The weakness from hunger and thirst, and fatigue from the lack of rest, were never ending. Days ran into nights and back into days, again and again in a cyclical drone, and she rode on, not knowing where to go and focused wholly on increasing the distance between herself and the pursuing army. She drank from small puddles where she could find them and chewed leaves in an attempt to keep the gnawing hunger at bay.

Humbaba – she had decided to name the carrier, her only remaining companion, in honour of that joyful Rathian boy – was getting skinnier and slower by the day. His once-glossy coat had dulled and patches were worn off where the saddle had rubbed. It was getting irritable, but at least it was still willing to gallop when she willed it.

The lives of those sacrificed merely in the past week weighed heavy on her shoulders. The sense of responsibility was magnified with every thump of the book against her chest, reminding her of the importance of its and her survival, and what blood had been shed. She didn't dare think too much about it, but she was quite possibly the last Windcaster alive.

The training in mental and physical perseverance under Master Marduk during Tia's time at Ptarmigan Fortress certainly had come in useful. None of the previous years spent in sheltered, peaceful, slow Mooncliffe would have prepared her for days on end of hunger, thirst, sleeplessness, fear, and exposure to nature. The Tiamat of Mooncliffe a year ago would not have survived for so long.

Master Marduk wouldn't have been disappointed in the apprentice he had trained, not that praise would ever come out of his cruel lips. He would likely instead berate her for not following up on the paper work, or for not scribing quick enough. That would probably have result in a late or missed supper.

She almost laughed, had she the energy, at the ridiculousness of it all. Such worries and punishment seemed so mundane now, so irrelevant.

Her half-chuckle died in her throat as the world around her blurred again. She clutched at Humbaba's long, slender neck as she swayed dangerously; the exhaustion was overwhelming. She struggled to maintain conscious but her skin tingled all over, almost as if her soul was pulling itself out of body.

Deciding it was time to stop, or else she would collapse, she pulled the carrier to a stop, not caring about where she might be. Anywhere was better than lying half-dead or being caught when unconscious from fatigue.

She slid off, not letting go of the rein.

She had no idea where she was now; all around her was barren land and abandoned buildings. Most of the structures were burned to a crisp and new growth had sprouted through the earth and ashes. The air was still, the silence eerie. A burned smell still lingered in the air. Moss grew over the low stone walls.

She picked her way through the soot and remnants, avoiding catching her feet in the new roots; if she fell now, she would not have the energy to pick herself up again.

Her leather boots left little foot trails behind her. Humbaba tossed its head, irritable. She patted its neck in sympathy.

"Let us find some place to rest, my friend." Her stomach scrunched together painfully and she winced. Nothing would be edible or drinkable in this dire environment, she lamented. "Perhaps I can find some place to Sing to Mommu again," she said out loud, trying to distract her head from the hunger.

She let go of the carrier. Humbaba slid to its knees and then onto its belly, leaning on its side with a sigh, its usually perky ears beginning to droop.

Scanning her surroundings, Tia wondered what sort of place this used to be. The roofs had long collapsed and empty holes were where glass windows would have gleamed all those years ago. She could see household appliances behind some collapsed walls: blackened metal bed frames, charred clay fireplaces, and remnants of half-burned wooden furniture. The abandoned buildings were mostly of elegant design – what she could make of them. They were very traditional Dernexan structures: square, with small windows and delicate arches, which to this day still retained their intricate, chiselled decorations. All the glamour that would have graced the surface had long disappeared, however.

Glass crunched and charcoal splintered beneath her boots. Each step interrupted the otherwise pristine silence; not even the rustle of leaves or the chirps of birds could be heard.

She coughed, her eyes watering as a particularly unexpected, deep stomp caused soot to fly into the air. Flapping her arm in front of her, she screwed up her eyes in an attempt to see. She had arrived at a clearing, where the houses lining the sides curved away, leaving a circle in the centre. Thick layers of dust, charcoal, and dead grass meant she was stepping on a duvet-like surface as she made her way to the centre.

