Amelia Thornheart

Hinako’s first fight had gone better than she could have ever hoped.

It was no exaggeration to say that she’d been anticipating her debut for years. While she had always imagined it taking place somewhere in the Three Sisters, or perhaps even in Centralis, she didn’t feel any regret over doing it in a small plateau city in the Far South. A win was a win. Even if she lost the next round, an official win on her record would mean she could find a place in any arena in the Empire.

“Sixty seconds!” a referee called.

What would her parents say when they heard about this? They’d never directly discouraged her dreams of becoming a duellist, but they’d never encouraged her either, believing it to be an improper path for their daughter to take. Her Father had been delighted to hear she’d been handpicked by Captain Halen. Little had he known that a military career under the Hellfire Captain would only lead to her ambitions being encouraged.

And it wasn’t just the captain who supported her.

She’d been granted sponsorship by Amelia. Amelia—no—Lord-Prospect Thornheart had chosen her to be one of the very first actions the newly formed House Thornheart had taken. Some may try to brush it aside, claiming that a Lord-Prospect’s sponsorship carried little weight, but this was Amelia. She was the human whose name was on the tongue of half the Empire. She was a runaway healer, loyal to demonkind. She’d been named a living saint, a piece of information Hinako’s brain hadn’t yet fully believed. She was important. She was famous. She was… She was…

Screaming in the stands.

“Go, Hinako, go!” Amelia shouted. “You destroyed him! You’re amazing!”

Next to the overly enthusiastic disguised human was Mel. Hinako’s fellow officer looked like she wasn’t sure whether she should restrain Amelia or not. It didn’t help that the Ainese twins, Ido and Arin, were matching Amelia’s energy with their own shouts of support. Despite their barely controlled exuberance, their voices were only a few in a barrage of Ishaqian cheers.

Captain Halen was present, although much more restrained in her praise. All Hinako got when their eyes met was a subtle nod that seemed to say, ‘As expected’. To be honest, that was enough for Hinako. The Hellfire Captain was the pinnacle of military nobility. She wasn’t one to be liberal with her emotions. In fact, the only times she seemed to consistently show a passionate reaction was when Amelia would—

“Ten seconds!”

Hinako snapped her mind into focus, eyeing her opponent. Unlike her, he was a native. By the fierce glint in his eyes, he wasn’t happy with how quickly he’d lost the first round. That was good. Anger would lead to more mistakes.

She warmed her aether up, expanding her perception of the aetherfield. The earth under their feet was duellist earth; saturated with crystal to make it as malleable and obedient to their will as possible. It was an advantage that favoured Hinako, for her opponent appeared to have focused their talents on water and ice magic.

“Begin!”

Hinako immediately moulded a sphere of hardened earth, spiralling it towards her opponent. She’d caught him out by her formation speed last time, and she was right to suspect he would be more prepared for their second fight. This time he focused on defence, intercepting the attack with an ice wall. Hinako was already twisting her aether into another formation, stirring up the sandy earth into an impromptu sandstorm. It may slightly ruin visibility for the spectators, but it was a valid tactic.

With vision reduced, both began to rely on their aetherfield perception. Her opponent, finding some stability in the chaos, began to launch his own attacks. Balls of ice, bigger than her fist, assailed her location. A direct hit might only sting, but it was the sheer force of the impact that was the threat. Should she be lifted off her feet and thrown out of the space, it would be her loss.

Hinako began to move, dodging out of the way. It was one of the things she believed she was good at: reaction speed. Why waste aether intercepting an incoming projectile when she could just dodge?

She rolled on the ground and activated a spell. The earth under her opponent's feet contorted, forming into spikes, driving upwards. It didn’t work. Something stopped them short. She dived to the side, bringing up an earthen wall to block a well-timed projectile and focused on her perception. Ah, so that’s why. Her opponent had frozen the ground under him with a sheet of ice, forming a downward-facing shield.

He must have faced that technique before, Hinako thought.

The incoming fire against her became more accurate by the second. Her opponent was growing confident. She couldn’t just sit there and take the bombardment; she needed to do something.

Out of options? She thought bitterly. Then make one.

It was advice the Captain had given her more than once.

So she took a page out of Amelia’s book.

She spooled up a massive formation—another sandstorm. The action alone prompted caution from her opponent, who began reinforcing his own protective ward in anticipation of a possible attack. Hinako poured half her aether capacity into her spell, and then did what no duelling tutor would ever suggest: she intentionally formed it badly, cutting off one of the key aetherflows required for it to work properly.

