The Dawn of the Future

by Jun Eishima

  　Finally, she spotted a narrow corridor, just wide enough for a single human to pass through. She darted in, then dared to spare a second to flick a glance over one shoulder. Just as she’d hoped, the massive black form hung unmoving at the mouth of the passage, a curtain blocking her view of anything beyond. It must be stuck, she thought. It cannot pursue any farther.

  　She breathed a sigh, certain for a moment that she was safe. But her relief was premature. A roar shook the corridor. Bits of rock showered down from overhead. Lunafreya’s blood froze. This was the same monster that had ripped its way through a ceiling of stone. What desperation had allowed her to imagine a corridor any manner of refuge? The daemon seemed perfectly content to break the walls apart to reach her. If not shredded by its claws, she’d be buried under the rubble. Either way meant death.

  　She continued to run, hell-bent on escape. The corridor sloped upward. Beyond that, she neither knew nor cared about the tomb’s layout any longer. As long as she was moving up―as long as she was getting closer to the surface―nothing else mattered.

  　Dull thuds echoed from behind her. No corridor or wall was going to stop the monster. She had to get outside.

  　The ground at her feet shook violently. She tumbled but felt no pain. There was no time. Any pause invited death. The daemon’s thrashing brought still more stones loose. Jagged shards fell from above and the stairs began to crumble beneath her feet, but she pressed on, scrambling along somewhere between a run and a crawl.

  　Then the oppressive smell of stone and dirt was gone. A chill wind brushed across her skin. Outside. She’d made it. No sooner did her mind register the fact than another tremor, accompanied by the deafening thunder of falling stone, sent her facedown to the ground.

  　The roar subsided, and Lunafreya nervously glanced back. The stairway into the earth was gone. The entire tunnel leading down into the tomb must have collapsed from the intensity of the daemon’s rampage. Nothing remained to suggest she’d just emerged from an underground complex or that one had ever existed in this place at all.

  　No. That wasn’t quite true. This place was, without a doubt, a gravesite. A short distance away rested a water basin made of stone, and next to that grew a large, old tree and a plot of small flowers. This was a spot to rest for those who came bearing offerings to place upon the graves of those they’d lost.

  　Half of the tree’s branches were gone. They had been wrenched off and broken, and now they lay scattered among the roots as if telling the tale of some huge, rampaging beast that had passed by this place. Lunafreya picked up one of the fallen branches that appeared longer and sturdier than the others. She grasped it tightly in her hand. It was not much more than a stick, but its length rivaled her own height, and it would serve as a makeshift weapon for the time being. It was far better than walking through a nighttime gravesite unarmed.

  　She began to walk, intending to hurry toward some safer location, when she realized she was missing one boot. It must have been lost during her panicked flight from the tomb. Just one of a pair would hardly serve swift progress, so the only option seemed to be to abandon it and proceed barefoot. She would just have to find replacements somewhere along the way, preferably before some sharp stone or fragment of glass found its way into her soles. Perhaps by morning she’d have made it to some place well inhabited enough to offer shops.

  　The last thought prompted her to cast a casual glance upward. That was when the realization hit. Something was off. She slowly turned around, sweeping her gaze across the sky, straining her eyes against the blackness.

  　“Is it not night?” she wondered aloud.

  　The dimness overhead suggested otherwise. It was not the dark brought on by dusk. There were no stars. There was no moon. But neither was it the black of a moonless night. The entire world was bathed in a gloomy, unnatural gray. When she looked harder, she saw flecks swirling through the darkened sky. It was unnerving. They were far too similar to another black mist she knew: the particles of miasma that emanated from daemonic bodies.

  　A shudder passed through her as she whispered, “What is going on?”

  　In one direction, she saw an endless expanse of ice. In another, a vast, empty desert. Farther afield was a forest of familiar profile. If those were the woods of her homeland of Tenebrae, then she had to be somewhere along the border of Succarpe and Eusciello.

  　How odd. There was no trace of anyone else. The strip of land sandwiched between desert and tundra was not suited for planting, but she’d long heard it functioned as a transit artery. She stood along a major throughway. Trucks and other vehicles should have been passing by day and night, and yet there was nothing but silence. Not even an imperial dropship overhead.