She set the base of her staff down in front of her and clutched the tome to her chest. She gave her surroundings a quick survey. There was no sign of life anywhere as far as she could see, just the pitiful, burned remains of what must have once been a glorious city.

The Windcaster closed her eyes, easily finding a spot to slot her energy into the Wind. She gathered what little strength she had left and aligned herself, settling into the comfortable familiarity as the beautiful harmony filled her to the core.

Mommu?

She was greeted with nothing but the melody of the Wind. Nothing from the other Windcaster.

Mommu – please reply if you can hear me. I am still waiting for you. Ratho is not safe anymore. Please be careful. I do not know where I am now... just in a city of ashes. Find me soon. I will wait for as long as I can.

She withdrew, depressed. As she sat cross-legged on the ground, not caring about how dirty the ashes would make her look – she was filthy anyway – she leant back against the collapsed walls, watching the clouds float by and the sun coursing its way across the sky.

Tia couldn't see her own reflection, but she knew she badly needed a wash. Her fringe had long clumped together in a greasy mess, poking her in the eyes occasionally. She had gotten used to the smell of her own body odour, but knew after being denied a bath for so long she wouldn't have looked out of place amongst the urchins of Ratho. Dirt and blood were crusted under her nails and the palms of her hands were callused from clutching the reins.

She had never felt so alone in her life. Back in Mooncliffe, she had Master Anu and Mommu, and in Capital, she had the other trainees for company. Even in Ptarmigan Fortress, she knew the lieutenants and she felt she had a purpose trotting after Master Marduk. But now? Armed with her staff and a tome she couldn't decipher, riding on an exhausted carrier with no energy to fend for herself, what was her purpose? There was some comfort in knowing that the message had gone to the army. They were on their way back – not that she would survive long enough until their return, if she waited. Even without the Mawlinese chasing her from town to town, she wasn't going to make it in the wild, like this.

And there were still a few Windcasters with the army who would have received Master Anu's message. Perhaps she wouldn't be the last surviving one, after all.

She liked the mundane aspects of life. She hadn't really appreciated it when she was still in Mooncliffe. Back then, she had dreamed of travelling far and wide, meeting new people, and indulging in new experiences and cultures. She had such an idealistic view of the world out there she had never stopped and wondered what would happen if it wasn't as beautiful and flawless as she had visualised.

The Tia back then didn't even know what slaves were like. The Tia back then thought Windcasters were always on the side of good, always striving to better themselves and to be one with nature, and to use their privilege as allies of nature to help humans at the same time. She would never have thought the Wind had been manipulated to kill other humans, by her own kind. She would have been horrified to know that several years later, she herself would begin to sympathise with that type of Windcasters.

She was so naïve. It was laughable.

Her heart heavy as stone and her muscles fatigued, she spiralled further and further into the gloom. Her mouth was turned down at the corners as she rested her elbows on her knees, burying her face into the crooks of her arms. Her shoulders heaved, yet tears would not come; her eyes remained dry. She pressed harder into the bony parts of her arm, causing fireworks to explode across the inside of her eye. Still, the tears wouldn't come.

She had only meant to rest for several minutes, but perhaps it was the barrage of guilty thoughts, perhaps it was physical fatigue, perhaps it was the chronic hunger; whatever the cause was, she was fast asleep, leaning against the sooty wall, dreamless, utterly still from exhaustion. Her limbs had turned to parts of a statue, thankful for the much-needed rest.

Tia's eyelids fluttered open.

She didn't quite know what it was, but something woke her.

She blinked again, trying to re-orientate herself. It was still pitch black and even if she squinted, she could see nothing more than shadowy outlines of the fallen walls. White mist formed from her breath, dancing in the air in front of her. She shivered; her muscles were cramped and achy.

