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“Where are you going, six-one-twenty-seven?” Shade ran alongside Villid. “To find more
Elves? Is this battle not satisfying you?”
Villid stopped, dropping his weapons to his sides as his tribe leader looked down at him expectantly. “Yes,” he said. “I mean, no, it isn’t. I am going deeper into the
village. Go and join the battle… sir,” he added through clenched teeth.
“Nonsense,” Shade laughed harshly. “The only thing better than a fighting enemy is a cowering one. The little house behind us held some easy prey. How I love the
Elf children,” he licked his lips, grinning nastily. Villid felt rage pummel inside him, and forced himself to turn and sprint faster towards the southernmost tower, hoping that Shade wouldn’t follow him. Something told him that the Seer was in the tower ahead; he had to find her immediately.

“If we are found,” Aya whispered as they pushed furniture against the door, “We will take the escape tunnel. There is a chance we can bypass them,”
“Where will we go?” Llyliana asked nervously.
“The old temple,” a plan was formulating in Aya’s mind. “To the west. It is outside the forest, but it has to be safer than here right now. There, we can get help...”
“Who will help us?” Llyliana interrupted. “We have no allies... the water
Elves are extinct...”
“The Dragons!” one of the ladies suddenly gasped. “We can pray at the temple...”
Aya nodded. “Llyliana, you’re a Seer. You can communicate with the Dragons,” she said, looking at the scared elf girl. “They will help us.”
Llyliana nodded slowly, sniffing. “I pray at the east tower every day, but Talgi never warned us about this,” she said sadly. “None of the Dragons did.”
“There will be a reason,” said Aya gently. “For now, we will hide here. If we are found, we can leave and escape to the old temple.”
“Where did those things come from?” one of the ladies whispered.
Nobody spoke. “Tyrans, I think,” Aya said eventually. “Remember the stories we heard when we were young? Violent and bloodthirsty creatures…”
“Why did they attack us?” whispered the Seer frantically. “We’ve done nothing wrong!”
Nobody could answer. Aya was shivering with fear. Where was Flint? Where was her father? Would she ever see them again? If the servants escaped with the Seer and went to the shrine, what would become of the village? Aya hugged herself, feeling lost and scared, flinching at every sound and expecting monsters to burst in at any moment.
The tower was just ahead. As Villid approached the heavy wooden door, a young
Elf man suddenly ran out of it, clutching a sword in his hand. He looked up at Villid and stepped back, looking terrified.
“You can’t come any further!” he shouted, waving his sword, blocking the doorway. Villid stared at him, pity overwhelming any desire to harm the
Elf. He glanced back. There was no sign of Shade.
“I won’t hurt you,” he said, and put his weapons away. “Just tell me where the Seer is, and I’ll leave you be.”
The Elf glared at him, his hands shaking so badly he could barely carry the sword. “Leave!” he shouted desperately, throwing out his arms as if to protect the tower.
A huge dagger suddenly shot through the air, past Villid’s head. With a loud clatter, the
Elf’s sword hit the ground, as he fell backwards onto the floor, the dagger buried in his eye. Blood poured onto the floor all around his head and he squirmed in pain, a blood-curdling scream echoing around the square.
“Elves,” Shade smirked, appearing behind Villid. “The Seer girl, I heard you say? The pretty one? I like your taste, six-one-twenty-seven...”
The E
lf’s body shook violently, and he finally lay still. Strange emotions were stirring inside Villid – guilt, sadness, grief. He stared down at the
E
lf’s sorrowful body, his face crimson with his own blood, mangled by the dirty blade digging into his skin. He hadn’t deserved to die – none of the
Elves had... the Darkma were their real enemies, and they were wasting time fighting people who should have been allies...
“You have not checked the tower, Tyran,” Shade growled, and pushed Villid through the wooden door.

“I can hear them!” Llyliana cried, as her servant girls started to panic. Heavy footsteps hammered on the spiral staircase – far too heavy for
Elves. “They’re coming!”
The few pieces of furniture they had managed to push against the door would not hold the monsters for long.
