The Lonely Ones

Chapter Fifty-One: Taken

Wren had never seen the Ashen Plains. He only heard about them. Siblings, acquaintances, and drunken fae spoke of islands overcome by flames and ash. The firelits crossed streams of magma without so much of a flinch. Even through the night, the light of fires illuminated the islands so they sat as stars in the sea.

But not anymore.

Wren stands alongside his siblings on the edge of a frozen wasteland. Snow smothered all life on the island. Not a single spark of fire can be seen beneath glaciers of ice piercing into the sky. A hand or two of a fireling peeks out of the snow, deep blue and cracked. Those who survived the lasting storm struggle against the army already deep into the islands. Wren hears the battle horns and smells the blood staining the snow crimson.

Aurelia guides the group through the towering ice. Wren's hands continue to ache from earlier. They shake from cold, a feeling he never thought he'd feel. He cracks his fingers one by one as if to physically break the ice stuck in his bones.

They pass by mountains of corpses, a mix of both greenlings and firelits as they grow closer to Ignit's castle. They must have tried to hold up there, to outlast the storm. Now they're all in one place for the greenlings to destroy in one fell swoop. When they come upon the castle, Aurelia raises her hand. Wren and his siblings take a step back, already aware of what she's about to do. A wicked grin slips on her normally apathetic expression. A darkness looms over her hand, casting out over the lands then blasting over the crowd. A foul stench rises from the darkness that, when it dissipates, reveals the rotting corpses of any caught in the fog. There's a straight shot to the front doors of the castle.

"Come along," Aurelia orders, stepping through the muck even as it dirties her dress. Cypress follows her while Solana and Wren burn or freeze through their past because neither want that stench stuck on their clothes.

The greenlings burst through the front doors thanks to Aurelia's abrupt attack. The doors fall off their hinges and blood flies. Tired and weakened, the firelits fall easily enough. Though the castle isn't as damaged as the rest of the island, no fire could keep the ice at bay. Strips of blue and white ice slither through the castle walls. Icicles hang from the ceilings. They shatter when waves of fire burst across the throne room. Ignit stands furthest from us all, surrounded by her surviving children and firelits. They fight even as they fall one after the other.

Cypress leans over to press his hand against the floor. Vines burst from the walls to impale any firelit foolish enough to get close. Solana bursts through the crowd, shining bright as the sun and turning all to ash in her path. Aurelia merely walks by, brushing her fingertip against someone's cheek or back and they crumble to the floor in a heap of rotting flesh. Wren freezes anyone who grows close to him, forming spears of ice to catch any ahead off guard.

The battle doesn't last. Eventually the firelits begin to flee, knowing even their queen can't save them. In the end, Ignit falls to Aurelia's hand grasping her arm. Her scream echoes over the throne room. She drops to the floor clutching the nub on her shoulder. Her arm lays on the floor in a mess of twisted, black flesh. Cypress grasps her limbs, twisting until they snap and Wren impales her chest with a spear.

Aurelia looks out over their victory, grinning like Wren had never seen.

"We should have done this a long time ago," she says, then walks away. Solana and Cypress follow, both seeming to be pleased with what they accomplished today.

Wren looks down at Ignit. Her breathing slows and eyes grow dim. Before she goes, Wren tries to ask, "The spell, what was it?"

Ignit's eyes roll as if she's searching for something.

"The spell you put me under," he repeats, kneeling over her. "What was it?"

She laughs. Blood trickles down her chin.