  　Third year since the disappearance of . . . The newspaper’s words rose in her mind.

  　She’d expended her life to form the covenants with the gods, and to see the Ring of the Lucii to its rightful heir. Everything she’d done was for the sake of the True King and to ensure the future of their star. So what did this gray sky mean? In the span between the events in Altissia and now, what could have happened to their world?

  　A roar shook the dim surroundings. She turned to find dust billowing from the remnants of the tomb―a tomb she’d thought crumbled and closed forevermore. Clumps of dirt and debris flew through the air, and then it was back: grim death unfurled itself once more, tattered rags fluttering wide overhead.

  　It was unthinkable. The collapse of the underground tomb should have surely been enough to see the daemon trapped and destroyed. With the entrance gone, she had breathed a sigh of relief, certain that the immediate threat was past. Now that relief went spiraling away like debris from the tomb. The daemon had emerged. Its hunt was not over.

  　With precious moments already lost to thought, Lunafreya spun away, clods of dirt spraying from beneath her feet as massive claws swung behind her. It was a close call―the arc of the claws had passed no more than a hairbreadth from her back. Luck and naught else had kept her from being ripped to shreds. She might not be so fortunate the next time.

  　Suddenly, she was glad to be barefoot, able to run much faster over the soil than she’d have ever managed in the high heels she had worn the day she’d been stabbed. She sprinted with all her might. The daemon caught the top of one shoulder, nearly pulling her to the ground, but her luck held and she was somehow able to shake free. The blow sent her tumbling, but she sprang back up and continued to run. If she could make it to one of the main roads . . . She prayed for there to be at least one passing truck. It didn’t matter where it was headed. If she could hitch a ride, she’d be safe, away from this awful place.

  　She thought she heard the faint rumbling of an engine. The road had to be near. The muscles in her legs screamed in protest, but she carried on, unheeding.

  　And then the ground was gone. Her feet found no purchase, and her body plummeted through empty air. Whether she’d gone straight over some ridge or met some sloping path, she did not know, but the world spun. Her body rolled and finally thudded to a halt. The sound of the engine drew closer. It was her third stroke of luck in an otherwise unfortunate day. She had found her road and was now sprawled across it. She heard the screech of brakes and saw a motorcycle come to a halt mere inches from her nose. To one side of the wheel in her face, she spotted an attached sidecar.

  　Lunafreya scrambled to her feet and threw herself into the unoccupied sidecar. The daemon was still in pursuit. There wasn’t time to ask permission.

  　“What are you doing?!” the driver demanded.

  　Lunafreya couldn’t make out any features beneath helmet and goggles, but the driver’s voice was clearly that of a young woman. Her garb seemed to indicate that she was a hunter. Lunafreya tried to respond, but her breaths came too heavy for clear words.

  　“I’m . . . I’m sorry, but . . . ”

  　The driver audibly clicked her tongue. Lunafreya simply huddled deeper into the seat. Then the mo
torcycle and sidecar were in motion.

  　The daemon’s claws were not far behind.

  　“Damn it!” the driver cursed. “I can’t get this thing to go any faster with all the extra weight!”

  　“Right. Extra weight. What should I dump?” Lunafreya said, her hands groping at the items underfoot.

  　“Hey! No! I meant―”

  　But Lunafreya already had the corner of a cloth bag in hand―a particularly large one crammed in the floor of the sidecar. She tugged it free and threw it in the face of the pursuing daemon, knowing it was in vain, but desperate for any means to slow the monster down by even the tiniest bit.

  　The bag’s contents spilled out over the roadway. Canned food. Hardly something to deem extra weight, she thought.

  　“I was talking about you!” the driver shouted over the roar of the engine. “You’re the extra weight!”

  　“Oh no,” Lunafreya muttered. “I’m sorry.”

  　The imposed ride brought guilt enough. Now she’d managed to cause her unwilling companion further trouble. That her actions were taken in haste was no excuse. The vehicle had a new load to bear, and the traveler was now without rations on which she’d doubtless been counting. Lunafreya tightly gripped the long tree branch from the gravesite. She would not be any more of a burden. She’d made it this far on her own―more or less. In truth, she had no confidence in her odds. She’d been no match for the pursuing daemon either in or out of the tomb. But there was no other choice now. She’d have to face it.

