"April!" Hera shrieked, diving forward. Her fingers wrapped around the blunt end of the rope. April didn't stop the gasp escaping her lips as her fall was stunted, her feet once again dangling in the open air.

Her breath came in shivering exhales. Her chest heaved against her tight constraints. That was close. Something wet dripped on her head. Was it raining? She looked up to see her friend grinning at her.

"Hey," Hera said. It took April a second to realize Hera wasn't grinning. Rather the sprite had her teeth bared and gritted. In pain. Hera was in pain. "I got you."

A drop of something liquid splattered on her forehead. It was warm. Thick. April's stomach turned when the familiar scent of rust filled her headspace. Blood. It was blood.

"Hera, you're hurt," April said as her friend grunted once more. Was it from the pain or from the act of pulling April's weight? "Don't force yourself."

"And let you plummet to death?" Hera asked, her voice and tone strained. "Not a chance. I'll lift you up and cut through your bounds. You handle the rest."

April bobbed her head. That sounded like a plan. She couldn't even believe Hera had seen her like this, with her hair damp and plastered to one side of her face, dangling at the edge of the world they've ever known.

Soon, the back of April's head hit the familiar feel of thick cobblestones. It's where the road ended abruptly, as if it got sliced off the time the territory was made to float. Hera exhaled from her nose as she rested the elbow of her busted arm on the floor. Her other hand bore Melron's dagger. The owner had been disposed to the side, like Hera had kicked him there before lunging for the end of April's rope.

Slowly but surely, Hera hacked at the dark constraints wrapped around April. Thankfully, it was made from cloth with ores that sneakily looked like jasclume stitched on the hem. Those sneaky insects. This was why they were so adamant to get their hands on the cursed ore?

Wait. Melron mentioned another plan. The real plan. Did that mean April was just someone they needed to sweep to the side because she could get in their way? If so, who were the other ones responsible for this? And if Melron's not the only one acting, then—

"He's not alone!" April's eyes widened as she looked back at her friend. "Hera, look out!"

Hera looked back a little too late. Huge, metal prongs slammed into the ground where they were. Blood sprayed in the sky, complimenting the rich orange shades rippling through it. The rope slipped from Hera's grip. April's fall resumed.

Tears pricked at the side of April's eyes. Hera. They killed her. They—

The air howled in her ears, the earth's pull relishing in dragging her weight down, down, down. Panic swirled in April's gut. With her wings useless with whatever potion they flushed into her system, she's bound to splatter to the ground with a glorious splash.

She began flailing. Her arms could squirm a little bit better now, she noticed. Hera's progress reached April's elbows, freeing at least one of her hands. Gritting her teeth, she gripped the torn end of her bounds with her stiff hand and the other side with her free one. Then, with a scream, she pushed all her strength into making sure the two ends stayed physically apart the farthest possible.

The sound of fabric ripping joined the cacophony of wind and heartbeat ringing in her ears. Immediately, her magic sped into her system, spearing straight into the area where it was needed. Her wings. A soothing sensation inside was a complete irony to the chaos happening outside. Her hair whipped around her head like malfunctioning tentacles.

Then, her bones righted themselves, the feeling of her wings returning to her muscles. With a grunt, she spread her wings, catching the drift underneath. Pain shot to her coverts, the sudden blast of wind slamming into it. She gritted her teeth. Pain was necessary. Pain was the one that would get her out of this mess.

Flexing her back muscles in coordination with the ones controlling her feathers, she flapped her wings and she soared. Up, up, up. Falkirta's edge skirted past her feet after a few seconds of dedicated whizzing. She spread her wings once more, stopping herself into a hover. Ahead, the familiar expanse of red and beige roofs carpeted the pockets of green canopies scattered over the vast plain of Azorgend.

Her breath hitched. Hera.

Quickly, she dove for the ground, tucking her wings at the last moment, letting her feet stop her descent. Then, she was running. Towards a slumped figure at the edge. Towards the bright puddle of blood spilling over the sharp ledge.

The long metal poles that speared her friend were nowhere to be found. The only proof they were even there were the small cracks they made to the cobblestones and the pockets of upturned soil on the flat, untouched ground. April dropped to her knees beside Hera's form. Her hands shook as she turned her friend around.

Hera's chest rose and fell—a temporary relief. "Hey, you're okay," April said, fighting the tears blurring her vision. Hera would be okay. She'd be tending to Daisy and all the ill-named dagrinis in the stables tomorrow. "Hang in there. I got you."

Her magic flared to the surface and sped towards Hera's wounds. Blood made her hands sticky and falsely warm, soiling her trousers and the cobblestones underneath them. She gritted her teeth. Come on. Heal.

Nothing happened. Blood continued coloring the stones. Hera's eyes fluttered open and closed, as if she was fighting to stay awake. April cursed and tried again, pumping her magic harder now.

