Liberi Reader

The crowd falls silent, gazing up at the airship above.

In their eyes is reflected the eerie purple flame, slowly falling towards the ground.

The cold flame impacts the earth, the sparks flying onto the fleeing crowd, as though they had a mind of their own.

The fire spreads uncontrollably, instantly engulfing the refugees.

They fall to the ground, screaming.

Then, their lifeless bodies rise from the fire, the purple flame of desire burning in their eyes.

Dead silence.

All present bore witness to the 'miracle'.

The rain of purple fire descends, like the mantle of death itself.

Fear spreads in the crowd. The silence is broken, replaced by panic.

The lights by the streets of Norport have gone out. Only the purple flames spreading through the city light Baird's path.

Burning silhouettes stare blankly at the sky, listening to the call of 'The Leader.'

But the dark night conceals the airship in the sky. Not even the purple flames reaching towards the skies could reveal it.

No one answers Baird in the darkness. All she hears is the crackling of fire on wood.

Baird presses her ear against the gap, and hears the faint chattering of teeth and agitated breathing echo in the empty house.

Baird widens the gap in the planks using her knife, then tries to pry them open with the handle.

A silver flash. Baird takes a step back, touches her cheek, and finds it wet with a warm liquid.

The familiar video shop owner stands behind the door.

The blood flowing from his ears lies dried on his neck. Originium crystals cover a large part of his ears. Morgan was right. He has likely gone deaf.

He's muttering at the only light in the room, oblivious to everything else.

Otherwise, he would not have been so frightened when he saw that it was her standing outside, would not have swung his knife.

Or perhaps not.

He would have done so, no matter who opened the door.

The calamity outside has taken his hearing, and almost everything else he had. He stands alone with his knife, only a few fragile planks between the world and the last bit of food he has.

Finally, Baird sees the once-familiar video shop owner in his entirety.

She finds that it is not a lamp that illuminates the room, but the tiny projector that they spent countless days and nights with.

Baird touches the feeble arm. Her heart skips a beat at the solidness of the Originium crystals beneath the soft muscles.

She reaches out slowly to the knife that McClaren is holding. There is a little bump under his clothes, the last food that McClaren has left.

Baird takes McClaren's knife. The muscles of the trembling man relax for the first time in many days.

Baird sees an emotion other than fear in the man's eyes. Perhaps he has recognized her.

The thing in the bump falls out from under his clothes. It's an empty can.

Baird exhales and bends down to pick up the empty can.

Baird feels a sharp pain in her midsection. The knife that should have been in her hand is now halfway inside her. McClaren was the one who seized her hand.

He stumbles towards Baird and snatches away the meaningless, empty can.

His knife is now inside Baird. He anxiously looks for a new weapon.

He sees Baird's butterfly knife, his delirious eyes reflected in the cold blade.

Baird has had the knife for a long time.

When the members of the Glasgow Gang were just children, Baird bought it at the flea market at a discount, and never let it leave her side.

It has seen many battles, many celebrations with her. It was not particularly valuable, nor did Baird particularly treasure it. It just became a habit.

McClaren's struggle was feeble. That one stab took almost all the strength he had left.

But Baird found that she could not fight back.

McClaren gasps a few times and pulls with what strength he has left. The blade almost pierces his neck.

Baird cannot lift her arm. She releases the knife.

The man takes the weapon, cradles the can, and stumbles into the light of the inferno outside.

Cador squeezes past the silent crowd and goes back into the blockade area.

Cador stops in his tracks.

The cowering man at the end of the line looks around gingerly, then disappears into the crowd.

Morgan finds the answer.

She finds it in the bloodstains on the knife in the video shop owner's hand, and in Vina's eyes before she turned away.

Tears rush into her eyes, but she cannot wipe them away. She needs both her hands to stop Indra from trying to squeeze past the crowd.

Strength. Vina has never wanted it so much.

A little strength. A lot of strength. The strength of anger. The strength of sorrow.

Anything.

Anything to shatter all that lies before her, anything to make things right again.

Even just a little bit—

Even if it was just enough for her to turn around, to find a friend that she has not yet had the time to catch up with.

Even if...

Kyngasycath is heavy in her hands, almost immovable.

Nothing. There is nothing.

The walls that block the escape of the people of Norport lie just before them, but there are no longer Sarkaz bows and guns on it.

Freedom is in sight. The oppressed raise their hands high and push forth.

Siege raises Kyngasycath high again. It is still just a piece of metal, not a single sheen to it.

She does not remember whether she swung it. Perhaps it is just the result of countless hands pushing at the same time. The wall falls.