The air was heavy with smoke and the smell of char. Even the sun seemed darker, a mere glowing cinder straining to catch one more breath and stay alive. This was death. The world had died, and everyone and everything in it was a captive witness to its fiery funeral.

The war had raged for five hundred years now. For centuries, no one knew who’d started it, nor why. Seemingly overnight, every one of Raeth’s many sentient races began battling each other.

At this point, the conflagration engulfed the entire planet. Civilization, as it had been, was in complete ruin. No corner of the world had been untouched by the carnage, and life itself seemed bent on annihilation.

But now, all of that melted away, and both history and the future converged in this one place in time.

The valley of KamRah was spread out before Bast, shrouded in billowing smoke. She could see fires burning for miles through the thick haze, the inevitable result of the months long battle moving back and forth along the valley floor. The expanse of mountainous ridges on either side of the valley acted like a funnel, keeping the air currents deep within the vale and preventing the seemingly endless opaque clouds from dissipating. If and when the bloodbath ever ended, it would take weeks for the undulating gray-and-black cloak to lift away.

She crouched against a large boulder, doing her best to make her exceedingly tall Ogdoad frame blend into the rock and surrounding hillside. It wasn’t hard. Bast was wearing a full body suit made of rare nreen hide, a large reptile which perpetually changed color to match its surroundings. She’d also added to the camouflage by rubbing ash on the exposed skin of her face and hands, masking her ochre complexion with a dusky gray. To any casual observer she would have been practically invisible, nothing but a weathered protrusion from the nearby rock.

Eyes alert and ears straining, Bast could just barely make out the sounds of the raging Toraeg offensive down the valley. Still, she remained careful and stealthy. Even this far from the heart of the battle, she might run into enemy patrols or pickets. She couldn’t become complacent.

Bast had been at this all day, and now the seconds began to feel like hours. For what seemed like the hundredth time, she could neither see nor hear any movement around her. Muscles coiled and blood surging, she took a deep breath and warily left the relative safety of her temporary cover. She had to keep moving. Time was wasting, and there was still a long way to go.

Her destination was farther down the valley, dangerously near the battle. There, her people would already be secretly gathering at a shard to Earth, soon leaving Raeth forever through that interdimensional portal. Whether or not she could make it there did not matter. Ra, her father, would ensure that what was left of their race survived, with or without her.

She shook her head at that thought. Bast was determined to make it. Taking a deep breath, she said a quiet prayer as she skulked her way from cover to concealment, moving deeper into the valley.

It wasn’t just a sense of self-preservation that was driving her forward. It was duty. She was carrying valuable intelligence back to her father. To be more precise, she carried evidence as to who orchestrated the start of the war. The truth of it was beyond anything they could have conceived, and it was information that Ra needed to know at all costs. Whether or not it would make a difference in what the Ogdoad had planned, she could only guess, but her father definitely needed to know.

Her mind paged through her memories of the last several days, what she had seen and heard, and she coughed nervously. Even though Bast was a firsthand witness, she still could not believe it herself.

She again shook her head to clear her mind of the crushing enormity of what she’d observed. Survival was the priority right now. She had to make it to the river near the last remaining Ogdoad enclave at Zaru before her people departed. Valuable information or not, if she didn’t make it through the enemy lines, she could be stranded here indefinitely. That would be a problem, since it appeared the Toraeg and their allies would win this battle and occupy the valley for the foreseeable future. That outcome would not lend itself well to her gaining access to her peoples’ hidden and uncharted shard to Earth anytime soon, and she didn’t relish the idea of being the last of her kind left on Raeth.

Reining in her emotions, she carefully continued along her planned route. Bast moved with long-practiced expertise, stopping and listening, crawling and hiding.

As she scrambled up a small rise studded with the blackened pikes of sheared and smoldering tree trunks, she paused and knelt beside the bloated body of a dead perang.

Bast couldn’t move. Her hands hovered above the smaller creature as a wave of sadness poured over her. Its skull had been smashed in. In the process, its long corkscrew horns had been purposely pried off and then callously discarded beside it.

