Anemone groaned as she stretched her arms high into the sky. The sun pierced through the clouds for a moment and caught her eye. Gray clouds drifted in front of the faint tint of yellow from the sun, trying to shine their way down to the Bombyx-Mori Nursery. The sun’s slight warmth had fought its way down. A smile stretched across her face, turning into a yawn.

  “On for four, off for two. Then back for another four—I think we're done here,” said Anemone.

  After a couple of hours had passed, Anemone switched from hunting insecta to helping rebuild some barns and sheds. The locals' masked stares lacked the sharpness she expected. Although she did not have her wings, the uniform made them keep anything too direct from their conversation with her. The occasional sucking of air and spiteful tones were as far as it got. The warmth from the sun eased the tension in her body and made it easy to ignore them. Once she finished, Anemone reported to a commanding officer to relieve her of her duties for her break. Pain pulsed through her limbs as she swayed. Nearby, she heard three fae Comrade-at-Arms discussing matters.

  “Look at her leaving early.”

  “SOO lucky.” The other one gagged, “She’s not talented, but she gets to leave early.”

  “What can we say? Royals. They get the benefits.”

  “I just have a different shift, you flapper.” Anemone rolled her eyes.

  As she headed off into the nursery ground, she crossed more fallen trees along the scorched land and road. They were far smaller than the ones from the Second District, but they could easily have housed dozens of winged aos-si. Damage struck housing, and crops suffered too. Despite everything, there was one thing she knew would bounce back the easiest. Especially after a small fire.

  “Mushrooms and lichen will cover those logs in no time… Mix some wood ash and limestone for the substrate and boom. A future staple.” Anemone said to herself. “I’m not looking forward to the smell, though.”

  Straw beds for mushrooms were still a common practice, but many had opted for using fallen trees and other lumber to grow mushrooms. Tir-noNog fae practically survived off mushrooms, insecta, and fruits. All the horticulturists and farmers lived out in the Third District. Much of their crops and livestock succumbed to the land’s damage. Many of those aos-si wandered the area. They salvaged what remained of their possessions or sadly observed their lost home.

  Looking at them, she could not help but quickly avert her eyes as she passed by. Some sat there with empty eyes, while others brimmed with tears. If they were not sobbing, they were cursing the heavens aloud. Just hearing them made the hair on the back of her neck stand up. Anemone held her head down and picked up her pace. Her stride took her past all the other farms under royal servitude. The rubble of high-rise arches and stone buildings lay decimated across scorched ground. Almost everything here resembled Albion’s architecture. They used wood only as framing for the buildings. To her, they were very different and appeared much more artificial. Despite this, those who considered Tir-noNog their home inhabited it.

  “I can’t imagine what they are feeling…” Anemone sighed.

  Their decimation formed knots in her stomach. Her body recoiled at the idea, slowly growing heavier. A nearby crumbling wall caught her eye, and she slumped over it before sitting up. After dragging her leg up and rubbing her knees, she leaned against the wall behind her. Her eyes lazily scanned the floor ahead. Broken glass and wood, destroyed furniture, and scorched support beams. Debris from buildings littered the area. And from the corner of her eye, she saw it. A dry red stain under the pile of debris.

  A shiver ran up her spine, and her eyes quickly shifted toward the roof. The sky became visible through a massive roof opening overhead. Practically three out of its four walls were crumbling. Like some other structures in proximity, this kingdom region had experienced decline. The smell of dust, rust, and cinders punched her nostrils. Anemone knew this was a home caught in the crossfire of the recent attacks. She pressed her elbows to her side, almost curling into a ball. Her eyes dropped back to the forest floor as she took deep breaths. The warmth of Arcane-Od air filled her lungs, slightly easing the pressure. Even the knots in her stomach uncoiled.

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  “Come on, Ninlil,” she grumbled, “You’re an Anemone—you have to get used to this!”

  Suddenly, she heard a metal tin rolling down an alley to the side. Anemone jumped to her feet and summoned her knives from her grimoire.

  “Grimoire-Ars: Acquire Inventory: Dual Knives- (Page 1),” she whispered.

