Aetheria Falling

Ophidia, Thy Name is Envy

Vyrai—one of the world's oldest, most prominent cities of human art and culture—was on fire. Isolated plumes of smoke rose, contrasted by a beautiful, multi-hued sunset.

Looking out from her fourth-story apartment terrace, Éadaoin knew Vyrai would never be the same.

First, there'd been rumors of an airship falling from the sky. Next, there'd been word of a mass prison break. After that, Éadaoin had seen the source of the rumors for herself while at work in Vyrai's most prestigious art school—the Callum Mac an Ghobhann Academy of Artistry. Like many others, Éadaoin hadn't thought much of a potential connection between the occurrences until the magically powered lamps throughout the campus began to flicker and die. When the wards protecting the academy's varied collections were dispelled, instructions for everyone to shelter at home had been given.

The journey from the city's center had been as confusing and frightening for Éadaoin as it'd been for her colleagues. Panic had spread quickly when the nature of what was happening became clearer. Magic was unraveling—dissipating from the world in a way never seen before. It was happening everywhere, without rhyme or reason, and no one seemed to know why.

Without Arcanarium mages to keep them in check and the majority of the city watch preoccupied with the prison break, the criminal underground of Vyrai had little left to fear.

They were taking control of the city.

She had barely reached her tenement building when people began running for cover as the gunfire commenced, and she knew it was only a matter of time before the lowborn grew bored with pillaging stores and galleries. Those who had long been denied entry into Vyrai and created communities in the countryside were venturing deeper into the city in search of wealth. Next, they would come for those that rejected them.

Éadaoin had managed to escape the streets, but rapidly deteriorating conditions had made it abundantly clear that Vyrai was no longer safe. She had little to no food stores in her apartment. And why would she, considering she'd been enjoying fine dining on the academy's coin for several years? That, however, meant Éadaoin wouldn't be able to use her home as a hideout.

There was a scream, followed by a crash and more shouting, encouraging her to return inside before she could be spotted. After hurriedly closing the shutters and curtains dividing the terrace from the apartment common room, she turned to face the darkened interior of her home.

A woman, clad darkly in the height of aristocratic Vyrai fashion, was seated in Éadaoin's favorite chair facing the terrace.

Éadaoin froze.

Even in the gloom, the woman's features were frighteningly contrasted. She was thin and pale, with black eye shadow and liner to compliment her ghostly visage. Despite her gaunt appearance, she was one the most stunning women she'd ever seen.

It dawned on Éadaoin precisely who the woman was as they silently watched each other. The stranger—who was, in fact, no stranger at all—had been even more striking once. At the pinnacle of her fame, many in Vyrai believed she was the most beautiful person in all of Aetheria—arguably more so than the fae, which was saying something.

Éadaoin's heart sank, then quickened. The breath she'd been holding escaped. "Miranda..."

"Open the curtains."

Éadaoin had almost forgotten what the woman's voice had sounded like. Where once it'd been as smooth as honey and as comforting as a blanket of warm sand, it was now cold steel, cutting effortlessly through the chaos outside.

"Open them."

Hands shaking, Éadaoin turned to follow the command. Another came when she'd finished, "The shutters, too."