Matthew Ashford's Arc

Chapter 1 of 3

Matthew Ashford pinned the wanted poster to the weapon rack at the village edge. He read the name again. Syrian Small. A fairy killer, the notice said. He wanted to be captain of the River Heights watch one day, and a bounty like this could put his name in the right ear. But first, the screaming quarter behind him needed saving. He turned to the rack he had dragged into the square. Swords, rifles, old blades, helmets — every weapon the village could spare, stacked tall as a man. He had made it his rally point. From here, he sent neighbors with buckets to the line of overturned carts and broken fences where the swarm had been held. The blue pixies came again over the barricade. Their wings buzzed. Their teeth flashed. A child cried somewhere behind him. Matthew grabbed the heavy fuel canister from the rack and hauled the nozzle onto his shoulder. He pumped the handle until it hissed. He walked into the ruined lane and pulled the trigger. Flame poured out in a long orange tongue. Pixies shrieked and burned. He swept the torch left, then right, driving the swarm back toward the broken cabin at the village edge. By the time the canister coughed empty, the lane was quiet. Smoke curled off small blue bodies in the dirt. Something moved inside the cabin. Matthew stepped through the doorway, blade drawn. A small green woman stood by the hearth, sword low, eyes steady. "Syrian," he said. She did not deny it. "The hunter took my wings," she said. "I took his life. That is all." She turned her back so he could see the scars. Matthew lowered his blade. He thought of the poster outside. He thought of captains who never listened, and men who got hurt because of it. He pulled the notice from his coat and dropped it in the ashes. "Stay here," he said. "I'll keep them off you." Outside, dawn was coming. The pixies were gone. And Matthew Ashford was now hiding the village's most wanted fugitive.