Their footsteps had started to sound more solid now as their boots hit the curved ridges of stone. Each step progressively pulling them closer towards the blind crest at the centre of the bridge.

  Visibility getting worse with each step. But not enough to be able to not see the start of the first castle wall behind the town buildings, looming in the distance.

  That smell of blood was now getting stronger.

  Closer.

  And two more smells appeared in the air soon after.

  But this time, they were scents.

  One sweet.

  Almost innocent.

  Almost.

  Like the smell of a young Direcat that escaped its predator.

  Not scared.

  But, emotional.

  The second scent smelled almost static. Like it’s not there, even though the existence of the smell in itself confirms its presence.

  There were barely any other signatures that latched on with the scent. Quite abnormal. Barely any hints of musk or sweat.

  Or emotion.

  They got higher up the crest before breaking over it. A feeling of a small drop reaffirming that they were halfway over.

  And that was when they saw it.

  Two figures.

  One hourglass shaped figure that looked like it was in a bulky half-coat, with long thin legs that almost cut through the air with each stride. Long thin hair dancing as the wind pushed it from behind.

  The other figure next to it looked burly. Maybe armour plates around its broad shoulders and waist. Somewhere around similar height to the person that is behind Amia.

  Weapon visible. Sheathed.

  Realisation struck Amia.

  These two scents did not smell like any of the scents of people that reside in the neighbouring villages. There was no smell of village dirt, wood, livestock or campfires.

  They smelled like they came from within the capital.

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  They smelled similar to the men that attacked her and Olsen.

  The world for Amia narrowed again. The bridge beneath her begins to fade away. For a split moment, the world reduced itself to angles she could close.

  Her feelings of rage inside her burned as she and her follower broke through the haze. The air thickening with intent, rather than humidity.

  She will make them pay.

  The figures were clearer now. Distinguishable.

  A man with a rugged face, but sharp.

  Stern, and almost fierce.

  A girl with dark-red hair and an oversized cape wrapped around her, covering what looked like a torn dress.

  Amia flicks her thumb up on the guard of her katana, hinting at her readiness, and her other hand reaching across her hip.

  Hand slightly opening, ready for a quick strike.

  As long as she could close the distance some more.

  But, she couldn’t close the distance fast enough.

  The girl drops her arm, before swiping it in front of her intensely.

  A deafening snap and the air cracked. The ground came apart. Then, nothing lined up correctly.

  Her vision filled with the mix of colours between light grey haze and blue sky. Alternating, as her mind tried to make sense of whether she was looking up, or down.

  Dull pain struck her but her mind barely had time to register how much it hurt - or how much it should hurt - as the air pulled at her skin and tunic while she fell. Her shoulders now laid bare again once the cape that previously sheltered it was ripped off. The looming surface of the water started getting closer.

  And closer.

  Before the water closed over her and refused to let go.

  A stinging sensation filled the back of her head as she shot deep into the inlet, prior to it reaching the rest of her body.

  The water caught at her katana first - a weight that pulled at her hips, with each movement just giving the advantage to gravity.

  And as she kicked. She found nothing solid.

  Panic set in as the undercurrent dragged her deeper, overwhelming her senses and undermining the authority that she would normally have when in control of her body.

  The cold cutting cleanly through thought. Breath now locked, and muscle following.

  The water broke again - closer this time.

  An arm locked around Amia’s torso from behind - not careful, neither gradual. Her ribs compressed as she was wrenched sideways, the grip leaving no space to fight it.

  The pull did not negotiate with the current. It overpowered it. And it was not upwards. It was decisive.

  Something solid filled the water behind her. Amia’s head now filling the space in between her rescuer’s chest - with some room to spare.

  Air burned her lungs as the two broke the surface.

  Amia coughed once, hard, and forced herself upright.

  She was held up by an arm wrapped over her when the rocks beneath finally touched their boots. And it didn’t last long.

  Throwing it off her shoulders, coughing one last time with water now ejecting from her mouth. Strands of her saliva following the curves down her chin onto her neck, before she blacks out and collapses.

  She did not thank anyone.