“Quickly,” said Aya, running to the back of the large bed chamber, where the huge mirror hung, as big as the wall. Aya ran her shaking finger along the top, where it shimmered for a moment, and then slid to the left, leaving a gaping hole big enough to crawl through. The
Elves stared at her in shock. “Quickly!” she repeated.
Llyliana ran towards Aya, her chestnut-brown hair rippling behind her, tears streaking her cheeks. Aya helped her into the tunnel. “Go into the forest,” she called. “Go! I’ll come after you,”
She pushed the rest of the women inside the hole, where a small passageway led to a ladder.
“We’ll be safe,” she whispered encouragingly to them as they went. They suddenly heard a loud banging noise and the door was shaking – it sounded as if someone was throwing himself against it. “Hurry!”
The heavy wooden door suddenly burst open and two bearded, blood-spattered Tyran creatures stood in the doorway, clutching huge, scarlet-stained weapons. Their gaze fell straight on Aya. The furniture they had stacked against the door had been kicked aside like leaves. For a heart-stopping moment Aya took in the terrifying sight before her, and felt panic grip her body like Death’s ice-cold fingers. This was it. This was how she was going to die.
Then everything seemed to rush back to her at once; she felt the sticky air, smelt the blood, heard the panicked screams of the women escaping through the tunnel. She slammed her fist into a rusted stone on the wall, and the mirror slid back into place. She felt more terrified than she had all her life, and yet... she could feel an odd surge of triumph. She had saved the Seer – her race may not be doomed after all. Through her terror, she felt a small measure of comfort.

Shade slammed against the wooden door at the top of the spiral staircase until it burst open. There was the Seer girl, dressed in blood-covered robes of emerald green, mud and dirt on her arms and face, her clothes ripped, her chest heaving as she breathed, terror on her pale face. Villid felt slight relief mingled with panic – she wasn’t dead yet. She stared defiantly at them, her fists clenched, fire in her eyes. Villid gazed at her, and something stirred within him. She was beautiful – much more beautiful than any Tyran woman he had seen before.
“So you are the Elf Seer,” said Shade greedily, eyeing her up and down. “What a lovely specimen,”
Aya glared at them both, backed against the mirror behind her. She had no weapon. She knew she stood no chance against two Tyrans, but she felt determined to take at least one down with her when she went. She glanced over at Llyliana’s hammock and small, wooden bedside cabinet. Perhaps if she could break something and use it as a weapon...
“We may not kill her straight away,” Shade smiled, not taking his eyes off Aya. “Too young and fresh to waste...”
Villid’s eyes flitted from Shade to the Elf. His heart was racing. He had to somehow protect her.
“Stop,” said a voice behind them.
Shade and Villid turned, and the old Tyran Seer stood at the doorway, his grey eyes cold and angry. Shade let out an angry hissing noise. “I thought I told you to wait in the forest!” he thundered.
“Withdraw,” the Seer said coldly, ignoring Shade’s outburst. “Call off this attack. Can you not see this is getting us nowhere? Slaughtering of the innocent, killing helpless women and children… this is beneath the Tyrans, Shade. There is no glory in mindless genocide.”
Shade said nothing as the Seer limped towards him, and then past him. He stood between the
Elf and Shade. “You must not harm her,” he croaked. “This is a fool’s game.”
“Leave the Seer girl alone, Shade,” Villid said quietly. “We can’t harm her. Our future depends on it.” He wondered why the
Elf girl didn’t run while she could, but she looked so terrified that her feet seemed to be stuck to the floor.
“Silence, six-one-twenty-seven!” Shade roared. “Move aside, Seer! You have no say in what the Tyrans do anymore. You are a foolish old man who prays to Dragon gods that don’t exist.”
“The Dragons have told me that we are doomed to extinction if this carries on,” the Seer said. “Right at this very moment, they are screaming at me to stop you. I
cannot let you harm another Elf tonight, Shade, especially the last Elf Seer. You are a fool for believing we can establish power anywhere without the Dragons’ help. You are an arrogant, foolhardy leader with no sense. Now stop this!”
Shade gave a roar and withdrew his weapons. “Enough!” he bellowed. “Never again will you affront me, old man!”