She knew in her heart it hadn’t been hunted. It hadn’t been slaughtered for food, and it hadn’t died in the melee of battle. It had been singled out and killed for the sheer bloodlust of murder.

Carefully, Bast laid her hand on its cold, distended body. After a moment she realized she was muttering an ancient Ogdoad plea for peace and rest. Looking skyward, she stood and sighed.

How did it come to this? she thought as she continued down the other side of the hill, jumping a creek stained red with blood and choked with debris washing down from the expansive battle farther upstream.

Before the war, the valley of KamRah had been the envy of the planet. Hundreds of miles long and lush from one end to the other, it was the peaceful home to several of Raeth’s sentient races and a center of commerce for the entire region. Even the historically isolationist Ogdoad had settled here, establishing several colonies that eventually grew into large towns and cities. Now, the handful of her people in Zaru were all that remained of her entire race, and the once-beautiful valley was its own funeral pyre, with a cloak of death hanging heavily upon it.

Making her way to the top of another hill, Bast stopped beside the jagged trunk of a felled tree and looked out along the length of the valley. Fires pockmarked the valley floor as far as she could see, the amber blobs moving as if alive, exhaling their acrid haze.

“It really is over,” she whispered sadly.

Bast wasn’t sure if it was the devastation surrounding her, the weight of the information she carried, or the poor dead perang behind her. Maybe it was all of it, but at that moment she felt despair for the first time in her life. A tear streaked down the length of her long, smudged face, and she choked back the sobs building within her. For 300,000 years, the Ogdoad civilization had flourished. Was this how it all ended? In smoke and fire?

An explosion in the distance shook her from her melancholy reverie, and she quickly ducked behind a sloping ridge along a draw in a nearby hillside. The distant battle was shifting again, possibly headed in her direction. That meant the Ptish defensive lines were faltering and the Toraeg were making a final push. Bast needed to make haste, or risk being cut off from the only entrance into the secluded box canyon where her people and their last hope of escape were waiting.

Scanning the way ahead, she spied a series of stacked logs, unmistakably a small redoubt constructed by one of the armies earlier in the battle. Sensing no other movement in her immediate vicinity, she made a dash for the wall of wood and crouched down behind it.

As she knelt, the wind shifted, and for a moment the choking fog dissipated, exposing a brilliant patch of blue sky above the valley. She looked up and squinted as raw sun pierced the smoke like a spotlight. Then, like a door slamming shut, the hole closed again, casting everything in a grayish-yellow gloom.

Directing her attention back to her surroundings, she placed her long fingers on the rough bark of one of the logs to steady herself. Slowly, she lifted her head to look for the next possible cover along her path. Out of nowhere, the glint of light on metal shot at her like a lightning bolt. Bast’s reflexes pushed her backward just as the blade of a sword swung through the space where her head had been.

Tucking her knees to her chest, she completed a tumbling roll and came up in a defensive stance. She reached up and threw off the hood of her body suit, releasing the long, braided tail of her inky-black hair. Focusing her senses, she looked up the hill. Standing there, facing her on the other side of the redoubt, was the large bulk of a young MosTe’en warrior.

“Well, you’re a nimble one!” the blue-skinned, hairless MosTe’en growled.

Bast quickly scanned the area for others as she withdrew her tonk from its nreen-hide sheath across her back. Long and thin as a finger, the weapon was the traditional sword of the Ogdoad high-guard caste. To anyone who had not come up against its like before, it would have looked absurdly flimsy. And that presumption would have been a mistake. As sharp as thought, it was also made of mangalite, the hardest and strongest metal on Raeth, its processing a secret known only to the Ogdoad forge masters.

The MosTe’en’s eyes grew wide at the appearance of the tonk. It was obvious he knew who and what he was up against. Placing a dirty, club-like hand on top of the redoubt, he hopped over and took an offensive stance in front of Bast. Purposefully, he raised his sword above his head with the tip pointing at the ground between them, his free hand out to his side in a closed fist. A classic MosTe’en attack posture.

