For as long as Shiver could remember, the Archcities had always been glorified. As a child, Marta and Pov shared stories of the Dreadwood, the Archcity of Life. Home to the Kindly Gardener, Solastra Flora. To describe it as a singular forest would be a gross disservice. They spoke of glades unending, plentiful jungles, swamps and forests that fostered life of every kind. When she had misbehaved, Mother Ventra attempted – quite unsuccessfully – to scare her with rumours of Soulhaven, the Archcity of Death, domain of Highlord Vetrian Revenant.

  The Deathbringer, responsible for the Rampage of Undeath that had swept across the land.

  The problem with being a “lost” domain meant that she had failed to invoke the imagery necessary to shake the orphan girl. The haunting image Mother Ventra had sought to build fell apart quickly under her scrutiny.

  Anhedonia, the Archcity of Fear had no such deficiency.

  ‘Careful, not to get too close to the window.’

  Vale looked quizzically at the archaeologist.

  ‘Why is that?’

  He swallowed, his eyes darting anxiously across the city before them.

  ‘They might see you.’

  A chill washed over them at his words, so bubbly and cheerful at the moment of their sudden appearance, the archaeologist was now tinged with fear.

  ‘Who might see us?’

  The archaeologist made no response.

  They crept to the small break in the curtains that Pevir created.

  They stared out into an impossibly vast cavern. The mansion they were in appeared to be situated high above the ground, giving them an excellent vantage point.

  Vast orbs of silver light burned over the city like miniature suns.

  Their haunting light filtered through thick, grey fog that shrouded the streets below. They glimpsed a city of dark, elaborate towers interspersed with sweeping buttresses and pointed arches. The scale of which eclipsed Brimstone-

  They froze.

  In the city’s centre stood a clocktower.

  A clockface that emitted a glowing, golden light that threatened to pull them in with its allure. It was a marvel, in itself.

  Yet it was not what drew their attention.

  Or what whispered fear into the deepest parts of their hearts.

  They watched as a creature that dwarfed the towers filling the city, clung to the side of the clocktower. Three wings sprouted from each side of its back, drooping down from the clocktower’s heights into the fog below. It was half the size of the clocktower.

  It lay still, perched on the side of the clocktower. Vale blanched as she watched the figure turn its head, swivelling unnaturally to gaze in their direction. They saw a formless face. Then, its flesh tore apart in six thin lines, and they glimpsed its eyes.

  A halo of black flame burned over an angled head. The flame raged in sacrilegious silence, for screams should have been there to greet it.

  Like a creature from a dream.

  No, a nightmare.

  Vale stumbled back at the sight of it. She realised that she was panting, her heart racing at the very sight of it. Like it had induced-

  ‘A Terror. Careful not to let it glimpse you.’

  Pevir spoke gently, helping Vale to her feet as Shiver continued to gaze out upon the city. He nodded in understanding as he met Vale’s eyes, his own full of awe and Fear.

  ‘W-what is it, sir Pevir?’

  Vale who had finally gotten her lips to cooperate with her, spoke the question.

  Pevir just shook his head.

  ‘“Terror”. It was a term I came across in the remains of an old tome I found. It said that nightmares beyond our imagination once roamed Elucidor, and that was a word for them.’

  Pevir shuddered.

  ‘I can’t imagine it applying to anything else.’

  Then the friendly archaeologist relaxed and twitched his moustache into a shy smile. He gave them a quick, theatrical bow, no doubt in an effort to ease their tension.

  ‘Sorry for the drama. I couldn’t help myself!’

  Vale stared incredulously at the man.

  ‘You said… “them”? There are more than one of them? These nightmares?’

  Vale clutched at his arms, encasing them in a vice-like grip.

  ‘How can you be so calm? There is a monster out there, roaming the cit-‘

  ‘It isn’t the only Terror that roams the Archcity.’

  Silence fell between them once more.

  Pevir met Shiver’s eyes, and he inclined his head towards the window, motioning for her to check the Archcity’s streets below. Vale was still quivering, adrenaline flooding her body at the sight of the unthinkable creature on the clocktower, whose very existence seemed to spite reality.

  Shiver peeled back the curtain, just a sliver.

  Her eyes caught a glimpse of a monumental creature that stalked below.

  Where it strode, grey fog swirled into black, as if leaving shadow in its wake. Shiver couldn’t make out the finer details of its form, which eluded her vision from so high above. She watched in silence as the creature carved a path of darkness through Anhedonia’s streets.

  Her heartbeat continued to thunder in her chest. Then, she turned her eyes back to the clocktower. Drawn by morbid curiosity and fascination to the creatures that strained belief.

  The winged Terror was gone.

  ‘Quite the sight, isn’t it! My ancestor spoke of the ambition of the Anhedonia with such reverence. Apparently, the city’s academy ushered unprecedented amounts of elves to Serenity in its heyday.’

  The stout elf twitched his moustache, heedless to the looks directed at him by his audience.

  ‘He seemed to refer to it as the youngest Archcity. A strange contradiction. Even the finest of archaeologists make mistakes, I suppose. In any case, please make yourselves at home!’

