Through Ash & Mana

Six years ago

“ONE MORE…” Sirius heaved, exhausted as he dropped to his knees beside an unconscious classmate from Pallethorpe Village. Dust rose around him like ash from a funeral pyre, but Sirius wasn’t going to let this be another death on his watch. Flipping his medium dark hair from his gold-colored eyes, he pressed his trembling hands against Chisato’s bruised and bleeding body, her armor tainted with blood and soot like his. He channeled his mana into wounds that threatened to drain her life away.

These crippling effects were the result of an anomaly that suddenly swept across the dull wasteland—the proving grounds for every Pawn in the flat square world of Chesslandiya.

And yet, Sirius was miraculously spared.

A faint violet glow wrapped around the unconscious girl’s chest. She gasped back to life, body twitching as Sirius firmly gripped her to help settle down. “It’s alright, Chisa, it’s Sirius,” he whispered assuredly.

The girl’s breathing steadied, finally exhaling, “S-Sirius?”

“That’s right, Chisa, it’s gonna be okay.” He pulled out a vial of mana stabilizing potion from his utility belt.

Chisato panted, her throat parched as she swallowed the green liquid. “What happened?”

“Some mana distortion scattered everyone. They’re unconscious.”

Her amber eyes searched the surrounding area. “Yeah, I… I remember. Then everything went black.” She looked up at him. “How come you weren’t affected?”

Sirius shook his head. “I don’t know. But I gotta reach everyone soon. Can you walk?”

Chisato gritted her teeth while struggling to move her limp appendages. Sweat dampened her brow, her long black hair matted beneath a transparent white veil. “No good!” she grunted. “I’m sorry.”

Sirius exhaled. “That’s okay. Just relax, I’m gonna get you out of here.” He hoisted her over his shoulders; his legs quivered as he trudged toward the lone statue that pierced the gray skyline.

The white obelisk in the distance was the teleportation anchor back to Throne’s Edge, the holy capital of Chesslandiya. When someone turned sixteen, they were required to journey to the capital and teleport from the Sacrarium of the King in order to participate in a crusade. This was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for Chesslandiyans to ascend from Pawn to a more distinguished rank. And while many entered with the hope of promoting to either a Knight, Bishop, or Rook-class, the possibility of remaining a Pawn was still plausible.

Sirius carefully rested Chisato at the foot of the obelisk.

“Thank you, Sirius,” she muttered, as a soft turquoise light began glowing from it. “Please be careful.”

He nodded.

The light swallowed her, taking her back to the holy land and potentially promoting her. But if it wasn’t in God-King Dajayatan’s infinite plan, she would remain with a single white dome-shaped mark on the back of her hand like many other Pawns for the rest of her life.

This was normal.

“That’s twelve,” Sirius sighed, slowly standing up. “One more, please help me save one more.” He started trudging back the way he came.

There were twenty more classmates still out there. And because each of them was crippled from the effects of the anomaly, they were just waiting for death to come to them if Sirius didn’t reach them in time.

Four.

Clara.

Meilin.

Nora.

Rashid.

Four already succumbed to their injuries, or to soul feeders.

These shadowy and lanky creatures infested the area previously, as was normal for a crusade. Controlled by a hivemind, they acted out of collective interest, but since the class disbanded them before their crippling, the soul feeders became basking shadows just waiting for their next meal. Soon, the energy influx brought on more waves of soul feeders than any pilgrim class of Pawns could handle. Harnessing mana was something almost all Chesslandiyans had to be versed in if they wanted to channel the natural essence that flowed throughout the flat planet. Doing this required concentration, discipline, and faith—elements that schools across the world taught to each class. Additionally, the Pallethorpe Village Class of 3015 AKD (After King’s Descent) were forcibly scattered throughout the wasteland with barely enough strength to handle a wave of soul feeders alone.

The proving grounds were a battlefield bled of color—an isolated dimension from Chesslandiya to confront the soul feeders en masse during a crusade. Dry trees jutted like bones from the ground, and a choking haze smothered every horizon. All around, broken weapons, shattered shields, and the crimson and black shawls of the Pallethorpe Village class lay abandoned. The lion emblem on the tattered fabric, once a symbol of courage and strength, now appeared like the hollow eyes of a beast that failed the class.

But since Sirius was somehow unfazed by the soul disruption, he was his class’s last hope. Earlier, he swiftly subdued multiple soul feeders, who flooded to him during the skirmish, hoping to feast on his soul. His prowess virtually cleared the area in each direction. However, he was only one sixteen year old. His strength and capabilities weren’t enough, even with pill or potion supplements to help replenish his vitality. The more lives Sirius healed and ferried back to the teleportation statue, the sooner he’d end up just like his friends. But he pushed on. He had to. “Another one,” he muttered repeatedly under his breath, panting, “Help me save another one,” as he steadily increased his speed to a disoriented jog that made his legs feel as heavy as lead. The white Pawn marks on the backs of both of his caramel-brown hands were rapidly pulsating a dim light to the beating of his heart. Sirius hadn’t the time to think about how much further he could go like this, and swallowed a bitter red stamina pill he plucked from a pouch on his utility belt. Repeating his mantra, he bolstered his courage to track the faint mana trails leading to more of his scattered classmates.

Desmond.

Kaspian.

Xiaoli.

They were all within Sirius’s scope, and he went to them one at a time. When he did, he healed them as best as he could, and carried them on his back, over his shoulders, or in his arms.

He wasn’t going to let this hopeless land take them.

Upon sensing Tahira’s mana signature, Sirius briefly halted, widened his eyes, and gasped before he broke into a near-sprint, heart hammering harder than his aching legs could carry. He rounded a jagged boulder and froze.

There she was, lying on her back as if discarded by the proving grounds itself. Her white transparent veil, the one she wore with quiet dignity like all Chesslandiyan women, was torn, its edges clinging to her soot-stained armor.

Sirius’s chest seized upon seeing her—his girlfriend—in what he could only hope was pain and not the icy clutch of death trying to tear her soul from its host. He dropped to his knees beside her and pressed his shaking hands against her body armor to apply healing magic. “Stay with me, Tahira,” he whispered, his voice on the brink of cracking, as he held his tears back to focus hard on the spell. “Please… Please come back to me.” His vision blurred until a faint violet glow spread beneath his palms.

Tahira’s shallow breaths steadied, fragile but alive, as her eyelids fluttered. Those familiar sapphire-colored eyes met him, ever still enchanting as the ones that had smitten him when they first met. “Sirius…?” Her voice was barely a breath, yet it struck him harder than any blade.

He let out a long sigh of relief like a weight had been lifted off of his shoulders. “Yes, Tahira, it’s me. It’s gonna be okay,” Sirius assured her, gently stroking her forehead, then delicately feeding the mana potion to her. “I’m gonna take you home now. We’ll be back in Pallethorpe Village soon.”

Her thin pinkish lips weakly rose to a smile as she brought a trembling hand up to his face. Slender and lightly tanned fingers brushed against his rough and sullied face, lingering just long enough to remind Sirius of every promise they’d ever made to each other since they got together two years ago. Then Tahira’s strength gave out and her hand slipped.

Sirius swallowed hard, his throat burning, but knew she was going to be okay. He gathered her carefully into his arms, holding her close as if she might vanish if he loosened his grip. “It’s gonna be okay,” he whispered repeatedly, staggering towards the obelisk once more. He saw the turquoise light engulf her as she teleported back to Throne’s Edge. “I’ll join you soon,” he affirmed. “When it’s all over, I can finally…” he stopped, suddenly sensing another mana signature—Theodore’s—flickering weakly in the distance.