207 A.B.

(2 years before the Runner's Rebellion)

A mighty explosion rattles the earth and I throw myself to the ground, shielding my head from the shards of flying wood and pelting sand. I grit my teeth, wincing as a piece of debris slices across my arm. Shouts and indiscernible commands echo around me and I raise my head cautiously, squinting into the chaos.

Our airship has been effectively obliterated. It lies in pieces amidst our scattered army, the silver balloon shredded and the mighty wooden hull in splinters.

Keep moving. Get out of the line of fire.

Keeping low to the ground, I dart towards a piece of the wreckage and duck in behind it. My breaths are ragged as I press myself against the shoddy bit of cover. I can't stay here, I need to keep moving. I can hear the distant sound of the Wasters as they shout commands at one another and instinctively grip the hilt of my sword more tightly. I duck lower and swivel my head, scanning the battlefield as I try vainly to locate my comrades.

I recognize Lee a few yards off. His disheveled mop of hair bobs up from behind a drift of sand before he scrambles up the embankment and army-crawls to another piece of debris. We exchange a grim nod as he unsheathes his sword and checks over his shoulder, holding up a pair of fingers to warn me of two approaching Wasters.

As if on cue, there is the thud of arrows striking the wood at my back. I curse and drop back onto my stomach, rolling across the sand towards Lee.

"Bloody Wasters." He grumbles, offering me a hand and yanking me to my feet. We both flinch as another arrow flies past our cover. "Where did they get those wheeled contraptions from?"

"Made them, I'd wager." I say through clenched teeth. The Wasters' mechanical weapons are crude approximations of ancient catapults; oversized and cumbersome but — as demonstrated by the current state of our airship — devastatingly effective.

"Serves us right, loafing about the camp when we should have been changing positions." Lee casts another glance around the side of the debris. "I hate having my feet on the ground in this accursed desert."

"I know what you mean." I mutter.

Thud thud thud. More arrows strike the planking at our backs. The Wasters and trying to scare us out of our hiding spot; it's only a matter of time until they switch tactics.

"Where's the Commander?" I ask, chancing a glance over my shoulder. The Wasters have shifted, making to flank us. We need to move.

"I've no idea." Lee replies. "Do you think the Wasters got him?"

"I hope not, for our sakes." I take a deep breath, straining my ears for any sound of the approaching enemy. It's no use; the madness of battle and the terrifying silence at which the Wasters can move make my attempts fruitless.

They're coming for you. You have to run or you have to fight.

"We need to get out of here." I hear myself say. "Come on."

Lee follows me as I duck and weave my way towards the hill, sliding down the side of it just as another volley of arrows flies over our heads. We land in a heap at the bottom of the incline and I immediately take off towards the largest scrap of ruined airship. When Lee and I join the Commander and the rest of our squadron behind it, we receive only the barest nod of recognition.

"Did you manage to see how many of them are out there?" The Commander barks in our general direction. His jacket is torn and coated in blood and he wears a pained grimace as he clutches at his arm.

"No, I-" Lee stammers before I cut in.

"A couple dozen." I affirm. "Possibly more.They're armed with bows and arrows, not to mention the catapult."

The Commander's eyes dart to me. "You're certain?"

"Yes, sir." I affirm grimly. "It looks as though they've got us pinned down."

"Shit." The Commander swears under his breath, raising his chin to scan the cloudless sky above. "Our second airship isn't due to arrive for a few hours, yet."

"Can we signal to them?" Lee pipes up breathlessly. He runs a shaky hand over the perspiration cascading down his brow. "Any way to get the reinforcements here sooner?"

The muscles in the Commander's jaw flex. "You're welcome to search out a flare from the wreckage, Lee, but I'd wager that the Waster's bloody primeval catapult destroyed anything useful."

I feel myself bristling at the Commander's tone. Gruff and experienced, he has lead many a weary troop into battle, but his condescending nature has always rubbed me the wrong way. Pinned down by the enemy and miles from aid, what we need is a plan.

"A fire." I say suddenly. The Commander's narrow eyes dart to me and I continue hurriedly. "Set fire to the debris; any airship within range should be able to see it and come directly."

There is a general shifting as the men wait for the Commander's response. He stares at me a moment longer and I can fairly see the gears in his head turning. The world around us has gone ominously silent; the Wasters are changing position.

