The fringe cities were miserable places to live on the best of days. Resting on the fringes of better society, hence the name, they seemed to pull away the undesired elements of society, forming microcosms of the unwanted, unloved, unnoticed, and unnecessary. Yet they persisted, their existence justified by the necessity of a barrier, in more way than one, to protect the places and people of true value. Ironic, then, how the places what necessitated their existence on paper ended up a better place to be. The forts which served as a first line of defense from the beasts relied on their fringe cities for supplies while of course maximizing the amount of warning able to be given to the inner cities. To the people unfortunate to be stationed at these forts, each day was a gamble whether they'd be relieved before the next wave came, and it always felt too soon when they lost the coin toss.
In all this shadowed empire there were twenty-eight fringe cities, each with a connected fort. The mortality rate at each not far from that of the elderly. Nearly every able-bodied person, that is to say those who were willing and able to fight, would at some point spend time at one of the forts, likely the one closest to their place of true residence, and it was in this way the forts almost became a sort of proving ground. Those who were able to return from the forts, not just after one shift, nor two, but months, were those who had proven their worth; they had either the physical ability, the mental fortitude, the luck, or all of the above necessary to make it as a fighter in this bleak existence. Were they to survive a wave while they were active, they would have proven their ability; were they to survive a wave while they were inactive, they would have proven their luck; were they to pass through their time, full of the stress of knowing that, at any time, their life may find itself forfeit, and return ready to continue, they would have proven their fortitude. All of those qualities were constantly tested at the forts, and to develop profoundly in one or more of them not only granted a person the ability to continue down their chosen path but also reinforced the gauntlets that were the forts.
Yet even with the miserable conditions of the forts, to everyone who came out of them more-or-less unscathed, they were far better than the fringe cities they were connected to, the difference, ironically enough considering the mortality, was hope. Those who stayed in the cities scarcely did so out of choice, and those that did were best to be avoided. Many were forced to the fringes by the tides of life, being battered again and again until their grip on the weathered rock of their stable life failed them, wherein they drifted until they washed up on the shores of, well, nothing good. Others rode the waves that carried the less fortunate, choosing to venture to those areas where no one would be eager to search for them. Others still sailed a rowboat through the choppy waters, their arms pumping, hoping to reach their destination before their small vessel capsized. Everyone in a fringe city could fell into one description, and only one carried hope with them.
Those who ventured out of the fringe cities and into the forts in some way belonged to the last group, even if they were only weakly clinging to the side of their boat as the wind and waves pushed it along, and all these people had in common the fact that they had some amount of hope, always looking for their destination, waiting for the day they saw it slowly rise from the horizon; if they could just make it through their time in the fort, they could find themselves on stable ground, and from there, all would be well. When returning to the cities though, they would find themselves surrounded by those who had given up the search for something better. Among them there were, of course, small bastions of hope, but they were few and far between, and almost entirely drowned out by the rest of the misery. This concentration of despair, some argued, was what drew in the beasts, and could explain why waves would always pause on the fringe cities for a time before moving forward, and why stray beasts from the surroundings were almost always drawn to the fringe cities before anything else.
Yet even within this largely unideal situation, there existed still some variety. Indeed, some forts and some cities were worse than others, with one of the worst being the fort that lay exactly northeast of the capital. Over the vast timespan of the Church's rule, this fort had gained infamy as the fort to experience the harshest and most frequent waves; if the other forts had a fatality rate similar to that of the elderly, this one was more comparable to an enemy of the state. Death approached swiftly and inevitably. Fortunately for the regular citizens of the relevant areas, strong figures were stationed at both the fringe city and the main city it was connected to, which prevented any major breaches from becoming a large problem. As for why they weren't stationed at the fort to begin with, well, the conditions were far below what people of their stature deserved.
Those who went to this fort were often those with honor who had done something requiring a severe punishment. Rather than being simply killed, they were sent to have the last dregs of usefulness drained out of them. Occasionally, people would volunteer to go to this fort, usually fools, and they were infrequent enough that each was an occasion of note, if for no other reason than a darkly comedic one. However, there was a volunteer once far different from the others. They stayed for a year, and in that year, the number of people who died at the fort could be counted on one hand. In fact, one didn't even need a hand to count them all.
No one died; no one was allowed to die.
There was a cold, persistent rain the night this person arrived, shrouded in a dark cloak. The circumstance was strange, them appearing alone, separate from the typical refresh, but no one questioned it. Everyone was exhausted, as per usual, causing a fuss over a new arrival wasn't worth the energy, but there was another reason. When the person first stepped within the fort and removed their cloak, revealing a flowing, somewhat messy mass of pale, wheat-gold hair, the section of her person that truly caught everyone's eye were the white-edged, purple robes she wore, signifying that she was not just a healer, something desperately needed by every fort, but a healer worthy of recognition from the Church itself.
