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They said Death in Ionia came as gently as feathers falling on fresh snow. Yet winter lingered long this year- longer than usual- and the valleys of Navori still lay bound in frost, as though the land itself was still holding its breath.
Sihra sighed as she trudged along the path. The roots of the trees were still covered in a layer of snow, the flower buds on the trees remained closed.
The path itself, however, was downtrodden by now. Sihra stopped for a moment as her eyes glanced over her charge; a line of weary souls, bundles on their backs and their children pressed closed.
The Noxian warmachine had pressed further and further into their nation, leaving fire and blood in its wake. The sight of burning homes was not only etched behind her eyes. Her palm rested on her sword as her sash, woven by her mother, fluttered in the cold wind that pressed them.
She shivered. For once, she cursed her light leathers that revealed her arms. She’d wear nothing else in combat, but the elements were an unrelenting foe. She sighed once more before she started moving again, making up the rear of their small caravan. Still, feeling the cold against her arms grounded her, making her feel a part of what was around her.
The people around her shivered as she did, the patched cloaks and shawls making a poor defense against the winter wind. The lightly faded red and green colours danced around their owners in a festive manner that betrayed the solemn mood that hung over everyone.
How did it come to this?
It had been after midnight when the Noxians had come to her village. By the time her kinsmen realised what was going on, their houses were burning. Its warriors mounted a desperate defense, buying barely enough time for a few souls to make it out. It was Sihra, the youngest among the defenders, who was charged with their safety. And so, she ran.
She grit her teeth at the memory. She hadn’t wanted to. Maybe… maybe if she’d fought as well, they’d have won. Or allowed more of their people to get away.
Shaking her head, she focused on the present, breathing in the cold air. If she hadn’t done so, who else would have? The first few nights had been the hardest, the Noxians unwilling to let them live in peace, hunting them down. As if they’d wanted more. More death and more destruction.
But they’d underestimated her. Her, and her people. They’d grown up in these lands, these woods and these hills. She had skirted death more than once, but Sihra had managed to shake them off their trail.
That had been a little less than two weeks ago. They had wandered aimlessly at first, looking at Sihra for hope and direction. Like she had known any better. 26 years of age, and she was stranded in the wilderness with a dozen refugees who had lost their home.
But the spirits hadn’t yet forsaken them. They’d come across another group such as theirs. But they had a goal in mind; the Placidium of Navori. They’d heard whispers of a united resistance, a chance to… fight back. The spark of hope that had lit up in the eyes of her people had left her no choice. They’d banded together and headed south.
More people -some alone, some in groups- joined them. The elderly, the young, the sickly. Those who couldn’t fight. But little protectors. Very few who could help her keep everyone else safe. In the end, she had no more than ten warriors to look after ten times as many people. And somehow, she was the most experienced one. 26 years old, and leading this exodus to a safe haven. As everyone looked to her for guidance, Sihra had no one to turn to but the spirits.
Leading an elderly woman over a rough patch on the forest path, she received the gratitude in the woman’s eyes with a nod and a small smile. For all her hardships, she would never abandon her kin -nor her duty. Like her people, she served the harmony, the balance of life. With the invasion, that equilibrium was broken. It may not be much, but she’d do what she could to help restore that, and her home in the process. Even if it was only a drop in the ocean of hurt that had washed over them.
“Hey, have you heard? People say a young woman turned the Noxians back with blades that flew like wings. A blade-dancer, with the blessing of the spirits. Her name is Irelia… I think? I’ve heard she fights for Ionia.”
“Really?! Is that where we are headed? If we can reach her, we’ll be safe, right?”
Sihra’s smile grew brittle as she heard the wisp of conversation on the wind. It was not the first time she heard the rumours that were spreading. As much as she wanted it to be true, she knew better than to put credit to mere stories. And yet, she had not the heart to stop the whispers in their tracks. True or not, they provided the refugees she was guiding with the most precious commodity they had, and what they desperately needed; hope.
It was fueling the hope they had that they would make it to safety, that their homeland would repel its invaders. It was what drove them to keep walking. She just… didn’t want to see the disappointment on their faces when it all turned out to be false.
They said Death in Ionia came as gently as feathers falling on fresh snow. It was that same gentle snow that was falling when their doom came upon them. Sihra rested in the snow, a soft flurry cooling her down. They did not dare to rest for long, yet it was necessary. None of the people she was guiding had the stamina to walk for hours uninterrupted.