Something didn't feel quite right. Aside from the disbelief that she had slept for several hours longer than she had planned, something was amiss. She glanced at Humbaba. She could hear the carrier pawing the ground and shuffling its hooves, unnerved.

She got to her feet, on alert and ignoring the spasms of her muscles. What had woken her?

There was a slow breeze in the air. Tia tuned her ears to the Wind, trying to expand her hearing range and sense any abnormalities.

The clink of metal made her heart stop.

No. They should not have been able to follow me here! She thought in a panic. In the darkness, she was as good as blind – but then, so were the soldiers, and she had the Wind on her side. Keeping a frozen ear open, she crept, silent as a feather. She stretched her left hand out to guide her way, her right hand gripping her valuables with numb fingers.

It took all her self-control not to bolt as soon as she could – if she had the energy. Her heart fluttering like that of a small animal, she crept away, tiny step by tiny step, until she managed to distance herself from the group of fifty-strong men.

There was an indignant squeal.

Damn! Tia mentally kicked herself. She forgot about Humbaba!

"That's her carrier!" one of the men shouted – thankfully from quite a way away. Tia cursed under her breath. Without her carrier, she couldn't flee. If she couldn't flee, she was dead.

Using the last bout of her energy, she planted her staff onto the ground and linked herself with the Wind. Exhaustion flooded through her veins and her knees trembled, but she steeled herself. She needed to get out of here.

She whistled shrilly. The sharp sound shattered the silence as it pierced the night air.

"What was that?"

Humbaba cantered towards her at once. As soon as it was out of the way, she threw a blast of Wind straight up from the ground, putting in as much energy as she could to maintain a swirling, high wall of dust ash and sand, exerting extra effort to envelope where she thought the men were. Focusing on spinning on as big a radius and as rapid as she could, there was some kind of satisfaction knowing control wasn't something she needed at that point in time. She needn't restrain it – if anything, the wilder it blows, the more cover she can get.

She picked up her staff. The Wind continued to spin, no longer under her authority, and the radius expanded, picking up more dust and debris. She turned away, shielding her face from the force and clambered onto the smooth back of the carrier. Without further ado, they were off, sprinting into the darkness. Behind them, she could hear the Wind dying down far too soon – she was too weak to kick-start it properly, but through the noise, there was also – her stomach dropped – the sound of armour.

The two sped up. Tia could feel Humbaba straining beneath her, its breathing coming quicker and harsher. Her own breathing was also heavy and laboured. The cold air tore her throat and lungs into shreds, and her mind wasn't working any longer. All she could see was red. Blood pounded, deafening, in her ears.

The world rocked with every bump. One moment she could hear the indistinct shouts and the clangs of metal, gaining on her, and the next, the world tilted on its axis.

She lost all sense of comprehension. She was suddenly reminded of Kiramone.

A black sky, with stars blinking benevolently down at her, filled her vision. She didn't even feel the impact as she hit the ground. Her breathing came out ragged, weak. The nerves on her skin had gone to sleep; she couldn't feel anything. Where she had expected pain, there was only numbness. She wondered where she had been hit. It was a miracle really; she had survived for so long without being injured. She raised a hand, trying to feel on her body where the weapon must have hit, but her limb flopped down again, useless.

Her eyes blinked, slow like syrup.

Overhead, she could hear voices. The words went straight through her.

"If you do not wish to declare war, Mawlinese, you will desist there."

"She is an offender who has been escaping for many a day. Hand her over – right now!"

The words meant nothing to her. Sensation drained out of her arms and legs.

"She is in no fit state to move. If you wish to take her into your custody, you can do so yourself. But be warned: if you step over the border, our troops will consider this a declaration of war."

"Your country is treading on dangerous grounds here!"

"No, it is your men who are playing a dangerous game. This is our border. Do not make me repeat myself again, Mawlin."

The darkness that came was a blessing. She let herself be coaxed into its warm, seductive embrace.