The green of Mazander's westmost fields had deepened to a shade that mirrored dried blood. Tree bark darkened to ebony, and crimson blades of grass swayed in the wind. Through this transformed landscape, Arlen and his Field Registry squad traveled in their metallic-lined carriage.
Conroi, the eldest and headman of their party of four, was a Wrought—the mandatory status of a Flare leader. His sword was impressively wide yet short, reminiscent of a broadsword. Obsidian gleamed along its length, as dark as Conroi's short mane that arced down to the nape of his neck, swaying with each gust of wind. He wore a black cloak emblazoned with the one-eyed face emblem of the Field Registry.
Beside him stood Renny, a year Arlen's senior though shorter in stature. He was the only one on his feet, scanning the surrounding area. They weren't far from the source of the Dead Field—evident in how dramatically the environment had changed. Renny's unbound blonde hair flowed behind him like a golden banner. From Arlen's angle, he could see the old scar running down the right side beneath Renny's eye. At his hip hung a saber—the kingdom's sword.
Snoring, audible even to the horses pulling their carriage, emanated from Lunia. She was slumped next to Arlen, her short brown hair falling across her forehead. Like everyone in the carriage, she wore black leather armor vested with the Registry's eye emblem on the back.
Arlen had covered his. His gray hair, striking despite his youth, extended halfway down his back—usually tied into a mess of locks, but not today. His saber resembled those carried by Renny and Lunia, though theirs lacked the stark beauty of his. His was a gift, neglected for too long, from his brother. It was the only comfort he had left. He'd retrieved it from storage, and this marked the first time it had seen daylight in years. Unlike Conroi's black blade, Arlen's streaked silver. Three gleaming lines ran down to its penultimate tip, curving with the metal. Mazandian script was etched along the edge:
"Great silver that weathered the fire, for the fire birthed anew, from the touch of the metallic gleam, may Emundas gleam its thread of dead."
This saying had been passed down through Arlen's family, with each generation interpreting it differently. His generation believed that the power to wield a name like Emundas was embodied in silver that reflected fire—where fire against fire was a futile conflict. Hence the undefeatable name that stood: Emundas.
"We're not far now," Conroi spoke up, gaze lowered. Though he wasn't actively surveying the area like Renny, he knew.
Arlen was the only Flicker in the group. He'd joined them on four previous excursions, mostly examining minor dead fields long conquered. This trip was different—the one that made him both nervous and intrigued. A broken field had been reported. No Hier had been found during recent searches by more capable squads. Periodically, the Field Registry sent surveyors to ensure nothing unusual had emerged. Arlen was nothing if not excited to witness such a massive Dead Field. It spanned twenty clicks north to south and thirty-two east to west in an irregular shape. It encompassed a small town called Evaun, abandoned during the Dead Field's emergence. The land had changed; Dead Fields rarely appeared without Hiers, but those that did represented an ugly, uncommon phenomenon.
"Far from where?" Arlen asked, his voice louder than intended, tension pushing aside control.
"You don't feel it, do you?" Conroi responded. "I presume not. Renny might sense something since he's a Kindled, but no Flicker was ever going to sense that." He stood, now towering over Renny, pointing with one long, gnarled finger toward a distant tree in the direction the horses were heading. Arlen rose to join them, feeling Lunia stir beside him. He tried to avoid waking her, but that ship had sailed.
"What's happening, headman?" she asked, her voice cracking with drowsiness.
"It's... it's large," Renny stuttered.
In the near distance, they all saw a massive twisted tree swaying unnaturally from side to side. It stood bare, its skeletal branches contorted as if in agony. The wind intensified as they drew closer, and the horses grew increasingly restless.
"What's going on?" Arlen shouted. He'd never experienced a Dead Field like this before. The ones he'd seen had been truly dead after Hier elimination.
"Those bastards!" Conroi bellowed, worry evident in his voice. "They lied! The Field Registry fucking lied, those idiots!"
"What's happening?" Lunia interjected, gripping her sword like the others.
"It's a Hier, isn't it?" Arlen called out, the howling wind muffling their voices.
"I don't know, but one thing's certain—we aren't equipped to handle whatever this is."
Before anyone could respond, a single bolt of crimson lightning struck the distant tree. A red-hued electrical surge coursed through the surrounding grass as the tree's bark and wood split in half, unleashing a fiery red blaze. The horses reared in panic, one standing on its hind legs before Conroi seized the reins and struggled to steer them away.
"We retreat!" he shouted, fighting to turn the horses around.
Another lightning strike followed, then another, each landing progressively closer in a straight line. In an instant faster than sight could track, a crater formed directly before them as the final bolt struck. Then the rain began.
Red droplets fell, bringing with them the overwhelming smell of iron. The clouds above didn't merely rain upon them—they discharged thin waterfalls of blood, filling the lightning-created crater. From this rapidly forming pond of blood emerged a crackling figure—a disfigured, twisted form of an Hier.
