Crescent

4

Being bothered by the weather was a human trait that was unbecoming of the fae. Over the years, however, they had developed similar tastes in fashion, including coats, capes, and boots, all of which were suited for "cold" weather. Still, even though the nightly chill wasn't enough to send Vera traipsing back home when she was almost to the abandoned west side of the city, she missed her fashionable coat with its careful embroidery and broad shoulders. Since Eileen was still repairing it, she had traded it for a simpler one.

It wasn't her embroidered coat that Ferne had gifted her, but it would have to do for the journey. Vera adjusted her overcoat, the high collar skimming her jawline and catching on loose strands of her black hair that refused to stay in her low ponytail. It was the same dark blue as the one Wyn had ripped, but it had a plain silver hem and a simple A-line instead of the split coattails in the back. Lighter than the other coat, the overcoat didn't weigh on her shoulders the way the other one would. It made for a perfect trade since the straps of her rucksack were quick to betray her penchant for overpacking—not to mention the shotgun strapped to her back and the broadsword sheathed at her hip.

Shouldering the heavy load, she lifted herself over the flimsy half-wall that marked the new edge of the barrier. A shimmering film drifted across her as she pressed on, warm as it passed over her skin and buzzing with magic energy—the barrier. It didn't resist as she stepped out of the city limits. She shivered at the reminder that she was outside the Council's protection for the first time, completely left to her own devices. Though not too alone. The shotgun shifted against her back to remind her of its presence. It would have to do for now.

Dawn had just begun to break. The sun peeked out from behind the trees beyond the outskirts of the former research labs, a brilliant sight compared to the sliver of a moon that was slowly disappearing behind her. Light spilled over the dreary scenery and cast long, eerie shadows beneath what little infrastructure remained—what had once no doubt been a bustling neighborhood was now left in a state of disarray. Rubble and ash lined the gray streets. Vera's boots crunched shards of glass as she walked, taking in the sight of the ghost town. Even a hundred years later, the haunting stench of death remained. Contrary to the story the High Council weaved, there were no markings of rogue magical explosions, no destruction that matched the account spread amongst the Court. Neither were there guards to keep curious fae from snooping around like she expected.

Instead, it was a barren and empty landscape, sprinkled with old blood. Huge claw marks scraped the sides of buildings and tore up the road in chaotic, uneven rows.

No... Frowning, Vera stopped to examine the markings cut along the worn path. The beast had etched tiny fissures into the ground, dragged in long strides down the street. But the shape was wrong for claws. Too narrow. Crouching, she ran her finger along the edge of one of the fissures. "It's almost more like fingers than claws," she murmured to herself. Something cold slithered down her spine and she shivered.

Standing, she fished the tome from her bag and flicked through its pages, skimming for a sketch or a description of the creature. When nothing stuck out to her, she sighed and continued with the lingering weight of uncertainty on her shoulders. Perhaps no one had seen it clearly enough and lived to tell about it, but the distinction between fingers and claws was certainly a big one. One I would like to know before I'm caught unaware by this creature I've never seen.

The wind howled through the streets, lonely and forlorn. Dust stirred in its wake like a ghost; it drifted past her with a whispering voice, one that seemed to be begging for her to stay. She gripped the tome tighter. Her chance of power and honor was in the woods. Frightened or not, she had to go. If she returned now, she would be a coward in the eyes of her family. Vera, who didn't even have the ambition to seize the one thing she truly desired. Vera, who left a task unfinished out of fear. Vera, who was hardly a fae at all.