The crackling sound of the fires faded away behind her. In shock, Vero walked forward, further into the endless field of white stretching out before her. The sun slowly slipped over the horizon.

  Her bare feet were cut by the uneven ground and bled a trail of red behind her, but she could not bring herself to stop. Only once she was totally adrift in the sea of brilliant white wild flowers did she come to a halt and wonder where she was.

  The sun was directly overhead and beat down with an oppressive heat. Vero’s throat burned, but she had nothing to drink. The sun reflected off the white flowers like a field of snow, creating a blinding cacophony of light.

  “I know you’re here!” she shouted to the field around her. “Come out!”

  There was no response.

  A breeze blew through the field and cut directly through her, chilling Vero to the core. She stood exactly where she had stopped, and turned around in a vain attempt to find anyone or anything. There was no trace of any living creature in the world, other than herself.

  Even the empty village and the surrounding trees had vanished completely. All around, the flowers grew up taller. They remained exactly as they should be only in proximity to her, the way she came from was now blocked with flowers at heights taller than she herself.

  Vero knew this was impossible.

  It was a dream, and he was waiting there for her in it.

  Then there was a sound like singing, carried to her from across a great distance. The sun still shown overhead, and it remained too blinding to make out anything ahead of her. Vero only distantly realized that, although the mid-day sun still beat down on her, it no longer gave any heat. She was shivering when she walked forwards blindly towards the sound.

  “Where are you!?” Vero called out again.

  The sound had become very close to her, and she thought she must be nearly treading on the singer, but she could still see no one. The light was so bright she needed to hold her hand over her eyes to keep them shaded. Trying to look towards the horizon left her with a splitting pain in her head.

  “I’m looking for my husband. For my son. Have you seen them?” Vero knew someone was with her in the field, but when she finally spoke, it still startled her.

  “It’s Vero, I’m here,” she replied.

  The voice came from behind her. “I’m looking for Niall, my husband. Have you seen him? I’m looking for Virgil, my son. Where are they?”

  “They’re dead.”

  “They can’t be. How can you say that? They were just here. Why would you say that!?”

  Vero was grabbed by the horrible desiccated corpse of a woman. She threw Vero to the ground and leapt atop her. Claw-like nails, still streaked with dried blood bit into her flesh.

  Vero closed her eyes.

  Then, the monster was gone.

  The Slayer grabbed the shade by the back of her torn and stained dress. He hauled her backwards off of Vero. The shade screeched and flailed wildly, but the old man gave her no mind as he hauled her away.

  “Get out of here, girl,” he rasped at Vero, over the screams of his captive.

  The pair disappeared through the wildflowers, although Vero could still hear the screams growing more and more distant. She lay still on the ground looking up at the sun high above, but it still gave no heat.

  At last, she rose and rushed through the field after the two of them. As she climbed out of the weeds, Vero could see the old man standing over the shade. She was pinned to the ground by his longsword, which ran through her chest. Writing, running along each side of the blade, glowed with enchanted energy. It was not written in the Imperial tongue, and Vero could not decipher it.

  Over the howl of the wind and the banshee, which had become fully united in their fury, Vero could just make out chanting from the Slayer. Blood dripped from his hands onto the shade, where it burned and emanated steam. Each time a drop of blood made contact; the shade’s howl reached a new crescendo of rage.

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  From behind him, she could see a pair of figures emerge from the flowers. Though Vero nearly could not believe her eyes, it was Father and Virgil. Their bodies were decayed, their flesh sallow, and their visages pale. They lumbered forwards towards the Slayer, and it appeared that he could not hear them over the raging windstorm, because he made no move to turn.

  Gathering up her courage, Vero hefted the dagger she took from her brother’s belt, so long ago. She charged forwards with a feeble attempt at a war cry.

  None of them took any notice of her. The world broke apart around and underneath her. Then she was falling, towards she knew not where.

  Vero was trapped in a troubled half-sleep for a long time. Realizing she was adrift; she did her best to move back towards the solid ground of waking.

  When she landed, she could not move. Beneath her was the cold stone of a dais. Vero realized that she was in the fortress chapel. All around her the shrines had been cast down, and the fresco was carefully defaced with blasphemous signs.

