The gates of Atsylei were two large ramshackle towers constructed of metal and stone, with thick iron chains rolling out from the mouths of the towers and shackled to the great, heavyset panel of metal bolted onto wood that could be pulled up to allow people in or out of the city.

In the towers and in the ramparts, eyes watched near and far, but in front of the gates themselves in the light of the lanterns stood two guards. Both wielded rifles, likely only loaded with a few bullets with the safety securely on, and hunting knifes hung at their belts. They wore breastplates like Neri, with oddly fashioned helms of mismatched leather to protect more from the weather than an actual attack, and carried small satchels over their shoulders.

The guard standing further away wore an exasperated expression, years of sun and stern words etched into his face like dry riverbeds. He was trying to turn away the woman before him, who cried and begged, but Arna could smell the disease swelling around her like a choking smog. Her skin was so pale it shone in the lantern light and her breath rattled and wheezed, her every movement overshadowed by a deep pain in her very bones.

“Hey!”

The second guard was approaching Arna, stepping out of the circle of light the tower’s lanterns provided and motioning with the barrel of his gun for her to stand up.

So she did. Unstable on two feet and her two legs trembling as her weight settled into this forgotten balance. She shrugged the cloak around her bare shoulders in a clumsy struggle with the material, quickly tugging the hood low over her eyes to hide the saber skull still fused atop her human head like a headdress.

The guard halted, his eyes narrowing at her. “Are you sick? If you are, just turn around and leave. No sick in the city.”

She shook her head, knowing he probably couldn’t see it clearly in the dark. “I’m not ill,” she replied, her voice rusty and raspy but the guttural, deep growls now left behind in her other form. She recognized her own voice beneath the initial croakiness, a faint touch of an accent in her words with a gentle, slow tone as if a distant breeze carried the whispers of a child’s bedtime story. “Just hungry.”

“Come into the light,” he ordered, backing away into the lantern’s circle so she could join him. Once she did, his eyes cast up and down her body, most hidden beneath the dirty, tattered cloak. “Do you have a pass?”

“No,” she answered, gaze flicking upwards to the shadows behind the lanterns up in the tower. She quickly ducked her chin down in case the hood fell away. “Do I need one?”

The guard’s jaw worked, teeth grinding and making her wince. “It’s better if you do. Do you have anyone to endorse you?”

Arna frowned. “Endorse?” Her lack of knowledge of how humanity worked in these last parts of civilisation were showing.

The guard sighed, glancing at his companion struggling to turn the sick woman away. He would get no support for him. “For entry into the city you need a pass or an endorsement from someone who has one. Do you know someone inside?”

“How do you get a pass in the first place?”

“If you’re a reputable trader or associated with a guild - or something. Look, do you know someone or not?”

Arna hesitated. She knew Neri, but if this all went terribly wrong the warrior would only be a target for trouble.

The guard wasn’t patient. “Hey, do you know anyone?” he demanded, spitting with his words. “If not, just piss off and take her with you.” He jabbed a finger at the begging woman.

She let out a long breath, enthralled by the nostalgic feeling of human ribs and lungs moving beneath her skin. She licked her dry lips. “The Warrior’s Guild,” she said. “I know someone from there.”

The guard flipped open his satchel, digging out a stained, badly bound book with the title ‘Guilds’ scratched into the leather cover in a near illegible scrawl. He flicked through it, tapping the yellow pages which threatened to disintegrate under his fingertips. “Who?” he demanded.

While Arna was loath to say the warrior’s name, she realized she had no choice if she wished to enter Atsylei like she promised. “Neri.”

A second passed as the guard dragged his finger down a list. “Yeah, she’s here.” He turned, waving at someone on the tower. The lantern light flickered as a shadow leaned out of the mouth beside the chain. “Grab a runner! Neri, Warrior’s Guild,” he yelled. The shadow retreated back into the tower’s mouth.

