NELNIFA CORLEDIA IS SUPPOSED TO BE WEAK. During a brazen attack against her people, she is left with no choice but to take the lead. With knowledge coming from dubious places, a territory in shambles, and a people too scattered to fight back, she ha...
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"Take cover!" Nelnifa screamed through the expanse as soldiers rushed from their quarters, saw the intruders, and started their assault. Someone had hauled the generals' forms from the battlefield, freeing it from hindrances. She turned to her father. "Keep low."
A spell collided with the crenelation behind her, disrupting rock and debris and lighting Nelnifa's sky bright pink and amber. "Go!" she yelled through the haze of hissing smoke. She shouldered her rifle once more, calculating the spare poisoned bullets still inside. She'd have at least five more shots. Or was it four? Which rifle did she slot the extra xyth bullet in?
She cursed, causing her father to whirl to her direction and pause his crawl. His purple hair turned pink in a span of seconds. Her eyes widened. She dove, her weight crashing against him. They fell to the ground, her elbow hitting the hard floor of the battlements. Pain shot to her shoulders, complimenting the loud boom knocking a large chunk of the parapet.
"Don't stop!" She screamed at her father, hauling him to his feet. "Run!"
In an ideal universe, ordering one's father around would result in eternal punishment in the Land of Wonders, but that's the least of Nelnifa's worries now. The spells never halted, all hungry for the intruders' blood, which happened to be them. They just needed to meet up with the rest of the Marshals and get everyone out.
And then what? They'd retreat to Zoriago where they'd spend the rest of the war trying to outrun the Heiress and her soldiers until they couldn't. Nelnifa hated just the mere notion of it. Water sprites should have been a proud race; they shouldn't be smoked out of their own homes like a damned colony of srilla.
No. If they were bent on surviving, they have to fight. She has to fight, even if the best thing she wanted for herself was to relax on the shore without having to deal with anyone for a week. Well...perhaps her family could be an exception. And the Marshals. Particularly...him.
A damning screech ripped through whatever fantasy she conjured for herself. She ducked, arms flying to her head, as the wall rushed towards her. What in Shirope's name was—
Her braids snapped, freeing her locks from their rigid arrangement. Her back hit the battlements' floor, knocking the air out of her. The flames ravaged westward, tearing a gap in the walls. She rolled to her side and looked down. It's a straight drop, but they'd be out of the fortress. Then, they could run across the sand. It'd be faster.
"Nifa!" her father called, his voice sounding so distant. She raised her head from the gap to find him stuck on the opposite side. "I'll meet with the Marshals. Get out of here."
Nelnifa gritted her teeth. Not a chance. She'd get everyone out first.
Her legs shook as she staggered up, bracing the crenelation with her good arm. She stepped back, gauging the gap still blazing with the excess embers from whatever spell hit it. Then, she burst forward, her muscles raging with the heartbeats slamming inside her chest. The gap neared with every step. The wind roared in her ears, joining the echoes of cast spells arcing across the star-laden night.