Then she forcefully activated it. There was a horrible sensation of protestation from within her, and then her aether exploded, consuming almost all of her capacity and saturating the atmosphere with aether. The spell half worked, manifesting as a half-sandstorm, half-firestorm. The rush of heat lasted only a second, but the density of aether remained, blinding them both.

Hinako felt bile rising in her throat. Exhaustion wracked her body. How in the Seven Hells did Amelia do this so casually? Was the aether capacity of a First-Word Speaker that different?

Focus, she told herself. She pulled together the last bit of stable aetherflow, and repeated the same trick she’d used at the Asamaywa Academy tournament.

She burrowed.

With the chaotic sandstorm blocking the opponent's vision, and the atmospheric aether blocking his perception of the aetherfield, Hinako used the last bit of aether she had to burrow into the ground, carving a path behind her opponent. She broke ground behind him, his vague shape nothing more than a shadow in the storm. He had intensified his wards in preparation and seemed to be waiting patiently for the aether to die down.

From his perspective, Hianko’s actions would have looked like those of an amateur lashing out in frustration.

You must be feeling confident, she thought, creeping up behind him. But I don’t need much aether to do this.

Most duels were fought as warrior versus warrior, or mage versus mage. Convecting and cycling. The two different types of wielding aether resulted in vastly different engagements, but there was nothing in the regulations dictating that a mage couldn’t fight like a warrior.

She’d been trained at the Asamaywa Academy, after all.

Hinako slipped in inches behind him, dropping her weight. Then, in one smooth motion, she wrapped her arms around his waist, flared her aether and twisted with as much strength as her aether-enhanced body could manage. He let out a surprised yelp, but it was too late to do anything. He flew through the air, upwards and out of the sandstorm.

The crowd exploded when they sighted him.

A sharp whistle rang out.

“Rustam Gama, out of bounds!”

Hinako managed to swallow the rising bile once more. Her sight became blurred and her hearing muffled. The referee was saying something, and she felt her hand being grasped and forcefully raised in the air. The crowd roared in a muted symphony. Amelia was clapping so hard and fast that her movements were a blur. The edges of Hinako’s vision darkened, but she could keep it away by blinking.

Just a bit of aether exhaustion never killed anyone.

At the referee's direction, she left the arena, doing her best to smile and wave to the crowd. It wasn’t until she was back in the combatants' waiting room that things started to calm down. Her senses slowly stabilised. She splashed water on her face. When she saw how dirty the sink became, she realised how covered in sand and dirt she was. Sighing, she began to clean up. She would be fine, she would—

A sudden sensation prompted her to rush to the toilet, making it just in time before she threw up.

The cost of victory, she thought bitterly.

She exited the stall only to bump into an outstretched hand holding a bottle. It was her opponent—Rustam Gama. He’d followed her.

“...Thank you,” she said, taking the bottle. She drank deeply while giving him a wary eye.

The Ishaqian looked at her with a complicated expression.

“I did not expect to be thrown,” he said. “Not by a mage, or a woman, my anisa.”

Hinako hesitated. “It worked, didn’t it?”

Rustam was silent for a few seconds. “I expected you to get closer, but only to shorten my reaction time. I should have bound my feet into the ground, so I could not be lifted.” The man nodded slowly. “It was a good debut.”

Hinako couldn’t help but smile and nod. “Why do you focus on ice if you want to be a duellist? Earth is much easier to manipulate. More opportunities elsewhere.” Throughout the Empire, earth magic was always in demand. Although the rise of industrial machinery had revolutionised the construction industry, the ever more complex requirements of the modern world meant there was always work to be found by an earth mage.

“For fighting, yes,” Rustam responded. “But there is more money in ice in the South. It is always warm, and everyone likes a cool drink, do they not?”

“Ah,” Hinako found herself nodding. “I heard desert traders pay for an ice mage to survive the Red Sands.”

“I have done it twice,” Rustam responded, holding up two fingers. “Both times to Dectus and back. But no more. The desert is more dangerous, now. I have a child and do not want her to grow up an orphan. So I find other work.”

“...I see.”

Rustam sniffed, looking towards the door that led to the arena. “They cheered for you, but you seemed unhealthy. Are you better now?” Once Hinako nodded, he continued with a smile, “Then you did not hear the nickname they have given you.”

