Six years ago, Kingdom of Aelurus

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Amber light from the crescent moon cascaded through the chapel's windows. Shards of red and orange glass littered the floor around a cloaked figure, reflecting the moonlight, making it look as though the creature stood engulfed by flame. Her slitted gold eyes focused on the world beyond and the plumes of smoke filling the night sky. Her tail protruded from under her cloak, thumping against the stone floor.

Taking a deep breath, she lowered her head, resigning herself to the fate she had been dealt.

"We die tonight," the queen declared.

Her guardsman- an armor-clad creature of grey fur and silver eyes- stood behind her, fingers trembling as they grazed the hilt of his sword.

"Please step away from the window, ben' nessra. The enemy will see you. And even at a distance, they have magick at their disposal and a hundred well-trained archers. Any one of them could-"

"Always mindful of your duty, aren't you, Lain?" She turned toward him, a sorrowful smile plastered on her face.

"Of course, your highness," Lain said. "Your life and the lives of-"

She nodded and moved past him. "I know."

Lain relaxed just a bit as he watched his queen rejoin the others in a windowless corner of the room. The few Vislandra who remained loyal to their mistress huddled together, weeping and praying in High Tongue.

In the middle of the room, beside a rotting pulpit, the queen's Archmage was left alone as he called forth the realm's magick. He swayed back and forth, coaxing a portal to expand in front of him. Blue light illuminated the green robes of his order, casting the graying, greasy Aelurian in an eerie glow. Golden bangles adorning his ears jingled with each of his movements.

"Work faster, old man," Lain growled, tapping his bootheels against the floor.

Soroccah kept his milky grey eyes glued to the portal. "Magick is a delicate process, hessren," he called out, his right arm widening the portal, "You're aware of the dangers, yes?"

Lain scoffed. Of course he knew the risks. The roads between realms were crumbling, made unstable from dying magick; one mistake could prove fatal. "I'm aware."

"Then it's best not to disturb me."

Lain turned away from the mage, glad their interaction had been minimal, and did another survey of his surroundings. The crumbling walls and rotting wood beams would offer little protection from the marching army. Lain sighed. This place would come crashing down with a breeze and Commander Feign brought with him the storm.

Whispers found their way to Lain's ears, making him turn to see a young, brown-furred Vislandra, coming toward him. She navigated the rubble strewn floor with an unsteady gait as she cradled a bundle of brown muslin in her arms. Before she could reach the guardsman, the hem of her dress caught on a stone and threw her forward. Without regard to his station, Lain lunged, catching the kit before her head collided with stone.

Jerking the girl upward, the package slipped from her arms, bottles of milk and red powder spilling out across the floor. It reminded Lain of blood. The kit's body squirmed as she tried to free herself of arms that should never have embraced her. A member of the Queen's Vislandra had her place, just as Lain had his.

"Forgive me, Delhen," she whimpered, as she struggled to pick up pieces of glass.

Cuts formed across her fingertips, blood blossoming and dripping into the puddle of spilled milk. Her tail smacked against a rotten pew disturbing cobwebs and scattering roaches. Retrieving the cracked vial of red powder, she thrust it into Lain's arms to his bewilderment. Then, before he could utter a word, she bowed and scampered away.

He turned the vial over in his palm. The powder smelled of volcanic ash. Bloodstone, he thought. A gift from the gods said to grant the owner protection.

He pocketed the powder before striding over to his queen. As he approached, she nodded before unwrapping one of the two bundles she had nestled in the crook of her arm. A small, black-furred newborn squirmed from the interruption and released a mew into the chilly night air. With tiny hands, he clawed at his mother's robe. She took a bottle of milk from one of her attendants and placed it to the prince's mouth. He took it greedily, drops staining his black nose and whiskers.

Beside him, his younger brother slept. He was all-black unlike his feeding brother who had a tiny patch of white running down the right side of his face. They were traitors now their uncle had usurped the throne, and if they ever dared return to the realm, they'd be arrested for treason and put to death.

Was there a point to any of this? If the plan succeeded, the kits would be left in a foreign realm, disguised as common exiles, no mother to hold them, no kingdom to embrace them. What would they see when-if-they got to open their eyes? Ashes? A prison cell?

A fire ignited in the ashes of the guardsman's heart, filling him with the foolish need for heroism he hadn't felt since he'd first brandished a sword. It was silly to think any of his consequent actions would have an effect; Lain was a small pebble cast into a vast, already tumultuous, sea. Nonetheless, he couldn't help but speak.