  Although she was unbound, her body would not move. There were many figures around her, hideous bird-like monstrosities. They were moving about chaotically- in rhythms sent to them from the dark places beyond the walls, channeling energy directed inwards, towards her. To what purpose, was inconceivable.

  Vero now saw the chapel room had no light half or dark half. Such simple dichotomy was a false rationalization of the unconceivable. Both were only a single whole, night shining as bright as day. Both light and dark were alike, and all the world was wonderfully and terribly remade.

  “She is awake.” Leading the ritual was Iosephus.

  As though a third eye had been opened, Vero could now perceive the ‘depth’ of the four dimensions surrounding her. She saw more figures there, but beyond a wide gulf which could not be crossed. A tempest swirled above them, up into infinity.

  There was another figure nearer to her, beyond the gulf, but still behind the walls. A terrible form with ragged claws that reminded her of half remembered night terrors.

  It could only be a dream. Vero prayed that it was so.

  Iosephus pressed a cloth to her face, and she was gone.

  “Go home, girl.” The old man remained totally unmoving as he stood over the dead remains of her family. It was easy to imagine he had not said anything at all, until he continued, “This is no place for a child, go home.”

  Vero felt herself rooted to the spot, and could not drag her eyes away from the three corpses. “I don’t have a home anymore,” she eventually managed miserably.

  “Aye, I suppose you don’t anymore, do you?” He placed a heavy hand on her shoulder. Then turned her around and led her out of the field.

  “You killed the monster.”

  “Aye, I did. I’m a Slayer. Not that my being here did a damn bit of good for them.” The old man’s words were bitter with self-reproach.

  “But you failed. I’m still here. Don’t you see that? Where did you learn to be a Slayer?”

  “Where did I learn? I was taught by a master, whose father himself taught at one of the old academies. At one time every corner of the Imperium had an academy where Slayers were trained. There were hundreds, maybe even thousands of us then, and the masters of the Order were treated like royalty.” The old man gained a faraway expression, as he vicariously lived what he could only have heard about in stories. Then, as soon as it began, he fell back to earth. “That’s all over now, of course. Those of us who are left live more like beggars then kings.”

  “You could teach me.”

  “No, I couldn’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s hard fighting. You’re a woman, not a warrior.”

  “Aaja the huntress fought among your number, how can there then be a rule banning woman from your order?”

  “No, there’s no rule, but…” The old man was resentful at having been caught in his words, and his tone turned from bemused and courteous to snappish. “It’s just not done. Gods! Girl, why would you even want to learn to be a slayer? Go find yourself a husband.”

  When Vero came to again, she was in the infirmary. Still, she could not move. A vile taste was in her mouth and made her wish to retch.

  Iosephus was at work in the laboratory, and she could perceive two others nearby- but only dimly. She recognized the first stranger as Alexius; the other made her shudder to look at.

  Help me. Vero tried to will herself to speak- though her vocal cords refused to move.

  “I cannot, my Lady. My faith demands total detachment,” Alexius replied.

  Damn your faith!

  “I understand your feelings. I… wish… that I was permitted the luxury of sharing them. Each time I have acted, my vision has only become more clouded. Yet, the future refuses to change. I’ve done all that I can. The Thing beneath this mountain is very close to us now. You can see it with your waking eyes.”

  The third man.

  “Yes, it was that which tormented you through your dreams in the Dread Valley. It can perceive that I am near, but as of yet, it cannot walk this earth and see it as we do. And so, I am still hidden. Its puppets remain blind and deaf to me. If passion is allowed to pollute my clarity, that will no longer be.”

  Kill me.

  “As a brother of White Sisters… I have that right. Yet, I would not… not while some hope still remains.”

  What hope?

  Iosephus jolted upright. Moments later, lackies entered the room, shouting alarums in panic. “Escaped prisoners! They've seized the armory!”

  “Gods damn Pentarch,” rasped Iosephus. “We’ll finish preparation for the Arrival in the tower! Have barricades against attack prepared there, I must have some hours yet before I’m ready.”

  “My Lord! They may be too numerous to contain! You must allow our masters into the fortress!”

  The elderly scholar was in a rage. “If, and when, the time is right, thrall! You, carry that equipment! You, carry the vessel!”

  “I think she’s awake, ser.”

  “Damn!” He approached her. “Tenacious aren’t you, dear?”

  Alexius please- her thoughts were silenced by Iosephus and his rag.

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