“A Tonk-Ti,” he grunted, referring to the elite ranks of the Ogdoad high-guard by name. “That means you’re part of Ra’s personal guard, doesn’t it?”

Bast was silent and unmoving, her right hand holding the tonk loosely out to her side. Normally she would have stood a few feet taller than her adversary, an inherent advantage. But here, she was situated on the downside of a gentle slope. This put the two of them more or less at eye level.

“Alone, are you? What are you doing way out here?” continued the MosTe’en as he confidently looked around. “What are you up to? Why aren’t you back dying with the rest of your filthy race?”

Bast remained still as she carefully evaluated the enemy. She knew he was fishing for intel, and trying to aggravate her into doing something rash. It was an amateurish and sad attempt, really. By his textbook stance and clumsy demeanor, she could easily tell he was barely past the MosTe’en age of ascension, that time when their males ceremoniously moved from coddled adolescence into the harsh life of their warrior class.

She could also see from the absence of adornments and other markings on the shoulder of his black uniform tunic that he was just a lowly fleeg, the absolute bottom of their rank structure. Had he any experience at all there would have been appropriate cloth hash marks, dyed red with the blood of a fallen enemy. By the looks of it, he hadn’t even made a kill yet.

At that moment, a swell of compassion came over her. She had seen enough death and destruction, and taking the life of a foolish child wouldn’t accomplish anything. None of this mattered.

“Go home, young one. There’s no glory for you here today,” she said, hoping against hope he knew that the reputation of the Tonk-Ti was well earned and would take her implicit offer of a safe withdrawal.

The MosTe’en snorted in contempt. “A Tonk-Ti coward? That’s a first! Coming back to my unit with your head dangling from the tip of that sword of yours will guarantee me an elevation in rank. Hell, I’ll get free drinks for the rest of my life!”

The MosTe’en had made his zealous choice, and the two of them squared off, each as unyielding as the other. The rest of the world faded into the background, and even the approaching sounds of battle became a barely discernable din. Then Bast noticed his weight shift subtly to his back foot.

“This is your last chance. Don’t do it!” she cautioned, though it came out sounding more like a desperate plea.

Her words fell on deaf ears. A second later, the MosTe’en exploded downhill toward her, covering the distance between them in a few steps. Of course, the closer he got, the more her stature grew. By the time he was within striking distance she again towered above him. Any advantage he may have had in holding the high ground was lost.

With imperceptible speed, Bast swung the tonk in an upward arc a fraction of a second before the MosTe’en could stab his sword down. The long blade of her weapon caught him between the wrist and elbow, and she felt only the slightest resistance as it cleanly severed muscle, tendon, and bone. Without stopping, she continued to turn in a complete circle, pivoting on her toes with her sword fully extended out to her side and effortlessly decapitating him as she came around. The MosTe’en didn’t even have time to react to losing his arm before he’d lost his head as well.

The dismembered and bleeding body sagged and stood for a moment, a last act of stubborn defiance. Then it teetered and fell backward, collapsing next to its sword, which had stuck upright into the ground, the severed hand still firmly gripping it. Meanwhile, the head had bounced and rolled twice, coming to a rest on its side. The eyes were still open and the mouth moving, almost as if to exclaim its disbelief.

Bast stepped over the twitching corpse and picked up the head, staring into the unblinking eyes.

“I warned you,” she whispered matter-of-factly before reaching up and closing the lids with her fingertips.

She stood there for a few moments with the head cradled in her hands, hoping the brief confrontation hadn’t attracted the attention of other troops in the area. She didn’t move and didn’t breathe. Finally, hearing and seeing nothing of concern, she moved to the now-still corpse. With charity and respect for the foolish childling, she placed his head back at the top of the body. She also laid his sword across his chest, setting his remaining hand over it.

