Nive was running for her life.

Sophron’s property had been haunted by a grave silence since Sharaka’s demise. While Nive had realized the viashino’s ultimate desire at the last possible moment, encasing herself in a column of ice, almost anyone in the arena had died; the luckiest had croaked immediately, the others had simmered for days before the horrifying burns could claim their lives. Even Sophron, the most powerful ice mage south of the Frostrings, had been on the brink of death for days, and he was still unable to sit up.

That morning she had walked to his quarters to look in the vedalken’s eyes and decide upon his life. If Sophron wasn’t able to show regret for his actions, for the decisions who had brought death and sorrow in so many houses, she would have frozen his heart solid. A fitting death, an act Nive had contemplated for days. Neither Mark nor Lucius were guarding the door, but she hadn’t paid much mind to it. Nive’s attention was definitely piqued by the blistering hot wind that howled through the open door.

Nive’s heart had skipped a beat when she had seen Sharaka towering above Sophron, regarding him with pure contempt as her image trembled for the absurd heat.

Sharaka had spat on the vedalken, setting the whole bed on fire.

The viashino had breathed in deeply as she turned toward Nive, and the human’s brain had shut down in terror.

Then, a spark of recognition in Sharaka’s shining eyes.

“Run.”

Nive obeyed.

She was running down the main road, past the fools who were gathering to gawk at the flaming building, when she noticed an onlooking horseman. He was dressed like a noble, but more importantly, he was atop of a splendid horse. Nive grabbed the reins of the horse; the noble was about to be outraged, surely, but she froze his face and shoved him down as he flailed.

Nive jumped on the now nervous horse, breathless, and realized she had no idea on how to ride. Panicking, she conjured a spiked ice rod and brought it down on the horse’s rump as hard as she could. The horse started galloping, and staying on the saddle occupied the entirety of Nive’s mind. She didn’t notice the guards who tried to stop her at the city gates.

She barely noticed the heatwave as the whole city of Augusta was engulfed in a titanic column of fire.

It was only the next morning, as Nive woke up aching all over but still astride an exhausted horse, that she thought of her brother.

Hisk was not happy to be the commander’s pick to watch over the young. Orders were orders, sure, and proper warriors and caretakers were respectively resting and working tirelessly after four days of skirmishes with the humans. On the other hand, he was sure that being in the same tent with little Sharaka after he had culled her mother Tharna not five hours ago was the worst thing for both of them.

Again, it wasn’t because the caretakers were wrong. They rarely were, and there had been no real choice. Not after Tharna had almost strangled her own daughter for snoring. “I thought I was still fighting,” Tharna had explained between desperate sobs, “I thought she was a growling warhound. Spirits, my poor Sharaka… It won’t happen again, please, let me see her… please, I’m begging you…”

It didn’t happen again: Tharna had been chained in the infirmary ever since. She was allowed to see Sharaka, however the girl had sworn it was all her fault and had begged the guards to chain her instead. Three days later, the hundred armed humans had reached their tribe. A week later, the leaders had declared martial law and the caretakers had drawn the culling list. From the elders, the wounded and the ill, the matriarch had chosen the ones whose future contribute to the tribe didn’t compensate the time, effort and supplies needed to look after them. Fortunately, it hadn’t come to smashing eggs. A hard choice, but necessary: no point in letting a whole tribe get slaughtered when the majority could survive. Hisk, a shaman, was chosen to swing the axe as well as officiating the Returns to the Flame. He was more a scholar than a mage, so it wasn’t like he could be useful to the actual fighting.

But the night after a culling had always been hard for Hisk, and the mumbling of the sleeping hatchlings sounded like the whispers of the culled he heard in his nightmares. He tried to focus on the soft snoring sounds, but those reminded him of Sharaka, who in return reminded him of Tharna. He grimaced, then stood up and walked around the messy tangle of sleeping hatchlings trying to distract himself.

