2412, Diori 15, Kindreth

The throne couldn't slice those cannons in time.

That's what Canelis thought as they gathered in the open space in the center quadrant. They watched the looming shadow of the airborne island in silence as it headed straight towards them.

The scouts had spotted the island at least a hundred fortweres away and it seemed to be moving at half a fortwere a minute. Which means, the last three days of inactivity was probably spent bringing the entire island upon Penleth.

The cannons have stopped firing, putting Canelis's mission to waste. However, such was the life of a soldier and a warrior. One could never predict the course of battle when one didn't know the strength of the enemy and how far they would go to remove all hindrances to their goals. In Penleth's case, not only weren't they aware, they were also largely mistaken.

Canelis tightened her grip on the sword slung against her waist. The Lifecatcher. She hasn't spilled blood with it yet and even though she spent years preparing herself for the inevitable event, she still dreaded it.

So much.

Her stomach roiled.

Such was the curse of the Lifecatcher's wielder, which also happened to be the Riogener or in Canelis's case, the Renagener. She had yet to procure the official title in an inauguration, but it was evident she was the one to succeed her father's place as Peltra's commanding officer. Which means, along with her father's title, she would be inheriting his fate.

The curse and fate. What more could Canelis reap from her heritage?

The Lifecatcher quivered under her touch, flooding her veins with the thrum of strength and magic no other throne could give without fail. Unlike the other thrones, the sword drew power from its previous masters, imbuing the present one with unimaginable resources built through centuries of use. It never dulls, never misses aim. It's a sword destined to parry every strike and always deliver the final blow to spill blood and, most of the time, life, as well.

To a greedy and uneducated fairy, possessing the throne would seem like a perfect gift given by the gods. But, as Canelis had learned in her endless hours of studies, the gods rarely gave things without consequences.

This sword, for instance, the moment it pronounced death upon its enemies, the soul would never depart to the Land of Wonders. Rather, they stayed with the sword. Which meant the bearer of the throne would have to carry the guilt and the weight of the souls they kill until they shatter into a thousand embers.

Canelis witnessed her father, having used the sword to pronounce execution to the defectors they caught, slowly descend into madness as the number of souls in his head compounded. Voices whispered, clouding his judgment. Canelis vaguely remembered her father claiming that the voices constantly tried to usurp his own control of his mind.

It's a curse.

The sword was a curse. To use it in this war would mean the end of life as Canelis knew it. She would have to rule a territory while fighting the trapped souls inside her soul. She didn't know if she could take it. If only there was a way to be rid of it...

The ground around her exploded in a shower of debris and rocks. Canelis drew the sword and swung it in a wide arc. In a flash, the debris around her cleared. A visible, straight cut marred the rocks as they fell to the ground with a thud.

Reeca cursed from somewhere to Canelis's right. Geradine did the same to her left.

"Elred!" the varichria yelled at the sky. Canelis noticed there had been no sky to look at since minutes ago. "Launch it!"

In fact, the once bright, morning sky was now replaced by a mass of dark earth held together by a force no other than magic. Pure, unblemished magic curled from the island's base, the trail exuded by it stark and blinding when Canelis tried peering into it. Above the mass of earth were the hazy green which may or may not be a poor replication of plant life. Then, standing tall atop the plants were the walls.

High, granite-like walls lined the island all around, crenelations all filled to the brim with various metal weapons Canelis hadn't even seen or heard of yet. Yin Alora's walls paled in comparison and, for the first time, Canelis understood why Peltra needed to be removed.

There was simply a new power and a new sovereign. The old ones must give way.

"Elred!" Reeca called again. Canelis followed the varichria's line of sight and spotted the shard fairy standing atop Penleth's walls, shattered wings out for all to see, holding a trigger which would launch their hidden plan.

If all goes well, the island would then crash over Penleth. That's Canelis's job—to make sure everyone was gone before that happens.

As it was, Canelis had already shuffled the non-warriors into the underground caverns they had dug days before. The only ones left here with them were the soldiers. Three hundred people who supposedly knew what war looked like.

Canelis bit her lip in anticipation. Elred turned for a moment and gave Reeca a curt nod. Then, she yanked the rope.

Almost a hundred prongs shot out from their cases, spearing for the island's base as they should. Up. Up. Canelis didn't realize she had been holding her breath as she watched the prongs rise towards the island.

Then, as quickly as the feeling of triumph budded in her, it disappeared. The prongs sailed and reached the island's base as expected. But the moment they touched the magic-infested dark earth, they exploded into a thousand shards.

A heavy silence spread around the center quadrant. Canelis stepped back which she rarely did. No. They...failed?

Then, the panic began. It became apparent these soldiers had not seen the grim realities of war. Shouts, panicked shuffles, and laboured breaths ensued. Armored men and women dropped their weapons, turned, and began running for the underground cavern. Canelis opened her mouth to call them back.

"Soldiers, to me!" Geradine's commanding voice boomed across the quadrant.

No one listened to her. Fools, the lot of them.

Reeca snarled and flapped her wings. She rose above the chaos, no doubt looking for a way to gather everyone's attention. Canelis felt pity rise to her throat as a lump as she watched the varichria demanded attention and received none. Her fingers gripped the Lifecatcher beside her before shaking her head. No, she would not draw blood today. Or ever.

Then, she saw the fleeing soldiers converge to what's supposedly the underground passage's opening only to be scythed down by a mysterious force. Blood, screams, and the painful twinge of flesh splitting open reached Canelis's senses. Her heart leaped to her throat.

The source of the force came into view. It's none other than April Sylkrana. The Falkirtan Angel. The heir to the Lantegian throne.

Canelis's hold on the sword tightened. A sword that never dulls and never misses an aim. A sword to keep her alive and at the same time kill her from the inside. April smiled, picking her way past fallen bodies like they're merely broken toys and not cadavers. Without remorse. Without guilt. The lives she took...

The rest of the fleeing soldiers stopped in their tracks, contemplating whether to turn back where they came from or to continue towards salvation. Well, there was no such thing for them now. April took another step. Closer. Someone screamed defiantly. Canelis knew that voice.

Darhath, with a sword drawn and a manic look on his face, charged towards the Falkirtan heir. Canelis cursed and dashed forward. Blood turned her vision red as Darhath ran straight through April's sword, the point sticking out on his other end.

Canelis wailed, drawing Darhath and April's attention to her. The air sprite smiled wider. Darhath took one pleading look at Canelis before exploding in a shower of embers. A light died somewhere inside Canelis as her heart lost one of its thousand pieces. A pixie has died. She'd only be feeling the pain over the next few days.

She wanted to feel it no longer.

A scream escaped her lips as she charged forward, bracing the sword's sheath. Her thumb rested familiarly against its collar. Her mind reeled; her vision turned dark with rage.

The sword was a curse. A sword that never dulls or misses aim. The throne that promises victory and doom.

Her sword.

Her throne.

Canelis drew the Lifecatcher just in time to meet April Sylkrana's sword. The clash of metal vibrated in Canelis's muscles; the wrath in her veins was a promise of what was to come.