He's dead.

  Cian's eyes had shut the moment the lightning showed itself. Its bright light was too much for him to handle, flashing still behind his eyelids, yet when the light disappeared, he still refused to look. Charred remains, ash, is what he is expecting, and why was it that his uncle was the one to face such divine judgment? Is that what the lightning was? An act of God? Why then did the Lord strike now, and why not the sinful soul wholly doing what is evil?

  Open your eyes.

  He had to know. Even if looking would bring only heartache, Cian opened his eyes and choked on the gasp, struggling to escape him. His uncle was not dead, no; Bomin stood tall, his shoulders rigid as he faced Madam Calypso. There were no visible wounds that Cian could see, no smoke from singed flesh, nor the smell of meat burning, yet that was not the most peculiar thing. What Cian found odd was that his uncle clutched a paintbrush in one hand, as if he were brandishing a weapon. It seemed… a ridiculous sight, yet Madam Calypso’s serpent reared back as if threatened.

  It seemed for a moment no one dared to move; the two sides stuck in a stalemate that Cian could not comprehend because what was this new confidence he could see in his uncle’s eyes? There was a blazing spiritual fire like that of a warrior with renewed strength. It made his uncle seem stoic, towering, and rekindled hope within Cian.

  There came another boom of thunder before a crack of lightning struck once more, this time further away, and it acted as the signal for the brewing tension to give. “Take your siblings and flee, Cian!” Bomin ordered, his voice as booming as the rumbling sky. Bomin lifted the hand with the paintbrush and began to draw dark lines that seemed to stain the very air he used. In that exact moment, the serpent struck out, and Madam Calypso barked for her soldiers to keep the children secure. Cian was not afraid. He had not moved, watching as his uncle performed the last stroke and the black lines began to take a more defined shape.

  Feathered green wolves are the equivalent size to brown bears. They received their name because their fur resembles bird feathers, and their color turns green in the spring and summer months. They are far more docile toward humans than the great wolves, which is why Teacher Prometheus owns a few as pets, but the ones Bomin drew looked anything but friendly. They are a fierce caricature, their teeth more jagged than any living creature, and their claws look painful to walk on. It was as if monsters came to life, but Cian was not afraid. The beasts were not interested in him or his siblings, no; they looked hungrily upon the enemy soldiers, saliva dripping from their maws as the first wolf pounced.

  One wolf charged, a green streak aimed in the direction of Madam Calypso, while the rest focused on the other soldiers. It said something that her serpent was able to clamp its jaws around the beast before it could reach her, but his uncle was creating more and more foul monsters. What they were witnessing was a miracle beyond comprehension: black lines forming into living things, yet Cian had to tear his eyes away because, again, his uncle was shouting for them to flee. “You heard our father!” Cian cried, hauling up his siblings who had gone into an amazed stupor. Keegan was brought back to his senses by a particularly harsh shove from Cian, and he began to help by dragging Destin with him as he ran. Cian took hold of Bedisa, who clutched a wailing Dove to her chest.

  The children ran, Cian instructing them to keep their eyes forward and not to look at anything else. He kept faith that the conjured wolves would protect them, and he was rewarded by soldiers being struck down by teeth and claws. There was also something else that ignited a warmth within him, an anticipation that kept his eyes glued to the flower bridge leading away from their home. Cian pushed his legs to move fast, forcing Bedisa to keep stride, and he kept the rigid pace until they crossed underneath the archway over the bridge. He had kept the hand not holding onto Bedisa open, and without faltering in his step, Cian continued forward, smiling when he felt a familiar weight against his palm.

  Although they might have escaped the mansion, the children were not safe, and Cian had to ignore Destin’s and Bedisa’s labored breathing. He had thought all the enemy soldiers would be at the mansion and that they would have a clear path ahead. However, it seemed a few stragglers were still patrolling the streets, their senses alert after already experiencing one infiltration. The first soldier to ambush them was a man heaving an axe. Cian pulled Bedisa against him, spinning around and ducking with her as he maneuvered them behind the soldier and struck his knife against the back of the soldier’s knee, where there was no armor. The man fell on his knee, and Cian let go of Bedisa to bring the man’s head back and slice his throat. The movement was done without much thought, and when Cian saw red, he felt his stomach churn, but now was not the time to sink into thoughts of moral ambiguity. “They have archers on the roofs!” Keegan shouted in warning. Cian sidestepped an arrow aiming for his head before retaking his sister’s wrist and resuming their running.