He darted towards the Seer and pierced him in the stomach with his long, curved sword. “No!” Villid cried, as the Seer let out an anguished cry, blood bursting from his lips. Shade twisted his sword cruelly, an insane smile creeping onto his face. “Where are your Dragons now, old man?” he hissed. Numb with shock, Villid watched in horror as Shade pulled the sword from the Seer’s middle and stared at him triumphantly.
“You fool,” the Seer whispered to Shade, collapsing to his knees. “No good will come of this.”
And he fell to the ground, shook violently for a moment, and then lay still, his wolf skin drenched with blood, his empty eyes filled with sadness.
“
No
!” Villid roared, and tackled Shade, slamming into him and tackling him to the ground. Nothing but blind anger ripped at Villid as he punched Shade with all his strength, hearing a satisfying crunch as his fist beat into Shade’s nose. He didn’t know anyone else was there until he heard someone yell “Villid!”
He swivelled round, and two more Tyrans stood in the doorway, staring down at him. One was his brother, Swift. The Tyrans looked from the Seer’s lifeless body, to Aya, who held no weapon, and then to Villid, who had Shade pinned to the ground, his fist still clenched, blood pouring from Shade’s broken nose.
“He killed the Seer, you fools!” Shade suddenly bellowed, pushing Villid off him and pointing at the Seer’s lifeless body. “He’s trying to kill me! Destroy him!”
Villid scrambled to his feet and stumbled towards Aya. “Run!” he shouted desperately. Aya seemed to snap to action. She pulled a nearby lantern from the wall and threw it to the ground; it smashed and the rug caught fire. Flames were suddenly crackling between them and the Tyrans.
“You’re not going to kill me?” she shouted over the fire.
“You heard us,” he yelled back, still numb with shock. “I’m not going to hurt you. Get us out of here!”
Aya lunged to the wall behind them and slid the mirror aside once more. The same hole as before appeared in the wall. Shade had jumped to his feet, dark red blood pouring down his face and beard, and was stamping at the flames, yelling furiously at the others to help him.
Villid took hold of the sliding mirror and pulled; the huge mirror snapped off the wall and he lunged it with all his might towards the Tyran soldiers; it hit Shade, he was thrown backwards to the ground, letting out a
pained yell. Aya scrambled into the hole behind them, almost tripping over her dress in panic. Villid pushed after her with great
difficulty; it was very narrow. “Hurry,” he urged, as he struggled through the small passageway after the
Elf.
“You just saved my life,” Aya whispered, as they climbed down a rope ladder leading downwards. Villid said nothing in response. Shade had just framed him, and would no doubt tell the others that it was Villid who had killed the Seer, not Shade. Villid felt grief and anger creep through him as he struggled down the ladder after the
E
lf girl he had just saved. Now he had no hope of ever reuniting with his tribe. He was no safer than the
Elves. But he couldn’t worry about that now...
They pushed open a trapdoor at the bottom of the ladder and staggered out of it into a muddy bank. Aya slipped and Villid grabbed her arm to steady her. They were now behind the south tower and out of sight of the battle, but the stench of blood and smoke still burnt their nostrils. Ahead of Aya and Villid was the thicket of trees, the edge of the forest. They stumbled down the bank, over the broken fence, and into the black thicket, away from the village and into the tangled darkness. The sound of the screaming and fire was getting fainter and fainter as they ran, and soon all they could hear was their own raspy breathing, the rustle of leaves and snapping of twigs.
In the darkness, they saw the trees thin out until they reached a small forest clearing. The leaves rustled in the hot breeze. Aya gave a tearful sigh and fell to her knees, where the ground was wet and cool. Villid collapsed beside
her, both out of breath and exhausted.
“What’s your name?” she breathed, tiredness overwhelming her.
“Villid,” he murmured. “What’s yours?”
“Aya,” she whispered, and her world went black.

Several hours later, the first slits of morning sunlight shone through gaps in the trees, illuminating two figures lying on the ground amongst wet leaves
and tree branches. Aya opened her eyes and frowned in the morning sunlight. She sat up slowly, her whole body aching, wet leaves stuck to her skin, confused – why was she outside?