A flock of birds flew overhead, as if fleeing from the same thing they were as a youth burst into the clearing she had designated as their resting spot. Zhan, she recalled. Not even 16 years old and barely strong enough to swing a sword, but a fast runner. And she needed every pair of hands she could get.
He was dressed in a similar garb as the escapees, not her own light leather armour. His simple gray tunic was held together by a red sash around his waist, the end of which fluttered as he looked around the clearing. “Sihra! Where's Sihra?”
Tiredly she rose, dusting off snow from her clothes as she did. Zhan had been in charge of their rearguard, following a league behind them. The safest position she could give, considering they had lost the Noxians two weeks ago. What could have spooked him so that…
Her thoughts trailed off as she saw the look on his face. Panting, out of breath, but with frantic eyes that zeroed in on her the moment he spotted her. “Sihra!”
He ran up to her and, before she could say a word, dragged her out of the clearing. Furrowing her brow, she followed him as a chill ran down her spine. It was only until they were out of earshot that Zhan stopped and nervously looked around, as if to check no one was near.
“By the forest’s spirits, Zhan, what is the matter? You weren’t supposed to be back before-”
“They found us!”
All thoughts left her as a harrowing dread filled her. “...What?”
“The Noxians! They’re here! They found us! I- I don’t know how o-or…”
The boy’s knees buckled and he sank to the ground, his breathing speeding up. Sihra knelt next to him and grabbed his shoulders, turning to face her.
“Hey, hey! Look at me. Take a deep breath first, okay? In for four, hold, out for four.” With his usual willingness to help, it was sometimes easy to forget he too had suffered. That he was still so young. “You’re alright. You’re okay.”
Breathing together, the young man regained some of his composure and yet, Sihra could see the fear was still there. She looked at Zhan, suppressing her own sense of foreboding. “Now, tell me exactly what it is you saw.”
Taking a shaky breath, he nodded. “Like you told me, I stayed behind for about a league, watching for pursuers. And there was nothing! Only… There was this feeling in the air, and I swear a pair of spirit cranes flew overhead,” the youth spoke hurriedly, before he looked away. “And I know you told me not to, but I went back and scouted further away.”
Frowning, SIhra opened her mouth to scold him for his reckless behaviour, but before she could get a word in, Zhan continued. Now, however, he looked up at her.
“I saw them. The Noxians. Not half a league away from where I was supposed to be.” He shuddered, and Sihra too felt her hand tremble. But she knew this time, it wasn’t from the cold.
The moment was broken when an eerie sound echoed through the forest. The clear howl of a wolf spread over the hills, and, as if this announced the start, the wind turned and Sihra could hear it. A rhythmic thumping. A sound that haunted her nightmares. Metal boots on frozen ground.
Wasting no time on more words, both of the Ionians sprung up and ran back to the glade. But as they ran, a whisper stirred with her breath.
Never one, without the other. The eternal hunters walk with all who near their end - Wolf with his jaws, Lamb with her arrows.
Another howl resounded through the forest, low and long, and Sihra felt in her bones that the Noxians weren’t the only ones hunting this day.
Spurring the refugees into actions took little effort. With each passing moment the thumping became louder, like a malevolent heartbeat. Still, it took time for everyone to get ready - bandages to be applied last minute, bundles to be packed. It was time they did not have.
Sihra gathered her fellow warriors to her. She looked at one of them, a young man who was dressed like her, twin swords at his hip. She took a breath to organise her thoughts.
“Suih, how far is it to the bridge?” she asked. He frowned. “Not too far. A league at best, maybe less. But by that time, the Noxians will have caught up by then.” He glanced at their people. “Sihra, we cannot outrun them.”
She nodded, deep in thought. The bridge in question was a small rope bridge spanning a deep ravine. It was the only way to cross the canyon for at least 30 leagues. It was the fastest way to get to the Placidium and, right now, it was the only place where they stood any sort of chance to get away.
She looked up at the scout. What Zhan did at their back, Suih did at their front. “Lead us there." She, too, glanced at their charges. “It is the only chance they have.” A plan started to form in her mind. She swallowed thickly. She knew what it was that she had to do. First things first, Sihra. Getting to the bridge is the first step.
Assigning positions to the other guards in a hurry, she addressed the group they were leading. “Everyone! We need to start moving. Follow Suih and Yienin.”
