Blood.
There was blood everywhere. All the Stormbreaker saw was red. Red on the pristine walls. Red on the glassy floor. Red on the severed stone pillars.
And red on the skin of innocent lives.
The sun poured in through the gaping hole in the ceiling, illuminating the quiet chaos grumbling inside the manor. Debris swirled around in the air, along with the strong scent of blood. Death prowled in the shadows, and Ayra felt it deep within her bones.
With a hammering chest, Ayra forced the kernel of her power to call for her wind. The wind answered, albeit weakly. She shot out a gust with her hands, effectively lifting another slab of rock and pushing it away.
Her thundering heart faltered.
The old man she had danced with earlier lay below a layer of rubble, aged limbs crushed and weak body bloodied. Wrinkled, cold fingers held a small bottle of liquor, the amber liquid spilling and seeping into the pool of his own blood.
She forced her bloodshot eyes to blink. Once. Twice.
Thrice.
"I found another body,'' she said to no one in particular, her throat closing with unspoken emotions. Her voice sounded weak. Small. Tired.
With trembling hands and a clenched jaw, she carefully lifted his cold body into her arms. Two astral guards rushed over to her and gently took the body from her. They wordlessly carried it and placed it on the pile on the dias of the hall.
The pile of bodies that were crushed to death.
Ayra swallowed and turned her face away.
It had been a few hours since the disaster befell them. Dreadful hours since the grand ceiling of the manor came crumbling down on the joyous evening of Tyria.
Ayra dared to look at the wide, gaping opening in the middle of the ballroom. The sun's rays spilt into the open ceiling and directly into the yawning darkness in the middle. Thick ivy vines covered the surface of the deep, tailored perfectly to create a formidable barrier.
Cressa.
Ayra wondered if it was made to prevent anyone from going in—or to prevent anything from breaking out.
It was rather strange how no sound emerged from it. Not even a whisper of a breathing soul. Even the wind eerily quieted around the edges of the murkiness.
She couldn't see anything but she could feel it. The ancient power that lurked beneath her feet.
Ruhnn was somewhere down there too, Ayra thought disturbingly. And so did whatever it was that caused the destruction.
"Any survivors?" Valda questioned. She turned to look at the witch and her emerald gown that was smothered with blood.
Ayra didn't bother to look at her own silver one.
She shook her head. No survivors.
The wind stirred restlessly and she sharply turned to look at the murky opening.
Ayra felt her hands tremble and she clasped them together, but her eyes remained on the beckoning darkness.
"Don't even think about it," The witch snarled.
Ayra looked into a pair of angry jade eyes.
"The Guardian might need us," the Stormbreaker reasoned.
"She's a Guardian. I think she and her little army is capable of handling whatever shit is down there. We," she emphasized angrily, "are needed here.''
Ayra swallowed and nodded her head. Valda was right. Without sparing another glance over her spine, she muttered, "I'm going to look for any survivors.''
Valda nodded after a somber heartbeat, the grim truth hanging in the air between them. They knew. They knew there were no more survivors. Only a handful of them had survived the mishap, some severely injured and most claimed by death.
In the far corner of the ballroom, Neslyn gently laid down a child beside a row of five more. The paper confetti adorning her long, lilac-hued braid seemed like a mockery by the Reaper himself.
"I'm going to look for any survivors," Ayra repeated and forced herself to move.
Ayra rounded a broken pillar and looked around. When she found no one, she stepped over a heap of fallen rubble and tried again.
That's when the wind carried a faint cry to her ears.
Ayra halted in her tracks and frantically looked around. When she didn't find anyone, she closed her eyes and strained her ears, commanding the wind to obey her.
And it did.
The cry was faint. Small. Filled with pain.
And familiar. So, so familiar.
Ayra ran towards the direction of the sound.
No.
No.
No.
No. No. No. No.
With her heart in her throat, she rounded a corner and stopped.
The wind quieted down, bringing along with it a blanket of solemness.
On a pile of debris, the young girl lay on her back. The grand golden chandelier had fallen straight onto her fragile body, mercilessly piercing it. Warm rays of the sun spilled onto the inside, illuminating the golden jewels of the chandelier.
A trail of blood trickled down the heap of rubble to form a pool of red on the marble floor. The sharp contrast of it made Ayra sick to her stomach.
Fate was truly a wretched little thing.
She hopelessly dragged her feet towards the body and dropped to her knees.