She reached up to rub her eyes, and saw the dried blood on her arms. It all flooded back to her in an instant – the attack, the sound of screaming, the fire, the smoke, and blood, so much blood…
The Tyran next to her gave a heavy sigh and she jumped away from him. He lay with his arms folded, his blood stained sword and axe lying beside his sleeping figure. His steel armour and dark hair were stained with spatters of blood – the blood of
Elves. Aya got shakily to her feet and backed away from him.
He was enormous – at least six or seven feet tall, bigger and wider than any Elf man Aya had ever seen. She had never seen a Tyran before last night, and now she had, they reminded her of nightmares.
She turned and fled back towards the direction of the village. Panic flooded through her as she recalled the horrors of last night. Would anyone still be alive? Had Llyliana and the servant girls got away safely? What had happened to Flint and Dorran, her father?
Aya ran, her terrified breath clenching the insides of her lungs, her heart pounding with fear, low-hanging branches scratching her face and arms as she struggled through the thick trees. She was terrified at what she may find, but there was no way she could turn back. There had to be someone, anyone, left alive.
She finally emerged from the trees and found the muddy hill from the previous night; she could see the tops of the towers rising behind them, the plain flags swaying in the morning breeze, as if nothing had changed at all. She clambered up the slope, half-wanting to turn back, frightened of what she was about to see, and desperately hoping against hope that it had all been a terrible dream.
The sun had risen, and morning sunshine beamed onto the streets of the village. Aya reached the top of the hill, panting, and at the sight she found, gave an anguished scream and collapsed to her knees.
Where her precious village once was, lay a stretched landscape of black and red. Most of the small wooden houses been burned to the ground; the few left standing were half-destroyed, splintered wood scattered around them. The tables from the night before had been overturned; the ground was littered with old food and spilled wine.
Amongst the houses and the destroyed decorations were hundreds of motionless bodies, some holding weapons, some empty-handed, lying lifeless, their empty eyes open,
but not seeing the blood-red sky of the morning. Some bodies had limbs torn from them, weapons buried in their chests or backs. Bloody weapons lay here and there, and the ground was covered in ripped strips of coloured ribbon, smashed lanterns, stone and straw.
Aya clutched at her hair, sobbing uncontrollably; she felt as if she was drowning in terror. Everything she had ever known and loved now lay destroyed before her. Where was her father? Where was Flint? Did they lie among the poor, mutilated bodies that filled the streets?
She drank in the horror, the endless mess of bloody corpses, fighting back the urge to vomit. Shakily, she got to her feet and stumbled down the hill, unable to stop herself retching at the sea of mutilated bodies in front of her. As she came to the streets, a terrible smell of blood, death, sweat and smoke made her cover her mouth with her sleeve. The pale corpses looked worse from up close, pained and cold, caked in dried blood and worse. Aya staggered along on the glass, stone and broken wood stabbing at her feet through her sandals. A deathly silence hung over the almost unrecognisable city; not even a single bird chirped, and the breeze seemed to have disappeared.
“Father?” she called desperately.
Sometimes she saw an E
lf she knew, and turned away, tears burning in her eyes, feeling as if she’d lost more and more with each familiar face. She avoided the stage where she and the other dancers had performed – was it really less
than a day since they had been dancing without a care in the world? She didn’t want to see Neecrid again, who had died alone, it had been so quick, and Aya had been powerless to help her…
Suddenly, she saw a small movement, near one of the towers. It had been burned so badly that it looked as if it would soon collapse. Aya ran between the corpses and charred remains, and fell to her knees next to an
Elf who was still breathing - just. He had been slashed on his face and body; his eyes were barely open, and he clutched at a wound on his chest. Aya’s stomach squirmed inside her - it was Dorran.
“Father,” Aya whispered, cupping his poor face in her hands. His skin was white as snow underneath the crimson, drying blood that covered his cheek, arms and chest. “Father!” she said desperately.
“Aya?” Dorran breathed, his eyes flickering open for a moment.
Tears poured freely down Aya’s cheeks. “It’ll be all right, father,” she sobbed quietly. “I can help you...”