"Good." The Commander speaks with such finality that you would suppose the idea was his own. "Very good. Lee, Corby, Dev, you three go search for a torch; I want this entire battlefield set ablaze. The rest of you, swords at the ready. We'll hold them off as long as we can."

The frantic drumming of my heart slows to a steady rhythm. I square my shoulders and draw my sword, preparing for the inevitable. The calm that follows a storm settles through me, stilling my shaking hand while I furl my fingers more securely around my sword's hilt.

"You there, doctor." The Commander barks at me.

"Sir?"

"The Wasters have the higher ground. Take six men and lead them South of here, I want our asses covered." He motions at a half dozen soldiers and indicates that they should follow me. "Look sharp."

"Yes, sir." I give a tight nod.

"Remember, light on your feet. The Wasters prefer to attack with their arrows; don't give them the opportunity." The Commander's mouth pulls into a grim line. "Let's go."

The Commander takes off, whipping around the side of the hill with the bulk of our army hot on his heels. I wave my own troops in the opposite direction, leading them around the dune's base. There are shouts and the ominous sound of many arrows being loosed. I increase my pace and fairly sprint around the back of the hill, aiming to flank the Wasters while the Commander's troops attack from the front.

They hear us coming, of course. Our City-issue leather boots may as well be hooves, for all the stealth we bring. We trip and stumble on the soft sand, swiping our swords madly in front of us. The Wasters spin in place and bring their weapons up to meet ours, moving with a terrifying swiftness. My blade collides with a solid wood bow, embedding deeply in the grain. The Waster's paint-splattered eyes widen but I don't hesitate, bringing my arms back up and yanking his weapon free of his grip. The bow goes flying and I thrust the point of my sword into his belly, feeling my stomach churn as the life slowly drains from him.

The Waster releases a sickening gurgle and slumps to the side. I pull my sword free and spin around, catching a second Waster in the arm as he rushes towards me. My ears close to the sounds of blood and battle screaming around me as we hack our way from one person to the next, an increasingly vile sensation worming its way up my throat. The Wasters' primitive weapons are no match for our sharpened blades but what they lack in weaponry they make up for in numbers. Our shields are riddled with arrows as the Wasters fire round after round, apparating from the choking, smoke-filled air and attacking with a tireless ferocity.

The smell of burnt wood fills my nostrils and claws it's way down my throat. I breathe shallowly, blinking my eyes to clear my vision of sweat and blood as I fight my way through the endless parade of flesh. It is only when the blessed shadow of an approaching airship passes overhead that I allow myself to look beyond the warrior at my sword's point.

Our comrades are here. We're safe.

For now.

The Wasters scatter, taking their monstrous catapult and vanishing into the flame and smoke-filled desert as suddenly as they appeared. My knees quiver and give out as I release my sword from my iron grip, watching disinterestedly when the rust-coloured blade falls into a mound of soft sand. This battle is over, but it isn't won.

I am vaguely aware of the airship as it docks, instead glancing around at the body-strewn battlefield. When the fighting has ceased and the war cries have silenced, there is little to distinguish a solider from a Waster. The painted faces of the enemy are no different than my kin.

"Focus up, doctor." The Commander's voice jolts me from my stupor and I jerk to attention. "A couple of boys caught some arrows back there." He nods back down the hill. "Get to work."

I bristle, clenching my jaw and casting my gaze around for my medical satchel. Lee jogs up to me and hands it over, smiling crookedly around a swollen eye. I mutter my thanks as I accept my supplies and make my way back down the hill, sliding to a stop alongside the fallen soldiers.

The first man, a grey-haired vet named Hudson has already broken off the shaft of the arrow lodged in his arm. He nods grimly when I thrust a square of gauze at him along with instructions to keep pressure on the wound. The second case, a freckled kid around my own age, looks to be in far graver condition. He breathes shallowly, his blood-soaked fingers clutched around the arrow embedded in his lower torso.

"Hey, Jak." I shoot him a quick grin as I pull items from my satchel and rinse some alcohol over my hands. "Not sure if you've noticed, but you've got a little something stuck to your shirt."

He chokes on a laugh. "Yeah, I thought I felt something, there."

"Not to worry, I'm here to give you a hand with that." I help to ease him into a prone position against the sand. He hisses with the movement and lies stiffly, grimacing as I gently prod at the shaft of the arrow.

It's deep, that much I can tell. I keep my face impassive as I study the position of the arrow. Whether or not the point managed to puncture something vital, I won't know until I take a closer look.

I fashion a tight roll from a scrap of linen and hand it to Jak. "Here."

