The Starry Sky - A Darkling/General Kirigan Prequel

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'' it was almost impossible to see the constellations in his eyes, but they were there, bright and silver, holding the hope of a million futures. ''

In a growing world a heretic and a zealot meet, tearing a country in two.

***

The sun settled like a restless child; slowly at first and then almost immediately. Anna Zolotov was sat on the roof of an inn in a small village near Tsibeya, cradling a tin cup of kvas in her hands, whilst also desperately trying to push her hair back into the cloth that was tied around her head. She loved watching the sun set and rise, knowing the power it had over people; this giant ball of light deciphered when people packed up their market stalls and when they curled into their beds until the next day when, with the sun, they'd rise once more and go through the motions again.

For a long time she admired how this could not be stopped, how this wonder could widely not be betrayed by humans - unless they have a lot of candles she thought - that was until a few years ago, of course, when a man rapidly ascended on the claims that he could control the dark. Anna knew this wasn't a new thing. She'd met plenty of Grisha in her life - her cousin had been one for saints sake - but she'd never heard of one who could control darkness, or one who was so important that he'd not only been able to gather Grisha from around Ravka, but Fjerda, and the Shu Han. As stars began to twinkle to life like freckles in the sky Anna took a sip of kvas.

"Well," She muttered to herself, "How underwhelming." The magic was mostly lost on her now that she knew it didn't have to be natural, soon enough there'd been hundreds of night summoners swarming around Ravka, probably creating so much darkness that it'd be a rarity to feel the sun on her back. For a final time she tipped the tin back to her mouth, drinking the bitter dregs of the drink and hauling herself to her feet. Strawberry blonde hair flew wild as the knot of her head tie loosened and it sailed into the night like an owl, cursing under her breath whilst she pulled the frayed, grey shawl over her head.

The wind was violent at this time of year, it charged at the country with all the vengeance of an attacking army, and stayed long after no-man's-land had been desecrated. It was whipping long, cold gusts at Anna, making her hair move around as if it were a dancer in a very high-energy ballet. The winters were brutal this far north, but so far Anna hadn't earned enough keep to travel to the capital, she was just glad she'd made it through the Permafrost before it froze her there.

Dragging herself to the little hatch in the roof she turned one last time to look at the sky, the inky nothingness of infinity drawled on, with nothing painting the barren landscape. It was quite entrancing, Anna felt like she could just reach out and fall into the abyss, somewhere she wouldn't have to keep moving, or begging at taverns for a temporary job and a roof over her head.

Despite sunsets feeling lacklustre now, the inexplicable beauty of calm was mesmerising in front of her. Nothing happens here, she thought; until so violently slowly, a soft golden glow bloomed on the horizon like a flower in spring. At first she couldn't make out the shape of whatever was approaching, but considering it was coming from the Permafrost, she had few good ideas.

The glow was moving quickly, and soon more lights crested the hill on the horizon, it wasn't an armada, but panic roiled deep in Anna's stomach as the convoy beat the dirt road she travelled on only days before. Every thought seized her body, primarily that people had been sent from the Wandering Isle or Fjerda to find her.

Anna had to pull herself out of her stupor, unlatching the hatch in the roof with such fervour she stumbled back a bit. She swung her body through the hole, making desperate grabs at the ladder as she climbed down. In the inn there were muffled cheers of the few regular patrons and some hunters who'd been tricked into hunting up north in the winter. She was frantic to get out, but she knew she couldn't run, because whatever was approaching was approaching quickly, and unless it was a small troop of phantom lanterns, which she doubted, she was severely outnumbered.

Anna moved mindlessly through the inn, crossing the sticky wood floors on unbalanced feet. The usual commotion of the tavern was still there, but she could barely hear anything as she steered her swaying body towards the front door. Olga, the landlady, called out to Anna, trying to get her to help serve ale and kvas, but not a discernible sound penetrated her ears. Every person in the room turned to look at the girl, whose face was red with cold and whose hair was falling loose around her shawl-covered head, with wandering eyes. For once she wasn't aware of the men staring at her, her mind was buzzing with fear that the Fjerdans had followed her through the Permafrost, and were about to take her.

Tears were filling her eyes, but she kept walking, ready to give in and accept defeat. She twisted the brass doorknob and stepped into snowy a world, leaving small footsteps on the ground as she faced off the incoming battalion. The glow was close now, illuminating three or four carriages, and people in the inn had taken notice, following behind Anna to see what would bring such a parade to this part of Ravka in the winter and at night. 

Anna's body was numb, probably with cold, but maybe with grief. Her steps had become sloppier and she was practically dragging herself through the snow, filling her boots with icy water. Light poured over the street ahead like the promise of new life, warming the cold village, if only briefly, and making the arrival a spectacle. It would be magical almost, if Anna hadn't collapsed into a heap as the carriages drew into the inn's courtyard.