I woke up to someone shaking me by the shoulders. Fingers, small and desperate, digging, digging—
“Get up, Esmer!” Elliot screamed, eyes wild and face contorted with anguish. Tears slid down his cheeks, running into his mouth. “Please get up, please get up—! ”
For a moment, I was unable to comprehend. Refused to comprehend. Then the shouts—the shrieks—rose up in a hellish chorus, giving me no other option but to face reality straight in its horrible face.
“We got to hide—they’re tryin’ to kill us,” Elliot wailed, grabbing me by the arm and pulling me up. “It might be too late, but I didn’t want to leave you.”
As my feet found the floor, I faintly registered a numbness shifting over my limbs. Fear. I wanted to hide. I wanted to do nothing but hide. But it was too late for that.
I couldn’t hide. Not any longer.
“Elliot, who is trying to kill us? The Light Legion?”
“No, the village,” he wailed miserably. “The entire village .”
The tendons in my knees felt liquid, weak, but I moved toward the windowsill anyways. The sun was hours from lifting over the horizon, but it was not darkness that met my eyes. No—darkness was far from what wrapped itself around our home. Torchlight, dancing fiendishly across our property, stabbed at the night air. The Visstill was alive with glints of metal and crazed, hate-filled eyes. Dozens of eyes, hollow and feral. And they were moving in a frenzied mob toward our home.
They were gathering in front of our home .
“I saw—I saw—” Elliot shuddered, his small shoulders curling inwards. “I think Mother and Father are dead. When you didn’t wake up, I thought you might be dead, too.”
“Elliot—”
“I think they’re dead,” he howled, not hearing me. “An’ I don’t want you to end up d-dead either!”
I looked at Elliot’s beautiful, innocent face, and my stomach roiled. Thick, curling lashes clumped together with tears. Eyes a soft, warm brown, now black with grief. Dark hair curling over his ears and neck, now knotted with tangles. I reached out to hold him, to put my arms around him and will the world away, when a crash resonated from the stairs.
A masked legionnaire stumbled up the stairs into our room, clamoring on his hands and knees as something grabbed at his foot from behind. He glanced wildly at Elliot and I as he struggled, kicking again and again—but whatever it was at the foot of our stairs began to pull, dragging him downstairs. As he fell, he grabbed for the railing, clutching the wood with all his strength.
“A little—help —would be nice!” the legionnaire yelled, throwing another violent kick at the attacker that I could now see was a Corrupt that resembled a nearby farmer. The young man’s golden armor was streaked with blood, and his cape, now trailing along our floor, left behind darker marks of red. “A knife, a hammer—” He paused to take another kick, groaning with effort. “A chair, a vase—something !”
Elliot and I ran frantically around the room, seizing the first objects we saw. Elliot threw a heavy winter blanket, which tangled around the Corrupt’s bloodied body, and I flung a landscape that Eden painted, which ricocheted through the air before it slammed against the Corrupt’s sneering face. The Corrupt fell back, howling, and landed in a heap of unnatural angles at the bottom of the stairs.
The legionnaire jumped to his feet, immediately wincing. “Ah, that stings a bit more than expected,” he hissed, clutching a wound in his side. “Though I do have my legs back, thanks to your valiant…” He trailed off, looking at the lifeless heap at the bottom of the stairs. “Blanket and art throwing. Never seen that one before. Nice.”
“If you’re here to take us with you, we refuse,” I announced, desperately wishing I had an actual weapon in my hands. Corrupt were horrifyingly strong and notoriously difficult to outrun. If we didn’t escape now—and preferably armed with a weapon or two—we wouldn’t stand a chance against the growing mob. “Elliot and I had no part in Norhavellis’s Corruption, and you owe us for saving your life. Give us your sword and let us go.”
“A shame. You’d stand much more of a chance if you stuck with us.” He pulled his mask off, wiping the sweat off his dark brow and stubbled jaw with a swipe of his forearm. He was young—and handsome. Wounded and smeared with blood and dirt, but hardly a year or two older than I was. He didn’t put the mask back on. Instead, he clipped it to a holster at his side. “We legionnaires are actually quite honorable, you know. You have nothing to fear from me or anyone else for that matter.”
“Two of your honorable men refused us the elixir last night. You’re trying to tempt us into Corruption like our parents.”
He shook his head, frowning. “No—no . That’s not at all how this works.”