"What's this for?"

"Thought you might be hungry. Bite down."

He pales but does as instructed, screwing his eyes shut as grip the arrow shaft securely.

"Deep breaths through your nose, Jak. I promise that I'll be as quick as I can."

He nods, an instant later releasing a muffled scream of pain as I gently twirl the shaft, testing it's movement. It seems to give for a moment and then catches, indicating presence of bone. I use my penknife to ease the wound open further and press my finger inside, prompting another yell of pain from Jak.

I shut my ears to his shouts as I trace the path of the arrow, using my finger to test its placement. The ribcage shudders as Jak draws ragged breaths. I give the arrow an experimental tug but it holds fast, firmly embedded in the bone.

"Right." I pull my hand back and shake off my jacket, tossing it aside and rolling up my sleeves. "You're one lucky bloke, Jak. Your ribs have done a handy job of protecting the rest of you, but now the bone's going to have to say goodbye to it's new friend."

Jak makes an indistinguishable sound and I remove the linen from his mouth.

"You want a nip?"

Jak nods, his eyes stretched wide. I hand over my flask and he takes a deep draught, some of the colour returning to his cheeks as he lies back against the ground. "All right, doc."

"Brave man. Here we go." I place my left hand on his shoulder to brace him and curl my other around the shaft. "Won't be a moment."

I grit my teeth, committing the angle and depth of the arrow to memory before yanking it free with a single, mighty pull.

Jak releases an inhuman yelp and slumps back, his wide eyes rolling in his skull before they flutter closed and his head slumps to the side. I take full advantage of his lapse in consciousness, keeping one hand pressed over the wound as I root around in my bag for gauze and more linen. I bind the laceration quickly, pulling the bandage tight and checking the gauze for any seeping blood. Thankfully, it seems to hold firm. I rinse and dry my hands before moving back over to Hudson. His arrow slips free easily, his injury relatively minor.

The Commander joins us just as I finish patching up Hudson. Jak has come to and is distracting himself with sips of water, though his eyes keep darting to the flask of alcohol poking out of my satchel.

"How are we doing, gentlemen?" The Commander is incapable of tact, storming up to my patients and demanding our full attention.

"We're fine here." I focus on cleaning up my supplies. "Have the rest of the wounded been triaged?"

"They're all onboard the ship." The Commander extends an arm to Hudson and yanks him to his feet. Hudson grimaces and sways in place. I grind my teeth and move to help Jak to stand before the Commander can reach him.

We skirt the hill and make our way towards the ship. Lee and another soldier rush over to help us and I unsling Jak's arm from my neck, straightening and squinting into the sun's glare.

The battlefield is cold and silent, motionless save for the occasional gust of wind spewing sand across the fight's lost souls. I pause a moment longer, my eyes darting across the scene until I spot it, again.

There. The smallest hint of movement from one of the forms lying in the dust.

"Just a moment." I hear myself say. "Someone's alive, over there. I'm going to check it out."

The Commander follows my eyeline. "Is it one of ours?"

"I can't tell." I hitch the strap of my medical satchel higher on my shoulder and take a step away. "I'm just going to take a closer look."

I'm not necessarily waiting for the Commander's permission but I wait respectfully, grinding my teeth until he finally gives a tight nod.

"All right, hurry up." He grunts. "I want to get the hell out of this godsforsaken desert."

"Yes, sir." I spin on my heel and jog deeper into the Wasteland, stumbling on the uneven surface and purposely averting my gaze from the still and blood-soaked forms littering the ground. The person up ahead has ceased their stirring and I increase my pace, slowing only when I am close enough to recognize their gnarled hair and tattooed skin.

A Waster.

For an instant I consider turning away, returning to the ship and leaving this unfortunate to their fate. I even manage a step back before the Waster's eyes fly open, at once halting me in my tracks.

I glance once over my shoulder. The Commander is occupied with the men loading our salvaged supplies into the airship and hasn't yet realized that the survivor is an enemy. My fingers furl around the pommel of the sword at my waist. I know what my duty dictates.

Drawing a deep breath, I turn back to the Waster. The fear that accompanies youth on a battlefield is written clearly in his expression. His left leg is twisted awkwardly and he clutches his side, his blue-painted fingers doing little to slow the blood seeping free of his wound.

In the next instant, my mind is made up. I release my sword and kneel down beside him, shrugging off my medical satchel and hurriedly withdrawing my supplies.