Kneeling there, she took a moment and rested a hand upon his forehead, whispering an Ogdoad prayer that he find a way to a peaceful afterlife. It was the least she could do, and the most she could hope for anyone during these times.

She wiped the bloodied blade of her sword along the uniform tunic of the dead MosTe’en and stood up, returning it to its sheath across her back.

What a waste! she thought to herself, then chuckled out loud at the absurdity.

The entire war was a waste, and here she was lamenting the death of one overzealous and inexperienced MosTe’en. She shook her head. The long, heavy tail of her hair bounced along her back, bringing her attention back to the here and now. There were still several miles to go, and this meaningless skirmish had cost her time she could ill afford.

Taking a deep breath, she put the fight with the MosTe’en aside. She scurried back up to the redoubt and again peered over the top, more cautiously. This time she was certain there was no one and no movement, but she could tell the sounds of battle were still getting closer. With renewed determination, Bast jumped over the logs and hurried down a cut in the hillside toward the direction of Zaru.

An hour more of skulking along the valley floor and she could see through the haze the blurred but familiar ridgetops of the box canyon. Almost there. She just needed to keep to the cover and concealment of the few remaining trees along the river flowing past the canyon and she would be safe. Lucky for her, Zaru itself was farther to the west, and that was where she could hear most of the battle still raging. The factions were obviously engaged in an orgy of destruction centering on that last Ogdoad stronghold. With good fortune, they would remain there and allow her escape.

After several more tense minutes of creeping along the riverside, Bast could just make out a series of blackened and charred pillars sunk into the sand along both sides of the riverbank. They were all that remained of the Bridge of Iah, which had once led to the other side of the wide river and the canyon concealing the shard. During the season of the rains, the bridge was necessary for one to make it to the other side. However, Bast knew that this time of year, the waters were low enough for her to wade across. Besides, she’d lived here for two thousand years and knew this river like the back of her hand. She could probably have made it to the other side almost dry and with her eyes closed, knowing exactly where each submerged rock was located.

Bast smiled—maybe the first time she’d done that in weeks. She’d made it. Even if her father had already left with the last of her people, she would be able to catch up with them easily. She couldn’t wait to tell Ra the incredible information she was safeguarding. She could only hope that it might be used to help the Ogdoad in some way, and maybe even put an end to the war.

She peered out from behind both sides of the last tree between her and the remains of the bridge. All clear.

Easing her way from behind the thick trunk, she confidently started jogging toward the crossing. Only once she was out in the open did she catch sight of the tall, cloaked figure walking toward her on the road from Zaru.

“Hello, my dear!” the person called out to her with a tone of familiarity that didn’t attempt to hide an underlying animosity.

It was him. He was here. Bast skidded to a halt and quickly drew her tonk.

“Really? Swords? Come now, my dear,” he trilled, the words full of conceit. “Put away your tonk.”

She held the sword firmly and defiantly, and couldn’t help but think of the young MosTe’en.

“I’m not your dear!” Bast shouted over the distance and the sound of the river.

The figure stopped and took a dramatic, stumbling step backward, holding his hands across his chest.

“You wound me, young Bast! Let us at least be honest with one another . . . here at the end. Besides, how else would I have known you were coming here?” He motioned with his arms and indicating the valley.

Then he looked back at her, stroking his chin and narrowing his eyes. “But why come back here at all?” he inquired, his deeply shadowed face angling almost into a pout. “Why not save yourself? Surely you must have known they were all doomed.” His tone turned callous on this last sentence, mocking her.

Her eyes widened in understanding. He didn’t know anything. He didn’t know about the shard and that the Ogdoad were right now escaping this holocaust of his creation. He was here for her.

“You’re a murderer! How could you?” she screamed, lowering her sword slightly. “You . . . you’re one of . . .”

“BE SILENT!” he boomed.

Bast could feel the force of his anger as a physical pressure, like she had been punched in the chest. She staggered backward and shook her head, regaining her composure. What just happened?

“You call me a murderer,” he continued, the anger of only a moment ago replaced with calm. “There are those who would consider me a visionary.”

