They say The Shadow never once lost a battle. The power of light, meant to be its opposite, was quashed without even a ray to redeem itself.

The next morning, Xiren and Amalia rose early to harvest the Sephiol plants, their crystalline flowers and silver fruit glittering in the ice caves. Using dark mana, they plucked each delicate yield and stored it in their caches—a temperamental process, for Sephiol shattered without dark mana’s embrace. It was Alveria’s lifeblood, brewed into potions only Lievers could craft, shipped worldwide by merchants like Xiren’s lost parents.

Each of the villages across Alveria had different traditions when it came to the Liever ceremony and how they prepared the Sephiol, but their products were just as good. Sephiol was Alveria’s lifeblood, a secret Barthain coveted. Every village, from Lilan to far Idli, brewed it under elders’ watch.

This day had started like any other, with Xiren and Amalia chatting as always—a day that would usually end with a small meal in a Loakskin tent with Granny Alice and a casual chat afterwards before bed, but today would not end the same way. Xiren and Amalia would soon face something they never had to before. As they walked hand-in-hand from the ice caves back toward the village, they noticed a plume of dark gray smoke wafting up above the tents. It was light enough that it couldn’t be dark mana or a spell gone wrong, and it was dark enough that it couldn’t be a village bonfire. Then came the smell. The harsh, burning, grotesque smell of melted Loakskin fur and burnt meat.

Without a word to each other, Xiren and Amalia began to run towards the village at breakneck speed. Something was wrong. As they got closer, they noticed something they hadn’t before. Lining the shore behind the village was a fleet of ships. Not the usual merchant ships that carried their goods to other countries, either. These were huge, well-built warships, with dozens of cannons on each side, their size casting a shadow across the village below them. Upon their masts flew glistening white flags that bore angels’ wings, a symbol of Barthain, their sovereign country, the country ruled by Harkens. The sun began to set behind them casting an orange hue on the white flags. The flags were a warning, a harbinger, the orange glow showering upon them as though the flags were angels from hell, come to destroy them all.

Next, came the screaming. The voices reached them all at once. Men, women, and children screamed in unison as they finally reached the scene of the village. Soldiers ran through the frenzy of people, attacking anyone in sight. Bodies littered the ground, the once-white snow a dark sludgy red. Several of the adult Lievers were attempting to fight back, their dark mana spewing through the air, flinging soldiers every which way, but it wasn’t enough to turn the tide. The Barthainian Mages joined the fray, the Loakskin tents catching on fire, the groundbreaking and swallowing people whole, water coming upon the shore and dragging Lievers into the ocean, and air currents bringing more soldiers ashore.

A voice cut the madness from the flagship’s crow’s nest: “Kill everyone but the children—or lose your pay!” His red hair blazed like a beacon, cold eyes glinting across the water. A woman stood beside him, using the air currents to project his voice.

It was the man’s voice that spurred Xiren into action. “Amalia, we need to find Granny Alice.” Amalia snapped to attention and nodded to him. Then, she dashed off into the crowd.

Xiren dashed off in the other direction towards his tent, dodging soldiers and villagers alike, jumping over fallen people as he ran. He caught Amalia’s silhouette through the smoke, staring defiantly at three soldiers—then she vanished as they swarmed her. His stomach dropped, but he couldn’t stop. “Granny Alice!” He shouted, hoping she could hear him over the din. As he got closer to his tent, he saw a body that he recognized. It was the rude teenager from class the day before, Katri. Xiren’s panic rose as he fell to his knees before her and held his hand above her mouth. She was still breathing.

Immediately opening his storage cache, he retrieved one of his Sephiol potions that he had created during the day’s work and opened her mouth, pouring the liquid inside. She had a sword wound in her chest, but as he watched, it knit itself closed, and her breathing steadied. Her eyes fluttered open briefly, locking with his—an odd spark flickering there before she slipped back into unconsciousness. He gathered her small form into his arms and carried her the short distance to his tent.

“Is that you, Xiren?” A voice called as he stepped through the tent flap. 

He walked deeper into the dark tent until he could make out the familiar shape of Granny Alice. “It’s me.” He replied, coming closer to her. “I have Katri. She had a stab wound, but I was able to treat her with a Sephiol Potion. She should be fine soon.”