“Silas! Silas, where are you?” called a musical voice from somewhere downstairs. “Silas—oh.” A masked young woman, clad in the armor of the Light Legion, appeared at the bottom of the stairs, nearly tripping over the Corrupt’s body. “I thought this one had you for certain. How fortunate you aren’t dead.” She glanced between Elliot and I, pulling off her mask and placing it at her side so as to take a better look. Her kohl-ringed eyes, framed by waves of dark red hair, were curious and slightly judgmental. “Ah, the two ruffians. Are these your rescuers?”
“It’s great to see you too, Mila,” Silas muttered. “And yes, they are.”
I drew myself up to my full height, sending the woman the most imposing gaze—not unlike the one the Light Bringer gave my family—that I could muster. “We saved your comrade’s life, so you will let us leave at once.”
“Let you leave?” Mila asked, clearly perplexed. “You’ll need weapons, first. Which do you prefer? Knives? Spears? An axe, perhaps?” She hopped over the Corrupt and bounded up the stairs. Once in our room, she looked around, frowning at what she saw. “Why, you’re not fighters at all, are you? Especially, you , little boy,” she said, gesturing absently at Elliot, who made a face back at her. “What shall we do with them, Silas? Can’t have them running around with wooden spoons.”
The Corrupt at the bottom of the stairs shuddered and groaned.
Silas and Mila shared a pointed look.
“Now, this probably isn’t the best time for this—”
“Mila,” Silas said, a hard edge to his voice.
Mila jumped back down the stairs, ignoring him, and analyzed the Corrupt’s ruined face. “Our Lord of Light would be very pleased with this sample.” She pried open the Corrupt’s eyes with a gloved hand; they sharpened into focus under her touch, nearly appearing lucid, but rolled back before its next breath. “Yes, yes. All the right features. Half-conscious, not too strong, though he did almost get you—but you’re not much of a fighter either, are you, Silas?” She pulled a line of cording from around her hip, artfully tying knots around the Corrupt’s wrists and ankles. “There, there. Help me move him.”
Silas grunted in reluctant agreement. “Quickly.”
The Light Legion were tasked with collecting—capturing , really—all living Corrupt. Citizens who refused to take the elixir, willfully consorted with demons, or were too impoverished to afford it. In the Light Legion’s eyes, all Corrupt, no matter their origin, were one and the same.
I shuddered and crossed my arms, debating on the risks of jumping out of our window and running for the woods as Silas and Mila argued back and forth. I turned to Elliot, who looked just as aghast as I felt. We didn’t say what we were both thinking—that Mother and Father would be sharing the fate of this Corrupt. Their souls would be spared by the Light Bringer, but the demons inside them would be destroyed.
Along with their mortal bodies.
“Elliot, come on,” I whispered, backing slowly toward our window.
Silas didn’t turn, too preoccupied with the wild-eyed woman and the crumpled demon-man at the foot of the stairs, and we slipped out onto the roof without effort. Outside, the fighting and clanging of metal on metal muffled what little sound we made, so we carefully moved to a quieter, darker side of our home. But just as we were considering the best way to climb down, two figures squeezed out of our window.
Silas and Mila scrambled after us, capes catching in the jagged texture of the roof. They crouched forward, balancing against the uneven surface.
“We gotta get away from these crazy guys!” Elliot yelped, shuffling faster toward the edge.
“You both—stop! Stop—running —and listen!” Silas yelled, his voice betraying the degree of his wounds. “You’re going to die if you go down there—it isn’t what you think, it’s—”
“Well, would you look at that? They’re running away at an even faster pace.”
“Would you just—”
“What a pain,” Mila sighed, moving at a confident, agile pace that outmatched Silas’s. “Esmer, Elliot. Noble Havenfall siblings—forgive me for earlier. I’m certain you’re both strong in your own way. Care to stop for a chat?”
I faced our armored pursuers, ignoring the plummeting feeling in my chest that I was very, very in over my head. Mila was right—I could be strong in my own way. Capable, even. First, I would trip them. Shove them, if I had to. Then, as they sat on the ground with broken ankles and discouraged resolves, Elliot and I would make our escape.
But then I saw the bruised fingers of three Corrupt grasping at the edge below our feet.
“Uh—‘smer!” Elliot screamed, grabbing my hand and yanking me closer to our two suddenly less worrisome enemies.