The Waster jerks back at my approach, grimacing in pain.

"It's all right." I say, softly. "I can help you."

He eyes me suspiciously but remains still. When I tug his hand away from the gash in his side he resists, hissing again when the wound pulls.

"Listen, I don't have much time." I say, annoyed. "I can leave you to die out here, if you prefer."

The Waster makes an indistinguishable sound but allows me to push his hand aside and examine his laceration.

"It's not deep." I twist the cap from the vial of alcohol and make to pour it onto a scrap of linen.

"Do not." The Waster boy jerks away again, his eyes widening.

"It's fine. This will prevent infection. Look." I take a gulp of the alcohol, wrinkling my nose at the pungent taste. "See?"

He looks at the soaked rag and back to me. Pain or abject confusion finally forces his decision and he acquiesces with the barest of nods.

"Right, then." I clean and bandage his injury as quickly as I can, then reach back into my satchel for a spool of thick cloth. I unwind and cut four lengths of linen, glancing about for something else I can use.

"Loan me your weapon, will you?" I nod at the fearsome bo staff clutched in his other hand. The Waster's knuckles blaze white before he drags it across the sand and hands the staff to me.

I look back down the hill. Most of the soldiers have already made their way into the ship but the Commander is still standing with his back to us. I straighten, holding the ends of the bo staff in either hand before cracking it in half over my knee. The sound of splintering wood is deafening and I immediately fall back beside my patient, placing the two broken halves of the staff on either side of his twisted leg.

"It needs to be set." I explain, fighting to keep the urgency from my voice. "I can't fix your leg, here, but I can put it in a splint. That should be enough for you to get yourself back to your people."

"Why are you doing this?" The Waster's voice is low. "Why help me?"

I release a frustrated breath and shrug my shoulders, answering honestly. "I don't know."

Strangely enough, that seems to satisfy him and he gamely holds onto my shoulder as I prepare to straighten his leg.

"Try not to make a sound." I instruct.

"I will try."

With one swift motion I lift his mangled limb and force it to straighten. The Waster's grip is vice-like on my shoulder but he remains silent, expelling only a shaky grunt of pain.

"Hard part's over." I flash him a quick grin before moving to tie the wooden rods around his leg, using the strips of linen to keep the makeshift splint in place. "That ought to do it."

The Waster boy examines his bandaged leg, raising it experimentally. From somewhere in the distance I can hear the Commander calling for me.

"I've got to go." I gather up my medical supplies, shoving them back into my satchel. "Make sure someone properly sets that leg for you, when you get home."

He nods, watching me carefully. I make to stand when his hand darts out and grips me by the wrist.

"Wait." He reaches into the folds of bloodied cloth at his chest and tugs something free of his neck. "Here, take this."

A simple pendant crafted of stone and leather is dropped into my outstretched palm. The stone is smooth and painted blue, the same shade as the tattoos decorating the Waster's skin.

"In case I can repay the favour, one day." The boy explains.

I nod, stuffing the pendant into the pocket of my jacket. "God's luck to you."

"And earth's luck to you."

We exchange a quick nod and I take off across the field, looping the long way around and pausing behind a mound of sand. I withdraw my sword and dip it's blade in a shallow pool of blood, careful not to look too closely at the surrounding carnage.

When I arrive back at the airship the Commander is waiting, his arms crossed and his brows furrowed together. "What took so long?"

"Just a couple of Wasters in need of aid." I gesture to the freshly-stained sword at my waist. "I took care of them."

He glances down and his brow clears. "Very good, doctor."

The Commander claps a heavy hand on my shoulder and steers me towards the gangplank. We board and I move towards the injured soldiers laid out near the back of the ship, my feet scuffing somewhat on the worn floorboards.

As I kneel down beside the first of my charges, my hand slips into my pocket and grips the stone pendant. The smooth stone warms in my palm, quelling the last of my tremors and stealing me for a long flight. I barely notice the slight shuddering when the ship rises into the air, focusing instead on my patients and their various injuries. Concentrating on my work helps to clear my mind and soon, the image of the Waster kid with the twisted leg has all but faded away.

Not for the first time, I begin to question the merit of this war. I have been fighting for a mere three years, but my comrades have been engaged for much, much longer. Fragments mostly, we have been given little information and little choice in this matter. Fighting for our City is simple enough when the faces of our Waster enemy are fearsome and hidden by shadows, but that is no longer the case. Maybe it isn't our differences that have made us adversaries, maybe it's just our circumstance.