Granny Alice put her hand on Katri’s head to feel for a fever. Then she had Xiren set her on a sleeping mat that lay near the back of the tent. “Xiren, I have something that I need you to do for me.” Her words were quiet, as though she wished she wouldn’t have to say them. “I need you to go back to the caves and destroy all of the Sephiol plants. The King of Barthain wants them. If his army finds them, they will kill us all!”

“But, they wouldn’t kill children. Their commander told them not to kill any children.” Xiren protested. “Besides, destroy the plants? Don’t you know how hard we worked to grow those?”

Granny Alice wasn’t dissuaded. “Exactly, they are killing the adults because we are Lievers. As soon as they learn that the kids are the ones who tend to the Sephiol, they will know they are Lievers. They will kill all of the children too.” She gripped his arm, her eyes urgent. “You must destroy all of the Sephiol. You must save the children.”

Xiren still shook his head.  “But there are soldiers everywhere! What am I to do about them?”

“Kill them.” Granny Alice shrugged. “Kill any soldiers who get in your way. If anyone finds you and sees you using Liever magic they will kill you. Use the ice dagger formation we’ve practiced, so that they think you’re only a water mage.”

Xiren clenched his left hand in a fist, staring at the woman who raised him in disbelief. “You just taught us in school that killing is wrong. That it’s a terrible thing to do.”

Granny Alice stared at him, her once-warm eyes, harshly cold. “That was when we lived in a peaceful village where we could have a school. The status quo has changed Xiren, and as soon as it did, the rules became kill or be killed.” She leaned forward and whispered quietly in his ear. “This is an important lesson, that you’ll need to know, need to follow for the rest of your life Xiren. If you fail to follow this, you will know only pain. The peaceful life is only realistic until the status quo changes, then you’ll know what to do.”

Xiren didn’t know what to say. He nodded to her numbly and stumbled out of the tent. He hardly even noticed the mayhem this time. He dashed in between the tents, many of them, already ablaze. He focused on his water magic force and barely paid any attention to them as two twin daggers appeared in his hands. Both blades were made of clear ice, their edges deadly sharp. Xiren finally reached the cave systems that housed the Sephiol, without coming into contact with anyone else, villager or soldier. 

He rushed into the nearest cave and approached the nearest Sephiol plant. Instead of destroying it as instructed, dark mana cocooning it into his cache, his secret rebellion. It was the perfect environment to preserve the plant indefinitely. In his storage cache, every item would always be surrounded by his dark mana, so there would be no way for the plan to shatter or melt, and it would keep it in its dormant state without growing or dying until it was once again removed from the storage cache.

After the storage cache was closed and he considered the plant completely safe, he stepped outside the cave. It was time to destroy the rest of the Sephiol plants. He focused on his water magic source, by far his biggest source of magic, and conjured a huge wave of water. The water flooded the caves and masked the sound of the Sephiol plants as they all shattered. Sephiol plants shattered if they left the safety of the dark mana, or if they came in contact with any other type of magic. 

Xiren turned from the caves, daggers in hand, and ran back towards the village. He didn’t double-check to see if all of the plants had shattered, but he didn’t need to. He knew that water had the uncanny ability to get to the places that were the hardest to reach. As he drew closer to the village once more, he knew that again, something was different. A far cry from the screams and mayhem that he had heard before, now the village was deadly silent. Keeping his daggers at the ready, he crept into the village, dashing in between tents and being sure to check all directions, in case there were still soldiers lurking about. He looked towards the shore, expecting the warships to be gone, but they were still there, and it looked as though the soldiers were leading the children of the village onto the ships. Each child stood single-file, their wrists and ankles chained.

Xiren finally reached his tent and briefly stepped inside. He left immediately, however, as both Granny Alice and Katri were nowhere to be seen. He made his way towards the village center where they held their bonfires and Liever ceremonies, his daggers poised, ready at any moment for an attack. He finally stepped past the last tent and gained a clear view of the village center. The sight before his eyes was horrifying. He dropped all pretense of sneaking and sprinted forward hardly believing his own eyes. Five pikes pierced the earth before the bonfire, each crowned with a head: Granny Macha, Izkerdo, Prillan, Ledo, and Alice. Xiren froze, breath snagging, their dead eyes accusing. Xiren froze, his breath catching as their lifeless gazes bore into him.