A small cough tore April's attention from the gaping wounds on Hera's form. "It's no use," her friend rasped. Thick curtains of blood ran down her lips and dribbled past her chin and neck. "I know the metal they used on me. Dwarven metal."

April didn't speak but instead summoned more magic and pressed her hands on Hera's abdomen. She didn't care what other metal hurt her. Hera wouldn't die. She couldn't. Not on April's watch.

A bloody hand closed around April's wrist. Her eyes dared to venture down Hera's dark purple eyes. Now, they look more black, the sparkle of life in them slowly ebbing away. "Don't bother," Hera said. Her voice was nothing but a whisper now. "You can't heal me. It's Dwarven metal. You can't heal me."

This time, tears truly broke free from April's eyes. "Don't tell me that!" she screamed. "I can heal you!"

Hera tightened her hold on April's hand with what looked like the last of her strength. "Listen to me," she said. "Keep fighting for what you think is right. Correct the mistakes you think your bloodline made. But you know what?"

April forced her chattering teeth and her sobs to still. "What?" she dared ask.

"You didn't do anything wrong, April," Hera's eyes closed completely. "Don't let guilt tie you down. Live your life free to choose. Because you are. Promise me that."

April answered by summoning her magic once more and attempting to heal her friend. "Promise me," Hera said again, much more urgent, this time. "Please."

"Okay, fine," April rasped. "I promise. Now, I have to heal you. Stop talking."

Hera chuckled. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head. "Bossy as ever, Apes," she said. "I'd miss that."

April shook Hera's shoulder. Called her name. Then, Hera slumped against April's arms, her last breath joining the strong breeze that blew at that moment. No. No, no, no. Not Hera. She's alive. She's—

Hera's form burst into a shower of dark brown feathers. Remnants of her. As if sensing the sprite's passing, the wind rose and swept the feathers into their embrace, scattering them over at the edge.

No! April reached out, her fingers clasping the last tendrils of Hera's feathers before they fluttered to the horizon. She's...

She's gone. April failed. On a lot of things.

Hera was gone. April couldn't save her. The only person who made her life in Azorgend bearable with her infuriating jokes and insufferable nicknames died in April's arms after saving her from the very people who suffered because of her bloodline's legacy.

Don't let your guilt tie you down. You didn't do anything wrong.

Hera's voice was a painful memory in April's heart. April's knees shook when she tried to stand up so she stayed there. Tears turned the darkening sky into blobs of ink. Emotions she couldn't begin to understand bubbled from her gut to her throat. When her lips couldn't hold them back anymore, she let them out.

A scream ripped from her throat, spearing through the darkness where it died unheard by anyone. The release felt good after the time it took for her to hold everything back. She loved it. So, she opened her mouth again and screamed. And screamed. And screamed.

Until her throat was scratched dry and she could taste blood at the back of her tongue, she screamed. Screw everyone. Screw everything. As her raw voice screeched into the empty countryside, her rage, a barrage of pure anguish and bitterness, formed into a heavy ball in her soul. With each scream she released, the ball was polished to a deadly glint. Soon, it was perfect. It was enough.

After her voice was long gone, April straightened, staggering a bit. Her eyes stared passively at the sheet of dark periwinkle that once had been purely white. Melron's words bled in her ears. When you lose someone you loved, you'll know, the former adviser had said. You'll know what it's like to die while living.

A bitter laugh tore off April's lips. In the end, the crazy old hag was right. Losing someone honed her blade into a deadly edge, her resolve into an arrow poised to strike. Revenge was a fine wine only the most bitter could taste. And how glorious it was once achieved.

And that's what April would do. Revenge.

Because at the end of the day, she's as rotten as the rest of them were. After all, it takes a rotten core to recognize another one of its kind. In this game, there wasn't anyone who would come out a saint.

They dragged April down to hell. She'd come back to drag them down deeper than that. She'd plunge them head-first into her own, personal chaos.

To do that, she needed to seize control over Falkirta on her own. Then, she'd track down the people who killed Hera and who dared attempt to take her life. Finally, she'd erase everything the High Queen had done wrong so that no one could ever blame her for her mother's sins. She'd scrub Lanteglos and Umazure so clean there wouldn't be anything to be said about her.

She'd fix everything so she wouldn't hurt again, so she wouldn't experience pain again.

Because pain, as much as it was necessary, was a poison gripping her system. Pain was her doom. Pain would be her end.

April refused to be under it while she could.

And to save herself, she has to start the cleaning. Starting from the people who committed treason. Starting from the sprite with black wings.

April turned away from the ledge, from the last place she had seen Hera with a smile on her face. Behind her, Crozal, the Crimson Mother, shone crimson, as if telling her blood would always follow her and wouldn't ever give way.

She let it. Craved it.

Come on, witch. Plunge the world with crimson until the damned drown in it.