The Corrupt pulled themselves up until their elbows were pinned to the roof, feet kicking against the side of the house for leverage. They grinned at us—the three of them—and let out a chorus of gleeful snarls.
“Children! How wonderful that you’re still alive,” one rasped. It was Norhavellis’s baker. Edgar . His dripping mustache leaked a substance darker than the rings around his eyes—eyes that were no longer of the kind, warm-eyed man who always made do with sparse ingredients, bringing light into Norhavellis where there was scarce any to begin with.
I recoiled, horrified, as I recognized the faces of the others: Muriel and Anna, Edgar’s wife and child.
Their strength—and the unnatural resonance to their voices—must have come from the demons within them. The demons who were now them .
“Yes, better for us that they’re not already dead!” Anna bellowed, clambering over the edge before the rest. She was a slim girl near Elliot’s age. If we had the luxury of a schoolhouse, they’d be in the same year. Tears streamed down her cheeks, reflecting in the torchlight, and she headed straight for us, eyes aflame. “You ruined us.”
“That’s not true,” Elliot insisted, on the verge of tears again. “We always tried to help.”
“Traitor!” Anna screamed, lunging with a snarl and throwing herself into Elliot’s side with such quickness, such viciousness—before I could react.
Mila sprung from behind, flipping the girl to the roof with a practiced sweep of her boot. Anna leapt back up—far too quickly—and rolled under Mila’s foot, diving for Elliot again. But Mila was quick, too. She knotted a fist in the girl’s cloak and flung her away in one fluid, forceful movement, leaving her sprawled on her spine and sliding backwards down the roof. Edgar and Muriel grabbed for Anna’s flailing limbs, still struggling to worm their own bodies over the edge.
“Let go’a me! Let go !” Anna shrieked.
But the more they grabbed, the more Anna lurched backwards. She slid off the edge, dragging Edgar and Muriel with her. It was Elliot—not Edgar, Muriel, or even Anna—who cried out as they fell. After they hit the ground, they did not move.
“T-they sounded almost—almost themselves ,” Elliot sobbed.
“Corruption levels aren’t always linear,” Silas offered. He shifted on his feet a bit, attempting to straighten his posture while balancing on the uneven surface. “It’s sometimes impossible to even see Corruption. When the demon is skilled at mirroring its chosen, we see what we want to see. And the demons use this against us.”
Elliot looked at me, mouth open.
“But it takes time to fully descend into Corruption. How do you know when—? How long did my parents’ demons—?” I trailed off, unable to finish my questions. How do you know when you’re dealing with a demon and not the person you’ve known and loved your entire life? And for how long did my parents’ demons watch us from behind their eyes?
“It’s difficult to say,” Silas said. He looked grim. “I’m sorry.”
“Right, well, enough of this sideways-chitchat,” Mila said, grasping us lightly by the elbows and ushering us back to our open window. “We’re not safe up here.”
Reluctantly, I let her guide me. There was nothing else we could do. Elliot and I didn’t have a chance out there—not against the red rage of the Corrupt or the cold precision of the Light Legion. We moved quickly through our home, pausing only to step over the fallen Corrupt at the foot of our stairs, and trailed Silas and Mila as they took us outside again.
Maker.
Fire-burnt wind lashed my face as I beheld the clearing of our property, our home . My only world for nineteen years. Next to me, Silas and Mila re-fastened their masks. They were silent.
But the Corrupt were loud .
They thrashed like monsters against the Light Legion, throwing their rage behind the makeshift weapons in their hands. Blacksmith tools, dirt-crusted pitchforks, jagged rocks—anything that extended their reach. The Light Bringer, along with a few of his more ornamented followers, stood apart from the fray. He held a large scepter in his armored hand, and he wove it through the air, chanting as smoke billowed from its crevices. Undulating smoke coiled against my tired skin, freely drifting, rippling, encircling.
The sensation felt ancient and nostalgic.
It was the scent of wet earth, of mud soft from a rainstorm. It was dried, sweet leaves on a warm forest floor. It was security and comfort and dreams. The feel of unbidden promises and primal secrets.
Music thrummed out with the smoke as it spread, led by the Light Bringer and the men and women around him. Voices blended with the low hum of accompanying flutes, and the melody rose in strength with the smoke, growing stronger and more brilliant with every passing moment. The smoke and the music seeped through cracks in my skin, and I exhaled, scarcely conscious, and collapsed backward into the mist-drenched grass.