He looked back over his shoulder in the direction of Zaru, then back to Bast.

“If you want to blame anyone for this, look first to that idiot grandfather and father of yours. They could have prevented it all, if they had just listened to reason!”

“Reason!” she screamed. “You think genocide is reasonable? You’re insane.”

“Ah, well.” He sighed and shrugged, ignoring her accusation. “Every act of creation must begin with a little genocide. Perhaps even a little insanity.”

He reached down and picked up a handful of sandy dirt from the road, allowing it to pour slowly from between his long fingers.

“The noble and superior Ogdoad!” he spat, throwing the remaining dirt to the ground.

Bast was speechless, unable to answer him. All of this death, centuries of the entire world at war, and it was all because of him.

“I thought so,” he said to her lingering silence, then waved a signal with one hand.

From out of the surrounding brush and below the riverbank, dozens of MosTe’en and Toraeg troops appeared.

“This is where you end.” He smiled widely, white teeth clearly visible beneath the hood of his cloak. “This is where you all end, my dear!”

He turned and started slowly walking back toward Zaru as the circle of soldiers began moving in on Bast. Closing her eyes, she uttered a short prayer for her soul, and for the safety of her father and her people. Then she opened them, cursed defiantly, and charged the advancing line of enemy warriors.

***

Ra was the last one left in the cave hidden behind the canyon’s waterfall, and he was pacing nervously. It had been over an hour since the last of his people had made the journey to Earth, and still he waited.

“Where are you, my daughter?” His whisper echoed in the dim chamber.

Ra was angry with himself. He knew he shouldn’t have sent her on this last mission. Then he snorted and shook his head at that thought. No, that was a lie he was telling himself. The truth was, he should not have allowed her to volunteer and insist on going on this last mission.

He shook his head again and managed a weak grin. The cold hard truth was there wasn’t anything he could have done to stop her. She was so much like her sister Sekhet—strong, bold, and loyal.

For a while now, he and the Ogdoad had been planning this daring flight to safety. Yet only in the recent months had all the pieces finally fallen into place and the opportunity presented itself. Still, with their departure day quickly approaching, they had received a desperate request to meet from one of their last remaining allies, who had discovered information that could help bring an end to the war.

The timing of the message had been concerning, and it reeked of a trap. But Ra couldn’t pass it up. And as it turned out, Bast was personally acquainted with and trusted the source of the information. She was also familiar with the suggested meeting location, and so had requested the assignment. No, not requested. She had demanded. Ra chuckled thinking of his daughter’s tenacity, then pouted with worry. Where was she?

Outside, even over the cascading water at the mouth of the cave, he could faintly hear the sounds of the nearby battle starting to echo down the canyon. It was getting closer, no doubt about that now. Time was running out. While this shard was not marked and it wasn’t likely anyone would just stumble onto it, he couldn’t risk being found here. Even worse, he couldn’t risk being captured. The very survival of his race was at stake.

“Bast! Where are you?” he directed loudly beyond the roaring water.

She knew they were leaving today and had promised she would be back in time. The fact she wasn’t here yet could only mean something had happened to delay her, or worse. Ra struggled to push that thought from his mind. No. She was still alive. He could feel it.

Then, his sensitive hearing caught the unmistakable metallic echo of swords. Time was up. Leaving the mouth of the cave, he removed a folded piece of parchment from his tunic. He walked to the back of the cave and shoved the parchment into a small crevice in the wall, one which turned a few feet into the rock. He was leaving a note for Bast, and he’d hidden it where only she would know to find it.

His hand lingered on the rock for a moment. Then he moved toward the nearby shard. Stopping just outside the range of its orange glow, he faced the cave’s entrance.

“Be safe, my daughter,” he whispered.

Just as Ra was stepping through the portal, an engulfing wave of energy from outside the cave washed over him. He knew the unthinkable had just happened, and whimpered uncontrollably as he vanished.

The sound cut off sharply and left a ghostly moan in the now-empty cave.