From the moment she arrived, she made a name for herself. Within every fort lay an infirmary, it's occupants the vast majority of the time being those who fell sick, something they were prone to, being outside in the rain for extended periods, and those with relatively minor injuries who nonetheless needed an extra pair of hands to tend to them. That was, of course, not considering the period immediately following a wave, wherein those lucky enough to escape the onslaught with only major injuries would flood the cramped space and pray someone with knowledge would get to them in time. As luck would have it, this healer, this woman who always seemed to remain clean through the rain, mud, and blood around her, was able to outdo every other healer there single-handedly. Granted, there were only a handful, few enough to be counted on one's hands, but it was still a feat which left everyone impressed and elevated her standing amongst the people of the fort. It may also be worth noting that her arrival occurred in the days immediately following a wave.
At first, she only healed people to the point their bodies could reasonably take over. Whether because she was attempting to hide her true ability or because she wished for them to grow back stronger, rather than simply back to how they were, was up for speculation. Still, despite events to come proving she had been holding back, no one, no matter gravely injured, succumbed to their injuries after she arrived. Funnily, if one were to ask the other healers present at the time, they'd all say they knew she was more capable than she let on; the ability to bring someone right up to the point of their body being able to take over the healing process, but no further, showed an incredibly intricate knowledge of the human body and its constituents, while doing it time and time again, without breaks or mistakes, showed a magical capacity far beyond what was immediately shown. Of course, her presence had the side effect of making the soldiers of the fort disappointed when receiving help from one of the other healers, in some cases outright rejecting them in favor of waiting for the golden girl herself, but that was their loss.
The pivotal event would occur just a few weeks following her arrival. There was another wave. Two waves happening so close to one another wasn't unheard of, but it was rare. That is, everywhere except for this fort. Here, over a six-month span, facing three waves was expected, four was common, five was unfortunate, and six or more, that is, once per month or about every three weeks, was only uncommon. Waves occurring so close to each other were usually weaker, but that was relative and would only be acknowledged by those in the fort well after the fact. On account of this, this fort was one of the most heavily guarded, heavily armed, one could say, forts, being able to stop most waves at the fort, even after the second or third wave in quick succession. Once the number crept to four waves in a row and above, the strain on those stationed at the fort quickly grew past their abilities. At the fourth wave, the connected fringe city would be evacuated as a matter of course, no matter the strength of the wave. After the fifth, the Church would send someone to reinforce, usually a Hero or Adjudicator, while more soldiers were gathered. Whenever waves like this occurred, sometimes referred to as rogue waves, all everyone in the fort could do was pray it would be the end of the chain and prepare themselves for a fight.
Due to the miraculous healer's efforts, the manpower of the fort had almost entirely recovered from the last wave, and morale was high. From the sensing equipment they had, and the accounts from those with certain scouting abilities, the incoming wave was nothing special. Something to be wary of, as always, they all remembered the old legend, but it was something they had faced before, and they were prepared. The wave began as any other, with a barrage of ranged magics followed by a close-quarters confrontation near the bast of the fort. The healers split their numbers, with half staying in the infirmary and half working to carry the incapacitated out of the battlefield as swiftly as possible. Their miracle remained in the infirmary, everyone too worried about her being potentially injured in the battle, and knowing they had someone dependable in their backline caused those fighting to act more conservatively. After all, not even the Pope himself could reverse death.
With the wave ongoing, it became clear that there was only one person needed in the infirmary. More importantly, a problem was becoming apparent. There was a much stronger focus on removing the injured from the battlefield, resulting in people beginning to overflow the infirmary. The main cause of this was the gravely injured – those who'd usually be left to die as no one had the ability to heal them before they succumbed to their injuries. After a fresh batch of wounded was delivered, the woman everyone had placed their faith in made a suggestion to the other healers. She asked those who had stayed in the infirmary to join the other healers, and instead of using their effort to ferry the wounded from the battlefield, they should instead find people whose abilities were suitable for transporting others, while they themselves stayed in the backlines of the battle to tend to those more lightly wounded. None of the healers jumped at the suggestion, all of them enjoying how their position kept them out of danger, but they recognized the sense in it and had at this point come to see this new healer as a de facto leader of them all. So, they did as they were asked.