Despite his best efforts, Hisk found himself looking for Sharaka. His eyes found her awake, whispering to another hatchling; Hisk tried not to stare at her, but a corner of his mind focused on her whispers. He couldn’t make out the exact words, but he noticed with a start that he couldn’t hear the other half of the conversation either.

He made another round and stopped behind Sharaka, walking slowly not to be heard. The hatchling Sharaka was apparently whispering to was sleeping soundly. Yet, she stopped as if she was waiting for their reply. Before Hisk could decide whether to disturb her, Sharaka propped herself up on an elbow and stared right at him. He had forgot how good her snout was.

“Anything wrong?” Sharaka asked levelly.

Hisk hesitated; he wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer to his next question. “Who are you talking to?”

Sharaka glanced at the sleeping hatchling next to her, then stared at Hisk, perplexed. “Mom. Will you stop eavesdropping now?”

Hisk sighed. “Look, it’s late and I get that you don’t want to talk to me about this, but…”

Sharaka startled and her posture changed into a very familiar one. “Go take a hike, Hisk. Haven’t you done enough for one day?” The girl suddenly sounded strangely… adult.

A cold shiver ran down Hisk’s spine as he recognized the voice. “Tharna?”

“Good guess, Hissie. Don’t you believe me?” She asked with a mischievous grin. “Do I have to list the places where you like to be licked, darling?” The girl shook her head, and Sharaka made a face. “Mom, that was gross… alright, I forgive you.”

Hisk unconsciously stepped back. He opened his mouth, then closed it again.

“I’m sorry I can’t do this for long, I literally just figured it out,” Sharaka continued innocently. “Mom’s not angry, though, she just wanted to prank you.” The girl chuckled.

Hisk snapped and ran. Before he could get out of the tent, something painful hit him in the chest and yanked him toward Sharaka. He saw his body fall on the ground, lifeless.

“Don’t go, please!” Sharaka begged, her arms outstretched as if asking for a hug. “Mom wants to chat.”

Rohin cleared her throat. She had been a judge for more than forty years, but this was the first time she had to call for an execution. Not that the case was debatable.

“Sisters and brothers of the Laku tribe, this is the day where a threat to all viashino meets its end,” she began with her Judge tone.

“Not really,” the chained woman objected.

“Another word, abomination, and I’ll have you gagged,” Rohin hissed.

Sharaka shrugged and tried to scratch her shoulder with her head spikes.

“This woman is guilty of murdering more than thirty viashino and robbing them of their souls, preventing them from returning to the Fire.” Rohin heard a few gasps. Everyone had heard about Sharaka the Soul-Stealer, but there was a big difference between rumors and the declaration of a judge.

Sharaka rolled her eyes.

“In the hope that her soul may be reforged free of sin in the Fire, her body will be kept on hot coals and hammered until death,” Rohin said, gesturing to the man holding Sharaka’s chains and the woman holding the two-handed hammer. The judge snapped her fingers, and the bed of coals became bright red. “You seem to be awfully flippant at the prospect of death, abomination,” she eventually added. “Any last words?”

Sharaka laughed. “Your Kachil asked me to relay a message, actually!” A nervous murmur raised from the crowd: Kachil was a master diviner and a great leader, the tribe had been shocked when they heard of his death at the hands of a lone madwoman. Sharaka opened her mouth again, this time sounding like the old leader. “Strike her down, Rohin, and the plague of her existence will spread to countless tribes, on the farthest mountains.” Sharaka chuckled, sounding like a young woman again. “So you understand why I’m not that scared.”

Rohin forced herself steady. She couldn’t show weakness now. “You lie, abomination. You lie, you kill, you steal souls.”

Sharaka shook her head, grinning. “I may as well do, but I don’t lend my tongue just so others can lie with it. I don’t know what you’re used to, but no one in my tribe dares lie to me,” she said smugly.

“Your tribe?” Rohin roared. “We’ve heard enough madness,” she declared, finding her balance again. “May you be reborn in Fire, free of sin.”

Scared or not, Sharaka screamed when she was pressed on the burning coals.