Descending Frost, Prologue

They nearly made it.

Kotota could see the sunlight glittering off the golden walls of the fortress at the far end of the valley. The last bastion of humanity, it meant life for their people. Not hope, perhaps, but life would have been good enough.

Now, as hundreds of Chained Ones charged down the edge of the valley, it seemed unlikely they’d be able to give them even that much.

The chieftain drew their sword, a once-fine blade notched and dulled by years of constant fighting. In their other, harsh white light began to gather as they reached out to their god. Their thirty-odd  surviving warriors spread out, trying to shield the defenseless tribesmen behind them.

“Believe in her!”  The Chained Ones’ war cry echoed across the snows. They could almost be mistaken for the humans they once were—until they spoke, hundreds of voices raised in perfect unity. Their garb was no less uniform, steel helmets and breastplates and long spears all far newer than the worn-down equipment Kotota’s people could muster.

Fifty yards. Forty yards. Thirty.

Not all the advancing figures were humanoid. The chieftain spotted two Hekaton, their original human shells almost totally concealed by the dozens of writhing arms sprouting from all over their bodies, and a Centaph made up of at least thirty bodies melted together.

“Kadall, Ebris, Liros, give me strength,” Kotota whispered fervently. They had avoided greater demons for months; and now the Chained Ones were almost insignificant—a flesh-spider that big could devour their entire force of warriors all by itself.

When the leading figures were no more than twenty yards away, Kotota struck. They threw their left hand forward, light blasting forth in a tight beam no wider than a finger but brighter and hotter than the surface of the sun. Their fellow warriors followed suit, and destructive magic of all types flashed and roared.

Searing flames reduced once-men to skeletons, beams of focused sound tore their targets apart, and crevices tore open to swallow several at once. Some dropped dead without a mark as Ajinai’s flesh magic stopped their hearts, or Chakha and Oyuun wiped away what remained of their thoughts. Even the smoke raised by their attack joined in the slaughter, solidifying into spikes and blades under Temulun and Besutei’s will.

The Centaph lost two legs, and one of the Hekaton stumbled into a fissure that immediately slammed shut after it. Dozens, perhaps hundreds of Chained Ones fell.

But there were hundreds more.

“Believe in her!”

The first Chained One through the mess leapt at them with an absolutely suicidal disregard for its own safety. This close, Kotota could see the blue tint to its skin, the ice crystals breaking through its skin at random points, the black voids where eyes should be. Even after years of fighting, they still felt a chill that had nothing to do with cold. The Chained Ones’ minds might be gone, but the faces of the humans they’d once been were clearly visible.

The chieftain’s blade moved with the unconscious ease of long practice, batting aside the spear tip and leaving a deep cut on the back of the creature’s leg. It staggered—pain might not register, but severed muscle wouldn’t work no matter how much it wanted it to—and they kicked it to the side, leaving it to bleed out in the snow.

Another two were already taking its place, spears flashing. Kotota clenched their fist, the two missing fingers a living reminder of everything they’d sacrificed for the power, and unleashed another short beam of light that took the first creature’s arm off at the shoulder. The second had already been injured during the initial charge, and they dispatched it with an almost casual flick of their sword.

A thunderous crash momentarily drowned out the roar of battle as Bayan unleashed his sound magic again, and a knot of Chained Ones a few yards back from the front line simply exploded.

Kotota took a moment to survey the fight, taking it in with a sinking heart. The human’s initial volley of magic had hurt the creatures badly, but not many of their warriors had the strength for another big magical attack like that. The gods were more generous with their favor in the twilight of humanity than ever before, but their people were all bone-tired from the march and the cold and the fear.

The human warriors who’d survived this long were the best of the best, with strong arms and unbreakable wills, but there just weren’t enough of them. Each of them could kill ten, twenty, thirty Chained Ones, and there would still be enough in this band alone to slaughter what remained of their tribe. Whole peoples had fallen to the Slaver, an endless bounty of fresh young bodies to break to Her will.

It didn’t matter how long they fought, didn’t matter how many they slew. Corpses piled knee-high in places, their warriors died, and still the Chained Ones charged. Still they chanted their mindless slogans, still they went willingly to certain death on the slightest chance it would serve Her will.

Off to their left, a Hekaton lifted Temulun over its head and ripped him in half.

The chieftain kicked an incoming spear to the side and watched it take another Chained One low in the back, but their weary legs couldn’t regain their balance fast enough to stop the next attacker from tackling them to the ground. The thing couldn’t use its spear this close, but it seemed determined to tear their throat out with its bare teeth if it had to.

Kotota was forced to drop their spear and put all their energy into keeping its head away. Everywhere they touched, their fingers burned with cold. The creature shifted, driving their injured arm harder into the ground, and their vision blurred with pain. Over… it was—

Without warning, the creature went limp. Kotota saw the back half of a red-fletched arrow sticking out of the back of its head, and was dimly aware of more arrows flying and Chained Ones dying. The Centaph went up in flames as a dozen spells of heat and light struck it in the same instant, and one of the Hekaton simply exploded under the impact of powerful flesh-magic. The creatures’ attack faltered as they searched for the oncoming threat, giving the injured warrior space to rise.

