Interlude - Fates
The streets were quieter than they should have been.
Footsteps echoed softly against the cobbled road as a hooded figure moved through the ruin-laden district, the hem of her cloak brushing against scattered debris. The wind curled through the empty avenues, carrying the scent of smoke and frost-bitten stone — remnants of the chaos that had torn through the city.
Ambercrest used to be a vibrant city. Its red and light-brown bricks, the multicoloured rooftops catching the light, had made the city feel warm, alive. Even in the colder months, it held an undeniable charm that many other cities in the empire lacked. Now, that vibrancy was dulled, smothered beneath layers of soot and broken masonry.
To her right, a toppled archway slumped against a shattered shopfront, its half-torn sign dangling from a single, broken chain. Windows were smashed, jagged glass glinting weakly in the overcast light, and long blackened streaks marred the walls — scars from fires that had only just been extinguished in time. Some buildings had collapsed entirely, reduced to little more than heaps of stone and splintered wood.
She walked with measured steps, gaze fixed forward, careful not to look too closely at what lay beneath some of the rubble. Still, her peripheral vision betrayed her.
The pale outline of a hand protruded from under a mound of broken brick, fingers curled stiffly inwards. Another shape—smaller, half-buried beneath a collapsed awning—lay unnaturally still. Perhaps the cloth had hidden it from earlier searches, but now the fabric had shifted, exposing ashen skin to the cold.
Regina forced her eyes ahead, her grip tightening under the folds of her cloak.
She had to remind herself that not all of Ambercrest looked like this. Not every district had burned. Not every street was a grave.
But pieces of the city had been carved away. Whole sections left as skeletal echoes of what they’d been. Some streets, like this one, were deserted, abandoned to ghosts. Others were worse, barricaded and crawling with monsters, places even the city guard and knights avoided.
She exhaled through her nose, breath misting in the cold, and quickened her pace.
Her tension eased slightly as the devastation thinned. Signs of life emerged, faint but present. A door left slightly ajar, a faint glow of warmth within. A lantern flickering behind a dust-streaked window. The streets were still quiet, but at least they weren’t entirely dead. At least here, some of the city’s breath remained.
In the distance, the rhythmic clang of hammers and the murmur of voices soon reached her. Signs of the efforts to rebuild. There were people who had gathered in the safer districts, piecing together what remained, trying to reclaim what had been lost.