“Nickname?” Hinako felt her eyes widen.

“They are calling you the Earthburrower,” Rustam said, his smile changing into a toothy grin. “It is very fitting, given how you won.”

Hinako groaned. “They’re naming me after the Enemy? Are they serious?” Earthburrowers were the colloquial name given to several of the invasive species that swarmed the continent during the Long Discordancy. It was these creatures that ripped into the defensive fortifications at the time, forcing what little remained of the Old World’s demon and human populations onto the plateaus to survive.

The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

She looked at Rustam. “What did they call you, again?”

“The Great Gama,” Rustam said, flexing his biceps.

Well, nicknames can change, Hinako thought. When I sign up for another arena somewhere else, I can give them any name.

She talked about their fight for a few more minutes. Hinako had done as well as she could, winning her debut best-of-three. As a new fighter, she wasn’t in the main tournament bracket, serving only as a taster before the more established duellists fought for the main prize. Rustam left her, leaving Hinako alone with her thoughts until she felt the bile rise in her throat again.

I need some fresh air, she thought, standing up and leaving the waiting room.

She found a quiet spot at the edges of the upper-level concourse. It was the perfect spot to get some alone time; close enough to the extravagant seating for the wealthy and highborn that foot traffic was minimal, but not so close that she was noticed. Hinako nestled herself in a small archway, leaning against the cool stone. She stayed there, letting her heartbeat slow and her body relax. It was then she realised how exhausted she was. Perhaps she should close her eyes and get a few minutes—

“Menes Bastet!” an accented voice shouted. Not Ishaqian. It sounded similar to Officer Dahlberg.

Hinako’s eyes snapped open.

“Ah, my friend!” came a reply. It was Menes. “I did not think you would make it.”

They were below Hinako, on the terraces. Should she say something? Should she leave?

“How could I miss your entertainment?” A brittle crack echoed and Hinako heard the sound of something fall to the floor. She frowned. What was that? Before she could arrive at an answer the voice continued, “But as you know, I am not only here for entertainment. It seems many interesting things have happened in Ishaq.” Another muted crunch. “I would have come sooner, but I was meeting Idris.”

“Idris?” Menes’ voice was tinged with confusion. “Nasr told me he was travelling to Hakim.”

“He is back, friend. Something urgent. I did not pry. I heard what happened.”

“The council?”

“Yes.”

“Ah…” Menes trailed off. Hinako could almost imagine the large Arakian lord with a sheepish look.

“It was not wise, friend.”

“I did not start it.”

“The Northerner?”

“Yes.”

“What of the Hellfire Captain?”

“She did what she had to do.”

Another strange crack reached Hinako’s ears. There was a muted pause before the stranger said, “For them to defeat Asrar… it is impressive. Where is he?” Hinako strained her ears while Menes described Captain Halen’s hospitality. The stranger hummed. “I would like to meet this… volatile captain friend of yours, Menes. She’s piqued my interest.”

“Shall I introduce you?”

“Another time. I won’t be staying long. There are…” The man paused for a few seconds, as if he was unable to find the right words. “There are disturbances in the Tasalsul, friend. Saladin’s prolonged absence is causing the wrong people to stir. People are looking for weakness. I was just thinking of how to prepare when your aethergram reached me.”

“What did you think?”

There was a long silence, interrupted by only the strange crackling sounds, before the man spoke. “It is no secret that I gather ambitious men, Menes. Too many of the Tasalsul concern themselves with only one brute force. Through my patronage, I have built a network to strengthen all of the South. With your help, we’ve kept Ishaq stable, weathering the worst the Passage has to offer. But it’s not just this side of the Passage we have to concern ourselves with…” The man’s voice became quiet, and Hinako had to strain her ears to pick up on his next words. “There are whispers from the East, my friend.”

“Whispers?”

“That something will happen. And if something happens there, then the Tasalsul will enter a frenzy without Saladin to control us. Every Sayyid will fight for their position. A single weakness will be enough. That is why I am here. I will speak to Charles Hornford today and ensure he is not my weakness.”

“You will speak to him?” Menes paused for a moment. “He is here?”

“The Moons have aligned, friend,” came the response. “He docked this morning. I will make sure he doesn’t have his horns in any of this… business you talk about. I have patronised many an ambitious man, but should Hornford’s ambitions have taken him down the wrong path…” The sound of something cracking sounded once more. “I will deal with him. It was right of you to bring this to my attention.”