As the troop started to move, she joined at the rear, glancing back the way they came once more. There was a chill in the air, one that had nothing to do with the snow. She was in no way blessed by the spirits, but she could almost feel their presence. Once more, the wolf howled, closer now than it was before. She closed her eyes for a second. My duty is not finished yet. When she opened them, a fierce determination burned in them.
They moved slowly, much slower than Sihra would’ve preferred. But there was little that she could do. Time passed and with every minute, the winds carried more sounds to them. The clanking of metal on metal, rough voices in a foreign tongue. All the while, the pounding beat of their march was ever-present.
She looked around. The faces of the escapees that had been tired but hopeful that morning were now ashen. The fear was almost tangible, dread hanging like a blade over their heads. And yet, no one despaired. Whether it was her and her cohort, their faith in the spirits or the rumours of the hero, something was still giving them hope.
It filled Sihra with a strange sort of pride. That even so beaten down and trampled, their homes burned and their livelihoods destroyed, her people didn’t simply give up. Much like the barren trees in the forest they walked through, all of them believed spring would come.
Those trees started to thin out, though, as the ravine came into view, as well as the bridge.
The wooden planks seemed strong, the delicate rope-wood design strung with windchimes, softly clinking as they dangled over the dark abyss. A few boulders that flanked the entrance to the bridge had flowing patterns engraved into them, giving a solemn yet harmonious feeling to the place.
Stepping aside the shoddy line they walked in, Sihra sprinted to the front, with Zhan on her heels.. Suih and Yienin were already waiting for her, as were all the others. They looked at her, and she looked at them in turn. A grim understanding connected them. Still, she spoke.
“I won’t ask you to do this. I have no right, and I would understand if-”
She was interrupted by Suih, who held up his hand. He simply smiled. “You won’t have to.”
Looking at the semi-circle they were standing in, his expression mirrored that of the rest. All younger than her, yet all willing to follow her. Despite the situation they were in, what they all went through, Sihra felt incredibly fortunate to have met these people. Tears welled up in her eyes, but movement caught her attention near the treeline. She froze as her nightmare was made flesh and the first of the Noxians stepped out beyond the trees.
There was a little open field between the ravine and the tree line, and the moment Sihra saw them, she knew their time was up. “GO, GO, GO!” she urged the people she had guided all the way here. While the first of the villagers stepped on the bridge, two at a time, she turned back to her cohort.
“Yienin, start shooting. The more we can slow them or thin their numbers, the better. Suih, Shaishu, Zhan, Nisha. You four try to push as much of the boulders in a funnel on the left. Everyone else does the same on the right. Enough space to move for us, too little for them to overwhelm us. Now!”
As everyone started rolling the boulders in position, Sihra tried to guide as many people as she could on the bridge, hurrying the process. She saw Yienin reach for an arrow. Her bow, a slender weapon with gentle carvings and flowing ribbons attached, drew back as she loosed her first arrow. She followed the arrow as it travelled to their foes.
The Noxians, dressed in their red and black armour, chainmail glinting in the light underneath their heavy coats, simply raised their shields and kept moving. Quickly counting them, Sihra paled. They had at least twice their number, all of them carrying heavy axes. One in particular caught her eye. A man in plate armour, the Hand of Noxus depicted on his chest. The commander. He carried a greatsword, a notable groove in the steel near its guard.
Her breath hitched. She’d seen that sword -that man- before. When she turned and ran from her home, the head warrior of her village had made that scar. He was the only one not wearing a helmet, his face a mixture of annoyance, anger and… smug confidence. He neither hurried nor urged his soldiers on, nearly strolling towards them. As if they had already fallen to his sword.
Her resolve came rearing back. Gritting her teeth, she saw more than half of the people were already on the bridge. Some had even made it to the other side, now helping the newcomers, the chimes jingling every time a person moved. But it was still too slow. Some would be on their side when the soldiers arrived.
Her warriors, on the other hand, had made good progress. The great stones had made a funnel, wide enough for three of them to fight. The closer you came to the bridge, the narrower it became until two people could barely stand side by side.
She nodded. It would have to do. She walked to the end of the line of boulders, where the others were watching Yienin draw back her last arrow. As she released the string, all of them followed the projectile. Perhaps it was luck. Maybe the spirits were watching over them. But she clenched her fists as one soldier was too slow with his shield. The arrow buried in his neck, finding a home between the helmet and the chainmail. He died clutching the shaft.
The commander watched and raised his hand. Like a great machine, the warband came to a halt.The fallen soldier’s blood spread slowly, staining the snow crimson. They all knew he would not be the last. For a short while, the Ionians and Noxians stared each other down. Barely a stone’s throw apart, the silence shattered with clear ringing as Sihra’s sword left its sheath. Not a moment later, her comrades followed.
