**********************
Elizabeth Stroudwater
Sitting upon a building, I let my legs dangle and kick out aimlessly. The people below hurry about, a whirlwind of purposeful motion as they are blissfully ignorant of the threats nearby. Or at least, they may know but believe that they are safe due to the protections of Gravecross. Yet, my mind is elsewhere, drawn to the thoughts of a friend, or rather, the uncertainty surrounding his fate.
The prevailing belief and rumor is that Wyatt met his end in the unforgiving sandy wasteland, swallowed by its relentless grasp. Bonfire, Abraham, Clumsy, and Frozen went after him, but most regard them to be devoured by the sand as well. It's the logical conclusion, the evidence stacked against hope. The wasteland conjured by Desolation's ascent is more terrifying than any natural phenomenon. It's more biting than the coldest winter and more melting than the hottest summer. The only place one can even liken it to is the fabled Pained Peaks, a place where not even Desolation would travel lightly before his ascension. But logic and evidence can't dismantle the unwavering conviction that refuses to leave the confines of my mind.
I've witnessed Wyatt traverse hardships that defy imagination, emerging victorious when the odds seemed insurmountable. I've seen him, starved to the bone, tear apart a pack of wolves. I've seen his spine shattered by a shotgun. I've seen him crawl out from the depths of fire to fight the Demon Of Storms. I've... I've seen him die and trudge his fucking way back.
It's inconceivable to accept that he might succumb to the Pale Lady. A part of me rebels against the notion, denying the very concept that he, a man who seemed impervious to the mortality that all have, could be reduced to a mere memory.
The Bloody Palm wouldn't just let him die, either. That artifact... it is just as undying as he. Nor would Virgil let his 'little brother' die.
As I watch the city unfold beneath me, the rhythm of life continues, indifferent to the turmoil within. My thoughts linger on the hope that somewhere, somehow, he defies the odds once more. I merely don't know. That's what eats at me the most. I don't know.
I don't know where he is or what he's doing. I don't know if he's dying or if he's bleeding out. I know so little.
But what I do know is that Johnny is about to make a tremendous mistake. Canyon asked him to stay here, to become the new protector of Gravecross. And... based on his recent silent pondering away from the rest of us, I think he might accept.
I can't let that happen. That is not a thing that can be allowed to happen. I know the logic in his mind. I know how he thinks.
Johnny believes that if we remain here, we will be safe. But he is wrong. Not everyone will stay. Most of us have our own goals—our own dreams. Earl could stay to help, alongside many others like Skyswain and Silas. But not all will. Tomas very well might leave anyway, and I know Lennon will. So will Kwakiteh once 'she' wakes up. That whole thing is confusing to me, regardless.
He wants to make a home here. Johnny wants to protect those that are still alive. His kindness is showing. We cannot think like that. We have to be proactive.
I'm not as brainwashed as many are to the power of Desolation, our former Prime. He is strong, yes. Inhumanely and Godly so. But... he is still only one figure. Against him are an unknown amount of Gods, demons, and even the Mother Below.
We cannot simply let him battle on his own while we hide atop a plateau. That would make all the sacrifices we made to get here null. Moot. Pointless.
The sting in my heart tells me that is not an option. We have to fight. We have to rail against the impossible until one of us can help—until one of us can be the thing that makes the difference. One man, even if they are a God, cannot change the foundations of the world.
I know the one to physically do it will not be me.
My talent does not lie there. After all, I'm only a 3rd Sigil. Earl's weapons allow me to act as if I'm higher than that in battles, but there will come a time when his tools are not enough. We need to be prepared. Waiting to die is not enough.
The only people I can see genuinely being able to make a change are Johnny, Tomas, Lennon, Kwakiteh, Wyatt, and Virgil. The two in the middle are risky to let take the charge, but they can't be worse than not having them there.
Sure, perhaps Desolation does, in fact, kill all the Gods, the demons, and even the Mother Below. But what then? What do we do when he shifts his attention to us? Do we simply let him reign over us with that power? Forcing us to treat him like an actual God?
Who is to say he won't be worse?
We need someone who we know will do the right thing to join this battle. So... we can't really let Lennon or Kwakiteh rise up that high, but it's not like I can stop them. And that scenario is the best case. Those seldom happen.
What is more likely is that Desolation runs out of steam. His injuries will pile up over time, and by the time he reaches the Mother Below or even merely the last of the living Gods, he will fall. Then what? Then we would be dead if we all decided to simply lie here in wait.
We cannot do that.
