Images of the dead haunted Lain as he lay in the middle of an overgrown field. Their final screams occupied his mind, a heart-wrenching song echoing over and over, reminding him that everything was meaningless. Overhead, the sky was dappled with grey clouds rain soaking his face and streaking down his armor. Was it the rain that blurred his vision, he wondered. Or tears? Did it even matter anymore? Had any of it mattered, to begin with? Feign had secured his victory. And he would be sure to have another.

Turning onto his side, Lain took in more of the unfamiliar scenery. His Aelurian eyes allowed him to spy the emerald-stained hills stood in the distance, lined with gnarled hemma trees so unlike those found back home. Each tree branch curled like some petrified hand of the dead toward the sky. The leaves were curled and blackened as if scorched. Animals kept to the shadows, the smaller ones keeping their footsteps light to avoid catching a predator's attention. He heard a mouse's shriek as a bird dug its talon into its gut before returning to the sky. Just like in Aelurus, the strong devoured the weak. 

Then, just as Lain got to his feet, a rush of air made him stiffen.

"The sea," he whispered, tasting the brine and salt on the breeze. The gods had seen fit to dispose of him next to the sea. Their cruelty truly knew no bounds. Even in another realm, they sought to punish him.

As a kit, Lain had loved the many seas that surrounded Aelurus. And back then, he had dreams of sailing those seas, discovering what secrets lay undisturbed in their depths, settling on the coast, and finding his mate. It hadn't taken long for reality to sour his dreams. 

Outlaws rode the seas, bought Aelurians whose rampages were funded by the Moonborn Houses. They ransacked villages, killing any who stood in their way and turning the rest to ash. Skies were filled with smoke and unanswered screams. Lain and his then soon-to-be mate had been resting at a coastal inn when a band of outlaws made landfall.

Two weeks after the terror--after Lain had buried his betrothed-- he took his vows before the Crescent Moon King and was given his sword, the very sword he carried now. As he looked down at the steel that had become an extension of himself, he realized how foreign it'd become. The blade was dulled and chipped from his years at war. Blood, that never seemed to come out no matter how hard Lain scrubbed, stained the leather sheath. The image the sword reflected was no longer of a bright-eyed Lain, willing to do what he must to protect his kingdom. He was worn out, his grey fur matted, his silver eyes full of despair.

Failure.

Was Lain truly any different than Feign? Or the outlaws that had slit his fiancee's throat? Lain killed men, women, and at times, children all in the name of Aelurus. But what did his reasons matter to the families of the victims he had left behind? The banner he rode under, the kingdom he was ordered to protect, meant nothing. He was a murderer. And that bloodied truth remained on his hands no matter how hard he tried to scrub them clean.

Wet grass clung to Lain's sore body as the guardsman wrestled with the urge to give up. He was tired of fighting. In this foreign place, under these foreign skies, he'd been stripped of his title, his duty. He was a cat-man afraid of what he saw, and what would inevitably come for him. He didn't even know if the queen and the princes had survived the journey.

Rest, just rest. Let Feign slit your throat, let his necromancer raze your soul. Let it all end.

End? Would it be that easy to just let go? Hours of training, years of ravaging homes and burning cities to appease his King's hunger for conquest, could it all be swept aside? Could he find peace on the other side? Would he be permitted to write his poems? Dance with the woman he loved under the stars she adored?

No. Life was never so simple.

To Lain's right, a crunching of leaves had him on his feet, his sword at the ready. His body's response to the noise with the threat of violence, answered Lain's questions. No matter how much the guardsman might have hoped to, he could never throw aside who he was. In this life, he was a soldier and he would be that soldier until Feign's axe embedded itself in his skull. 

"Lain?" a voice whispered from under the shadow of the treeline. "Lain? Is it really you?"

Lain put his sword down, the exhaustion returning to his aching form. "Yes, my queen," he called, his own voice trembling.

He watched as the queen moved out of a thorny thicket, her cloak catching on the brush. Her steps were uneven. Her elegance had abandoned her, replaced with a fear that made even her whiskers tremble.

Lain choked down his urge to quit. If ever there was a reason to go on, it was her. Even if they only had a few moments left in the world, he'd rather spend them at her side then alone. The queen's face broke out into a smile, tears running down her cheeks as she sprinted toward him.

"I do hope those are happy tears you're shedding," he said, resisting the urge to move his legs and run to her, embracing her in the arms that'd been forbidden from feeling her warmth.

"Myendar, you're alive."

Lain nodded before greeting the queen with a shallow bow. He grit his fangs as he stared at her- lovely, out of sorts, right there and yet still out of reach.

Removing the hood of her cloak, the queen looked up at the sky. "It's funny, isn't it?" Moonlight reflected off the golden moon-shaped earring that pierced her right ear, "Here we are, meeting under the moon again, and you haven't your quill or parchment. However will you write your poems?"

Lain grimaced as he looked at his queen. She was muddied, her cloak tattered around the hem. She looked as though her heart was shattering, just like her world had, and Lain--as much as he may have wanted to--was ill-equipped to put the broken pieces back together.

"A good poet needs only his voice to craft a masterpiece."

The queen chuckled, her arms tightening around the bundled princes.

"Come," he said, starting toward the sparse forest, "I'll tell you one but we must make haste."

Hills encompassed them on either side, large grasses the only thing between them and a few forests. The open was no good. Feign's archers would be able to stick them from the treeline, his best would be able to pierce their hearts from a hundred paces out.

