"Oh wise gods, grant me sight beyond sight.

So that I may gaze into the world and see all its wonders.

The barest drop of dew as it lights on the young leaves of springtime.

The first snowflake as it flutters from the winter sky.

The blossom as it bursts open to—"

A roar shook the Cathedral, rattling the windows and reverberating through the floor. To everyone else it probably sounded as though the netherborne was right on top of them. But Octavia knew exactly where it was. She swallowed. It was a big one.

Reciting poetry wasn't doing anyone any good. Fear had long captured the ballroom in its choking grip and that roar made the stranglehold tighter.

Children sat huddled together with their parents, in the corners where the chairs were set up. They flinched every time another crash sounded from inside the village. Lady Beatrix paced the floor, with a long sword in her hands, stopping every so often to gaze at the ballroom's exit, oblivious to her wife, who was leering at her from across the room. Several priests walked the room and gazed skyward every so often, as though asking for divine intervention.

There were no gods watching over Hedalda, and even if there were, they didn't care enough to interfere. They had better things to do than dabble in the squabbles of the living and undead.

Octavia sagged in her chair and flicked her gaze to Claud, who leaned against a pillar nearby. With one ankle crossed over the other and wine in hand, he was the most relaxed in the room. Occasionally, he gazed in her direction, eyes asking her questions she had no answers for.

Footfalls echoed through the ballroom as a lone priest ran onto the upper circle. "Pilar, a message from the bell tower. They're going to need reinforcements out there."

Pilar pointed to the exit. "Take your team and go, Ezra. The rest of us will stay here."

Ezra swore out loud. "But if that thing—"

"I gave you an order!" she snapped. "Now go!"

He only gave a nod before heading out with five priests in tow.

Octavia wound the ribbon on her bell around her fingers. What can I do? She bit her lip. If she tried to join the fight now, everyone would learn her secret. She'd heard of necromancers being bludgeoned to death, beheaded, burnt alive, tied to rocks and thrown into the ocean amongst other things. But she was different. If it came to that, she could run. Or fly, rather.

Sicero had given Pilar orders to break legs if anyone tried to leave, and Octavia had every confidence that the elder woman would follow said orders to the letter. She gazed at the windows lining the upper circle—a way out, if she flew.

A few polite taps landed on her shoulder and she swiveled her head to see Tallis standing in front of her, head down and hands fisted at his sides. The daywalkers stood a hand-in-hand a few paces behind.

"Miss Octavia can I sit with you, please?" he asked.

"Of course." She slid over to give him enough room to sit comfortably between her and the armrest. And he did so quietly, keeping his head down and clasping his hands tightly together in his lap.

"It's going to be all right Tallis." She placed a hand on his shoulder.

He sniffled and his shoulders shook. "I just... I don't want anyone to die."

"Sicero and the other Priests are doing everything they can to protect everyone. Let's have faith in them."

"But who's going to protect them? Who's going to protect Lord Sicero?"

Octavia wished she had an answer for that. They were his family now since his parents were gone. She understood his fear. The fear of history repeating itself. Of having to endure the same horrific events, the same pain.

"I'm going out there," Beatrix said. She tucked the sword into her belt and made a beeline for the ballroom steps.

"No, you're not!" Winslet shouted, stopping the Chief Councilor in her tracks. "You're not going anywhere."

Beatrix whirled around. "Winslet, they need—"

"No, Beatrix!" Winslet's voice cracked, eyes brimming with tears. "You're staying here, with everyone else. Where it's safe."

"No one is leaving," Pilar said from her post at the ballroom stairs. She sat on the bottom step, sword in her lap and eyes on the room. "With all due respect Beatrix, sit your ass down."

The head Councilor scowled and sat next to Winslet, rubbing her eye with her free hand. 

This was the price of mortal folly, of tampering with things one didn't understand. Bitterness soured Octavia's stomach. All of this could've been prevented if she wasn't so weak. Or, as her mentor would say, if she wasn't so arrogant.

A buzzing filled the air, like a hive of bees. Screeches were added to the mix, along with bumps, crashes and the beating of wings. Octavia looked up, attuned her mind to the sound and swore out loud. Thousands. There were thousands attacking the secondary barrier around the Cathedral.

"Line off!" Pilar shouted, rising to her feet. 

The remaining Priests formed a neat line around the perimeter of the Cathedral and chanted. Glowing text encircled their hands and wrists, their light brightening as they raised their hands skyward.

I can't take this anymore. All around her a sea of grim faces, a thick cloud of fear, the whimpers of the children. Her reason for coming to Hedalda was to end the scourge, not sit idle while it ravaged the village.

Octavia laid a hand on Tallis shoulder before offering him her bell. "I will," she told him,loud enough to be heard over the noise.

He looked up at her, face stained with tears. "You will what?"

