloody gash on his side.
The wound began to close, pale skin knitting itself back together with unnatural speed—just as Katell’s shattered shoulder was painfully resetting. “You’ll need to do better than that.”
Katell stared, breath catching. Shock rippled through her. She’d never seen another heal like she could.
“How… how did you do that?” she asked, her voice shaking despite herself.
The giant studied her for a long moment before replying, “I am a descendant of the Blind One.”
His words sent a chill down her spine. A descendant of a god? She’d only heard such things in myth and legend.
Without warning, he charged again, swinging his axe with deadly force. The curved blade caught hers, and with a triumphant grin, he twisted. Steel bit into her arm, drawing blood.
Katell hissed, pain flaring. She summoned her magic and shoved with all her strength, forcing the giant back. He staggered, then let out a booming laugh.
“I see you are just like me.” He nodded at the cut in her arm that was already mending itself.
“I’m nothing like you!” Katell snarled, chest heaving.
“Do not lie. You have immortal blood in your veins.”
Katell went still. She met his gaze, unblinking. “No—it’s my Gift.”
“It is not a Gift,” he said, circling her. Despite his size, his steps were silent on the thin layer of snow. “It is who you are.”
She dodged his next blow, heart hammering. “What do you mean?”
He halted, breath fogging the space between them. Overhead, wind stirred the pines, shaking loose a soft flurry of snow.
“You are a demigoddess.”
Flashes of old tales raced through her mind—Damocles’ voice beside the fire, recounting stories of Achaean heroes, half-mortal children of gods who walked among men.
She shoved the memory aside.
“You’re lying,” she snapped, anger flaring, fuelled by the Tears. How dare he take her for a fool? She’d make him regret it just as she had every warrior who’d underestimated her.
“Demigods are myths. I don’t know what game you’re playing, but it won’t work on me.”
The Northerner spat blood into the snow, eyes narrowing. “Are the Rasennan cowards so ignorant they do not even understand their own gods?”
The mocking smile twisting his weathered face ignited her fury.
“I’m not Rasennan. I—”
“Then why are you here?!” he bellowed, swinging his axe with renewed ferocity.
His attacks grew wild and fast. Katell parried, arms straining beneath the blows, her boots skidding across the ice-slick ground. He moved with the wrath of something more than mortal, relentless and towering.
“How can you fight with your heart when you do not even know who you are? How can you fight in a war when you do not know why you are here?”
“Shut up!” She clenched her fists, refusing to listen to his poison. She was here to protect the Sixth Legion—to protect her new family from the threat of the Northerners, who attacked the Empire every winter. She fought for Dorias, to make him proud, and to keep everyone she cared for safe.
The Northerner grinned, as if seeing straight through her. “You cannot win.”
She raised her sword, ready for his next move. “I’m stronger than you.”
“Maybe. But until you accept the truth of who you are, you cannot beat me.” His words hung in the air like a challenge, daring her to unravel the mystery buried inside herself.
Katell’s patience snapped. With a sharp click of her tongue, she charged, desperate to silence the doubt plaguing her mind. She aimed for his shoulder, but he moved with surprising agility, slipping beneath her blade.
His axe plunged into her abdomen, tearing through breastplate, skin, and muscle.
Katell gasped. Shock and white-hot pain exploded through her. Blood poured from the wound, pooling beneath her knees. With a sharp tug, the giant yanked his weapon free, and she collapsed, clutching her stomach with both hands, the warmth of her insides spilling out.
Behind her, muffled voices echoed—comrades calling her name, their magic prickling her senses as they worked to dismantle the burning barricade. But those sounds were swallowed by the roaring fire of agony and the crushing weight of defeat pressing down on her.
The Northerner filled her vision. The first opponent who’d bested her in a very long time.
A demigod, he’d called himself.
Now, he stood ready to deliver the killing blow.
Dizziness clawed at her vision, and strength drained from her limbs. Blood slipped away faster than her healing Gift could mend, leaving her vulnerable.
The giant’s grin widened. “Hold your sword, warrior, and I will grant you an honourable death.”
She glanced at the Rasennan blade lying on the frozen ground beside her.
She didn’t even remember dropping it. With a blood-slick hand, she closed her fingers around the pommel and pulled herself upright, settling on her knees.
Pain screamed through her body, and black flecks swam at the edges of her vision.
Above her, the Northerner’s axe rose high—but she didn’t look at him.
Instead, she looked to the sky beyond the canopy.
The clouds had parted just enough to reveal a fiery sunset, terrible and beautiful all at once.
Red streaks slashed across the sky, triggering memories of another time.
She recalled leaning against a crooked sheep pen, watching the vast steppe beyond, as a similar blood-red sky bled across the horizon.
Kat… A voice surfaced in her mind. Are you sure you can do this?
Leywani.
Her thoughts drifted to Camp Bessi, to her friend Leywani, and then to Alena, as they often did when she was on the brink of exhaustion. Where was her sister now? Who was there to protect her?
A knot formed in her chest. If she died here, would Alena ever know what had become of her?
She imagined her sister tracing her steps, confronting the Sixth Legion with fierce determination. She could see it now—the moment one of the Black Helmets, perhaps Dorias or Pinaria, delivered the terrible news.
Katell’s heart clenched. The image of Alena’s face crumpling and her spirit breaking struck harder than any blade.
Tears stung her eyes. “Forgive me, little star,” she murmured in her Freefolk tongue.
Heat engulfed her.
It bloomed out of nowhere, a furnace wrapping around her. Light flared before her eyes, and in the next breath, a cyclone of fire erupted, swallowing the Northerner whole. His wild screams pierced the air before drowning beneath the blaze’s roar.
Flames licked over her skin—but did not burn.
Katell let out a trembling breath. Her lips curled into a smile.
Dorias.
With the last of her strength, she strained to catch a glimpse of the Sixth Legate, emerging through the smoke like a vengeful god, his face carved with fury.
She reached for him, but her strength gave out, and she collapsed into the snow.