She stepped forward, standing in the middle of the entrance to the funnel. Dimly, she was aware Nisha and Suih flanked her. The message was clear. ‘To here and no further.’ With the enemy in front of her, her warriors by her side and her people behind her, Sihra raised her sword, the curved blade catching the light.
A gust of wind blew past them, tossing loose feathers from unseen birds into the air. One settled between them- white on the layer of freshly fallen snow. The moment it touched the ground, the tension between the two groups broke.
Like the tide, the Noxian soldiers surged forward. With axes poised and ready to strike, Sihra knew this first clash would be among the most dangerous. Yet when it came, time seemed to move slowly. With perfect clarity, she saw the heavy axe fall. Her sword met his weapon halfway gracefully, lightly pushing its edge away from her. She saw it rushing past her, burying itself into the cold ground.
Time snapped back into focus as the sounds of battle rushed to meet her in full force. In the opening she created, Sihra moved her blade down. Instead of cutting him down, her sword merely pushed her opponent back, unable to slice through his armour. She grit her teeth and surrendered herself to her battle-dance.
She allowed her opponent to approach again, unwilling to already break the line they so carefully created. She stepped sideways, movements measured and fluid. One strike leading into the next, she never slowed her blade.
It really is like a dance, she thought in passing. Moving with her weapon, guiding and steering, not forcing and pushing. She saw the same in her friends by her side. With their sashes fluttering the wind, she thought of the trees in her village. Their trunks were strong, their branches bending- but never breaking.
Still, the Noxians were not easy opponents. If the Ionians were fluid grace, the iron-clad soldiers were their opposite. Slow and heavy, with brute force splitting the sky and earth apart. Domineering the space they were in. But oh so efficient. Taking advantage of their armour, letting the Ionian warrior’s lighter strikes simply bounce off, gauntlet-clad fists finding swifter openings if their weapons were too slow.
The first casualty in the brutal melee was Nisha. The younger warrior wielded an elegant glaive, but was not as used to her weapon as Sihra was with her own. Spinning it to keep momentum, she was simply a fraction to slow. Her opponent’s axe stopped her in her tracks, and the man lunged and heaved, burying the metal in her shoulder. Blood sprayed around her, her leather armour offering little protection to the heavy weapon. Without a sound, she crumpled to the ground, glaive hitting the snow with a doff thud. Before the soldier could step forward, Nisha’s place was taken by another of her comrades, filling the gap to hold the line.
Sihra grit her teeth. She knew this was bound to happen. Had expected it. But it still felt like a needless loss- like all the deaths since this war started.
But it wasn’t.
It couldn’t be.
They were fighting for something. Something that was worth giving their all. And so Sihra kept dancing. She flowed around the weapon of her opponent, moving around while aiming for the gaps in the Noxian’s armour while he tried to force her down.
And no armour was impenetrable, no defense iron-clad. Dodging left after a heavy strike, Sihra’s blade flowed upwards, following her momentum. The attack forced the soldier back, making him stumble once. It was all the opening she needed.
Guiding her blade forward, the slender point found the gap between chainmail and helmet. It was no heavy strike, but it didn’t need to be. Clutching his throat, the man coughed once, twice, blood seeping between his fingers before he fell.
Letting herself feel only the barest of triumphs, Sihra was soon forced to turn to her next opponent. The same coat and mail, the same axe flying towards her, the same helmet staring her down. But these eyes were different, his build a little shorter. A twinge of regret filled her. These losses, too, felt needless. She clutched her sword as she whirled out of the way once more. It would not sway her.
—
The battle raged on for what felt like hours, but couldn’t have been more than minutes. Three more Noxians had been slain, but the defenders were down to half their number. Sihra stood behind the ever-receding defensive line they held, having swapped with another to take her place for a moment. She grunted, using her sash as a makeshift bandage where a stray shot managed to hit her.
Looking back to the bridge, the last of the refugees were already halfway through the contraption of rope and wood. She smiled slightly. That was good. It meant they were doing their duty. But…
Turning back once more, three Ionians faced down three Noxians, but behind them were a dozen more waiting. Not to mention the commander, standing at the rear, observing the situation with a glare. They were clearly giving him more trouble than he expected.
