#these stories are more proof of concept than anything else ig

[saintsmith]

Shiaaj woke to see a great silhouette eclipsing some brilliant white glow. “Ah,” said the silhouette with Haagrul’s voice as she sat up and tried to focus her eyes. “She awakes!”

There was a general roar of clapping and hollering at this. She swallowed to wet her dry mouth and asked, “What?”

“You’ve cast your first spell,” Haagrul said. “And quite a tremendous one at that!”

Another silhouette entered the frame, pushing Haagrul aside. Shiaaj’s eyes finally came into focus, and she saw the second silhouette belonged to Dregor, the Greshtal skysaint who cast the initial speed spell. Her face was scrunched up in some mixture of exhaustion and anger as she grabbed Shiaaj’s shoulders and shook. “How did you do it, kid?”

“Do what?” asked Shiaaj, mind still muddled.

“No games. That spell, that got us away from that wyrm. So much speed. I demand you tell me!”

Shiaaj finally remembered. The abyssal maw of the Eilhwyrm – and the opal whose secret delivered her from that maw. She instinctively began to reach for it, but stopped herself, her hand hovering near her heart. “I…don’t know,” she said. It wasn’t entirely untrue.

Dregor scoffed. “Luck, then. Pure beginner’s luck. Disappointing.”

“Leave her be, Dregor,” said Haagrul, placing a firm hand on her shoulder from behind. “Strange things are known to happen to fresh wroughtsaints. It need not damage your precious ego.”

Dregor pouted, raised her upper hands in the air, then crossed all four arms before marching away.

“Don’t worry about her,” Haagrul assured Shiaaj. “She’s a velocimancer. They’re very competitive.”

Velocimancer. A sorcerer who emphasizes speed. Without a definition given to her, Shiaaj still somehow remembered what it was.

“Tremendous thing you did,” said Haagrul. “We’ll discuss it more later. First we must prepare for battle.”

Shiaaj looked around. They were still on the Eilhship, but instead of swimming in inky blackness, it was docked in some world of near-blinding light that seemed to go on forever in all directions. “Where are we?” she asked as she clambered to her feet.

“This is a Sanctuary,” answered Haagrul, gesturing all around. “A realm within a realm, forged directly from Raam’s light.” He pointed behind Shiaaj. “They’ve lowered the gangplank. Go ahead and step out into it.”

Shiaaj approached the gangplank slowly. It seemed to have landed on some invisible platform in the empty white space. She walked to the end of the plank and, having more faith in Haagrul than Raam, she took a tentative step off.

Her foot found something solid, and she let go of a breath she hadn’t known she was holding. She let her other foot fall off the gangplank into the whiteness, and walked a small circle in it. This impossible floor was perfectly stable.

“Watch out!” yelled Haagrul. “One wrong step and you might fall through!”

Shiaaj quickly lowered her stance, spreading out her arms in panic.

“Joking, joking,” laughed Haagrul. “This place is completely limitless.”

Shiaaj frowned, brow-plates swiveling up. Maybe her earlier faith in him was misplaced. She made a gesture she’d never seen, much less done herself: a crude twisting of the arms, popular non-verbal insult among Greshtal, but lacking four arms she could only perform half of it.

Haagrul’s jaw dropped in mock surprise. “How rude, to display such a symbol to your beloved mentor! Although I supposed I deserve it.” He leapt down the gangplank in a single bound, landing on the floor of light. “Raam has prepared this place for us,” he said, changing the subject. “But we must not hesitate to join the fray.”

Shiaaj looked around. There was a great gate across from the Eilhship’s landing. Several saints were crowded around it, waiting their turn to enter. Between the bodies Shiaaj could barely see what lied beyond the gate: a haze of black smoke, dotted here and there with amorphous spots of color. 

“What’s on the other side?” Shiaaj asked as she followed Haagrul towards the gate.

“War,” Haagrul said, gripping his half-halberds tight.

Shiaaj’s brow-plates descended. “I mean, what is this realm like?”

Haagrul turned his head back slightly. “I don’t know. I’ve never been to this one. But we as saints must have courage – often must we wade into unknown battlefields.”

Shiaaj tightened her grip on her sword. But slowly, thought by thought, she loosened up; even the world of Aurenna was largely unknown to her, despite the imprints of memory she was born with, so why should this be any different?

The throng of saints filtered through the gate. Shiaaj and Haagrul, near the outskirts, followed. They were close to the gate when Shiaaj asked, “What’s it like to kill?”

Haagrul sighed but answered patiently. “It’s not really killing, here. We dispel phantoms. They often aren’t gone for good. But we push through regardless. We saints are the only ones in true danger. But I will protect you. No more questions.”

Shiaaj still had hundreds of questions, but she kept her mouth shut.

Finally it was their turn. Haagrul held out an empty lower hand, and Shiaaj took it. They crossed the barrier of smoke together.

Inside, it was dimmer than the Sanctuary, but the high towers of steel and glass, reaching for the smogged sky, reflected brightly into Shiaaj’s eyes. She held up an arm to shield them a bit.

The towers were tall and square, lined with rows of gleaming windows, and arranged along black streets in perfect arrays, and crowded with so many strange metal carriages. Soldiers in strange garb – white shirts buttoned down the front, short black coats and long black pants, shiny black leather shoes, and multicolored strips of cloth hanging from their necks – poured out of the towers. They wielded strange metal staves long-ways, the ends hollow. Occasionally one would stop to point the staff at a saint, wait a moment, then let fire burst forth from the hollow end.

Shiaaj turned around to look back at the Sanctuary, but it was gone. 

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught one of the strange soldiers pop up from behind one of the strange metal carriages. She turned to face him, but by then it was too late: he lifted the staff, pointed, and blinded her with the flash of a flame. Instantly she felt pain, real pain, for the first time, on her chest. It pushed her, and she fell on her back, breathless.