“I love Ventoso. Nowhere else in the Cradlelands can you find people so willing to act against their own best interest.” - Joseph Hunter

  Ventoso was said to be a city of unsurpassed beauty. It beheld some of the world’s greatest artists, musicians, and poets, and this had reflected in the city’s very soul. Great towers jutted out from the terracotta labyrinths, each covered in vibrant colors from a dozen artists and depicting a thousand joys and sorrows—the marks of the various nobili who dwelled in them, clear for all the world to see.

  A great dome marked the temple sanctum, bathed in black, white, and grey shades. Even on the streets, the expression could shine through. Hues and designs of all kinds filled every wall, every crack, and crevice. Having a surface that was not a conduit for someone’s vision would be a rare sight. Songs rose from scattered rooftops like songbirds in their joyous tunes. Artists didn’t spare even the rougher aspects of life, for even the arms and armor of the household guardie were painted and embroidered to their measure. Whether it was during Adam’s day or Terra’s feast, all year round, there was beauty to see and tunes to hear.

  And no one was prepared when the daemons came.

  Even before Leo and the rest of the group entered the city, the stench of death was heavy in the air. The gates were wide open, and no soldier or other soul greeted them as their wagon rolled in. They had already drawn their weapons, and they were on high alert. All the city’s colors, vibrancy, beauty, and splendor now drenched in blood and dirt. The rooftops were silent, and nobili had sealed the towers. A crack ran across the dome like a scar, nearly splitting it in half.

  “Where is everyone?” murmured Annabelle as they rode through the empty streets.

  Petro gripped his crossbow. “Did the daemons do all this?”

  “No,” sighed Etheros. “At least not directly.”

  Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. “What does that mean?”

  Leo took a deep breath. “Do you remember the desert campaign we were on a couple of years ago?”

  “When I got sunburnt, the ghouls amb—” Elizabeth paled. “Oh.”

  Annabelle pointed up ahead. “There’s someone.” A person was standing in the doorway of a terracotta building. He looked dirty and worn. “Hey, you there! Can—” Elizabeth covered her mouth, shaking her head frantically.

  The undead turned. His eyes were black, his teeth rotted, and his guts were hanging out, intestines puddling on the ground. He hissed and staggered forward, hunger in his eyes.

  “By the Gods,” squeaked Annabelle.

  A bolt whistled from Petro’s crossbow, striking the creature in the head. It keeled over motionless. “Like ghouls, right?”

  Leo nodded. “I encountered them in Raveno with Avella.”

  Petro scratched his head. “I must say, they don’t read like ghouls.”

  “That’s beside the point. Cause, unfortunately, there’s never just one.”

  A chorus of moans rose into the air. Dead faces and black eyes stared at them, peering from buildings and turning corners—a sea of living dead.

  Martin shuddered. “We should turn back. The daemons may be gone, but so is the living.”

  Etheros rushed to turn the wagon around, only to find undead coming from the other side.

  Elizabeth gripped her guisarme tightly. “Anyone got a plan?”

  Petro looked around. “The dead haven’t taken over completely. I can sense them.”

  “Survivors? Do you know where they are?” asked Leo.

  Etheros nodded and said, “They know we’re here. I can lead us to them. We just need to clear a path. Annabelle, Martin, stay close to Elizabeth. Petro, have a bolt ready. Leo, take the reins.”

  “I got a bad feeling about this,” grumbled Martin.

  Leo crawled to the front. The tide of undead was inching closer. He had never driven a wagon like this before. Then again, grace probably wasn’t required today. Leo took a deep breath, trying to calm his shaking hands.

  Stolen story; please report.

  Etheros raised his hands and began to chant, his power vibrating the wagon. The rooftops on the buildings shook, their terracotta tiles shaking and snapping off their molds. A solid mass of glowing molten crimson panel soon hovered before the wizard as the chants continued, elongating and sharpening into a massive red blade.

  It was at least as wide and as deep as the wagon. Leo could only gawk as Etheros rotated it sideways and launched it forward with a final word, the blade spinning all the while.

  Several blood-splattering seconds later, nothing was in their way but piles of headless corpses. The blade shattered to pieces in the far wall.

  Everyone was amazed and turned to Etheros, jaws dropped, even Leo. He was wrong before. This was the preserve of the Gods.

  Etheros rolled his eyes. “Let’s go, Leo!”

  Leo snapped him of his stupor and launched the wagon forward, plowing over the carcasses. They rocketed through cobblestone streets, kicking up dust and debris.

  “Turn left!” ordered Etheros. Leo shifted left, knocking everyone to one side of the wagon.

  “By the Gods, Leo, watch it!” shouted Elizabeth.

  Petro groaned, “Who taught you how to drive?”