The worth of a half dozen healers on a battlefield outweighed the efforts of a dozen soldiers, at least in a battle of this scale, and soon the number of wounded being delivered to the infirmary was lessened, the handful of soldiers now transporting said wounded hardly missed in the chaos of the battle. The other healers in the infirmary had largely taken on the responsibility of stabilizing the wounded while they waited for the true healer to get to them, a small but crucial step in the process, and something a number of them had been trepidatious about, however this would end up offering them a window into the true abilities of the purple-robed woman. As each wounded soldier was brought into the infirmary, the warm, golden light of healing enveloped them, no matter how far the healer was from them at the time, stemming their bleeding and numbing their pain. To use healing magic at range in that way was something none of them had seen before. Even the other healers had only ever heard of it being possible, and only something someone at the caliber of a Bishop or, of course, the Pope would be able to do. Granted, at this point, it was still a far cry from healing someone back to full health from a distance, as the stories they had heard said was possible, but both feats to them were far enough outside their own abilities so as to be seen as equally impressive.
As the battle wore on, space needed to be made in the walkways within and hallways surrounding the infirmary to fit the wounded. Just as the healer began to consider diverting new wounded to the barracks, the sounds of fighting outside the fort died down. Space was found for the last of the wounded and, once they were tended to, the healer walked out of the infirmary for the first time since the wave started, making her way to the battlefield. She looked at the sky as she walked, through the windows and courtyards of the fort, watching as the rippling, kaleidoscopic colors were slowly replaced by the usual cloud cover, and just as she exited the fort, taking her first steps onto the ground what had until that moment been a battlefield, a dull drizzle began to fall.
The purple of her robes stood out against the quickly fading black smog of the quiet battlefield, and all the soldiers still there, slowly allowing themselves to accept that the wave was over, noticed her immediately, turning to face her. They all had heard snippets from the healers and transport crew of what was happening within the fort, and it was the knowledge that they'd be in good hands were they to be injured that kept the lot of them fighting with vigor.
As they looked at her in silence, the only sound the rain pattering on their clothes, she too looked at them. Eventually, she told them that most of the wounded would be able to return to work in less than a month and asked them to look amongst themselves, look for their friends, their brothers and sisters in arms, and inform her of the number of losses. As they checked though, it quickly became apparent that no one knew of anyone that had died on the battlefield; miraculously, through the combined efforts of them and the healers, no one had been able to die on the field, and since being taken to the infirmary surely meant they'd live, it meant no one at all had died to this wave. As the revelation propagated through the crowd, excitement began to ripple through the air. They began to celebrate. Some of them cheered, their praise focused on the healer that had provided them the ability to survive this wave.
She hadn't lied; a large portion of the wounded were back in action after a week, their wounds sore but bearable, with the remainder on the path to recovery. Fate, however, waited for no one, and after a mere two weeks came the next wave. Morale was high, but spirit couldn't make up for the lack of manpower, and the strain everyone experienced was increased compared to the last wave. The events played out much the same as previous, and all anyone could do was endure.
This wave lasted longer than the last, mainly due to the lack of damage, and the casualties were higher. Around halfway, it became apparent to those on the battlefield that their newly adopted conservative fighting style was beginning to do them more harm than good, and as the pressure increased, habit began taking over. Unconsciously to many, their sureness in survival slipped, no matter how little the situation had changed. Everyone present had long learned how to steel their nerves, and doing so again, despite being temporarily relieved of that necessity, was something they didn't find to be very difficult. As the lines thinned, the healers intermixed with the rest found their position increasingly precarious, and they unconsciously pulled back, further increasing the pressure felt by those in the front. Still, they managed to pull through, albeit barely.
There were still no deaths, but neither was there the revelry of before. Everyone understood the situation; over half the manpower of the fort was laid up in bed, and while a good portion of them would heal enough to fight again within a couple weeks, another wave in that gap would be ruinous. The only solace was that with the next wave, the fourth wave, the fringe city would be evacuated, meaning the only lives they were fighting for were their own.
A week went by in silence. The injured began to recover; those more gravely injured were tracking towards full recovery. The healers debated amongst themselves whether to fully heal the injured themselves. Doing so would exhaust them, potentially leaving them more vulnerable for another wave, which was ultimately what made them decide against that course, along with the fact that allowing them to heal on their own would make them stronger overall, and even that little bit may help them.
As it seemed like another week would go by in silence, the clouds started to recede, revealing a warped sky. Everyone gathered on the foremost bulwark of the fort, letting the silence surround them as they accepted the situation. A runner had already been sent to the fringe city to order the evacuation, and there was a solemn that they might be the only person to make it through the day. Still a third of them were in an unfit state to fight, meaning that if this wave were to be anything above average, they'd likely be completely wiped out. At some point, someone brought up the idea of leaving to the healer, saying that she was too valuable to risk losing here. She countered by reminding them they would've already died if not for her.