"Maria." She whispered.
Maria barely had her eyes open. She didn't let out a scream nor did she cry, instead she looked at Ayra with quiet, haunting eyes.
"A-Ayra" she choked out.
Ayra opened her mouth to say something. Anything. But nothing came out. She gently held Maria's cold, bloodied hand and clasped it within hers, wishing she could warm them.
Maria's youthful, bright face was sickly pale and drawn by the natal cheerfulness that she carried with her. Ayra couldn't help but simply watch the heavens claim the mortal.
And her dreams.
It was a curse, she thought, to always witness the Reaper grab a loved one's hand and never let go.
Maria parted her lips. One more time.
"Ayr—"
She stopped. Abruptly.
Ayra saw death glaze her empty eyes, followed by a lonely tear that trickled down one cheek.
The hand that she held grew mercilessly cold and heavy.
A tear rolled down Ayra's cheek. And another. She let out a choked sob. The cerulean blue ribbon tied around her hair loosened and fluttered down, gently laying down at the pool of blood in front of her.
The cerulean blue of the ribbon slowly turned red. She was cruelly reminded of a distant garden of Glazeas.
Kill them.
Ayra blinked. In those crystals adorning the chandelier before her, she saw a shadow loom over her spine.
Kill them.
A voice of a woman and a man spoke to her. Otherworldly. Primordial. Powerful.
Kill them.
Her power thrashed within her and the wind around her turned icy. It grew restless, as it wanted to rip her apart.
Kill them.
"Kill.." Ayra whispered blankly. A strange calmness settled over her entire body and she grew slack. Her vision turned hazy and she slightly swayed.
What is happening?
"Ayra!"
Someone called out her name.
Kill them. The voice spoke again.
"Ayra!"
The voice was familiar. Louder now. But she couldn't move. She couldn't call back.
"Ayra!"
Kill them.
Kill them, Ayra.
She gasped out loud and furiously blinked her eyes, sharply taking in her surroundings. Neslyn sat before her, hands harshly gripping her shoulders and her expression tortured.
She looked at a still Maria and back at Neslyn.
"Where did you go, Ayra?" Neslyn whispered.
Where did you go, Ayra?
A scream suddenly erupted from the darkness.
Ayra and Neslyn sharply turned their heads towards the sound before looking at each other with wide eyes.
Kill them.
Ayra wordlessly grabbed the bloodied ribbon and tied it around her hair. She bent down and laid a kiss upon Maria's temple.
Ayra stood up, turned and ran towards the gaping hole on the floor. The wind rippled sharply again and surrounded her in a protective embrace.
She sharply tugged at the magical bracelet on her wrist with her teeth, the force of it arousing Arcadius from its slumber from the tiny pocket of magic.
She lifted the heavy blade into the air and stopped at the edge of the opening.
"Ayra!" She heard someone shout her name but she paid no heed.
And when she raised Arcadius and released its wrath onto the vined barrier, no one stopped her.
''Ayra!"
The ivy vines were strong. Mercilessly strong. But that did not stop her.
She closed her eyes and channelled the wind around her blade and tried again.
When the vines slightly submitted to her power, she did it again. And again. And again.
"Ayra!"
That's when she looked up.
Neslyn and Valda stared at her, eyes wide. As though they were looking at her for the very first time.
"Ayra," Neslyn whispered in a pleading voice.
Ayra looked at her friends, glazed eyes sorrowful but stern.
"We cannot let them win again."
Neslyn and Valda wordlessly looked at her.
She raised her blade one more time and the frozen Astral Guards around her stepped into action to stop her.
Valda grit her teeth and cursed,"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!"
The witch summoned Gariona and placed herself between Ayra and the Astral Guards.
She threw a fierce look over her shoulder.
Go. She seemed to say.
Neslyn unsheathed her twin blades from the strap on her thighs and sharply nodded at her. She stood beside Valda and faced the Astral Guards.
Ayra clenched her jaw and mercilessly ripped through the vines protecting the opening. She had to hurry.
And when she finally broke through the Guardian's barrier, the wind embraced her and the darkness greeted her wholly.
She felt phantom hands slowly snake over her shoulders. With her spine straight and her heart raging, she slowly let herself fall into the unknown.
The darkness hollowed out before sharply caving in around her.
And in a wicked, wicked way, the darkness seemed to welcome the Stormbreaker.