The palace was decorated wall to wall with splendor that sparkled as the moonlight streamed through the large windows. Despite not being the main wing of the palace, it was beautiful. But the true thing to behold was the food table. It was ethereal. So rich and full. The towering cake atop it was filled with more strawberries than I had ever seen in my life.

Before Nimkii and Luo Yu rushed over, I stopped them. “Remember the last time you consumed something made by the King’s people.”

And so, we steered clear. Being one of the outliers in a stampede. The people gorged themselves and wept. They fought and attacked one another for scraps. On the upper balconies of the palace, I could see nobles sneering and laughing at us. I watched, until a warm hand touched my back. Nimkii gestured to my ears, which had begun to feather. An all-too-common occurrence these days. Some nights I awoke with my arms already formed into large tan wings. Once it even happened when I was spaced out during a meal. Every day the foreign power within me tore inside of my chest like the writhing of paper burning on an open fire. I was, to put it simply, afraid. Then, there was fear. Now, there is understanding.

I remember a man coming onto a balcony, scroll in hand. He made a quick speech about the honorable sacrifice the soldiers made to serve a greater good. Most people were disinterested, still trying to remedy years of starvation. The banquet hall was full until the food table ran out. Outside we were met with a long line of carriages. I noticed some people tried to deny them, but they were pushed in. We made our way onto a carriage, and as we rode, I saw us approaching the slums, before making a sharp turn for the woods.

“Probably to avoid the slums,” Nimkii said to ease our fears. All it did was create new ones.

The carriage stopped and we stood in a clearing. Like parts of the night, ten cloaked figures emerged from the bushes. In their hands they held scrolls bound together with the royal seal, and another symbol. The Symbol of the God-Hunters, as Nimkii and Luo Yu described in a dinner admist candle glow. My brothers claimed they were crazed, even if the basis of their idea is correct. Although part of me still wondered if we could become allies, considering we were exactly what they were looking for.

“All those born in Winter, please form a line here,” one of the figures with a mask mimicking the Goddess of Happiness and Mercy pointed towards another figure stationed a few feet apart from them.

“They will find out--” Luo Yu said, “--they will know the moment we join the spring line.”

“Then we will not let them find out,” Nimkii replied, clutching Luo Yu’s hand. He walked very silently towards the Winter line and settled there with Luo Yu in tow. Nimkii’s kind nature was often misconstrued as naivete; something I always found amusing when remembering moments like this.

“Those born in Autumn.”

A group broke off from the main one. There was only the noise of shuffled footsteps and whispers.

“Those born in Spring.”

I tilted my head and shuffled my feet forward, joining the line.

“Those born in Summer.”

The figure said at last, surveying the lines. They held the scroll in their hands, absentmindedly flicking through the pages as they walked up and down. Perhaps this was to manage the population, I thought. Perhaps everything would be fine. But that was a lie. Because it was then where they stopped in the Winter line and focused their gaze onto two boys.

Two boys holding each other’s hands.

There was no need for a divine push this time, for my feet had already moved forward.

“This is the Winter line, not the Spring line,” I said to them with the snatches of Rangeian I had picked up from Nimkii. I turned to the God-Hunter with a polite smile. “I apologize, they do not speak much Woodland Speak.”

“...Very well,” they motioned the pair to move. My brothers joined the spring line, and the figures made their way down the lines again. They counted, and recounted. Before they stopped at my line. The God-Hunter turned to me, and from this close I could spot the flash of a white bangle with a black under rim, coaxing the moonlight to reflect off it. It was subtle, but I noticed the figure’s eyes flicked to mine. I returned their gaze with my own.

To my surprise, they turned to the crowd. “Well, you are all free to leave.”

Relief rushed through me in a wave as I immediately made way to rejoin my brothers. They were waiting on the edges of the Spring line and grasped my hands. It was over. I was with my brothers.

Yet my heartbeat did not slow no matter how much I willed it to.

“How are we getting home?” a voice called out from the Winter line. It was the boy from the banquet. “We can’t fly--”

“I am well aware of the flight bans,” the figure put their hand up to silence him. “You will have to walk.”

“Walk?! But it's almost a mile!” the boy spoke again. “Just take us back!”

His shouts seemed to remind the crowd that they outnumbered these people, the voices became raised, and the people became braver chanting ‘take us back’. The figure sighed, a deep one, and pinched the space between their brows.

“Close your eyes,” I hurriedly whispered to my brothers. They obeyed without question. I did not.

I am a Sten, I told myself. 

But I am human, is something I wish I’d said instead.

The figure moved closer to the boy and stood over him. It was a swift movement. A quick shimmer of light reflecting off a bangle as a blade sliced down. The boy seemed fine, until the blood rung around his neck dripped down and glistened in the pale moonlight. The head rolled off the body; for there was no boy now; and near to my feet, grazing my toes. As it tumbled, I saw the eyes still wide with shock. Rimmed with stress. Like black olives.

Like a fish on burning coals.

I backed away, turning behind to my brothers. Their eyes remained closed, and their heads shook with unshed tears. My fingernails dug into our joint hands, and I led them away from the group. The familiar numbness overtook me then, but this time no grip could anchor me.

Some nights, I still awake feeling the sensation of his head on my toes.