The Above

-Twelve-

"Just surrender now!" someone called from behind as I led the way through the faction I was never meant to step foot in once more, "We can make this easier!"

"We head straight; I know where we are," I claimed, eyes scanning the area around me. We had entered through the southwest border, second nearest to the place I had called home. Now, it almost felt foreign to roam this familiar pathway, as blazing lanterns had been ignited along the roadsides that illuminated the facades of weather-worn houses.

The sound of soldiers marching after us was beginning to dwindle away, though it was still there, almost like the constant beating of war drums declaring to us their lingering presence. Footfalls thrummed in the back of my mind as I led Atlaster through the intricate streets of the faction, each passing clink of armor against stone filling me with the twisting feeling of anxiety.

I could feel their presence drawing closer. Clink. Each step only carried death. Clink. Was this even worth the danger? Clink. Was Pylia even still here? Clink. No, I couldn't think that selfishly. Clink. Could I? Clink.

"We're here," I whispered, realizing that muscle memory had guided me back to the place I knew so well. Their sound was hardly audible now, as my mind calmed from my worried thoughts. Perhaps the army steadily growing closer wasn't even my biggest enemy; I was.

Chipped wooden walls painted in washed out white, a faded door lucky to be held on its hinges keeping me from viewing the well known interior. The lanterns that once burned with passion were snuffed out, a darkness falling over the house, a contrast to the traditional torch placed outside the homes of others.

I flung open the door and entered, shuffling against floorboards that creaked under my weight. The stacks of luggage I had discarded from the night of my exile still stood tall, sitting patiently to the side of the bed, crumpled sheets the only indicator that the girl I was searching for had once been here.
My cat, for whom I had no name, though Pylia had deemed him Patches, was nowhere to be found. I assumed that he had left, the chewed bits of food sprawled across the counter hinting at the fact that he had ravaged through my pantry before his ultimate departure.

"Home sweet home..." I muttered to myself, brushing my fingers against the edge of snuffed out lanterns.

"Is this where you lived?" Atlaster marveled, standing in the doorway so cautious as if he believed that he would cause the abode to collapse if he stepped foot inside.

"Indeed. Pardon the mess, you can come in." He nodded and entered, eyes flickering from corner to corner. But what I quickly noticed was that the letter that had begun this whole journey was missing. I was sure I had discarded it on the pile of my possessions, though no longer did it rest there. Had Pylia taken it? I wondered.

But I didn't have time to ponder on the idea for much longer, as something suddenly disrupted the silence. A shrill scream pierced through the tranquil air, as my head whipped around to face the direction of the noise. Shouts of protest could be heard, as a strong surge of power flooded the area.

Darkness like nothing previously conceived washed over the faction, drowning me in a void of shadows that overtook my senses and wrapped me in panic. I could feel my insides twisting as breathing became impossible, each inhale a stabbing pain that wracked my throat. The idea of death seemed plausible, but I wasn't ready! I couldn't perish, not now! How was this even possible? Would my efforts truly end with this? Please, someone, no! No, no, no!

"—Lyn! Eralyn, can you hear me? Eralyn, snap out of it!" Atlaster yelled, his voice carrying to my ears just enough to break me from the vile grasp of the shadows that consumed me. Only then could I realize that tears had begun to stain my cheeks, running from my chin, my breathing shallow and vision returning.