“It is not just him I am concerned about,” Menes said. “The Red Hands threaten the Passage. The Council is beholden to their own greed and the greed of their criminal friends. Sometimes I wonder…” Hinako heard the Arakian swallow. “Sometimes I wonder if Ishaq would be better off under Tasalsul rule.”

“Those are dangerous thoughts, friend.”

“It seems to be the time for dangerous thoughts.”

I shouldn’t be eavesdropping, Hinako thought. But if I move, they’ll know I’m here.

“All that is happening now,” the man said, “is the afterpulses of the war. It is as if Cascadia has weathered a great lumina storm. We only need to last for a little longer before we can put our necks out and see the sunshine once more. I, too, believe that Ishaq would be better off under a Sayyid, but now is not that time.”

“It is not just me. Many of us are tired of how things are. We are a free city, but we do not feel free.”

“You must calm them, Menes. Ease their concerns. I do not want to see Ishaq be the first domino in a multi-Terra-Firma civil war.”

“...I will do my best.”

“Good.”

The arena bell rang then.

“I must go,” Menes said. “The next event is starting.”

“Be well, Menes.”

“You too.”

Hinako stayed as quiet as a mouse until both their footsteps faded. Should she mention this conversation to the Captain? Would she get in trouble for nosing in, even accidentally, on the business of a Cascadian Lord? Walking back down through the arena’s structure, Hinako found herself lost in thought. She needed a brief nap. She needed—

“There you are!” a voice cried out.

Hinako had barely turned before she was engulfed in a tremendous embrace.

Do all humans like hugging as much as she does? Hinako found herself wondering. She eventually pried Amelia off.

“You won,” Amelia said, grinning.

“Yes,” Hinako responded, returning it with her own grin. “I did.”

Amelia spent the next hour bombarding her friend with praise, and when it looked like Hinako was full of every possible compliment, Amelia gave her some dessert.

Literally and figuratively.

“I sensed you sneaking up on him; it was perfectly timed! Ah, here’s yours…” she handed Hinako the ice cream bought from a festival vendor. “It was amazing, and the way you threw him! It was like watching Serena fight herself!”

Hinako beamed at that.

“Stop it,” the demon protested. “People can hear you.”

“Let them hear about Hinako Aikawa,” Amelia announced to the world around them. “The world’s best duellist—the Earthburrower!”

Amelia thought it was a wonderful nickname.

Along with Mel and the twins, they enjoyed the festive atmosphere. It was their last day in Ishaq, and Amelia was determined to take in as much as possible. She watched children bashing piñatas, celebrating as paper-wrapped sweets rained down. She cheered at kite battles, amazed at how much control the Ishaqians had over their movements. She listened to the celebratory cannonfire marking each hour, trying to ignore that they marked a countdown until they had to leave Ishaq.

Any sadness over their upcoming exit was quickly vanquished when she turned a corner and came across a ferocious battle. Not of metal and blood, but of water. From the explanation of a nearby citizen, she found out that each year, the merchants and vendors participated in an all-out water fight to settle their complaints and frustrations of that year’s capitalist fights. From the looks of it, anyone could join in. Amelia leapt at the opportunity to help turn the tide for the losing side.

Within a few minutes, she was drenched.

If Serena were here, she would be red as the Red Moon, she thought. The native Ishaqian clothing consisted of a white, thin base layer. This meant that when it became wet, it left little to the imagination. More than a few women and men had slinked off out of the sight of children where they were getting more than a little handsy with each other.

“Unbelievable,” Mel muttered, dodging a thrown water balloon and returning her own. “Not even the moonrain festival would lead to something like this. They have no shame, do they? I think—” A balloon exploding on her face cut her off.

“When in Rome,” Amelia responded with a grin, earning her an eyeroll.

They left the water fight, continuing with the festivities. Daichi, Seonmi, and Noburu joined them later in the day. They had been busy with Serena, who had taken them aside to give them detailed instructions regarding their upcoming role in investigating the Blackhorn in Shiloh. Feeling daring, Amelia bought them all loqua. They’d barely had time to enjoy their first sip when a certain pair of horns appeared as if he’d been following them in the Shimmer.

“Feeling generous, Miss Liona?” Aiden intoned. His shirt was unbuttoned, as if he’d either been frisky with a woman or in a bar fight. In one hand, he held a bottle, and it wasn’t the first, judging by the happy look in his eyes.

