The footsteps of marching men echoed through the desolate village, led by a woman named Saoirse. She was draped in dark gray and black armored robes with gold accents, a seraph emblazoned on her back.
"Guys! Guys! There's a magi here!" a boy shouted to his friends.
"A magi in this backwater?" the boy scoffed.
His older sister slapped him softly on the head.
"Backwater? This is a humble village—this is our home."
"And over half the villagers died in that fire. Even more were turned into abominations."
"Whoever's responsible for this will pay. I swear it on my title," Saoirse declared.
"Saoirse, don't—"
"Cornelius, don't lecture me. Gather your men. Find tracks—use hounds if you have to."
A woman emerged from the crowd gathered around them.
"Ma'am, they took my daughter. Here's her blanket—maybe your hounds can use it to track her down."
"This will do," Saoirse said, taking it gently.
"And whatever you see, ma'am... my daughter's a good girl. Please remember that."
Saoirse nodded.
As they began to ride off, Saoirse looked over to Cornelius.
"If you have to choose between killing the one responsible and saving that girl—"
"No, Saoirse."
"We do both. We're more than equipped to do both."
"Have you seen the village? Over half wiped out overnight. No—we are not equipped. And we'll be even less equipped if we spread ourselves thin."
"They are men, not resources, Cornelius."
"Don't do that to me. It's not fair," she snapped, then softened. "I care about the well-being of people—family and stranger alike."
That evening, Saoirse, Cornelius, and his men sat gathered around a campfire, the flames flickering against their faces.
She sat there and recited a prayer from scripture:
"Time, by which we measure movement, is the source of divinity in the human spirit.
The understanding of continuity allows me to lift myself out of the physical hell that results from a mind confined to the present moment.
It allows me to imagine tomorrow and yesterday—for better or worse.
It allows me to have compassion for those I have not felt with my eyes.
O Father, O Mother, forever in an eternal dance of chaos and order, and I, trapped in your belly between you two...
As above, so below. So within, so without."
She clutched her ouroboros—a snake eating its own tail.
"You're calmer, Saoirse," Cornelius noted.
"Because I am calmer," Saoirse sighed, letting out a soft laugh.
She grabbed some meat from the skewered animals roasting over the fire and took a bite, watching the men banter as she drifted into sleep.
Saoirse woke to the smell of charred wood and porridge, her neck aching from the hard ground.
She groaned as she sat up, pain shooting through her side, her head pounding.
Cornelius's head crept into her peripheral vision, his expression pensive.
"Saoirse," he asked, "why did you take on such a mission? What did you hope to gain?"
"Not gain. Give," she replied curtly.
"Fine—what did you want to give?"
He extended his hand and helped her to her feet.
"I feel that when the wicked are punished, the world rejoices—no matter how small, no matter how petty. No crime should go unjudged," she said.
"I believe it is collective action that moves the heavens and the earth. And it is the belief in that action that allows us to even take the steps in unison to execute it.
Understanding this… I would never tell myself or anyone else that we can't make a difference.
Because we are part of that difference."
Cornelius nodded.
Later that evening, as they rode on horseback, Cornelius turned to Saoirse.
"Why don't we measure people by merit and not character? Why is title and nobility held above wealth in this country?"
Saoirse raised an eyebrow.
"First, answer me three things:
Do you need wealth to hold a society together?
At what point does 'just enough' become wealth?
And what does being noble truly entail?"
Cornelius thought.
"Well... you do need wealth to run a nation. Money is necessary. But I question the need for nobility."
He continued aloud:
"If wealth implies having more than is necessary to function, then you don't need the excess.
Which brings me to what being noble entails… I'd imagine it means having demonstrably greater virtue than those who are not noble."
"And if you have excess wealth," he added, "you could be giving it to the world.
The Church teaches that we should not take more from nature than we need to function.
So excess is fundamentally bad—in all forms."
The storm began to tap-dance against the mud as torchlight from the tavern flickered through the rain.
Saoirse opened the door to hear disjointed voices inside:
"I got the clap from the old bitch."
"I just don't know what to do about my son."
"Where's my coin, boy?"
She took a seat at the counter across from a man with an eyepatch.
"Your folk ain't welcome here," he said. "Please leave."
"I'm looking for four men and a girl."
The man's face turned pale.
Saoirse placed a gold coin on the table. The man hesitated—bartering his prospects against his life.
She placed another.
"They're at the quarry," he finally said.
Saoirse stood and exited into the rain.
"They're at the quarry," she shouted over the rolling thunder.
Her men nodded and took the lead.