I've committed myself to fighting. I've promised myself that I won't ever falter. I've sworn an oath that I will not stop until the world is safe for those I care about.
Twisting around on the building's edge, I land on my feet. I carry myself to the staircase on the side of the apartment complex and make my way down.
There are three things I need to do.
The first is to convince Johnny to see the truth that we can never stop fighting until all the old Gods are dead. As long as a being has that much power, we can never be safe. Even... even if they are kind, which Vincent is not the definition of that word, there is still a chance something awful happens. However, we need a protector, so it becomes muddled. Either way, all the current Gods must die.
The second is to find Wyatt. He's alive. He has to be. All we can do is trust that Bonfire found him. The pyromaniac set a meeting point with Johnny, and I'll have to find out what it is.
The final goal, currently, is to push my friends... my allies. They are not yet enough.
I've seen that. I've recognized that. I wish I could be the one to share their burden. I wish... I wish I could be a pillar for them to rely on.
I cannot.
All I can do is manipulate things so that they become the men and women they need to be to save our world. And how would I go about doing that?
Fights. Battles. War. That is the only quick way to power. Someone as talentless as I have reached the 3rd Sigil in a single year, thanks to the constant shove of survival.
My boots clink against the stone at the bottom of the metal staircase before I orient myself. I search the signs and find the right way toward Johnny's tent. If he were to agree to stay, we'd all get houses. But I can't think about the relaxation it might bring.
I might lose my nerve. All these deaths... They burn me from my very core. I've cried myself to sleep every single night since we left Bent. And I know it will only get worse.
They may hate me. They may abandon me. They might even kill me. But... with the sands blocking out the other races for the foreseeable future, the only war that can happen is a civil one.
I know Wyatt will want revenge for Edward's death. Lennon will wish for a challenge. Kwakiteh will also desire to tear down this very world with her bare hands upon awakening. Tomas will also want to grow stronger.
These motives can be manipulated. I know I can stoke Wyatt's rage against Eli. I can ignite the coals under them all. In a war against Eli Weiss, many will die. Many of my friends will die.
As I step through the streets, I wrap my hand tightly around the locket in my pocket. It's from Millie. A gift from her for my birthday. It hasn't passed yet, but she got it ahead of time.
Tomas found it in her bag that she hid in the train.
Retrieving the locket, I wrap it around my neck, the necklace fitting snugly on me.
It's better that some die than that they all die. In the end, at least one of my friends will live, even if it's from inside his workshop.
Earl calculates with variables in his experiments, but I have to be the one to calculate with lives. Perhaps Eli sought out the wrong one of us. The old man isn't entirely wrong.
I stop in my tracks, dust billowing from the sudden change in motion as someone slams into my back. They curse at me and walk around as I freeze in thought.
Did Eli find me? Did he do something to me? These thoughts are abnormal. They aren't how I've always thought. Is this grief clouding my mind, or is it opening it? Or is it something more sinister?
My nails dig into my skin as I have no other choice but to move. Time is ticking. Johnny cannot agree to this. No matter how much he wants to or thinks he has to. He is our strongest fighter now that Edward is gone. He cannot sit idly by. He cannot.
*****************************
Johnny 'Iron Consul' Caldwell
I stand on the sidelines, silently spectating the ramshackle training ground chockful of Bado, soldiers, and even Lennox. Dozens of my allies show a unique congregation of birdmen with beaks and claws. The Bado are always interesting to watch, but I don't divide my attention to them only. Skyswain wanted her people to get formal training—the kind that would make them formidable warriors.
There is no reason to disagree while we have the time to do so. The only Bado excluded are the ones that recently gave birth. But the training Bado are not alone. Marshall's soldiers—my soldiers, with Tomas' aid, join the spars. Blake is amidst them as well. My keen eyes sweep across the field, observing their movements and tactics, ready to offer pointers where needed.
And I do so for a while, helping out here or there. But after many minutes, my sights fall on a young woman. A young Bado, more specifically. Unlike her comrades who harness the might of lightning or winds with their Sigils, this metallic feathered one shares my affinity for more... powdery weaponry: guns. Her grip on the two Colts she has acquired is unconventional due to the claws that adorn her avian limbs, yet she handles them with a grace that defies the awkwardness of her race's anatomy.
What truly captures my interest, however, is the remarkable skill displayed by the Bado. She doesn't rely solely on her firearms in a fight. She uses the ability to glide in the air to the utmost, firing off shots from the sky with frightening accuracy while using her wings for mobility and defense. The Bado even demonstrates an uncanny ability to shoot their own metallic wings. The bullets ricochet off the wing's surface, creating an unpredictable angle of attack.
