The wind howled, strong enough to tear the breath from a man's lungs, yet the smell of rotten corpses lingered, heavy and stubborn. Soldiers stood afar, forming squares and lines in the mud. They looked like ants from here. Small. Unimportant. The gale roared, swallowing the sound of officers swearing and men praying for salvation. In a sense, the silence felt absolute. The world looked so wide from the top of the wall.

  “It’s quite a sight,” Elira murmured.

  She lay flat on her stomach at the very edge of the stone battlement, legs kicking idly over the abyss. She balanced precariously, looking as if gravity might claim her at any second. Falling would not help her escape from life though; she tried it already.

  On the horizon, the Holy Army arrived. They poured over the hills like molten silver, a shining flood crashing into a sea of mud. Puddles of blood from yesterday's skirmishes rippled as the ground shook.

  “The dance has started, are you ready?”

  Major Viktor stood next to her, a statue in the storm. His uniform snapped violently in the wind. His bald head reflected the gray, sickly light of the sun. He looked down at her with eyes that seemed to peel back her skull to read the thoughts inside.

  “Yeah,” Elira drawled, stretching. “I am just so ready to try your airline again.”

  Thwack.

  Viktor’s hand moved in a blur. Elira was lying flat, so her head remained out of reach, but the slap landed squarely on her bottom. The force almost pushed her over the edge.

  “Hey what the fuck?!”

  Elira turned her head to glare at him after stabilizing herself. Viktor slapped her again, harder this time. The impact sent her flying toward the enemy backlines. Elira soared like human artillery, the wind pushing her in a perfect parabolic curve over the battlefield.

  She plummeted toward the Paladins.

  Boom.

  Mud geysered into the air. Elira landed, groaning and massaging her stinging backside. She looked around. Dozens of Paladins and Priests stood in a circle, staring at her in baffled silence.

  To be fair, it was her idea. Walking to the frontline was too tiring, so she had asked Viktor to throw her.

  “That was refreshing.”

  Ren stepped out of the bathroom, steam rising from her skin. She held a towel and dried her hair, water droplets falling onto the floorboards. Outside, white clouds covered the sky, mirroring the snow that choked the ground. A boring canvas of a world, waiting for an artist that never arrived. Ren shivered. Even in the thick, fresh clothes, the cold seeped in to bite her bones.

  A sharp voice dragged her back to reality.

  “Have some decency, Ren. Bishop Claire will be here any minute.”

  On the other side of the room, the group sat around a small wooden table. Isabella, the owner of the sharp voice, glared at her. Her blonde, curly hair seemed to bristle with irritation. Ren sighed. Isabella had been hostile lately, ever since the High Priest placed them in the same squad.

  The two boys ignored the tension. Alec looked up, scratching his cheek awkwardly, while Blanc continued decimating a plate of cookies.

  “Did we visit at the wrong time?” Alec asked.

  “If not for a certain someone taking so long in the bathroom, we wouldn’t be in this situation.” Ren shrugged, tossing the towel onto a chair.

  “Wa- you!” Isabella flushed red. She started to stomp toward Ren, fists clenched.

  Alec jumped up, stepping between them, doing his usual peacemaker routine. “Hey, hey. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. We don't have much time for relief while traveling.”

  He was doing a terrible job.

  Ren glanced at the other girl in the room. Liliana sat in the corner, fidgeting. She was the youngest of the chosen, a prodigy whose parents perished in the last expedition. The loss failed to break her; instead, her talent shone brighter, earning her a place among them. Lily had a hobby, specifically baking. She was the one responsible for the cookies Blanc was inhaling. Due to the urgency of their trip, they barely had time to eat properly. Calling the cookies a life-saver might be an exaggeration, but they made the journey bearable.

  “Your turn now,” Ren said to Lily. “Be ready before dinner. Sir Gallus hates lateness.”

  “Y-yeah.” Lily lowered her head and scuttled to the bathroom like a frightened squirrel.

  Ren plopped onto her bed. The mattress felt stiff compared to the featherbeds back at the Main Church, but it was still high quality for a forward base.

  “I’m going to take a nap, wake me before dinner,” she mumbled, closing her eyes. “Remember to keep your appetite, we’ll have dinner soon.”

  The smell of burning wood mixed with the sound of footsteps. Ren smelled burned meat, and an urge to vomit hit her. Tears prickled through her eyes.

  “M...mom....”

  The cry left her mouth but soon got stopped by Alec’s hand. He covered her eyes too. But she still remembered the sound. The crackling fires, the screams of people dying.

  Ren’s eyebrows knit together, her body twisting and turning until a hand gently nudged her. Her eyes snapped open. It was Alec, with his usual smile.

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  “Bad dream?”

  “...Yeah.”

  Ren sat up while massaging her head.

  “How long had I been sleeping?”

  “Not much, the dinner is just about to start. Bishop Claire is waiting outside.”

  Ren stared at Alec’s back while he walked out of the room.

  How can you be so calm?

  There was nothing special about the dinner, just praying and pleasantries. But after dinner, Ren found herself having trouble falling asleep. She turned to her left, then turned right, then turned left again. Finally, she lay flat, staring at the ceiling. She sat up, her eyes falling on the other girls. Isabella and Lily were sleeping peacefully. Ren got off her bed, put on a thick coat, and walked out of the room. Maybe the cold night would help her calm her mind.

  As she walked, Ren saw a figure from afar. His sword cut the air, and the falling snow seemed to dance around him. It was Alec. She stepped closer.

  “Can’t sleep?”

  “...Yeah.”