“Aya,” Dorran’s weak hand clutched at her robes. His half-closed eyes were out of focus, and his lips shook, his head lolling as if he was looking for Aya, but couldn’t see her. He whispered something Aya couldn’t hear. “What?” she sobbed. “I can’t hear you,”
His lips were barely moving. She clutched his cold hand tightly in hers as she moved closer to him, silently praying
for him, gazing at the man who she had always loved more than anyone else, her protector, her father…
“Flint… is dead,” Dorran hissed. “Run.”
His hand went limp, his sad eyes gazed past Aya, unseeing. A single tear trickled down his cheek as his final breath left his body. Aya didn’t know how long she lay on Dorran’s chest, sobbing as she clutched at him, begging him not to leave her, screaming for everything she had lost in a few short hours. She felt as if she were being torn into a thousand pieces. Her father had always been there for her, always given her strength, and now, like Flint, like Neecrid, like everyone, he was gone, and would never, ever come back…
“I’m so sorry,” said a voice behind Aya. She jumped round, her heart racing - it was Villid, his dark silhouette towering above her, still covered in blood and muck, wearing that terrible steel armour.
Aya held on to her father’s body, unable to stop the never ending tears, silently begging him to wake up. She lay in Villid’s shadow, clutching at her father, as if pleading would wake him up. Grief and terror bit at every part of her body. Then, slowly, fear was turning to anger. She stared down at her father’s innocent, lifeless face cupped in her shaking hands, and rage burned inside her. How she hated the Tyrans. How she hated this man standing right beside her. He was the one to blame for all of this… he had to pay...
Her father’s sword lay on the floor... she suddenly grabbed it and spun to her feet, holding it high above her head, wanting to kill him for what he and his tribe had done, bring him as much pain as he had given her…
The long, silver dagger swung through the air quickly, but Villid lunged back, instinctively blocking it with his axe. Metal on metal clanged and sparks exploded against the weapons. Aya swung again and again, tearful, angry screams piercing the morning air, and Villid blocked her attacks...
“Stop!” he yelled above the clashing of the metal. Aya didn’t listen; anger and hatred flowed through her and all she wanted to see was for this filthy Tyran to pay for what he and so many others had done. She swung at him over and over, trying to stab, slash, cut, kill – she didn’t care. It felt good to strike back, to be the one to hold the sword...
“Stop!” Villid bellowed, his arm slipping, Aya’s sword catching his shoulder, drawing blood. “Aya, stop!”
The sound of her name seemed to bring her to her senses. Aya cried out in anguish, threw the sword away from her and fell to the ground, pummelling the floor with her fists.
“Why? Why did this happen?” she sobbed. Villid hesitated, then bent down and gingerly put his hand on her back. She jumped slightly at his touch, then sniffed, still staring at the ground. Her thick hair
fell like curtains, hiding her face. She gazed at her blood-stained hands, a choking darkness welling up inside her.
“Just kill me,” she whispered. She had nothing to live for
now.
Villid shook his head. “I won’t do that,” he said.
“Why?” she asked, and looked up at him. “Why not just kill me? I’m just another
Elf.”
Villid didn’t answer. Her piercing green eyes bore into him, her face a picture of pain. All the sadness in the world seemed to be in
her, making him feel guiltier with each passing moment. “I’m not going to kill you,” he said weakly.
There was a moment’s silence, when suddenly they heard voices from behind the tower. Deep, harsh voices, certainly not belonging to
Elves...
“Quickly,” Villid grabbed Aya by the elbow and pulled her to a half-burnt house, where they crouched painfully behind it. Almost immediately, two Tyrans emerged from behind the nearest tower ahead of them. Villid’s gut lurched. One of them was his brother, Swift.
“...was definitely over here somewhere,” said the first Tyran, who boasted a long, red beard, one of his eyes blinded years ago by some forgotten battle. Villid recognised him as Shunt, who he had trained with briefly in younger years. Swift was staggering over the
Elves’ bodies, his face tired and worn, looking years older.
“I still can’t believe he did it,” sniffed Shunt, casually kicking aside a woman’s body as if she were a stone. Villid felt Aya tremble next to her, and closed his warm hand around her arm.