She uses it more for covering fire at this point, as the bullets are all over the place, but it has a vast potential. She has a vast potential.
I turn to Skyswain and inquire into this Bado. The strongest of her race nods and points to the female Bado.
"That is Skysword. She was very young when you all arrived and has aged quickly. Already, she has three Sigils at three years old. I see you're impressed with her marksmanship."
I can't help but whistle. Three years? How does that make any sense?
"Bado aren't born with Sigils, are they? And how do you guys age? Is three years old an adult?"
Curiosity spews from my mouth as I finally have more time to learn about Bado culture. Skyswain pulls a chair closer to her as she sits, folding her still-injured wings behind her with a grimace. I really hope those heal right.
"No, we aren't. But... unlike humans, we can possess Sigils as young as a week old. And having a Sigil like that accelerates our aging and growth. I heard it's the same for all races, even humans. The few of you who can take Sigils early grow incredibly rapidly and quickly. I've even heard rumors that the First of your people earned a Sigil as a child. Desolation did so as barely a teen. Though... that is a risk in of itself amongst your kind."
I bob my head at her mention of the rumor. I've heard that thought many times myself. No one can really refute or prove it, though, so it's just kind of there. Nevertheless, if the rumors are true, then figures like that are true monsters. To have a body capable of imbibing Ether so young provides endless potential. Children do learn the fastest, after all.
"That is interesting. Would you mind if I taught that one? Skysword?"
Skyswain smiles at me with the sides of her beak contorting the flesh of her face. I will never get used to seeing a Bado smile. Even if I like them.
"Of course. I can guarantee you she'd love that. You're her idol."
I can't help but smile at that. An idol, huh? I don't think I've ever been told that before. It feels... ni—
"Johnny! Johnny!"
An out-of-breath Elizabeth comes barreling toward us, shouting all the way. Many of those training before me pause in confusion, but with a wave of my hand and some words, I get them to continue. Then, I stand and meet Elizabeth.
Looking close with a simple glance, I can see that her eyes' surroundings are darkened by a lack of sleep. She is ragged and exhausted, but her actual eyes are alive with a blazing fervor.
The grief of Wyatt's unknown condition and Millie's death is hitting her hard. Has she lost it? No. She's just come up with an idea. I should listen.
"You cannot take Canyon's position he offered. You have to take us to the meeting point with Bonfire so we can pick up Wyatt."
I watch her countenance shift into complete sincerity as I can't help but sigh. She's too emotionally involved with him. Staying here is safe for everyone.
"Elizabeth, I want to find Wyatt, too, but we need to prepare for a situation wherein he is dead. I hate to believe it myself, but it is a possibility. Just take a deep breath and calm down."
Skyswain nods beside me. She wholeheartedly believes in staying here. Her people are safe here—our people. But Elizabeth obviously doesn't.
"It's not just him, Johnny. Are we merely going to stay here and die if and when Desolation fails? What about when the other races get past the Wastes? If other Gods, awakened by Desolation, come down to us? Will we simply die then without the strength to defend ourselves?"
I shake my head at her. She doesn't understand. The eleventh Prime has already killed two Gods. His progress is not just insane but unbelievable. Yet, it has happened.
"He won't fail, Elizabeth. I can't see him dying to anyone of the same Sigil."
Elizabeth's eyes flare as she stares right into my eyes. She points down as she delivers a warning.
"What if She isn't a 10th Sigiled? What if... there is more? Do you think Desolation could win that fight alone?"
I pause. I haven't really considered that thought. An 11th Sigil. Is that truly a thing? Elizabeth continues as I swim in my thoughts.
"He might need help—no, he will need it. He needed it to become a God. He'll need it to kill the oldest and scariest God of them all, too. And we can't help him if we sit on our asses and do nothing. We have to train. We have to fight. We have to grow stronger."
Her words elevate my eyes from the floor to her face. Maybe... maybe she's right. The Mother Below isn't alone after all. Desolation is inhuman in his very nature, but that doesn't mean he can kill dozens of Gods, innumerable servants, and the God in question all by himself.
But how? How can any of us reach a level where it will even matter? All of us are far too weak.
"I... I get where you are coming from, Elizabeth, but what does it matter? We are too weak to join in that battle."
I watch the young woman I've seen rapidly develop into a capable mind and leader, inhale a deep breath before stepping forward. She whispers quietly into my ear, Ether molding her voice so it cannot be tampered with or heard by any form other than mine.
"A war. We have to make everyone fight until someone joins him."