  “You wanna do this?” snapped Leo.

  Wayward undead peered out onto the path as they rushed through the streets. Petro fired bolt after bolt. Several undead latched up to the wagon. Elizabeth slashed the head off one, throwing the body back onto the road. The other jumped inside the canopy, reaching for Annabelle with its rotten, greasy hands. Elizabeth quickly slashed off the offending limbs. The creature limped forward. Annabelle had no more room to fall back. A loud pop filled the wagon, and a piece of metal shot through the creature’s skull, the body falling motionless. Elizabeth turned to see Martin with the pistol, still smoking from the shot. “Told you I knew how to use it.”

  Elizabeth shot him a half smile. “Not bad.”

  “I can’t hear!” grumbled Annabelle, still plugging her ears. “How do you deal with whole regiments like that, Liz?”

  “You get used to it.”

  “We can’t keep this up. Are you certain there’s anyone left here?” asked Leo.

  Petro pointed at an empty street and shouted, “Over there!” Several men and women appeared with crossbows and spears. They look disheveled and tired. Leo rolled the wagon forward, barreling to the opening without skipping a beat. The horde was right on their heels. Other survivors funneled out, hitching a ride on the wagon, standing on the edges, stabbing the undead with spears and polearms until they got further and further away.

  One of the survivors climbed over to the front. He wore a molded tunic and held a rusted spear. His eyes were weary, and his face was sickly.

  “Follow our lead,” the man said. “My name is Marco. The twins knew you were coming and sent us to see to your safety.” Marco looked at the group. “Such an odd band you are.”

  “It’s been one of those days,” said Leo.

  “Who are the twins?” asked Martin.

  Marco smirked. “The only people trying to take our city back.”

  They came upon a large wooden barricade with stakes jutting outward, many covered in blood, and fallen creatures littered the ground. In the center was a gate of sorts that opened promptly at their arrival, giving them just enough room to enter before closing quickly.

  The locals hopped off the wagon and dispersed soon after the gate closed. Marco directed them to a large building in a courtyard. This quarter was still impoverished, but it was undoubtedly the least ravaged part of the city. In the yard was a statue of Joan the Healer. This one was much larger than the one in Tressviae. It was also in much worse shape, covered in dirt and grime.

  “We’re in the Apothecaries Ward,” noted Annabelle.

  “Indeed,” said Marco. “The twins fought hard to maintain it in the wake of the chaos. It has become our rock and shelter in the face of this horror. Every day we lose more districts. We are one of the few that remain.”

  Leo dismounted the wagon, wobbling and sore, and the rest of the group followed suit. “What about the towers?” asked Leo, although he suspected he already knew the answer. “Do any nobili still live there? Or are they overrun as well?”

  “They locked themselves in when the daemons came,” said a voice walking from the building. Leo’s eyes widened. Yep, it was going to be one of those days.

  These must have been the twins.

  For one, they did not look the same. One was a woman, the other a man. He was taller than her, but neither were tall or physically strong. They looked thin, nearly skeletal, and appeared to be no older than eighteen winters. Their outfits were mirrors of each other, a mix of black and white gambesons, hose, and plumed hats. The weirdest of all were their faces. In keeping with the strange mirroring, the lady’s right eye and the man’s left eye were a perplexing shifting hue, never staying as one color for more than a few seconds. They also glowed faintly, not unlike Godshards. But they were not Godshards.

  Their strange eyes were not the only oddity. Their hair was shaven on the same side as their weird eye, and faint burns trailed around the same side. These old wounds seemed to trail down their faces like estranged shallow creeks. Queer tattoos covered much of the scar tissue. The lady had a right-facing crescent moon covering her scars, bright and ethereal. The other twin had darkness, splotches of black that gave way to wisps of starlight. They carried spears draped over opposite shoulders. The lady walked slightly ahead of the man, both with eerie synergy. They looked over the group in unison and nodded.

  The woman bowed. “I am Luna.” She gestured to her brother. “This is my twin brother, Stello.”

  Leo broke the silence. “My name is Leo, of Tressviae. This is Elizabeth, Martin, and Annabelle of Tressviae, Petro the Benelim, and Etheros of Yanneros. We are on a journey of great importance.”

  “So it would seem,” replied Luna.

  “What happened here?” asked Martin.

  “We know you know what happened. We see you.”

  Etheros nodded. “Indeed. I see you too. You want information because you know little of what is occurring.”

  “We haven’t seen a Godshard since the daemons came. We desire counsel, and it would be wise for you to spend the night here. It’s not safe right now.”

  “You have questions. We have questions,” replied Etheros. “Let’s talk inside.”

  “So much for this place being safer without daemons,” muttered Martin.