Still, the situation did not look good. If they retreated here, the warband would simply follow. Yet if they stayed, the soldiers could simply cross the bridge once they had defeated them. Neither possibility was an option. Eyes darting back and forth, she tried to come up with a solution…
Until her eyes landed on Zhan. The youth, pale faced and trembling, was holding a too large sword for him, having picked it up after one of their comrades had fallen. He was the only one who hadn’t fought yet, but was staring with determination at the enemy. When the boy noticed her gaze, he looked up with wide eyes and tried to smile. “I’ll go in next. You rest as much as you can, okay?”
A type of warmth and strength filled Sihra as she heard Zhan’s words. It wasn’t unfamiliar, but it took a few moments until the word came to her. Pride. She was proud of this young man, who was willing to give everything for what he knew was a hopeless endeavour. Stepping closer, she placed a hand on his shoulder and smiled.
“I appreciate it, Zhan, but I have a different mission for you.” She unbuckled one of the straps around her waist and handed it to him. Attached to it was her hunting knife. “I need you to follow the other over the bridge and the moment you reach the other side… you cut the ropes with this.”
His eyes grew even wider. “No! I need to help here! They are already so far and I… I can… I can…”
He trailed off, silver lining his eyes, clutching the sword to his chest. Slowly, Sihra reached for it, and softly tugged it out of his hands. He let her. “I know, and I understand. But,” she looked at him as she, too, teared up, “it is not your time yet. Those people still need a protector. I need you to do this, to keep them safe. Guide them to the Placidium in my stead. No matter what happens, the Noxians cannot follow them. Can you do that?”
She looked at him again, trying to convey what this meant without words. Eventually, Zhan’s hands wrapped around her knife, taking it -and the responsibility it came with. Slowly, he nodded, tears trailing down his face. “I’ll get them there. For you. For all of us.”
Sihra pulled him in for a hug. “I know you will.” After a moment, she whispered. “You’ve already made us proud.” She could feel the boy shake with silent sobs as he clutched her, a moment of peaceful finality. Then, they let go and Zhan turned, running across the wooden bridge. She watched him go. It was bittersweet, but now she understood why she was chosen by the warriors of her village to defend those who escaped. Why she was forced to run when she wanted to fight. She carried their hope with her, their future. And now, Zhan carried hers in turn. It was still a heavy burden to bear, but she had faith in the young man.
Sihra turned around, facing her choice. Now, I’m ready.
They said Death in Ionia came as gently as feathers falling on fresh snow, but there was nothing gentle about the way Suih’s body hit the ground. Grunting with exhaustion, Sihra pushed her opponent and dashed back, creating space. He’d been her last companion. Hearing the ringing of the chimes behind her, she realised the bridge was right behind her. She was now all that stood between them and the way across the crevasse. Pressing a hand against her side, it came back slick with blood. She clenched her fist before it returned to her sword.
They hadn’t managed long after Zhan had left. A minute, maybe more. Eight Ionians lay still on the snow, as well as five Noxians. Panting, she counted her opponents. Fifteen. All hale and strong. Her wounds pulsed in time with her heartbeat. She shifted her stance. If she turned and ran now, she might make it. She might, but so would the soldiers. She couldn’t -wouldn’t- risk it. The chimes still sounded, so Zhan hadn’t cut the bridge yet. So not yet. I’m not moving yet.
More chainmail clanked as more of her enemies pressed forward. Scuttling back even further, she grimaced as she felt the heel of her boot hit the first wooden plank of the bridge. But as she readied herself for the unavoidable clash, the balance shifted. A jumbled jangle sounded as the windchimes under the bridge were roughly smashed together as half of the ropes went slack and it tilted.
Finally, a new expression came over the commander’s face. Worry. He roared something Sihra couldn’t understand, but she could guess. But it's too late. We win, she couldn’t help but think as, with a whooshing sound mixed with clinking, the bridge fell and smashed in the cliff below her.
She smiled, but now with her lifeline cut, her one way out gone, she knew Death was near. And when the first Noxian charged, her vision changed.
Some part of her was still standing on the edge of the cliff, facing the soldier in metal and leather. She flowed through her battle-dance, a tranquil peace in her mind. The bridge was cut, her people were safe. But there was one last thing she wanted to achieve. Payment for a debt owed, a balance unsettled. Her eyes flicked to the commander of the troop, staring at her in turn with hateful fury.
She knew this was real. She was facing this threat. But some part of her was elsewhere. The Noxians had faded away, the great boulders back in their original position. The sky had darkened, and a grey fog rolled out from between the trees. They seemed closer than they should be, but that didn’t matter to Sihra.