  Opposite her, within the decaying structure, she observed a goblin. It was searching through the remains of another building. His sharp fingers held up a damaged, painted family portrait of two adults and two children. His head tilted as his black eyes saw the burned wooden frame, a third his size. After he snarled his teeth, he tapped the frame on his large, curved horn, and his long arms quickly tossed it to the side. Almost serpent-like, they continued to slither through the remains of the building, tapping their horns and tossing something aside. Anemone let out a sigh of relief.

  “Rummaging through their remains…scavengers aren’t they.”

  Imps, though tiny and wicked, posed little individual danger. They continually sought salvageable remnants for reuse or resale at the bazaar. Anemone stepped forward and stared at the photo on the ground. There was a large paw print and tears from claws pressed into the picture. The sound of screams flashed into her mind as she crossed her arms, gripping her shoulders.

  I wish I could forget the smell.

  Her teeth ground and her arms grew heavier. Anemone shook her head, trying to ignore that moment, but she could not. The smell of that gallu-lycan’s breath reeked of flesh and iron. Its teeth snapped at her face repeatedly, as its claws gripped her arms. Screams of the crowd running away and seeking shelter repeated in her mind. They all fled to any of the nearby bunkers or areas with smaller barriers within the Kingdom, while she rushed off to fend off the threat. That moment was the first time she had faced something other than an occasionally agitated beetle.

  “If Rubus had not been there….”

  Her words stopped, and she threw her clenched fists down to her sides. Anemone shook her head with every step forward, and a huff left her lips. Her eyes closed, feeling her chest rising and her heart throbbing with the wind howling by. Only the imp’s shuffling and biyrds’ chirping sounded within vthe icinity. Anemone looked down at her hands, clenching her weapons, and they would not stop shaking.

  “Am I really okay?” she muttered. “Why can’t I get out of my head and just move on!”

  Anemone put her knives away, following the cobbled road out of the backstreets. Her fingers slid across nearby structures, reaching the alley’s end. The path ended at a wall, elevated somewhat past her waist. She leaned against the wall overlooking the riverbank. It was the checkpoint that divided the Fourth District in half. In the distance, she could hear the crowd of aos-si groaning as they pulled chopped logs out of the river. Anemone looked across the broken bridge and rolled her eyes.

  “If only there were someone with Oread-Od to mold the bridge.” She huffed. “The long-long way through Coldwater it is.”

  From her vantage point, the destruction from the Gallu-utukku that shattered the Coldwater River barrier was clear. That river not only cut the Fourth District in half but also lined the north-westernmost corner of the Third District. Unfortunately, the southern part of the Fourth District and the northern parts were the most ravaged parts of the Kingdom next. Anemone, reflecting on her struggles with the gallu-lycan, grew more concerned about the other aos-si. As Anemone concentrated on the aos-si working, her shoulders drooped. Then she spoke after groaning.

  “Between the discontent with demies and the less fortunate…help for the Fourth might be a stretch.”

  The back and forth between everyone’s movements resembled a Formica colony line. Workers labored, mending dwellings next to the Third District. Tir-noNog was already short on construction specialists since the Arbor Magna drafted anyone who could fight or defend. Her thoughts kept returning to the situation. Would the Fourth District receive the same effort? How long would it take? And who deserved more aid first? The last thing she wanted to do was think. However, returning to the First District was a bit of a stroll. Seeing Coldwater in shambles left her heart heavy.

  “Strange how none of the other districts have names. I wonder how Coldwater stuck. Did Medb or Dagda name it?”

  After a significant disagreement between Therianthropes tribes and Albion, Tirno-Nog created Coldwater. It was the will that the previous monarchs fulfilled before their passing. Dagda and Medb had allowed asylum for Therianthropes in the Fourth District. Even if the Council was against it, Titania enforced it in honor of her late parents. The fourth and fifth districts became non-official additions for those who immigrated to Tir-noNog. Despite the river being an effective method for transporting other goods throughout the Kingdom, it was a stark reminder of the divide.