"You asked who would protect the Priests, who would protect Lord Sicero. I will." She stood and rounded the chair, walking to the center of the ballroom. 

There would be no turning back after this, but if it meant saving everyone from the netherborne, so be it. Even if she stayed in Hedalda, they would never look at her in this way again, as one of them. Part of their community. She'd no longer be Octavia the music teacher. She'd be Octavia the necromancer, the monster, the Night-Blooming Rose.

She trained her eyes on the arched windows lining the upper circle. With enough force she could burst through.

"Octavia. What do you think you're doing?" Pilar stepped in front of her. "Have a seat."

She shook her head, and her vision flashed green. "I'm so sorry."

A clamor rang over the cacophony as Pilar's sword slipped from her grasp. The elder woman took a step back eyes wide and lips parted.

"Just don't get in my way, please." Her back grew hot and her wings materialized in a burst of rose petals. The cloud of fear in the room evaporated, replaced by the buzz of shock and awe.

With one mighty flap, Octavia shot towards the upper circle, leaving a gust of wind in her wake. She burst through the window and flew into the night's cold embrace, before riding an updraft to the Cathedral's snow-dusted roof. The wind ruffled her wings and flicked the hem of her dress around her feet.

The swarms of winged creatures lit on the barrier like moths on a lantern, blocking the view of the night sky ad the village. Tiny sparks of light erupted from the barrier as they clawed away at it with their taloned feet. The beat of their leathery wings filled the air with a vibrating buzz, and the suffocating scent of potpourri.

With no flute and no bell, Octavia had to rely on a friend. She took her necklace from her pocket, its hiss filling her head despite the noise. An ancient tune spilled from her lips, its lilting inflections long forgotten by the rest of humanity. 

The bellwhip materialized in her hands with a soft chime, winding around her waist and along the length of her arm. Thicker than any braided leather, and strong enough to topple the mightiest of netherborne, it was a weapon fit for a god. But she hated using it, because it had a mind of its own and wasn't always keen on obeying her.

Even now it shivered, making a sound halfway between a hiss and rattle, excited for the heat of battle. And Octavia knew better than to deny the thing what it wanted. Rose buds big and small lined its length, and when she flicked one, a high-pitched chime rang through the night, loud as the toll of the Cathedral's bell. The netherborne screeched, flying away like a flock of startled birds.

Octavia almost laughed. They thought she would let them run. The bellwhip unwound itself from her waist and coiled in the air. With a flick of her wrist, the rosebuds chimed in unison, and the sound pierced the night like a thousand daggers, flying straight and true to its targets. Clouds of flower petals obscured the night sky and twirled on the wind like feathers.

Octavia leapt from the roof and flew through them, past the cathedral's barrier and towards the village's main street. A score of netherborne ran through the village–some lizard like, others wolf-like. But they were insects compared to the monster near the gates.

The beast towered over the buildings, twisted horns glinting in the moonlight. With its goat like head, thick muscular arms and club-like tail, it was a nightmare made flesh. The thicket of trees between the main street and Octavia's residence were flattened, and a pile of rubble lied where the inn and armoury used to be.

Sicero stood before the monster, only a wall of text separating the two. As the beast swung a fist at him and the text moved to intercept the attack. His hands glowed as he chanted in an old, cryptic tongue. Meanwhile, the other Priests worked in groups of twos and threes to keep the smaller netherborne at bay.

Octavia only spared them a glance, her focus was on the High Priest. Why would he do something so stupid and reckless, fighting that thing all on his own?

The beast swung its fist at Sicero again, and again the text absorbed the attack, but the force of it sent him skidding back in the snow. It followed up with a fast upward swing of his tail. Half of the text disappeared, and he went flying, bouncing through the snow like a stone on water.

Octavia beat her wings faster, nearly in time to her racing heart. She flicked her whip, and it shot forward like a viper striking a prey. Just as the beast wound up for another strike, the whip caught its wrist. A chime ran down its length and the netherborne's fist exploded into a cloud of black petals. 

The monster screamed, hunched over and cradled the stump close to its chest like a child hugging a precious toy.

"No further, monster." Octavia flew between the beast and Sicero, hovering at its eye level.

The netherborne's red eyes widened, and it stumbled back, nigh tripping over its own hoofed feet. "You," it said, its voice more a grumble than intelligible speech. "N-N-Night-Blooming Rose."

The bellwhip curled in the air above her head with a rattling hiss. Octavia gave it a light squeeze and hoped that it could contain itself for at least a moment. 

The netherborne's eyes narrowed to glowing slits, malice spilling from its gaze. The air thickened and crackled between them like thunderheads and the beast thumped its clubbed tail against the ground.

It shot forward, fist poised to strike. The bellwhip intercepted it and deflected the blow with a deafening chime before capturing it around the throat like a hungry viper.