Between the trees, a figure moved. She wasn’t human nor vastayan. It was a white Lamb, walking upright, holding an elegant bow with an ethereal white arrow on its string. A black Wolf's mask was fixed on her face and her eyes shone with a pale light. Recognition and realisation settled on Sihra’s face. She wasn’t surprised. She had felt their presence lingering, as all warriors who faced them would.
She watched as Lamb raised her bow, mirroring the action of her Noxian opponent, who raised his axe. But acceptance would have to wait. The arrow flew as the axe fell down, and Sihra moved in tandem with herself. Both of her dodged to the right, moving past the arrow and the axe.
But she couldn’t rest as the Noxian’s hand reached for her. And it was the gaping maw of a great Wolf, wearing a white Lamb’s mask, that greeted her in turn. She ducked low as the hand and Wolf went over her, the black smoke that seemed to make up his body simply dissolved when he passed her. Gritting her teeth, she jumped up and faced her opponents.
This was how she fought. Her mind split, her every move mirrored. Where Sihra could’ve accepted Death, Lamb’s arrow flew. And for every rejection, every struggle, Wolf chased her.
It did not come without a cost. Every movement drained her energy. Her limbs felt heavy, as if filled with lead. Her steps, once graceful, became more of a stumble. More and more cuts and bruises marred her body, even as she lost track whether they came from a human or Wolf.
And yet, she did not give in. Until her debt was paid, she wouldn’t rest. So when the moment came, she didn’t miss it. The Noxian in front of her swung his axe overhead, eager to claim his kill. Wolf lunged at her, but he overstepped. Instead of stepping aside, ducked low and lunged for his legs. Even as the man lost his balance, his momentum carried him forward, past her and into the chasm that waited there. Both Wolf and the soldier sailed overhead, disappearing into the dark, and her vision cleared for a moment.
Gone was the Lamb with her bow as Shira plunged her sword in the frozen ground to pull herself to her feet. A short silence reigned in that moment. But she couldn’t rest yet. The debt is nearly paid.
With fire in her eyes, Sihra grasped her sword and pulled it out the dirt. She raised it until it leveled with the commander, her arm shaking from exhaustion. A challenge made. The man in plate barked a command, and the warband parted, like reeds bending to the wind.
Unsheathing his blade, the commander stepped forward and raised his weapon. Taking a stance of her own, her eyes settled on the fissure carved in the man’s steel. She closed her eyes and exhaled, expelling her doubts. When she opened her eyes, the eternal hunters were waiting for her. Lamb patiently waited in the treeline as Wolf paced around in her shadow. A strange sort of peace settled over her as Lamb raised her bow, Wolf charged her and the Noxian commander swung his sword.
Sihra watched them come, a small smile tugging at her lips. And instead of dancing away, she raised her slender blade in a futile effort to the greatsword racing towards her. When the two made contact, there was no ringing from metal on metal. Only breaking as Noxian steel broke through the Ionian defense.
Splinters of silver steel fell to the ground as Sihra clutched the broken half of her sword and saw the jaws of Wolf close around her. Steel bit into her shoulder as she tensed and vaguely realised she screamed in pain. She couldn’t tell if it was a sword or fangs buried into her chest, just that it hurt. Looking up, she saw lips thinned into a sneer and a cruel triumph in dark eyes.
She coughed, blood coating her tongue and staining her teeth, as she smiled as well. And planted the heft of her broken sword in the man’s eye.
The commander fell backwards, his single eye staring up unseeing at the sky, sneer frozen on his face. Blood started to flow freely as Sihra sank to her knees and the greatsword clattered to the ground. She barely managed to look up as more blood flowed past her lips.
Two figures had made her way towards her. Lamb strode gracefully as Wolf’s ghostly form flowed around her.
“It was a good chase, little Lamb,” Wolf spoke, voice as deep as thunder.
“It was indeed,” came the ethereal reply from Lamb.
A pleased growl sounded from around Sihra as her vision darkened. Her bloodstained lips stretched into a smile. She did her part to restore the balance, repaid her debt to those whose hope was entrusted to her. Now was her time to rest. The memory of Zhan flitted past her. Yes, I’ve done my duty.
“Can we hunt the others?”
“In time, dear Wolf.”
The last thing Sihra of Ionia saw was an arrow, white as the snow that filled her vision.
After all, the Kindred in Ionia came as gently as feathers falling on fresh snow.