"Your highness, I vow to keep them safe." Running his hand across the sleeping prince's face, he continued, "They will open their eyes and they will see the dawn. Princes of Aelurus, I will protect you and the kingdom's future."

The queen faced Lain, tears threatening to fall from her eyes. She moved toward him, her hand trembling as it reached out to grab his own. Surprised, the guardsman stepped back before her touch could finally reach him.

"Lain-" she began, but a thrumming in the distance made her stop.

Lain turned back toward the door, his ears trained on the sound. Marching. War drums. The shrill screams of the dead called back to the world to serve the Blood Moon Commander.

The army was close.

Soroccah moved next to Lain, his quarterstaff at the ready. "The portal's complete."

Lain nodded and unsheathed his sword. "About time."

He shot the old man a look. Soroccah's eyes were no long glazed over and clouded. They were sharp and clear, like flint, and Lain thought with eyes like that he must have been able to see the All-realms. In a strange dialect Lain had never heard used to speak in High Tongue, the Archmage called forth true magick, the end of his staff erupting in blue flame.

Silence resonated in the room, breaths held, screams formed and swallowed before they could escape trembling mouths. Outside, the drums grew louder, the manic growls of bloodthirsty enemies released on the wind. Every eye focused on the door, waiting for the inevitable.

It only took one second to change everything. And in that second, a spark of magick slipped under the door, floated toward the middle of the room, and exploded. The door blasted to pieces as the entire chapel erupted in fire. Splinters and flames rained down on them, catching the queen's attendants in the blaze. The nauseating stench of burning fur and melting flesh accosted Lain's nostrils.

Quickly, the guardsman covered the queen with his cape. He didn't want her to see, didn't want her to relive the moment.

Don't see. You don't need to see.

Overhead, wooden beams crashed to the ground. The youngest of the queen's attendants got caught in the chaos as a beam pierced her chest. An ever-widening pool of blood stained the stone where she fell, her tear-streaked face staring up at Lain with empty eyes as fire consumed her legs.

The first wave of enemies marched through the flames, their black armor shielding them from fire and magick. Without hesitation, Lain grabbed the queen and shoved her into the portal. Blue light engulfed her as she disappeared.

Sword in hand, Lain steeled his nerve and charged toward the door. He couldn't cut down an army, but he could drag a few of them to the otherside. It was the least he could do.

"No!" Soroccah screamed, sending a gust of wind to knock Lain back. "Foolish hessren! Remember your promise!"

Soroccah turned his attention back toward the door, where Feign's troops were sliding blades deep into the hearts of those the fire hadn't claimed. Behind them, a cat-man in a long, black robe with electric green swirls painted on his fur, knelt before a corpse, his eyes white and without pupils. He spoke an incantation to the deceased, claiming the soul for the enemy before she could ascend.

Magick of the god-cursed. How vile.

Soroccah flung the magick he had gathered at the necromancer, electrocuting him before he could finish raising the dead.

"Go," the mage called as he raised his staff into the air, summoning more electricity to its tip. "Protect our future!"

With a snarl, Lain sheathed his sword, his focus returned to the task he'd been given - the queen, the princes. He nodded toward Soroccah as the mage unleashed another shock wave on the enemy, before turning toward the portal.

A scream erupted into the room, forcing Lain to spin around. There, where Soroccah had been standing unleashing his magick, he now knelt, an axe deep in his skull. A creature in crimson armor stood before the dead mage, his red eyes alight with amusement as he watched Soroccah's body twitch.

With a jerk, the gargantuan cat-man removed his axe, a spray of blood erupting from the fatal wound and painting his armor with this l victory.
Soroccah's body crumpled to the floor, the hem of his robe catching fire. The cat-man turned his attention toward Lain, a smile on his lips as he stepped over the flaming corpse as though it were nothing more than a piece of trash littering his way.

"You won't get far," he mouthed.

For the first time in his military career, Lain shuddered. This creature was no simple soldier fulfilling his duty. This was Feign, Commander of the Blood Moon Army, a man who delighted in dealing death to his enemies.

Lain turned and threw himself into the portal. The distant sounds of steel and the crackling of resurrection magick found his ears before everything grew silent. He landed in the soft grasses of what he hoped was the realm of Exul, Soroccah's final words echoing in his mind:

Protect our future.