There is something rotten with this war. I just need to figure out the source.

* * * * *

Several weeks later I am hunched over the small desk I have fashioned from my shield, scribbling madly on a piece of parchment. The previous day's battle left a slew of dead and injured, all of whom I have to record for the Commander's records.

I lean back, shaking out my sore wrist. My hand is cramped and my eyes blur from too many hours spent working by candlelight. Our makeshift camp is more spacious than the airship's cramped quarters, but no more comfortable. I glance at the sleeping figure passed out on the bedroll next to mine. Lee grunts in his sleep and rolls onto his side, burying his head further into the pillow. My own bed calls out to me invitingly. Save for the few men on watch, my fellow soldiers have been asleep for hours and if I had any sense, I would take my own chance at rest. Tomorrow's trials will be no easier than today's. I rub my palms over my tired eyes and blink at the spots that form.

It is then that I notice how unusually quiet it has become.

I glance up, ears straining. I listen for the sound of snores, of the shuffling feet of the sentry making his rounds. There is nothing; only a vast, deafening silence.

My legs are shaky, cramped from too much time spent in one position. I move to the door of my tent, cautiously pushing aside the flap and poking my head out. The camp is completely still. I squint into the dying light cast by our bonfire's final embers. The lack of movement suggests that all is well.

It is also a warning that something is very, very wrong.

I withdraw back into my tent, aiming to take up my weapon and investigate further. I manage but one step before I halt in my tracks, eyes stretching wide as a dark figure slips free of the shadows.

A lethal-looking dagger is clutched in each of his hands. My eyes instinctively dart to my sword, now hopelessly out of reach. Beyond that is Lee, appearing fast asleep if it weren't for the uneasy stillness of his form and the dark blood staining his pillow. Realization begins to sink in and I feel my heartbeat hammer its way from my chest to my throat. The stranger stands impassively, tilting his head ever-so-slightly as if waiting for me to make the first move. His features are mostly obscured by the dark scarf wrapped around his face, but a pair of sharp eyes glint dangerously in the sparse candlelight.

For a moment I consider turning tail and running, but something tells me that this silent outsider will strike me down before I make it two paces.

"All right." My voice shakes as I slowly raise my hands into the air. "Let's have a chat."

There is the barest twitch of his mouth behind the scarf. "No."

And then he lunges.

I throw myself to the side, grappling madly for something, anything to defend myself. My hands close around one of my books and I hold it up, rolling onto my back just as his dagger plunges down. The blade catches in the thick cover of the book and I twist the weapon free of his hand, casting both it and the book away.

He recovers quickly, lashing out with the other dagger and scoring a laceration across my chest. I grunt and throw a wild punch, sending him stumbling back and giving me enough just enough room to scramble away. I make a desperate lunge for my sword, falling to the side when he kicks my feet out from under me. I am sent flying and a my stack of parchments go flying, momentarily distracting us both. The lantern falls to the ground and cracks, dripping oil onto the ground. I seize my opportunity and bring my foot down on the glass casing, shattering it and releasing the flame within.

At once, there is an almighty whoosh as the fire finds the books and parchments, devouring the rubbish hungrily and alighting the tent in an instant. A wall of smoke and fire stands between myself and my attacker but I don't wait to see what he does next. I keep low, crawling towards the nearest tent wall and ducking beneath the canvas, rolling free of the inferno in an effort to extinguish the flames licking at my clothes.

The scene is reminiscent of one I witnessed three years prior, in a shabby flat deep within the Fragment district. The only difference is that this time, I am the one running for my life.

My chest aches from a combination of smoke and blood loss. I push myself to my feet and stumble a few steps into the darkness, glancing once over my shoulder towards the smouldering tent, shielding my eyes against the glare and searching desperately for some sign of my pursuer.

Seeing no one, I zigzag a complicated pattern back towards the encampment. The fire has now spread to the other tents but not one other person is in sight. Stumbling on the soft ground I run and claw my way forward, somewhere in the recesses of my mind registering the need for a weapon.

I manage to come within a hair's breadth of shelter before I see it; a familiar shadow rushing at me from the side. Instinctively, I twist away, catching the brunt of his blade in my upper arm but miraculously saving my neck. Collapsing onto all fours, I clutch my arm and gasp in pain. My attacker takes his time in planning his next move, tracing a semi-circle in the sand and studying me with a measured curiosity.

