“Ráz—” I filled her lungs near to bursting, stopping her before she could scream out the word that would bring an entire battalion upon me. She wheezed, hand gripping her throat wildly. She tried to cough, but I pressed the breath firmly back inside.
“None of that.” I called her sword to my waiting hand, a slow trailing arc through the sky. It settled in my palm, the hilt already warm. “Goodnight.”
I smiled, a quick flash of teeth, and drove the hilt hard into the side of her skull.
The Guardian crumpled, head lolling into the grass.
A branch snapped behind me, and I spun, but the first Guardian was quick without my power pinning him. He landed a swift blow to the back of my knee that sent me sprawling.
I landed hard on my injured hip, crying out in pain.
“You should have helped me when I asked.” I glared menacingly, throwing every ounce of my air mágik against him.
His limbs locked, and his jaw clenched, but his eyes remained wide. He fought to free himself against my invisible bindings to no avail.
“I should kill you…” I muttered, rising and dusting myself off. I favored my uninjured side as I limped toward him. “But I need that armor of yours to remain spotless.”
I sidled closer, fighting against the cloying fog of his fear. It filled me like smoke in my lungs, but it did not stop me from pressing my fingertips to his temples—from burrowing deep in his mind.
I poured wave after wave of calm and exhaustion and forgetfulness into his body. I willed them to flow deep in his blood.
His eyes fluttered, my mágik draining him with every twitch of my fingers.
“Sleep.”
The Guardian collapsed in a heap at my feet.
I made quick work of removing his armor, strapping it to my own body with careful movements. The steel gleamed in the morning light.
With the bodies stashed hastily in the bushes, I stumbled upon some semblance of a garden. Little more than brambles and frosted grass survived in the reaches of early autumn, but at the far edge were hedges that still bloomed with pink and white flowers.
Under them lay a woman, dark hair damp and splayed beneath her head. Her chin tilted mournfully toward the fading moon. As the first rays of the sun crested the treeline, golden light rippled across her features. Gone was the moon limned blue that tinted her skin. Soft warm sun trailed its fingers across the line of her nose and shone off her eyes like beacons.
Her fingers twisted in blades of frosted grass, her expression solemn under the pink sky. A sword lay just in her reach, betraying her status as a Guardian.
I was inexplicably drawn to her and the gentle slope of her neck, the sharp line of her jaw. I moved closer against my own will, desperate to catch a glimpse of the freckles I swore I saw dusted on her pale cheeks.
My hands twitched at my sides, imagining the feel of her smooth skin beneath them. My lips at her throat. Something in her called to me, and I was powerless to look away.
Only when she stirred—long limbs stretching and unfurling—was I broken from my strange reverie. I broke free with a sharp inhale.
I slipped away, following her and the sounds of Guardians preparing for the day. I did my best to shake off the temporary insanity that had overcome me to gaze upon a Guardian with such blank minded reverence. It was a trick of the light, I convinced myself. The moon and the sun merely having a laugh at my expense.
The sounds of clashing swords and shuffling feet grew louder as I rounded a stout stone tower. The training field came into view, and I observed from a distance, watching them practice in a triangular formation.
The Guardians began their routine, and I remarked on the lack of finesse and flair the human forces had. Very little distinguished one Guardian from another. Armor varied slightly from person to person, but they all walked the same, listened the same. They waited for orders and followed them.
Some Guardians were fully bedecked in shining steel, swinging their weapons in merciless arcs, while others darted around clumsily in leather armor. The latter were packed too closely together, fumbling with inexperience.
Decorated instructors shouted corrections at them, forcing the formation to flow and shift.
Keeping my hands locked formally behind my back, I edged toward the group.
There were other observers, watching over the proceedings with varying levels of engagement. My gaze stopped on one man in particular, the emblem of a Third Order Guardian pinned to his chest. Far enough along in his career to recognize the younger soldiers yet not too far progressed as to draw attention to my presence.
I sidled over to the Guardian, invisible tendrils of mágik already winding their way into his thoughts. I lulled him into a haze of contented ease before introducing myself. “Good Morning, sir. Guardian Aranti, at your service.”
The Guardian turned, looked me up and down, then grunted noncommittally.
