She felt it when Asana died; A tearing sensation in her belly, the strickening sense of loss. It was so palpable that her legs crumpled beneath her and she fell to the ground. Celeste tried to support herself, but her arms buckled, and with a cry her face hit, teeth hitting gravel with a shifting crunch.

She blinked back tears, unable to think, unable to breathe. This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen, this wasn’t how it was going to go. She was going to save Asana, she was going to find the gods’ fountain and heal Asana with the blessed water. She had bound herself to Asana, to that purpose, so that fate would deign to bring them together at the end of their roads. It was all planned. It was fated.

She had failed, and now she paid a price. Celeste felt Asana go like it was herself dying. She could do nothing but let out a choking sob, curled up into a ball in the middle of the street.

Nobody tried to help her up, nobody broke from their path to help a young girl who had fallen, a young girl who had tried to better herself for her sister. A young girl who had tried her best, tried desperately to be better than her surroundings. Avaz was heartless and cruel, and how dare Celeste try to be better than that?

Eventually, the sensation of death and pain faded to a dull thudding behind her eyelids, but Celeste didn’t want to stand. Her sister was dead, and Celeste would carry that loss with her forever.

Celeste broke through the crowd and sprinted to the palisades. Her tongue wet her lips, and she flinched from the warm, coppery sensation found there. Blood, splattered from a freshly opened wound had splashed against her, mingling with the cuts on her forehead and arms.

She was herded into the arms of a nearby Hawk, and she allowed herself to collapse, gripping the Hawk’s arm as tight as she could to prevent herself from collapsing.

“Inform the men.” Celeste panted. “Shrike is at war.”

————

Celeste stood to Commander Miles’s left, hand never leaving the handle of her whip. Miles looked as he always did, mildly bored with the proceedings that were happening, mildly tired. She had never seen him break this facade in front of an enemy force.

They had never seen an enemy force this large, though. Even the orcs approaching underneath the banner of treaty was frighteningly formidable. Celeste had seen first-hand the devastation that an orc could bring, and Learn wasn’t even a fighter. She could barely imagine how much damage one of the brutes could deal if they were given a violent Command.

There was one orc clearly in charge, standing up in front of the rest. He was massive, his entire body corded over with muscle. So often had he been in battle that the criss-crossing scars covering his skin stood out, creating craggy peaks and valleys. His skin didn’t resemble pebbles as much as a map of topographical features. Oddly, he had rough bandages tied around his neck and arm. Was there dissension in their camps? Bits of red peeked through, though not enough to make Celeste think that the orc was weakened in any way.

A fighter, Celeste thought bitterly. The orc wore nothing but a skirt of leather, wrapped tight around his waist and cinched shut. He held no weapons, though it was obvious that he was a weapon in his own right. He clearly didn’t need a sword to ravage an opponent.

Tensions were high, and Celeste felt herself getting swept up in it; the anxious pressure building just beneath the surface. The peace talks could devolve into fighting at the drop of a hat — she trusted Miles to keep his cool, but orcs weren’t exactly known for their patience. Stereotypes, yes, but she couldn’t afford every orc at the base of their walls the opportunity to defy that.

“Greetings,” Miles said, voice betraying nothing of the tension that Celeste felt, that was apparent in the coiled muscles of the orcs weapon-bearing arms. “You bear the white flag, and I promise you and yours underneath no harm while it flies.”

The orc in the lead nodded. But, Celeste noted, they didn’t put down their weapons.

“Surrender,” he said, and his voice carried the same ought accent that Learn’s had, that deepening on the vowels. “Or raze to the ground.”

One of the guards — Celeste couldn’t tell who through the armor — let out a barking laugh. Celeste turned to him with a chastising gaze, but Miles held up a hand.

“Please. Let us discuss your terms. We cannot accept a wholesale surrender of our city, and I believe that you will find yourself evenly matched should this come to a pitched battle.”

————

Asch stood with his massive bow strung, fingers twitching off of the taut string. His face was twisted in a tight grimace, grief etched into his features.

Celeste shared his look, nodded, and leaned on the palisades to observe the battle below. The noise was nearly overwhelming, the riotous screaming of the orcs blended with the clash of bone against steel, iron against flesh, the puncture of arrow against stony skin. The Hawks were holding, shield-bearers holding position in front of the walls. The massive steel shields, historic relics held up fantastically against the orc assault. She didn’t know who’s suggestion it had been to bring them out, but it was working. The massive planes of cold metal held up against the weaker weapons the orcs held, and the size, alongside the long pole that dug from the back into the dirt made them easy to hold up.