The guard snapped the book shut and returned it to the satchel. He waved her aside, mumbling for her to wait before joining his companion in shooing the sick woman away. She was on her knees now, sobbing freely and wailing, the thick cloud of disease likely making her tears sting on her chapped, pale skin.

Arna stepped out of the lantern light, easing into the darkness just under the tower. It was maybe half an hour before she heard hurried footsteps on the other side of the gate, heavy boots storming up the tower before a shadow leaned out of the mouth again. “We got her!”

The guard Arna had spoken to raised a hand and then looked towards her. “Alright, what’s your name? See if you’re telling the truth.”

“Arna,” she responded. She tried to pinpoint which set of footsteps belonged to the warrior but the guards didn’t understand the meaning of keeping quiet, swallowing up smaller noises with their voices and heavy footwear on ringing metal.

The guard nodded up at the shadow, repeating her name in a shout. A beat passed as she heard the shadow relaying it to someone else within the walls. Then the chains began to shift.

The guard scoffed. “Seems you passed.”

He left her in front of the gates, the chains rumbling and thundering on stone as numerous hands pulled at them, the panel of metal and wood screeching and thumping out of place before it slowly rose. The darkness in the city was almost complete if not for the candlelight flickering in countless windows and in doorways, and in the hands of the few awake and roaming the streets. Arna’s sight and hearing were only mildly dulled in human form and so she could still focus on the broken, scavenged shards of the past built into the fortress of humanity.

She stepped inside Atsylei and a group of three guards greeted her. They didn’t carry guns, but the planks of studded wood in their hands were intimidating enough as they gestured for her to approach.

Arna caught her scent before she laid eyes on her; a warm comfortable scent like hay and clean linen, earthy yet fresh, with the salty tinge of sweat.

Neri had dropped her breastplate and bag, replacing them with a simple outfit of baggy trousers and a loose cloth shirt. She was rubbing the sleep from her eyes but her sword still hung at her belt.

The guards looked Arna over, not touching yet their gazes seared into her flesh. Once she’d passed whatever test they were giving her, they moved away back into the bases of the two gate towers.

“Arna…?” the warrior asked, quiet and unsure. She was straining to see her in the dark, the tiny candle held in her hand barely doing anything to beat back the night. “Is that you?”

Arna closed the distance between them, a strange confidence powering her towards the woman. She easily found the warrior’s face, gently holding it between her cool palms, brushing her thumbs over Neri’s warm skin. She raised her own head so the cloak shifted, allowing the warrior to gaze into the depths of the hood, to see the glowing eyes and the white bone above them, the pointed fangs now not her own but instead in front of her face as if she wore the skull as a trophy. The skull’s eye sockets were empty and soulless, yet still her ‘human’ eyes swirled with that ethereal amber and they watched the emotions dance across the warrior’s features.

“Yeah,” she breathed, a smile pulling at the corners of her lips. “It’s me.”

“Y-you did it!” stuttered Neri, her face lit up with excited wonder. “You really did it!”

Arna heard the scuff of the guards’ feet on dirt. They remained nearby and they were watching, following the movements of their silhouettes, their voices travelling easily in the sleeping city. “We should…” She reluctantly let her hands drop from Neri’s face.

“Ah, yes, of course. The Guild is this way.” The warrior spun on her heel and started down one of the dark streets, blindly yet knowing the placement of every step with the assurance of someone who’d taken the same path many times before. She kept glancing over her shoulder as if to ensure Arna was still behind her.

Arna lengthened her strides until she matched Neri’s pace. “I told you I’d come,” she said softly.

Neri didn’t reply. Instead, she merely nodded and cast one last lingering glance at the woman walking beside her. She was smiling, a sense of bewilderment and awe in her expression. Then, slow with hesitation, her hand reached out and fingers brushed against the back of Arna’s hand.

And for the first time in centuries, Arna had the ability, the desire, and a person willing to care – and she too reached out her hand.