“Don’t drink too much,” Amelia warned him. “Alcohol’s a poison, remember.”

“What a cruel world we live in,” the demon responded dryly. “For such delicious poison surrounds us every day. I can manage very well, Miss Liona.” He gave her a pointed look, and Amelia returned a matching one. Slowly, they both broke out into smiles.

“I’ll tell Serena if you get drunk,” Amelia said. “Where is she, anyway?”

“The good captain—hic—is occupied with her duties, so she told me to tell you. She also told me to tell you that she…” Aiden frowned, as if he’d confused himself. “She said to tell you that once she’s done, no, once the arcwhale business is done, to meet her at Sayyid Bastet’s home.”

“Got it, thanks, Aiden!”

Hours passed, and dusk began to creep in over Ishaq. The air cooled, and the entire city began to congregate at the great plaza outside the palace. Amelia and the group found themselves drawn to the area, pushing through the crowd to witness the funeral rites for the fallen arcwhale.

“Every time I see one,” Mel murmured, “I’m reminded how big they are.”

“And that one's just a baby,” Daichi added.

The body of the arcwhale had been laid upon a transport barge. It only just fitted on top of the fifty-metre ship. They had covered it in flowers and silk, both as respect but also to hide the hunting wounds that had killed it. Braziers burning cedar, sage, and other incense surrounded the fallen animal. Dervish dancers performed, backed by a sorrowful chant that Amelia found herself humming along with. The atmosphere was sad, but there was a sense of honour and hope as well.

How could anyone hunt such a majestic creature?

There was no grand speech or declaration. Once the dervish dancers stopped, the transport barge’s lift engine started. At first, it was a slow heartbeat, pulsing through the aetherfield. Its tempo increased until it sounded as one continuous aetheric tone. The barge, defying all common sense of Amelia’s non-aetheric Earth, took to the skies and slowly made its way eastwards.

“I’ll catch up with you later,” Amelia said quietly to the group. “I have something to do.”

She bade her farewells and made her way alone to Menes’ house. Serena and the Arakian were waiting outside for her. They greeted each other, and Serena handed her a cloak.

“To cover your hair, just in case someone's looking at the wrong place at the wrong time when you’re using your magic.”

“Right,” Amelia answered, wrapping herself in the clothing.

“There are twenty-three locations,” Menes said quietly. “I have men near each one with very large fireworks.” The demon pulled out a whistle and wiggled it. “When I blow this, they will light them. The fireworks are golden, my anisa. They will draw all eyes to upper-sky. Your golden magic will blend in.”

“Clever,” Amelia said, nodding.

“In each location there will be between twenty and a hundred addicts. Even during our wonderful festival, the most addicted are trapped there, my anisa.” Menes swallowed and continued, “It is these people who fund the factions like the Red Hands. Without them, the balance of power will change.”

“Will it cause a problem?” Amelia asked.

“Some problems are good, even in these uncertain times.” Menes shook his head and glanced at Serena. “Are you sure she can handle so many?”

“I told you,” Serena intoned smoothly. “It won’t be a problem.” The demon gave Amelia a nod.

Amelia nodded back.

“Then let’s go.”

They made their way into the darker areas of Ishaq, where red aetherlights lit doorways, and the tinkling of shattered glass could be heard. Their journey was marked by the increasing noise of fireworks above. With the arcwhale on its way to the Shattered Isles, the city was entering its final celebration.

They stopped in a dark alley. Menes reached up, tapping the wall with his knuckles. “In here,” he said. “Is the first one. Can you sense them?” He sniffed, his expression darkening. “I can smell it from here. Who thought such poison could smell so sweet?”

Amelia sniffed. She could smell it too. Opium smelled pleasant. It was slightly floral, with a dash of dark honey and molasses. It reminded her of warm hay and wet earth. It would perhaps be enticing if she didn’t know its source. If she were ignorant, she might have thought it was from a nearby perfume shop.

“I can sense them,” Amelia said, stretching her senses to the dozens of people in the building.

“Then let us begin,” Menes said, taking out the whistle. “Ready?”

“Ready.”

Menes blew the whistle, and Serena took out her silver pocketwatch in a single, elegant flourish. She glanced at it and then turned skywards as the vibrant explosions of fireworks intensified.

“It’s started,” she mused, before facing Amelia. “It’s time.”

“Mmm,” Amelia hummed, spooling up her aether.

It was time.

For her to do what she did best.