Aethel Skyweaver's Arc

Chapter 4 of 8

Aethel stood very still on the bare platform. The wind pulled at their wings. Behind them was nothing — no wall, no door, just a stone arch frame they had set up as a marker, open to the sky on every side. The bunker had stopped. Its cannon barrel pointed straight at their chest. The crystal ports along the bunker's flanks tracked every small movement. Aethel saw the angled walls, the heavy concrete shoulders, the round black mouth of the gun. One shot would split the platform in half. They had no cover. They had no second platform to fall back to. Aethel set the jagged blade down on the boards. They kicked it away with the side of their foot. Then they reached into their satchel and lifted out a small crystalline orb. It pulsed soft amber in their palm. They held it up high, slow, so the ports could see. An offering. A light. Nothing hidden. For a long moment nothing happened. Then a hatch on the bunker hissed open at the base. A wet, heavy shape slid out onto the rocks — a giant slug, blue-skinned and dotted with bright purple. It left a shining trail. It carried a folded cloth on its broad back. It moved toward the platform at a slow, patient pace, and the cannon did not fire. Aethel let out a breath they had been holding for what felt like hours. The bunker had answered, but not with stone or steel. They lowered the orb. Whoever lived in those distant towers was sending a messenger, not a shot. The platform was still bare. The sky was still open. But the first word between them would not be written in fire.