"Dear god," Conroi whispered, fear unmistakable in his voice. He was stunned, and Arlen's hope crumbled. He'd only heard stories of Hiers, never encountering one himself. His status as a Flicker prevented him from joining the Reckoners. As a mere Graver, witnessing Reckoners cleanse and eliminate Hiers was something he never expected to experience.
"We're dead," Renny muttered.
Frozen in place, they stared up at the three-meter-tall humanoid creature of blood and red electrical discharges. Conroi quickly seized the carriage reins as the horses bolted. The air before them warped and bent as the Hier materialized instantly. A face formed, too blood-drenched for details, with blooming red eyes and a horrifying grin that stopped them cold. It reached toward the horses with a finger extending a meter outward. Their bodies withered as their blood flowed into the Hier. Their attempted cries were swiftly silenced by the extraction of blood before they collapsed.
Behind them, Lunia fell to the ground, fainting in terror. Conroi glanced back before drawing his sword, channeling his Wrought presence.
"I've never fought an Hier," he admitted, "but it matters not! I'll send you back to that damned place." He muttered something else, then slid his fingers across the flat, wide blade. Arlen recognized the gesture—Conroi's signature move, a technique manifested through the Wrought's power.
"Monzik Fei Giri Utzi Ikan, Of readied soil and redemption!" He invoked the rarely-used Mazandian dialect before launching himself toward the Hier. As he spiraled through the air, the soil beneath emerged, turning red-hot and hardening around his blade, extending it by another meter. The earth-encased weapon struck the center of the Hier's form.
"Amazing!" Arlen exclaimed, astonished by the headman's speed.
Renny had already positioned himself behind the Hier. His saber transformed into a whip—the manifestation of his Kindled presence reflecting his inner heart. He ensnared the Hier's legs, binding them tightly before they dissolved into draped blood.
"We've got him!" Conroi shouted triumphantly.
The air distorted once more. The background of trees and rocks bent as the Hier vanished from their grasp through an instant warp—taking them with it.
Arlen frantically searched the surroundings until he heard agonized groans from above. High in the sky, Conroi and Renny kicked desperately as the Hier suspended them by their necks.
"No," Arlen whispered. He felt utterly powerless, with no recourse but to watch. "No, I could save her," he realized, glancing back at Lunia. "I could get her out of here."
As he moved to lift her, he sensed the familiar disorientation that accompanied the Hier's warping. Looking upward again, he saw the sun bend before the Hier vanished, leaving Conroi and Renny plummeting from a height that offered no hope of survival.
The dread Arlen felt as the Hier reappeared before him seemed almost absurd compared to the horror of hearing bones shatter as Conroi and Renny struck the earth with sickening force. Their bodies virtually melted into the ground behind the Hier, smashed flat and unmistakably dead.
"Leave her be," came a voice from the Hier—attempting to sound human but instead resembling metal grinding against rock, weathered yet somehow wet. Its finger elongated toward Lunia's body, which went limp and desiccated as blood oozed from her into the creature. Arlen could only watch in horror. Who was he to run? His speed would carry him mere meters before the Hier intercepted him. So he awaited his demise.
"I cannot go back," the Hier declared as its hand enveloped Arlen. "I could not see that place again, never, ever." It extended another finger toward Arlen's chest and pierced through. Organs spilled forth as his vision dimmed and life ebbed away. Yet somehow, he still felt the pain.
"Ahhhhhh!" Arlen screamed, clutching at his chest—his bloodied, painful, destroyed... Bloodied? "Where's the blood?" He looked down at himself, kneeling among the three corpses of his squad. Blood dripped from his fingers before the wounds mysteriously sealed themselves. Around him, nothing but silence and the gentle easing of the wind. The tree he'd observed earlier now emanated a shifting black light, somehow growing ever darker. A thin line hung motionless in the air, dark light spilling from it—a darkness that seemed to consume everything nearby.
"There he is!" a voice called from behind. Arlen was too stunned to speak. Multiple footsteps and hoofbeats approached. "What the fuck happened here?" demanded a man dressed similarly to Conroi. Arlen looked up to see a bald man staring down in horror, accompanied by eight others. Another Registry squad.
"You killed them," said the man beside the leader, and only then did Arlen realize his stark silver sword was embedded in Conroi's neck, while Renny's blade rested in his hands atop his chest. "You fucking killed your squad."
"Headman!" another voice shouted. "Over there!" One of them pointed at the dark light where the tree stood. "A threshold."
Every one of them fixed their attention on Arlen, weapons drawn and aimed directly at him.
"Wait... I didn't—" he began, but they refused to listen.
"Watch out, he's a Reckoner!" the bald headman warned his squad. "So he made the threshold by killing the Hier? Too bad your squad got stabbed in the back, you bastard."
Beyond his control, and too stunned to offer any defense, Arlen surrendered as they seized and bound him, separating him from the silver saber his brother had given him. The crimson expanse of the Dead Field receded as they dragged him back to Renault, the capital of Mazander. He knew what awaited him—a trial under false accusations before the Interior Authority.
"I promise... He was here," Arlen whispered, too softly for anyone to hear as the city gates appeared after a day's journey back.