The exertion hurt, but it was worth it to see the Last Regiment tear into their foes. Two hundred experienced soldiers, fresh from the bastion and mounted on sturdy horses, burst from their magical concealment and hit the mindless creatures like a thunderbolt. Arrows flew, swords flashed, and combat magic struck with devastating precision. The Chained Ones’ formation shattered almost instantly, their mindless devotion no match for the sheer mass of a cavalry charge. Small groups tried to reform, only to be cut down by blasts of fire and volleys of stones.

Not a one surrendered.

A mounted woman drew up next to Kotota and slid to the ground. They felt an irrational stab of embarrassment at the differences in appearance— the chieftain had been wearing the same layers of fur and leather for weeks, none of it matching and all of it stained with blood, while the dark-skinned soldier wore a shirt of shining iron mail, with steel helm, bracers, and graves to complement it. Her shield pictured the brilliant scarlet sun that had been adopted by fragments of humanity the world over.

“My people—I—we owe you our lives,” the Kotota said stiffly, bowing with a wince of pain. “I am Kotota, leader of the Yakanon people.”  They looked at what was left of their tribe and shivered—counting themselves, only nine of their tribe’s warriors still stood, and one of their sled-trains had been overrun. As many as fifty noncombatants might have been caught with it, out of a total force barely over four hundred.

“Be welcome where all are welcome, Kotota of the Yakanon,” the soldier returned their bow, speaking with the air of ritual. “Your journey is over, for the walls of the Bastion and wills of man yet hold. I am Makena, a captain of the Last Regiment.”

“How much farther?” They asked.

“Less than two miles,” Makena said in a reassuring tone. “Go. We will gather the rest of your people and escort them.”

“The rest of?”  Kotota’s mouth twisted into a ghoulish smile. “We’re all right here, captain.”

“By the gods.” She gasped. “The scouts said two thousand.”

“That was more than a month ago. Things are bad.”

“Even worse than we thought, it seems.”  The captain frowned. “Let me fetch one of my healers for your arm, then come with me. The council needs to hear this first-hand.”

#

Makena’s horse didn’t look big enough to carry two adult humans, especially not ones laden with coats and armor, but the extra weight didn’t seem to concern him as he trotted down the winding valley. Kotota clung to their companion grimly, trying not to wince as their body complained with every bump. It had been a long time since they’d ridden anything, and the saddle was hardly designed for two.

They forgot all of that as they rounded the final cluster of snow-covered trees, and the Bastion rose before them in all its glory.

The humanity’s final stronghold had once been a crater five miles across, with a deep basin surrounded by a ring of jagged ridges that rose high above the surrounding hills and forests. It was believed to be the oldest city on in the world, and untold generations of kings had built the natural defenses higher and higher. Now, at the height of the Fall, they stood hundreds of feet tall. Sheer limestone cliffs gave way to tightly-fitted granite walls, both surfaces covered with tens of thousands of defensive sigils wrought in gold. The soldiers patrolling its top were mere specks at this distance from this close, and if Kotota squinted they could see the faint shimmer in the air where magic drew the strength of the walls into a titanic dome of pure force. A moat circled the entire fortress, deeper than could be easily determined. A blocky castle of solid iron guarded the single bridge over the abyss; beyond, a well-paved road wound its way along the walls to the gatehouse on the opposite side of the city.

“Incredible, isn’t it?” Makena smiled, looking back at her passenger. She always enjoyed seeing the awe on newcomers’ faces—never before had so many great builders and powerful mages worked together on such a project; never in history had there been a fortress half as large or walls half as high.

Kotota didn’t look awed, though. The older human just looked tired.

“I hope so,” was all they said. After a moment, she nudged her horse into motion again.

They crossed the bridges. They circled the walls. They entered the gates, and spent several long minutes riding through the tunnel. After what seemed like an eternity of darkness, they emerged into the light once more, this time on the inside of the great walls.

Kotota felt their heart sink. They’d hoped it would be bigger.

Oh, there were thousands of tenement blocks, most of them over ten stories and some as tall as twenty, and most of them looked occupied, but they weren’t overcrowded. The streets were busy, but not mobbed. There were no squatters, no tents or makeshift huts anywhere they could see, and—most worryingly—no new construction. The Yakanon would make little impact in a place this large, but…

“How many live here?” They asked slowly.

“More than two hundred and fifty thousand,” Makena gestured at the city. “You can’t see it from here, but there are more homes on the far side of the city, where the ground slopes downward.”

No, that didn’t seem like enough at all.

“Makena,” the chieftain said in a low, urgent voice. “My people escaped Hadrekor bare days before the great city fell. We have spent the last year and more seeking the Bastion. We’ve crossed oceans and deserts and a dozen nations, seen more of the world than I could ever have imagined.”

“…And?” the soldier prompted after a moment.

“And outside our band, we have not seen a single survivor. This place—these people—” Kotota swept an arm in the direction of the nearest building. “This is all that remains of humanity.”

“Truly?”  Makena’s mouth drew into a tight line. “Then all hope rides on the priests’ evacuation plan.”

“Evacu—I just told you the world is lost.”  The chieftain blinked. “The cloud-citadels of the Ariint have fallen, as have the caves of the Khatahk, and spells to reach other worlds find Her lands wherever they turn. Where could we possibly go!”

“Below,” the soldier said softly. As one, they stared at the ground, as if they could peer through the untold miles of stone. Somewhere down there was an ocean deep and wide enough to drown the world. Primordial waters that had never known the touch of air, filling unfathomably large caverns that untouched by wind or sun.  A cold place, a forgotten place, endless, dark, and still.

The Twilight Depths.