As the people of the fort watched, the wave crested the horizon, rapidly approaching the fort, and at its front, the figure of a Bull was instantly recognizable to all of them. The majority of them went pale at the sight, but it was now too late to retreat. In what felt like seconds, the wave was upon them, the bull charging at the defensive line under a constant magical bombardment. Nothing they did seemed to work though, the great beast easily reaching the defensive line and plowing through it with no trouble.
It's impact with the iron-reinforced, wooden gate that barred entrance to the fort shook the walls. The gate splintered around the impact point, leaving a hole taller than the height of two men and about as wide. The force from the impact had slowed the bull down enough for a group of around two dozen to peel back from the defensive line to surround it, supported by a healer and bombardment from the walls.
The fort was breached; the wave was starting with them on the back foot. Not only that, with a Bull now blocking the entrance to the fort, carrying the wounded to the infirmary became much more difficult, the route needing to be extended and more energy needing to be expended. With their trips slowed, those on transport duty arrived later and later to the wounded, many gravely. The situation was naturally passed on to the healer, with many again asking her to leave. Eventually, she made a decision, telling them all to return to the battle and remain there.
Those who were present, those who hadn't immediately rushed off to collect more people upon dropping someone off, all felt they understood her decision, and they solemnly returned to the battle, informing those who hadn't heard of what they'd been told. The battle carried on; to all those present, reality and resignation was sinking in.
It was those fighting the Bull that first saw it, as things were beginning to feel truly hopeless. A blinding beam of pale-gold light surged through the courtyard they were fighting in, leaving a trail of the same-colored fire behind it that quickly dispersed, leaving no evidence of its presence. The light was bright enough to make them all close their eyes, and when they opened them, they saw the Bull had collapsed on the ground, split into two halves, each half quickly disintegrating into a black fog.
All those present were stunned, unable to take their eyes off what remained of the Bull until a figure in a white-edged purple robe gracefully walked through space created by the two sides of the beast.
They watched, still stunned, as she walked through what remained of the fort's gate and onto the battlefield.
They watched as a golden light filled the air of the battlefield, and as a figure rose into the air above the battle, high above the walls, shrouded in that same light.
As that light embraced them, their injuries, no matter their extent, began to heal. On the other side of the wall, the line carved where the light hit the ground served an impassible barrier to the oncoming beasts, which turned to nothing on contact with it. Those fighting who lost their targets stumbled briefly before joining the others in staring in stunned silence. The wave continued to mindlessly run headlong into the light, only to disappear like a river running into a volcano.
Watching the scene before them, the reality of it began to sink in, and they began to relax. Soon after, the people inside the walls made their way back out to join the rest. Soon after that however, the people who had been stuck, injured, in the infirmary began to make their way out as well, all of them asking what was going on. Each of them shared the same story – they had been resting, listening to the sounds of battle drift through the walls of the fort, when they all felt their cuts close and their fractures mend in just a few seconds, short enough for them to feel confident enough to stand up and walk outside, willing to join the fight if it hadn't already stopped. Some of them had been asleep, and they stayed asleep even though they had been fully healed, although some were shaken awake by their friends who didn't want them to miss out on whatever was happening.
Awhile later, when the end of the wave was in sight, the light expanded in a flash directed out into the wave, ending the wave. The healer descended from the sky slowly, everyone unconsciously clearing a spot for her to land. No one spoke; what had happened had exceeded their threshold for being relieved, and everyone was waiting for someone else to decide how they should react. All they could do was stare.
Not many before this point had looked her in the eyes, mainly out of respect, and not many could recall her face, yet they were all sure the pale-gold fire what had begun to burn where her eyes should have been hadn't been there when she first arrived.
After a brief time that felt like hours, she turned and walked back into the fort, the crowd parting to let her through. Most of those present would later say that was the last time they saw her, yet the events of the day had been seared into her mind. That wave was the last in the sequence, and, after a few weeks had passed, the people who had previously evacuated returned, bringing with them some people from the main city to reinforce what they expected to be heavy losses at the fort. To their surprise, the fort was still at full capacity, and their questioning of such an unusual occurrence naturally led to the events of the past few weeks spreading like wildfire, with only a reasonable amount of exaggeration.
Soon thereafter, some officials of the Church arrived and questioned a number of the people who had been present at the fort as to what had happened, likely having heard the stories that got filtered through an uncountable number of retellings and wanting a more reliable account of events.
Shortly after that, the news that a new Hero had been born, the first one in well over a century, rippled through the world, and along with her came the birth of a new era, the Ninth Generation.
This Hero was named Clarity, the Shining Star of the Church.