I can feel the fight ebbing out of me. The heat of the fire licks at my face and various injuries, coaxing me into its warmth and away from this battle. In some strange way, it feels very fitting to die surrounded by flames.

Then, as if by its own volition, my hand snakes into my pocket and withdraws the stone pendant. I hold it aloft by the strip of leather, thrusting it up into the face of my soon-to-be killer.

He pauses, his eyes darting from the pendant and then down to me. His dark brows furrow, as if working out a potential trap.

"Where did you get that?" He says, finally. His voice is not as deep as I imagined and it occurs to me that this assailant is little more than a boy.

"A Waster gave it to me." I hold the pendant up higher and the rounded stone glows orange.

The stranger remains stock-still for a moment longer, eventually extending his hand and indicating that I should give him the pendant. When I acquiesce, my shoulder protesting at the movement, I notice that his fingers are decorated with swirls of blue ink. My attacker is a Waster, after all.

"You say that a Waster gave you this?" The boy speaks slowly, all traces of urgency gone despite the fire eating away at the camp behind him. "Willingly?"

"Yes." I grimace as I adjust my position. "As thanks for saving his life."

The dagger aimed at my throat lowers until it is resting against his side. "You have been very fortunate, tonight."

I almost laugh, instead choking on the white-hot rage percolating beneath my surface. "Funny, it doesn't feel that way."

I draw ragged breaths, clenching and unclenching my fists as the blade disappears into the Waster's sleeve and he smoothly pockets the stone pendant.

"Wait!" I call out. "I need that back. How will the rest of your soldiers know not to kill me?"

He turns back to face me. "There is no one else here."

I feel my brows knit together, glancing about at the the carnage that was once my camp. Nearly twenty men, all of them trained soldiers now lie slaughtered and burning where they lay down to sleep. Together, we have taken on entire armies of Wasters; one person could not possibly be responsible for all of their deaths.

"How..." I stutter and sway in place, fighting the wave of exhaustion that threatens to overtake me. "I don't understand."

"I am the choice warrior." The Waster speaks simply, as though he were stating the most obvious fact in the world. "It is my duty to ensure that all of your souls pass into the next world as peacefully as possible. Your tribesmen did not know fear or pain."

I shake my head back and forth, uncomprehending. "You're a murderer."

"So are you." His voice has darkened. "You saved one of my comrades, but how many have you killed? You are graceless in your methods, but I am charitable in mine."

"You can justify it however you like." I spit. "But the fact remains that you slaughtered men while they were asleep in their beds. At least the people I killed were given the chance to fight back."

"But in the end, they all rest underground, do they not?" The masked Waster makes a show of palming his dagger and twirling it expertly in his hand. "No matter your choice of battle, the outcome is always the same. Your methods have brought this war no closer to an end. Perhaps mine will."

He blurs before me and I shake my head to clear it. When the world swims back into view, the Waster is gone and the flames are stretched high above my head. Slowly, painfully, I drag myself to my feet and put my back to the burning encampment, stumbling away from the carnage and into the cold desert darkness. It is only when I am free of the flames and no longer locked in a fight for my life that the weight of everything finally settles over me.

Lee, Jak, Hudson...all of my friends, gone. The Commander, gone. The men that I have fought alongside, protected and healed...the people that I trusted with my own life....gone. Gone in a matter of minutes at the hand of a single, dagger-wielding assassin.

No matter your choice of battle, the outcome is always the same.

The Wasters have adapted to this war. They have built monstrous weapons of large-scale destruction and trained a single man to take down an entire infantry.

Your methods have brought this war no closer to an end.

Times have changed. The meaning of warfare has changed. Now, I have no choice but to alter my own way of thinking.

I will root out the source. I will go back to where all of this began. Like the assassin, I will change and adapt. I have always suspected that there was something rotten behind this war and now, I am hell-bent on snatching the matches from his royal hand.

To smother the fire, I will extinguish the fuel.

=====

Hello, my runners! Sorry for the extended absence, I hope that you enjoyed this chapter!

A bit of news: I have re-written The Runner and published it over at Radish Fiction. If you are interested in re-reading the original series, then it's definitely worth downloading the Radish app and subscribing. I have added some brand new, key details to the second draft and it will all be leading up to an alternate ending in The Wastelands! I would love it if you took a look and let me know what you think.

As always, if you have any ideas or requests for the next Burn chapter, feel free to leave a note :)

Thanks for reading!!

xx

Kate