Octavia lifted the whip, hoisting the netherborne off its hoofed feet and smiled hitching gags shook its body. It flailed its legs and clawed at the bellwhip to no avail.

If the netherborne were the price of mortal folly, then she was the price of undead folly. "I said no further." She flicked the whip, and its song roared through the village like thunder. The monster's head burst into a shower of petals, and what was left of its body hit the ground with a crash that shook the village and kicked up a cloud of dust and snow.

In all her years of necromancy, nothing satisfied Octavia more than watching the boldest of netherborne float away on a breeze—a reminder that their existence was just as fickle as the lives of the humans they tortured. She sang the bellwhip's song and it peeled away in a cloud of fragrant rose petals, returning to its chain form. It was then that she noticed how quiet the night had gotten. 

Hedalda had returned to its gloomy silence, the moonlight illuminating the destruction. Flower petals coated the ground and the the rubble, shivering in the harsh northern winds and dust clouded the air.

Octavia glided to the ground, breaths heavy and body cold. The sickly sweet smell of petals and potpourri, coupled with the realization of what had almost happened, made her stomach churn. That could've ended badly. Netherborne of that size were famous for flattening villages and cities. Thank sin and symphony she'd gotten out there in time.

But at what cost? Her cover was blown, her secret out. Which meant it was time to fulfill her promise to Quintus and fly fast and far.

Octavia turned towards the Priests. They were huddled together around Sicero, each wearing expressions ranging from anger to worry. Their eyes were like a hive of hornets, lighting on her skin, stinging her.

She met Sicero's gaze taking in the myriad of emotions that flashed through those hazel eyes. "I'm so sorry," she said, and flew off towards her house. The night felt colder. Or perhaps it was the realization that she would have to leave Hedalda that left her numb.

She'd failed, and it stung. Who knew how long the village would survive once she was gone. A month at most perhaps. Another netherborne attack like this one and they'd be done, naught but a testament to the monsters' power and her ineptitude.

Octavia landed on the porch of her residence and went inside, grabbing the matches from the table beside the door to light the lanterns. Then she went about packing away as much things as she could. Her flute was most important, along with money. Clothes she could get more of on the mainland. She only needed enough to keep her warm.

There were tiny uninhabited islands between Hedalda and Avaly. She could camp on one for the night and fly the rest of the way in the morning. Making the entire trip in one go would be treacherous.

She went into the kitchen to grab a few provisions. As she did, a card on the table caught her eye, the one the children had made for her to welcome her to Hedalda. She traced her fingers across the names of the students, each bright, innocent face flashing before her eyes. She bit her lip, swallowing the lump forming in her throat.

"What am I doing?" Octavia fisted her hands in her hair as tears stung her eyes. Was she really about to leave these children to suffer, to die? There was nothing to stop the netherborne from attacking again tonight. They'd watch her fly away, and then swoop in and destroy everything and everyone.

She'd promised Quintus she'd leave once things went awry, but doing that would defeat the purpose of her mission. After failing to stop the scourge that night, she'd vowed to find some way to save humanity. Even if that meant dealing with them one village at a time.

I don't want anyone to die. Tallis' words echoed through her head, and she found herself agreeing with them. She didn't want anyone to die either.

Octavia wasn't one to break promises, but if she left one village in danger, then she may as well give up on humanity altogether. And giving up was not an option.

What would happen to her now? Perhaps the villagers would try to execute her. If that were the case, they'd have a hard time. Maybe there was a way to make them see reason, help them look pass their misguided fear and prejudice and accept her help. She'd never been in this situation before, so she'd have to play it by ear and hope for the best.

Octavia went back to the living room with card in hand and laid it next to her flute case. She sat on the on the settee, the abrasiveness of the material against her back telling her that her wings had ripped the dress. Hopefully Claud wouldn't be angry.

She unlatched the gaudy neck piece, laid it atop her flute case. Sicero would want it back, or want to choke her with it. She took her necklace, wound it up and tucked it in her hair.

Before long, there was knocking on her door, and not the friendly kind. The kind that was accented by the soft clicks of splintering wood.

"It's not locked," Octavia called over the banging.

The door flew open and slammed into the wall, causing a painting to fall askew. Councilwoman Diann stepped into the room, her boots like thunder against the wood. She had a long sword in hand, which she shoved to Octavia's throat.

The cold steel stung her, and only a bit more pressure would break the skin.

"On your feet necromancer," Diann said, her words soft but her tone frigid enough to freeze over the island.

Zhen stepped inside behind the Councilwoman, face stony as she laid eyes on Octavia. "Hands where we can see them."

Octavia obliged them both, and Zhen tied her wrists with a thick length of rope, before leading her out the door like a lamb to the slaughter.