Lain's boots sunk into the softened earth. Disheartened, he let a sigh escape him. Running, hiding, nothing mattered. Feign would find them and they would die.

"A poem, Lain," she piped up.

Straightening his back, Lain cleared his throat. "My queen, now is not the time for such things--" 

Muffled sobs coming from behind Lain made the cat-man stop. "And there never will be again, Lain."

The guardsman turned to see his queen crying. "They're all dead," she said between sobs. "Everyone who trusted me, who believed in me. They all died!" She squeezed the princes into her chest. They cried out, squirming from the pain.

"My queen, you're hurting the princes--"

"I could smell them, Lain. I didn't have to see them die, I could smell it. Their flesh, their fur burning. And it was all because of me. What a stupid way to die."

Lain swallowed hard as he watched his queen crumble before his very eyes. His urge to touch her was  unbearable and as he reached out to break his vow, a flash of blue lit the night sky catching his attention. It came from behind, from where they had landed.

Feign. The portal was being reopened.

Grabbing the queen's arm, he pulled her forward, rushing her over tree roots and bushes.

"Lain."

"Over there," he said, his eyes falling onto a house that stood on the crest of the hill before them. A small light flickered in the windowsill. "We go to that house."

Electricity pricked Lain's skin. The surrounding woods went silent, trees too afraid to bend to the wind's whims, wolves too afraid to let loose their howls, birds too afraid to continue their song. Everything felt it; the last bits of magick in the realm were twisting, bending into a key to unlock this side of the road. And once the key fit the lock, Feign's army would march on this soil.

The guardsman continued to navigate the forest, jumping over roots and avoiding thorn thickets, as the queen's sobs continued to barrage his ears. Branches clawed at their cloaks, scratching their faces. Lain's boot heels kicked up mud and trampled grasses, water trickling down both cat creatures' faces, stinging at their fresh wounds.

Looking up, Lain spied a patch of sky through the thick canopy. It was there, in the y'mestria, that he had been taught the thrones of their gods sat protecting their people. But as Lain thought of the chapel, the young girl with wood sticking out of her gut, blood pooling in the folds of her gown, he thought of how it was better that the gods didn't exist. What kind of monsters would sit back and watch the land drown in the blood of their own people?

Out of breath and options, the pair reached the house. The last embers of a dying fire burned in a large stone hearth. In front of the fire was a small hemma, blonde hair cascading over her sleeping face. Lain watched as her chest rose and fell, reminding him of a peaceful ocean. The guardsman had always been taught that the hemma of Exul were dangerous, disgusting creatures. But there was nothing dangerous or disgusting about this human girl. She was a kit, with a bright future ahead of her, and come dawn, she would open her eyes, rub the sleep from them, and be embraced by the people who loved her.

Lain looked at the young princes cradled in their mother's arms. He grabbed them and placed them under the window, silently wishing for them to share in that same fate the sleeping girl had.

"What are you doing?" the queen growled, frantically reaching down to pick her kits back up. With an assertive hand, Lain stopped her.

"We will die. You know that. Soroccah. The others. We all resigned ourselves to that fate the moment we escaped from the castle."

The queen grimaced as she stared into the faces of her sons. Their whiskers twitched as mews escaped their tiny mouths.

"We will die. But," Lain said, motioning to the princes, "maybe they don't have to. If we leave them here, lure Feign's army away, maybe that child will find them, give them the life that you no longer can guarantee for them. My queen, please, see reason."

The queen parted her lips as if to speak but swallowed hard. Tears streamed down her face as she nodded. "You're right, Lain. You always are."

"And you hate that part of me," Lain added.

The queen scoffed. "I do."

She knelt before her sons, gazing at them one last time, her furred hands tracing their ears, their eyes, their noses. She kissed each of their foreheads, her lips lingering against their fur. Then, regaining her composure, she reached into her satchel and sprinkled a white powder over their eyes. With a small light, the princes bodies started to contort. Pained mews escaped their mouths as their hands were elongated, their fingers retracting into tiny paws. The eldest one's crescent mark faded, leaving behind a small tuft of white fur. They would no longer walk on two legs; they would walk on all fours, never knowing what it was like to be a true Aelurian. Pleased Soroccah's magick had worked, the queen flashed each of her sons a smile before turning to face Lain.

"I'm ready."

Lain took a step toward his queen, placing trembling hands on her shoulders. Her body was warm, inviting, and just as he had always imagined.

"Do not hide when the army comes. Face them as you are. Face them as the warrior you have always been. Let them know that they do not cut down a traitor; let them know they stand ready to cut down their Queen."

The queen nodded and placed her hand on top of Lain's. "And you, my friend, do not die as my shield. Die as the man I have always known, honorable, loyal, beautiful. You were a treasure all my wealth could never afford."

Lain nodded, wiping at the tears that threatened to stream down his face. He had never heard the queen speak so freely, so honestly. Grabbing the queen's hand in his, their fingers trembling, Lain slapped a fist against the window, watching as the small hemma was roused awake.

"Find them," he whispered. "Please, find them, and provide for them the future we cannot."

Turning away from the house, Lain and his beloved queen ran as hard as they could, willingly meeting their end so the princes could have their beginning. The first hazy rays of dawn settled across their faces as the sun started to rise over the ocean. Surrounded by a field of white wild flowers, Lain smiled, his queen returning the gesture, Feign's archers aiming arrows at their heads.

You're our future— our hope— Vaalsen. Live and prosper and when it is time, reclaim your home.

-End-

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