"We can't use muskets in this weather, ma'am. We should wait until morning."
"I'm going ahead. There's a scared girl in the middle of all this—I can't imagine the terror she's feeling right now.
I'm finishing this tonight."
The rain shrouded the malice she wore on her face.
Four figures and a tied-up girl stood fifteen paces ahead.
Daxton looked smug.
"And who might this be?" he asked one of his men, then narrowed his eyes through the storm.
"A… Magi?"
"You—" he began, but before he could finish, Saoirse sprinted the distance.
She pulled out her dagger and swung for his neck.
But she struck only air.
She found herself airborne.
The sound of longbows being drawn echoed around her.
Saoirse focused on defense.
She threw a paper talisman and slammed her palm into it—summoning a barrier.
The arrows crashed into it.
The barrier cracked.
She flew backward, rolled through the mud.
A man charged.
Still grounded, she accepted the trade—took the hit to secure the kill.
His blade slid off the hidden armor beneath her robes.
Saoirse smirked and grabbed his throat—snapping his neck with one hand.
Morale dropped.
Daxton realized he couldn't win. He tossed Camila into the quarry.
Saoirse's heart acted before her thoughts. She summoned wind talismans—rushing faster than the eye could track.
She caught Camila mid-air, cradling her.
They fell.
Saoirse's head struck a rock.
She went unconscious.
The fog hung low, shrouding trees and travelers.
Saoirse awoke—her body wrapped in bandages, pain flaring in her side, a blinding headache clouding her vision.
Cornelius opened the door, eyes averted, and handed her porridge.
Saoirse looked at him, wondering how long it had been since she'd felt the touch of a man.
Cornelius met her gaze.
"Am I worth your vow of celibacy, Sister Saoirse?" he asked, emphasizing her title.
She turned her face to the window, watching dew cling to the leaves.
"Maybe you are," she murmured.
Cornelius placed the porridge beside her and left. He closed the door, wiped sweat from his brow, and exhaled deeply.
"Cornelius," Saoirse said through the door, "who pulled me out of the quarry?"
"It was the girl," he replied.
"The girl?"
"Send her to me. I'd like to meet her."
There was a long pause.
"Saoirse," he said quietly, "she's a vampire. Your standing could be called into question."
"It's fine," she replied. "I'd like to meet the girl everyone in the village is worried about."
"Very well then."
Camila sat before Saoirse awkwardly, avoiding eye contact.
Cornelius's men stood behind her, silent, muskets holstered.
Saoirse broke the silence.
"What is your name, young one?"
"Camila," she said, then shrank again. "That was you, right? The woman who fought in the quarry?"
Saoirse nodded. "Indeed."
"I've never seen magic before," Camila said. "How do you do it?"
Then quickly, "Oh—I'm sorry. I forgot my manners. What's your name?"
"Saoirse."
Saoirse studied her. Naive. Earnest. Oblivious to the prejudice she'll face.
She was a danger—but also someone worth protecting.
"Camila," Saoirse asked gently, "would you like to come live at the monastery?"
"I… I don't know," Camila stammered.
"I don't like beating around the bush," Saoirse said with a warm smile.
"I have a husband, though we haven't… consummated."
"What's his name?"
"Kai. He's a baker's boy. He means a lot to me."
Saoirse noticed her hands.
"Callouses."
Camila responded quickly. "I come from a family of blacksmiths. My father taught me the craft. My brother and I both."
Saoirse's eyes drifted distant.
"I'll discuss this with your parents when I bring you back to the village."
Camila winced.
"I can't go back," she stammered.
"Why?"
"Because I… I killed the villagers," she sobbed.
"They—" her voice trembled—"they made me do it…
But I still did it."
"I see" Saoirse
Well rest for the day we will have plenty of time to think about it …As im not exactly in traveling condition
"I understand," Camila said. "Goodbye."
Saoirse nodded, her breathing becoming shallow.
"We'll walk you out, ma'am," the guards said in unison.
"Oh… okay," Camila said pensively. She was escorted out, a well of shame filling her when she looked at Saoirse.
Outside the lodge where Saoirse rested, the rain hammered against the mud. Three figures trekked through it toward the lodge.
"Halt!" a guard said, raising his rifle—
An arrow slammed into his right chest. He broke the shaft of the arrow, pulled out his saber.
"We're under attack!" he shouted, then took his pistol and shot the bell in the town.
"Impressive," Daxton said, a tinge of frustration in his voice.
"We'll be taking the girl," the man stated. Men gathered round and circled him, each pointing their muskets at him.