  They navigated around the building, and, through them, their direction skewed to try to lose the soldiers pursuing them. Cian may have been fortunate to slay one enemy, but he could not risk fighting the others with Bedisa beside him. Keegan, as well, seemed frustrated to have to retrace their steps to avoid being cornered, Destin stumbling behind his older brother, who held a tight grip on his wrist. Keegan wanted to fight; his father’s bravery and newfound power incited within him the need to stand beside the man to defend their city. It should have been no wonder that when they were moments before finally breaking free from the confines of the city, freedom just within distance, one particular arrow grazed Bedisa’s cheek, and she yelped in pain, and Keegan roared in fury. “Take our brother and sisters out of here!” Keegan ordered, shoving Destin ahead of him as he turned around to face their pursuers, heedless of the fact that he had no weapon of his own with which to defend himself. As righteous as Keegan saw his fury to be, Cian knew it was nothing more than sheer foolery. He became incensed and grabbed a handful of Keegan’s robes, attempting to pull him away from his pointless mission, but Keegan was not in the mood to argue. His brother fought back.

  “What are you doing?” Cian questioned as he wrestled with his brother. “Your father said to flee, so why disobey?”

  “They hurt Bedisa! They hurt our family! Father has had enough, and so have I!” Keegan retorted, but his words held no sense. His brother was just angry, the kind of anger that had him act irrationally, and the anger that Cian had always had to quell by any means. “You will cause them more hurt by staying! If you love your family, then don’t act so selfishly!”

  Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

  “They’re coming!” Bedisa yelled, hugging Dove closer to her as she watched the soldiers they had so desperately tried to distance themselves from hurry toward them. “Please, elder brother, we must go!” Destin decided to say, urgency and fear evident in his voice, and this seemed enough to still Keegan. Cian took advantage, urging his younger siblings forward as he bodily dragged Keegan along, but their stop had been too long. From the top of one of the roofs, a soldier nocked an arrow, drew, and loosed a single shot. The arrow whistled through the air and struck its target. Destin’s words of telling his elder brothers to hasten their steps stopped short, and his face wrinkled into a look of confusion as he dropped to his knees and fell forward, the arrow sticking out of his back.

  Bedisa let out an ear-splitting scream, but she was soon quieted, because that same soldier had been swift to nock another arrow.

  “Bedisa! Destin!” Cian cried out, dropping Keegan to run forward and tend to his fallen siblings. He was able to catch Bedisa before she fell, cradling her lifeless body to him, while reaching out to touch Destin’s. It was by the mercy of God that Dove still wailed, alive and slipping from her elder sister’s grip. Cian took her from Bedisa’s limp arms and cradled her in his. His awareness was lacking, his emotions in turmoil, and Keegan was of no help. Cian was just grateful that the archer’s final arrow struck him in the shoulder instead of through Dove.

  Pain flashed through his body, and Cian gritted his teeth as he refrained from dropping Dove. He reacted with a shout, flinging his knife in the direction of the archer, willing it to hit true, and it did, sinking into the man’s eye, then the man’s skull. The knife came back to him coated in blood, and Cian was shaky as he held it, but he had to shake away the fog clouding his mind, as he realized Keegan was crying over him, attempting to haul him to his feet. “We must go!” Cian did not dare berate Keegan for saying what Cian had been voicing the entire time. Instead, he allowed himself to lean his weight on his brother as they forced themselves to move. Dove was still alive. They failed their younger sister and brother, failed to keep them safe, but they would not fail Dove. They could not.

  Using whatever strength his body expended to stay alive, Cian ran with the arrow stuck in his right shoulder while holding Dove against the opposite one. He kept equal pace with Keegan, whose tears poured down the side of his cheek. They ran, leaving the last of the building on the city’s outskirts, making their way across the open land surrounding Fallen Petal, and disappearing from the soldiers. The soldiers gave up their chase, feeling confident the children would not survive, or even if they did, they were confident their leader would take their life eventually, for the whole world was intended to burn under the woman with the serpent.