“Killing a fellow Tyran outside the arena – that is unforgivable,” Shunt said. “The Seer, of all people. Can you believe it?”
Swift shook his head, his blond
hair sticking to his face, his tired eyes staying firmly on the ground. Shunt looked at him expectantly. “Do you have any idea where Villid went?” he added suspiciously.
“None at all,” sighed Swift. “I know everything you know.”
“Can you believe it?” Shunt muttered as they crunched through the square. They were getting dangerously close to where Aya and Villid were hiding. Swift grunted something in response.
“Between you and me,” Shunt’s voice dropped to a whisper. “If you and Shade hadn’t seen what happened, I wouldn’t believe it. I thought the Seer and Villid were close…”
Shunt suddenly stared right at the spot where Villid was hiding. For a moment they sat there, rooted to the spot. Then -
“RUN!” Villid bellowed, and with his hand still gripped round Aya’s arm, he dragged her roughly out from behind the crumbled house and back towards the hill behind them. They heard a roar from Shunt but didn’t look back; a short, silver dagger narrowly missed Aya as they sped up the grassy hill and down the other side, towards the thick trees. They were almost there -
Then something huge and heavy suddenly slammed hard into Villid and with a shout he fell to the floor; his head collided onto a rock and he shouted in pain. Swift had tackled him to the ground; his brother jumped up and dragged him roughly to his feet with huge, strong hands. For a moment Swift just stood there, his hands clutching Villid’s shoulders, his breathing heavy and angry.
“Swift,” said Villid desperately. “I didn’t kill the Seer...”
“Go,” Swift hissed. “Get out of here. I’ll tell them you went south. Go!”
Aya and Villid stared at Swift. Shouts could be heard from the other side of the hill.
“Brother, I...” Villid whispered.
“Go, I said!” Swift growled, and pushed them both towards the trees. Aya and Villid pushed through the thick branches and ran as fast as they could, dodging low branches and sprinting deeper into the forest.
“Where do we go?” said Aya, hardly daring to believe what she had just seen.
“Just run,” Villid breathed, his mind racing. Swift had protected him above the tribe. He felt a rush of gratitude towards his brother... no other Tyran would have done that, not ever.
They stumbled through the thick trees, Aya behind Villid, their hearts pounding, being as silent as they could as they struggled along. It was difficult, especially for Villid, who had to crouch every few minutes to dodge a low branch. Seconds ticked into minutes as they headed deeper and deeper into the thicket. Aya’s head was spinning, but one
thing was certain to her now. She couldn’t go back to her village. Running was the only thing stopping her from breaking down into tears as her father’s poor, lifeless face flashed before her eyes. Every now and then she glanced back, expecting a heavy axe or a long blade to fly through the air, but all was quiet.
They kept moving. Villid silently thanked Swift for what he had done. His brother believed him, at least. His thoughts moved to Shade, and anger and hatred pummelled inside him. Right now he was probably celebrating the Tyrans’ success at destroying the
Elven
village, and to be rid of the Seer and Villid with it. Grief, anger and sorrow all tore at his heart as he and Aya ventured deeper into the wood, emotions he was not familiar with, and didn’t like. They
crouched low, being as silent and quick as they could. He couldn’t hear the swish of an axe or the heavy footsteps of Tyran soldiers, but he was not convinced for a moment that they were safe. Paranoia gripped him as they ran; he felt that if they stopped moving, arrows or daggers would cut them into pieces.
Aya eventually gripped the back of Villid’s armour, as he was moving faster and faster, too quick for her to keep up. She felt exhausted, blinded by emotion, confused and lost; eventually she allowed Villid to guide her through the seemingly endless wood, as the minutes became hours of stumbling through the forest, until eventually they came to a small clearing, and stopped.
The forest sounded almost silent without Villid’s crunching footsteps through the bracken and broken twigs. They could hear almost nothing at all except the chirping of woodland birds and the steady rustling of the leaves in the trees above them in the wind.
Here, the trees opened up properly. The branches were thick so it was almost dark, but slits of sunlight shone onto the ground here and there. A few of the trees had fallen and formed into logs; one large, thick trunk had a large opening inside it; Villid peered into it, and saw that it was big enough for them both to lie in.