When Kristine’s consciousness returned to the world, it came in the form of hazy images of a ceiling, the warm hug of a pelt blanket, and the faintly familiar presence of another standing watch over the bed she was lying in.
Noting the absence of pain from her being, Kristine hauled herself into a sitting position with a grunt, head resting against the headboard as Elva watched on with narrowed eyes. Fingers skimming where she was sure she was bleeding earlier, Kristine felt linen bandages instead, and she detected the faint smell of honey wafting through the room. The stench of iron was gone, or maybe it was too thin to be noticed.
How long was she out for?
She tried asking just that, but Kristine could barely say a word before her throat shrieked, “NO." Instead, a string of coughs came out, her eyes shut and leaking. Seven consecutive coughs later, she opened her eyes and saw the mug held in front of her through the reflex tears.
“Honey water,” Elva said, almost curtly. “Drink it, it’ll help.”
With no objections, Kristine took the mug from Elva’s orange hands and took a long sip, feeling the warmth slide down her throat and exhaling deeply after the fact in relief. She looked up at the Lavawalker standing over her, giving her thanks now that her voice could finally utter words.
There was a pause, and Elva’s eyes the colour of flint darted away from Kristine’s sky-blue, seemingly conflicted until she said, “I don’t need that. Tell me what happened that ended with you coming back here after five years only to drop on my doorstep, covered in blood of all things. Yours and someone else’s.”
Yours and someone else’s… The words swirled around inside Kristine’s head, the letters ripping themselves apart to reform her memories of the past week.
A shaska sticking up Mother’s gut—a spear being sent through Grandfather’s skull.
Mother sputtering and gargling on her blood as a hooded, blue-tinged figure stood over her, the murder weapon in hand. Flames burning to life the moment the scarlet dripped off her body to the floor.
The floors and walls freezing with every step the hooded assailant took inside their home, relaxed as he stalked toward Kristine, who raised her gladius as the flame core in her Soul licked and screeched in enraged spurts.
Her five years of training to protect and kill were worth nothing as the assailant parried all her attempted attacks with unparalleled grace, pushing her farther into the house even as she threw flames in their direction, setting the interior aflame.
A second figure, hoodless and wearing a scarf, entering through the front door, eyes far too empty and movements far too laced with subtlety for a killer as they pressed their foot on Mother’s injury, leaning over her.
The final, weak sound that left Mother’s lips as the hoodless figure spoke a chant that made their eyes glow… they ripped something from her chest—
Kristine swallowed and asked, “How long was I out for?”
Elva frowned. “Kris—”
“How long was I out for?” Kristine said again, more firmly.
Elva’s frown deepened as she looked away, mumbling, “One night; Sólvona’s Sun rose a few hours ago.”
One whole night…that wasn’t very long, Kristine supposed, emotions blank as she said nothing.
She must have sat there in silence for a while, because Elva sighed and made a move to get up and leave the room. Kristine sucked in a breath.
“Too much happened, Elv,” she admitted quietly, staring at her reflection in the honey water. Elva paused her movements. “All you need to know is that I just survived a massacre of my family.”
She ran the moment she acknowledged she was fighting a losing battle, but not before she felt cold metal plunge into her side, and she returned the stab in kind.
There was a glint of realisation in Elva’s eyes. “King Olezka’s hunters?” She asked with a tilt of her head. Kristine’s reflection stilled.
“What?”
“King Olzeka’s hunters,” Elva repeated, settling back on the stool. “There’s word of him hunting demigods and stealing their souls to consume–” She stopped herself, going rigid when she realised her mistake and as Kristine forgot to breathe.
Hunting demigods and stealing their souls.
The hoodless figure speaking a chant that made their eyes glow—
They ripped something from Mother’s chest—
“—stine. Kristine .” Kristine’s shoulders were grabbed, and she was shaken back to reality. Elva was sat on the bed with her, flint eyes meeting sky-blue, firm but concerned. “Kristine,” the LavaWalker said. “ Breathe .”
“They were hunters,” Kristine said in realisation, following the instruction but ignoring the instructor. She pushed Elva away. “The King of Tharafell sent them after us. We never told anyone of our divinity, how did he know —”
Both she and her mother were demigods of Vulraph; products of a candlelit tryst between her grandmother and the disguised Walker God of Flame before she married Kristine’s grandfather years later. It was a fairly well-kept secret; her demigod mother wasn’t a Walker and only bled blood that gave birth to flames, and Kristine always patched up her wounds before her blood hit the ground when sparring, and if she couldn’t, the excuse of her setting things alight on purpose was more or less always available. There were close calls here and there, but no one should have discovered their divinity. It was a secret they intended to take to the grave.
Mother died with their secret known to the damn Frost King of Tharafell.
How did he know?
Kristine shook her head, her chest suddenly tight. Her hands found purchase on her arms, and she dug her nails into the linen bandages that wrapped them.
“Hey,” Elva scolded in a whisper, gently removing Kristine’s hands from her arms and holding them in her own. Both their hands were warm. “I spent a good hour patching you up; don’t go undoing all my work now.”
“I saw one of his hunters rip my mother’s Soul from her body…” Kristine mumbled. Tears pricked her eyes, and Elva for all her years of working in a forge, hardening her skin with every job given to her, softened her gaze the moment the first tear dripped down Kristine’s cheek. “I watched her and Grandfather die and I couldn’t do anything .”
She was outright sobbing, and Elva softly squeezed her hands.
“I’m so sorry, Kristine,” she whispered, pity written in her voice, her face, and her body language. Kristine barely heard it as her sorrow shifted to a smouldering fury.
“I’m going to kill him,” the demigod declared through tears.
“His hunters will be after you,” the blacksmith reminded.
There was an obvious solution. “I’ll run from his hunters,” Kristine decided. “I’ll run and I’ll hide and when Aurvanda’s stars align, I’ll march up to his throne of ice and bone and he will breathe his final breath with my blade in his heart.”
She expected Elva to make a retort, but it never came. Instead, a sigh left her lips as she helped Kristine lay back down, pulling the pelt blanket over her and taking the mug with her.
“Get some more rest, Kristine,” she said, moving to shut the window shutters.
No other words were spoken as Elva exited the room, leaving Kristine and her thoughts alone.