*
 

Elves Daric and Virmira have successfully escorted Rocan to the magical Amplifier that will enable him to save the Traveller; the massive, mysterious winged creature, and Kalach, the city it carries. It is falling from the sky, on a collision course with the English metropolis of Hundra. General Borr and the British military are under orders to prevent the disaster by any means necessary, and Army soldiers and creatures are everywhere. For now, though, Rocan and the Amplifier have the Traveller in hand, and Borr is happy to let the Elves deal with the situation at their discretion.
 

                                                                     *



"You're doing it. It's stopped falling."
Someone was saying the words, but I didn't know who. I looked at Virmira, whose mouth was a thin line, and I realised it was me.
"You're doing it, Rocan."
I put a hand on the window, leaning my forehead against it. It looked like Kalach may survive this after all. The Wyrms were breaking off, diving towards the land with their rescued passengers, but the military Basilisks still glided ominously nearby.
I took out my phone, and dialled the last known number, putting it on loudspeaker for Virmira's benefit.
"Daric." General Borr answered immediately. "The Traveller has stopped falling. We're diverting the rescue crews to drop off their passengers while they can."
I sighed. At least some would survive this.
"How many have you got?"
"About thirty or so." Borr replied, and my feeling of relief vanished.
"Sorry, thirty? Is that all?" I asked incredulously.
"Those Wyrms are designated Blue, from Hundra." Borr snapped. "They're police serpents, Daric, not rescue transports. They're taking as many as they can."
"And what about the Basilisks flanking the Traveller?"
"We discussed this. We need them for the worst-case scenario."
Virmira snatched the phone from my hand, putting the handset to her mouth. "Kalach is stabilised, Borr. Now would be the optimum time to get as many people out of there as possible."
The Traveller screamed. My eyes darted to the window in time to see it fall good few hundred feet. It was only a few miles away now.
"Shit - Rocan."
I turned.
Blood was pouring from the Acolyte's mouth. His blank, expressionless face still stared forwards with sightless eyes, but the Amplifier was taking its toll on his body. Long, inexplicable scars ran the length of his bare arms, and his hair was falling from his head in clumps.
"He's not going to make it." said Virmira. She was shaking. "It's going to kill him before he can save the Traveller."
"Listen to me, Daric." Borr snapped, speaking urgently now. "When your Acolyte fails - "
"If."
Borr continued as if he hadn't heard me. " - then my official orders are to bring the Traveller down over Birchoke."
I felt Virmira tense next to me, and her velvet face paled slightly.
"I told you." She hissed. I tried to ignore her. My grip tightened on the phone, knuckles turning white.
"But if you tell me to disobey them, I'll do it. Hundra can be destroyed, to save the forest."
I didn't say anything for a second. Everything was going wrong. Far too quickly, and I couldn't even think fast enough to keep up, let alone react. The world was spinning around me, faster and faster. I was a spider in a bathtub, and I was being whipped down the plughole.
"Why?" I finally asked.
"I'm not deciding the fate of someone else's race by proxy." he answered. "They're your people; you can decide whether or not to save them."
"Daric." It was Virmira, suddenly inches away from me. "Daric, think. Birchoke's unique. It's not just Elves it's home to. It has all sorts of creatures, powers, secrets. Magical things known to no one else in the world. Hundra's destruction would be a tragedy, of course it would. But it's just another city. There are millions like it in the world. But if you wipe out Birchoke, you're killing history. Time. Power. Think, Daric, don't do this."
I stared at the Traveller. Rocan retched behind me, and Kalach plummeted another few metres, before yanked up again by an invisible force, as if it were a yoyo on a string.  
It was gone. Rocan couldn't hold them, and the Traveller and its companions were effectively dead. It was our only plan and we'd failed. The only thing now was to decide who to kill. Millions of people would die based on the decision I made, now.
Hundra, or Birchoke?
My home, or my people?
Virmira was lying. Birchoke wasn't a unique Elven city. It was true it was the first, but there were hundreds like it, all over the world. I knew she was thinking of her old tree, and Ryeri. What was left of my family was there too, scattered over several generations. Could I kill them?
And then Hundra. My home for the past fifteen years. I had friends there. A house. Possibly, a future. It was twice the population density of Birchoke. Twice as many people, packed into the same small space. An Elf could easily lose himself in there.
"Daric."
Virmira in my ear again.
There was a splutter behind us, and I turned to see Rocan vomit blood. He slumped in the machine, and the Amplifier went dead with him.
The Traveller started to fall.


"DARIC!" Borr roared, the cheap speaker screeching. "Hundra or Birchoke? Do we bring it down now?"
Out of time.
I looked at Virmira. She was shaking her head, tears streaming down her face. "Please." she begged.
"I'm sorry." I told her. I turned my eyes once more to the sky, and spoke into the handset.
"Do it."
Virmira screamed.
Miles away, the last of the evacuation Wyrms took off as the Basilisks screeched across the sky. They engulfed Kalach, the remains of those sleek buildings suddenly obscured by flapping, ugly wings. Shrill whines pierced the air as their gunners prepared, the Gatlings heating up.
Then it started.
The guns unleashed a devastating hail of bullets, each as large as a fist, pelting the buildings like deadly hailstones. The glass foundations shattered, and in seconds whole stories had vanished, their remains whipped away by the wind. The Magician's tower plunged downwards and flattened what was left of the communal halls. The pieces rolled sideways, slipping off the Traveller's shell to plummet to the forest below. A Basilisk strafed the clock tower, its human gunner pulverising the building with heavy shells as molten fire poured from the serpent's mouth. Screams drifted up from the streets of Kalach as people burned, before they were quickly silenced by the guns. The tower exploded under the heat, two Basilisks twisting out of the way as flames and pieces of glass shot into the air. The rest, out of range of the explosion, continued their systematic evisceration of the city and its remaining inhabitants.


There's something unmistakable about the feeling of a gun pressed to your head. Once you've felt it once, you'll never forget it.
I never have.
"Virmira. What are you doing?"
I faced her, ignoring the barrel of the gun. The tears had stopped, and her face was blank. Only the eyes had any life, two furious orbs of black in that unnerving, expressionless mask.
"You've killed them."
"Yes."
The gun wobbled as her hand shook.
"You've killed my people. Your people."