  —————

  Bomin adored painting. Whenever his mind became clouded by anxieties arising from his duties as a patriarch, he would retire to his study and bring out his easel. Then the man would paint whatever came to mind, his imagination boundless and his hand never stuttering as he glided his paintbrush across a blank canvas. Many were fortunate enough to lay eyes on his finished pieces, which they would always compliment him on, and inquire about keeping one for themselves. These were not compliments freely given because he was a leader. They were given because Bomin genuinely had a talent with a paintbrush. He would never give in to such requests, hiding his work away, for he did not create it for people. Bomin painted for himself and God, and cherished each painting he made.

  He had to wonder if that played a part in the blessing he received. A paintbrush that turned the world into his canvas and brought to the life the things of his mind. The wolves were simple subjects he had repainted time and time again, and he thinks he could do more; the possibilities were limitless. A dragon could very well enter the fray, but it would take too long to paint such a massive and destructive beast. He wished he had more time to understand the blessing better, to do spectacular things with it, maybe then he could have stood a chance against Ophelia.

  The serpent, her conduit, made up for all the soldiers his wolves fell. Bomin hurriedly drew the wolves with wings, increased their size, and made their pointed teeth even thicker. His dastardly creations, no longer resembling the green feathered wolves they were based on, fought together to nip at the serpent that so deftly dodged them and snatched them from out of the sky. Bomin was growing weary and nearly jumped when he felt a hand on his shoulder. “Can you create enough paintings that we might flee after the children?” Mila questioned. His wife, skin pale, eyes drooping, yet lovely in his sight. Bomin had wanted her to be with the children, but the distance had been too great, so there she was with him. He wanted to see her safe and protected, but he was in doubt. Ophelia was strong, so was her serpent, and Bomin… he lacked. He could not do it, and Mila seemed to understand as she looked into his eyes.

  “Our children are safe,” Bomin said, reaching to take her hand. He lifted it off his shoulder to press his cheek to it. Mila’s eyes drooped further, but there was a light smile tugging the corner of her cheek. “Then that is enough.”

  She stood by him as he attempted to create more and more wolves, but the more he hastened his strokes, the more imperfect they became and the easier the wolves were for the serpent to slaughter. Ophelia walked confidently behind her conduit as together they made their way to the patriarch and his wife. As long as the children were safe, the Bomin and Mila could not ask for more.

  —————

  A mistake Patriarch Bomin made was allowing his nervousness to get the better of him. He became overly concerned with the well-being of his people, which, in itself, is what a leader should do, but his nerves led him to call home all the children of Heartsease: those traveling, and those belonging to the Hands of the Covenant. Everyone was called home. All the children of Heartsease were present when Ophelia struck.

  A month passed before the first visitor came to Fallen Petal. A wandering merchant clan, looking to procure herbs from the city so that they may include them as part of their wares. They had been cautious as they trapsed through the newly formed ghost town, finding no living soul within the city. Their clan leader and his eldest son had been the only ones brazen enough to head to the patriarch’s mansion, and what they found were more lifeless bodies and the remains of Patriarch Bomin and Greatwife Mila. It was as if some large animal had torn through them, parts rendered askew. The scene had been too much for the two men, and the clan leader had torn his clothes, weeping at the travesty that had befallen one of the great tribes and its patriarch.

  Word was sent to Halo and Noctua, who, in turn, sent out a small legion each to investigate what happened to the children of Heartsease. As information was gathered, the remaining tribes were also informed. They were told of the destruction, they were told of the death, and that the children of Patriarch Bomin were missing. The legions were tasked with finding the children, and their search spanned over weeks—the amount of dead, the amount of decomposition, hindering the process, and the surrounding area outside the city yielded no clues. The people were unaware of what befell Son Destin and Daughter Bedisa, nor did they know where the other children fled to. For the time being, the tribes assumed everyone had died, the ruins of Fallen Petal too grave for them to maintain a semblance of hope for any survivors. Their attention was also diverted, as the tribes of Davar and Halo were the next to be attacked.