  Pevir provided Vale with some provisions that he had managed to scrounge up from the mansion. She stared at the bread that he handed her. He pointed her towards a room that they could rest in.

  Their voices gradually faded away, and Shiver lost herself in the image of the Archcity beyond her. Unlike Mother Ventra’s descriptions, which desperately sought to induce fear into a young Shiver, this city did so effortlessly.

  There was a haunting beauty in it - the fog-laden streets, the scale of it, far exceeding even Brimstone, the Archcity of Flames, the forge which drove Elucidor's industry into a new age.

  Contradictions and mysteries abound.

  It was a pity she didn't give a Feardamn.

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

  ---

  ‘Vale, I swear I’ll feed you to the very next crab that I see.’

  They sat in the room that Pevir had guided them to. Both of them were exhausted by the journey through the Verscallian Peaks.

  Vale flinched as her eyes met Shiver’s own.

  ‘Or perhaps you’d prefer if I threw you to the flaming “emberhares” that hop around the mountain. What were you thinking, walking up to him?’

  Vale blushed, avoiding Shiver’s gaze. She knew the girl was right, she had been caught up in the moment, excited at the prospect of encountering another elf in the abandoned Archcity. Never mind that it could have been one of her father’s servants.

  ‘If he wasn’t so trusting, he would have seen through us in an instant. The guildmistress’ uncle no less.’

  ‘Shiver… he seemed nice.’

  ‘Seemed nice? Something’s off.’

  Vale paused from her indulgence in some bread that they had scavenged from the manor’s kitchen. Miraculously, some form of preservation had kept it fresh. She hadn’t a clue how long it had been preserved for, but her hunger prevailed over reason.

  Shiver continued, her gaze drilling into Vale.

  ‘Pevir said he’s been here for about three days. The guild was preparing a rescue operation - you said it yourself. Remember what those men said? Trying to boast to us as we led them to madame Valmira’s?’

  Shiver’s gaze bore into her.

  ‘That the guild had been searching for him for an “age”. Pov agreed to help the guildmistress with her expeditions. None of them have been successful to date.’

  Vale had no choice but to agree with Shiver’s reasoning, what she left unsaid.

  Who sends a rescue operation after an archaeologist after three days?

  Either Pov was lying to them, or there was more than meets the eye. The one small mercy was that the man had played the perfect host so far. Busying himself in the books housed in the mansion’s library, humming cheerily as he paged through them. Utterly oblivious to the tension that permeated the neighbouring room in which they were seated.

  Pevir Veringold was warm and talkative. He had excitedly shared the lead that he had discovered in an old family journal, no doubt also belonging to Osthalmus. He told them that he was on his third day in the city, living off preserved food that he had found. He had entered through the very same entrance that the girls had found.

  ‘I’m sorry, Shiver. I’ll be more careful.’

  In a corner of the library, he had set up a cozy forward base – telling them of his intention to return with other members of the guild before he explored the city proper.

  The dangers that lay waiting in a lost Archcity were clear to them, after all.

  The library that he was situated in was far more enormous than it had originally seemed. Rows upon rows of old books filled the shelves that bordered the room. Floating glowing orbs filled the room with a warm glow. Luxurious sofas and refined tables occupied the centre of the room. Pevir told them that he suspected it was a noble’s library – exclusive, refined and excessive in its grandeur.

  ‘Pevir’s nice! Vale was right, Shiv-‘

  ‘Not a word.’

  A tense silence fell between the pair. Icey, lay hidden in the folds of Shiver’s cloak. Equally, Icey had advanced with Vale, heedless of the possible danger. Shiver picked her lightly from her cloak.

  ‘He doesn’t know you’re here or that I’m a Fearshaper. In any case, we need to come up with a plan.’

  Vale yawned, betraying her fatigue.

  ‘I’ll keep watch, you take the chance to get some rest. But later in the night, I’ll wake you and we’re getting out of here.’

  ‘And how exactly do you propose we do that? Run straight into the Archcity? How do you fancy our chances against one of those Terrors?’

  She shook her head, meeting Shiver’s gaze with resolve.

  ‘I vote, we stay with Pevir. I’d rather the danger that I know than the danger that I don’t. And does he look that dangerous to you?’

  The pair snuck a covert glance at the little elf, around the corner. Humming merrily away as he paged through another tome perched precariously before him. He caught them looking to their chagrin and shot them a bright smile and a wave.

  ‘Avalkin’s ballsack Vale. It’s on your head if he turns on us.

  Vale choked at Shiver’s words.

  ‘Do you really have to use such colourful language?'

  Shiver pushed Vale out of the neighbouring room, back into the library.

  'It's decided then, let’s set up in here for the night.’

  Vale whispered fervently to her.

  ‘Wait, in the library? I thought we were sleeping in this room? Wha-‘

  Shiver rose, starting towards Pevir.

  ‘Sir Pevir, I’m afraid our fatigue has caught up to us. I hope you wouldn’t mind if we camped with you? It’s better for us to stick together in the Archcity after all. Never know what could be roaming the halls.’