  Alec lowered his sword. Sweat steamed off his skin despite the freezing air. He sat on a nearby crate and patted the spot next to him.

  “Me neither,” he admitted.

  “You looked calm earlier.”

  “I’m good at pretending,” Alec laughed, but the sound lacked joy. He looked at his shaking hands. “We are the chosen ones. The future Saints. We have to be strong for everyone else. But... I’m scared, Ren.”

  Ren leaned back, looking at the dark sky. “We all are. But we have each other. You defend, I scout, Blanc attacks, Lily heals. And we have Sir Gallus and Bishop Claire. They won’t let anything happen to us.”

  Alec smiled, a real one this time. “Right. Just like always.”

  The morning came too fast. The army prepared to march. The ground shook under thousands of boots.

  Ren walked with her head high, trying to look dignified in her white armor. Beside her, Sir Gallus walked. The High Paladin was a mountain of steel, his shield large enough to be a door. He glanced down at her, his scarred face impassive.

  “Eyes forward, Ren. Mind your footing.”

  Thud.

  Too late. Her boot caught a loose stone. Ren flailed and slammed face-first into the dirt.

  “Oh my Lord! Are you alright?!”

  A young medic rushed forward. She had messy brown hair and looked terrified. “Please let me help! I’m Marie! I can heal this!”

  Ren pushed herself up, spitting out mud. Her face burned with embarrassment.

  “Graceful as a swan, truly,” Blanc laughed, nearly choking on his breakfast.

  “Focus, boy,” Bishop Claire chided gently, appearing behind them. The High Priestess held a golden staff, her presence calming the chaos around them. “And you, Ren, let the medic work.”

  “I’m fine,” Ren grumbled, letting Marie clean the mud off her cheek. “Just a trip.”

  “See? Even the earth rejects you,” Isabella teased, but there was no bite in her voice today.

  Sir Gallus offered Ren a hand, pulling her up effortlessly. “Nerves happen. Better to fall now than in battle.”

  Ren took his hand. They stood together, invincible.

  Then the war started.

  The Holy Army charged, a wave of light crashing into the Empire’s lines. Ren and her group stayed back on a ridge, protected by Gallus and Claire.

  The reality of war hit them instantly.

  A few hundred meters away, the vanguard clashed. It sounded like a butcher chopping wet meat. A soldier fell near the bottom of the ridge, clutching his stomach. His intestines spilled out through his fingers, pink and steaming in the cold air. Another man screamed as a mace crushed his knee backward with a sickening crunch.

  Ren gagged, covering her mouth. The smell of bowels and iron filled the air.

  “Steady,” Sir Gallus ordered, his voice hard as stone. “Do not look away. This is the enemy’s work.”

  Lily was sobbing quietly. Blanc had stopped eating his cookies; his face was green. Even Isabella looked ready to faint.

  “Look up!” Ren screamed, her voice cracking.

  A black dot fell from the clouds. It whistled as it tore through the air.

  Boom.

  The figure crashed into the earth just fifty meters from their position. A shockwave of mud and black water blasted outward, knocking the group off their feet.

  Ren scrambled up. A woman stood in the center of the crater. She dusted off her uniform.

  Then the world went dark.

  A dome of shadows erupted from the woman, swallowing the light. Monsters rose from the black mud-jagged things made of teeth and malice.

  “Form up!” Sir Gallus roared. He slammed his massive shield into the mud. “Behind me! Claire, shield them!”

  Bishop Claire began to chant, her staff glowing with blinding light.

  A barrier of white light surrounded them.

  The woman in the center lit a cigar. She took a drag, the cherry red tip glowing in the dark.

  “Boring.”

  The woman flicked a finger. A massive hand made of shadow rose from the ground. It ignored the holy barrier completely.

  Crunch.

  Sir Gallus didn’t even have time to scream. The shadow hand crushed him like a tin can. Blood sprayed from the gaps in his armor, painting the white snow red. The High Paladin, their protector, was gone in a second.

  “Gallus!” Bishop Claire screamed. She pointed her staff at the woman.

  A beam of pure light shot out.

  The woman didn't move. A mouth opened in the empty air and swallowed the beam whole.

  Then the shadows lunged.

  Bishop Claire turned to the children. “Run! Run now!”

  A shadow spike erupted from her chest, lifting her off the ground. She choked on her own blood, her eyes wide with horror.

  “Ahhhhhh!” Isabella screamed in panic. She charged forward, her staff glowing.

  Snap.

  Isabella stopped. A black claw protruded from her chest.

  “Bella!” Alec roared. He raised his shield and rushed in, tears streaming down his face.

  The shadow crushed him. The shield crumpled like paper. Blanc tried to run, but the darkness swallowed him whole. Lily screamed, but a hand made of ink covered her mouth, silencing her forever.

  The woman in the center exhaled smoke. She looked bored.

  Ren froze. She could not move. Her friends, the future Saints, died in seconds. Their protectors were meat. It was a slaughter.

  Bishop Claire, with her last breath, slammed her staff down. Ren felt a pull on her soul.

  At the same moment, a shadow lashed out.

  Ren felt a cold pressure on the right side of her face. Then heat. Then nothing.

  She appeared in the safety of the rear camp. She fell to her knees.

  “We have a survivor!”

  Marie, the medic from earlier, rushed toward her. “Miss, are you-”

  Marie stopped. Her face turned pale. She vomited on the ground.

  Ren reached up to touch her face. Her fingers met wet bone and exposed teeth.

  Half of her world was gone. The other half would never be the same.