But Celeste didn’t know how long they would hold. Once they fell, they would have to rely on the walls, Shrike’s main defensive structure.

————

“No.” The lead orc said. “Surrender, or raze to the ground.” He shifted, muscles tensing lightly. Celeste immediately gripped her whip tight, though she refrained from drawing her shortsword. There was still a chance that the proceedings could recover. She wouldn’t put it beyond Miles.

“Please. I’m sure you don’t want to bring your people into a needless, unnecessary war.” Miles begged, hands open, palms up. He was pleading, Celeste realized, and then with a shock; he thinks we’ll lose. She looked toward him.

“Miles-” she started, when one of the orcs across made a move toward Miles. Quicker than she thought possible, he was at Miles’ feet. Celeste unfurled her whip, bringing it up and then down toward the orc, the small piece of metal hitting him in the center of the forehead.

“Get back!” She shouted, and put herself in front of Miles, committed to protecting him with her body, with her life.

————

It was chaos, down there. With a sigh, Asch began firing arrows into the crowd of orcs. More quickly than Celeste could follow, hand moving back and forth, bow twanging in a beautiful melody, his arrows found targets one after another. Celeste tried to follow their trajectories, but they flew too fast, her eyes couldn’t follow. The gigantic shafts outscaled the other archers, and Asch dealt more damage by himself than the rest of them combined.

Orcs dropped, those closest to the shield wall being trampled underfoot by the orcs behind them as each arrow flew and took their life in quick bursts.

Asch was a weapon, but he was still human. He would tire, and he would need to sleep. So do I, Celeste thought, as she swayed slightly. She approached him, and put a hand on his shoulder. As soon as Miles had announced his promotion, she had Bound him to her. She could feel his life-force, this close, a small fire burning hot and bright.

“Can you continue?” She asked. His answer was a quick nod, and he went back to shooting.

“They have no self-preservation. They’re all willing to die for this.” she grimaced. “How do we beat that?”

————

Blood splattered from the nearest orc’s forehead, splashing onto Celeste’s face, hot and warm and surprisingly bright. An arrow stuck out from the orc’s face, and the body collapsed, threatening to crush her underneath. She ducked under it and stabbed upward with her knife, but failed to find purchase in the orc’s thick skin.

“Back! Get the Commander back! To safety!” Celeste yelled. The only response she heard was a roar from behind her. She twisted, dodging another wide swing from another orc, rushing toward her.

The guards were fighting, shouting. And Miles was, too. Bare-fisted, screaming, angrier than she had ever heard. She locked eyes with him for a blink of a second, startled by the red wrath contained within them. Then, before she could react, his head caved in, crushed by a blunt weapon wielded by one of his own guards, brains splattering on the ground. He crumpled before Celeste could scream. She felt his death resonate within her, an echo that threatened to bring her down. But she had grown, learned to deal with the effects of her Command. Even though she wanted to curl up, she stood her ground, weaving and fighting those nearest her.

The guards turned on each other with riotous glee, shouting and yelling and fighting with abandon. She watched as one jumped on his ally and pummeled his face with gauntleted fist.

She looked at the orc leader. His eyes were rimmed with the same red of Miles’ eyes, though he wasn’t attacking. He stayed back, out of the chaos, letting the orcs and Hawks fight, watching with grim satisfaction as the Hawks fell.

As she looked at him, he looked back at her, and she felt something bubbling inside of her, uncontrolled. Before it could find a purchase, she turned tail and sprinted for her life, leaving the bloody fray behind.

————

The command structure was fucked. Celeste was the commander of the Herald Hawks, and Miles was dead. She would bring the secrets of his rage, at the very end, to her grave. She was the only one left alive who had seen it, save for the enemy orcs.

Miles had been a good man, of such caliber that she had rarely seen throughout her lifetime. She had Bound herself to him despite knowing that this would happen some day, and she didn’t regret it. None would know of his violent end, the official report would read assassination, and Celeste would be witness to that.

Celeste Amaya would live up to the legacy that Miles had left her. She would see Shrike through this war, as bloody as it may be, victorious. With a groan, she pulled herself off of the wall, legs violently opposing her current choice of actions. She put one hand on Asch’s shoulder, noting with a fierce pride that he didn’t stop firing as she did.

“Squad Leader Asch, with me. We have a war to win.”