  Pevir hopped down from his perch with a stretch and a smile.

  ‘Of course, my dear girl! Please make yourselves at home. Do make use of my travelling bedroll.’

  Shiver returned a smile of gratitude, accepting the offered bedroll which she set up next to the staircase, and in clear view of Pevir’s own nook.

  As she passed a stunned Vale, she whispered to her.

  ‘You said it yourself. I’d rather the danger I know than the danger I don’t. I’m keeping an eye on him.’

  Growing up on the streets, she knew all too well not to trust the mere appearance of kindness.

  Before long, the pair were sound asleep, leaving Shiver awake. Listening to the steady rhythm of their breaths, Shiver walked to the far end of the room, keeping a careful eye on Pevir. Icey was perched on her shoulder and silent. Shiver gently swept one of the immense dark curtains aside, which revealed the eerie sight that Pevir had so theatrically introduced before.

  ‘Beautiful… Isn’t it?’

  It was hard to gauge Icey’s expression for… obvious reasons.

  But the little cube was impressively animated, both in her actions and intonation. She gave Shiver the impression that she was quite young, prone to bouts of immaturity and wild curiosity.

  But thinking back to her dream, and the authority with which Icey had spoken to her to snap her out of her stupor, she had a feeling that she didn’t have the full picture.

  ‘This Archcity… brings me sadness.’

  ‘Do you recognise it?’

  ‘Guides are devoid of their histories and memories when they are first bonded. As you descend, we regain more of our forms, power and experience. But, this city makes me feel a strange sense of-’

  Shiver looked at the ice cube, that glinted in the cold silver light cast by the orbs, that hung like small suns above the city.

  ‘- grief.’

  ‘Well, we had better get some rest. The city’s secrets will have to wait.’

  ‘That’s quite mature of you.’

  ‘I surprise myself constantly with my self-restraint.’

  She paused, plucking Icey from her shoulder gently.

  ‘For example, I haven’t used you as a popsicle. That’s what will happen, if you get into trouble again, got it?’

  Icey slipped from her fingers and rapidly retreated within the folds of her cloak.

  The seconds drew into minutes. In the quiet of the library, tucked away in the corner of a forgotten Archcity...

  Shiver's expression finally faltered.

  A crack, appearing in her pristine mask.

  For the very first time since she left Brimstone, she wept.

  Vainly trying to conceal her sobs that threatened to end the silence that permeated the library. Shiver's fingers curled around dark, weathered curtains. Tears continued to flow as the simple gesture reminded her of the times she had dug her fingers into Marta's tunic as an annoying little demon child, taunting her.

  What am I even doing here? Chasing revenge? That won't bring them back to me.

  As the seconds drew onward, her sobs finally drew to a close. There came a point when there were no more tears left to shed. When something scarred you to such a degree where the meagre relief that it brought her was rendered worthless.

  But in the void that her grief left behind... what was there but anger to take root?

  What was left for her, but revenge?

  In place of Pevir's wonder, or Vale's angst, Shiver's cold, cerulean gaze held a different emotion as she stared out over the Archcity that sprawled before her.

  Her eyes roamed the landscape like a predator.

  Not one that stalked the night with pride, or vitriol for the hunt.

  She stared over the Archcity as a predator that had fallen to despair.

  There was only one single, selfish desire that remained in her heart wracked with the cold, along with the faces of the dead that haunted her.

  What do you have to offer me, Anhedonia?

  Shiver let out a soft sigh, and pinched the bridge of her nose.

  As Shiver turned from the window, her breath caught as she spotted something in the reflection.

  Pevir, stood behind her.

  Motionless.

  She hadn’t noticed him rise from his nook, he hadn’t made a sound. His eyes were devoid of their characteristic light. He stood slack in front of her.

  Shiver cursed her clumsiness, having been drawn into her conversation with Icey. She held an arm behind her back, and a dagger of ice materialised in her palm. She spoke loudly, to rouse Vale from her sleep.

  ‘Pevir? Can I help you?’

  Vale’s body lay slumped in the background, rising and falling rhythmically. The archaeologist didn’t reply.

  Shiver slowly made to circle past him.

  Which was right when a creature emerged from his neck.

  It was serpentine in nature and resembled the skeleton of a snake. The folds of Pevir’s skin stuck to the ribbed edges of the creature’s skeleton as it emerged, provoking a sensation of nausea in her.

  It left no visible injuries when it had fully emerged from his skin. The friendly, stout archaeologist stared ahead into space expressionlessly.

  Shiver lunged past him, but was suddenly hit by a wave of fatigue, as her head started to swim. Her lips became numb and tingled as she struggled to form words to warn Vale.

  The last thing she saw as she fell to the ground was the haunting visage of the creature re-entering Pevir’s neck.

  As Shiver’s vision blurred intermittently, she watched as a man garbed in a familiar black cloak entered the library.

  Surrounded by a large serpentine creature of bone that languidly curled around him in midair.

  As Shiver struggled to grasp the final vestiges of the consciousness, a single word crossed her mind, at the sight of the man.

  Fearshaper.

  here.