  　Lunafreya grabbed the lip of the sidecar, intending to hop out. But a hand pulled her back in, and she dropped ungracefully onto the seat once more.

  　“Enough!”

  　Enough with the dramatics, the driver seemed to mean. Lunafreya had been accepted along for the ride.

  　“Just hang on tight and keep your mouth shut. It’s gonna be bumpy, and I don’t want you biting your tongue.”

  　The engine revved higher, and Lunafreya was pressed back into her seat by the force of acceleration. The wind whipped against her, her hair streaming behind her like a veil. For a moment, it seemed like this burst of speed might see them to safety. But that hope was soon shattered.

  　Lunafreya sensed the bluish-white hands reaching from behind. Then, before her mind could even process the attack, she was being lifted from the sidecar and slammed against the roadway. They’d hardly made it any distance down the road.

  　Her left half felt heavy, numb. She gritted her teeth against the pain and rose to her feet. The motorcycle had already skidded to a stop, its rider hopping out, a shotgun in hand. From the way the younger woman held herself, it was clear she was no stranger to battle.

  　“Get back. I’ll deal with this,” commanded the rider.

  　Lunafreya shook her head in protest. This stranger was helping her when she could have kept going. If she hadn’t stopped, she might have gotten away safely. Lunafreya owed it to her to help fight.

  　“What, you gonna give me a hand, then?”

  　Lunafreya nodded. “Yes. I can fight.”

  　Inside, her confidence hardly measured up to her words. Would she truly be able to help against a daemon so ferocious? Still, she felt that she had to fight. The stranger might know how to hold her own, but she’d not yet witnessed the strength and terror of this daemon as Lunafreya had. This was not an opponent that could be taken down alone, without the aid of comrades.

  　To Lunafreya’s relief, the branch from the gravesite had rolled to a stop at her feet. Picking it up and hanging on to it had seemed somewhat silly at the time; now she thanked her past self from the bottom of her heart. But when she bent to retrieve it, the stranger gave a snort of disbelief. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.

  　“You’re gonna fight using that?” the stranger continued. “Is your head on straight? Look, just don’t get in my way, all right?”

  　Lunafreya recalled her lessons. Years ago, as part of her training as Oracle, she’d learned how to fight with a polearm. She gripped her branch, adopting the proper stance for a spear, readying herself for the coming battle.

  　Just do as you were taught, she told herself. Imagine that this branch is the Trident.

  　“Here it comes!” the stranger shouted.

  　A report from the shotgun drowned out Lunafreya’s response. The massive, writhing black form twisted in the air. Lunafreya jabbed at it with the branch, aiming for the incoming claws. She felt her blow land, then thrust again. Once more, she felt it firmly connect. Her hits were landing. She was helping―or so she thought. Then too many things were happening at once, and when she could again make sense of the world, it was her own body sprawled across the ground rather than the daemon’s.

  　She scrambled to her feet, flustered. The shotgun sounded again, from mere steps away. The daemon’s movements were unbelievably swift, and little of the weapon’s shot was finding its mark. Lunafreya leveled her branch and charged once more. If she could grab the daemon’s attention, she might provide her ally with an opening. Even a single moment might be enough.

  　A shock ran up both her arms and she let out a short cry of surprise. The branch, which should have been firmly in her grip, was spiraling away through the air, and the daemon’s claws were swiping in.

  　“No!” she cried out loud. And in her mind, I don’t want to die! I refuse to. Not here. Not without any answers! Not without managing to help!

  　Lunafreya flung both arms forward. She knew it was a futile gesture. This wasn’t some harmless beast that might be driven away with her bare hands. And yet she stretched forth her arms anyway, filled with all her will and determination not to give in to death.

  　She braced for the pain of being shredded apart, vividly recalling the agony she’d experienced before at the threshold of death. She shut her eyes.

  　The sensation that arrived was something else entirely.

  　“Shouldn’t I be . . . ?” she whispered to herself.

  　It was not pain. It was more of a tingling sensation, running from her fingertips up through her arms. When Lunafreya opened her eyes, the daemon was shrinking back, writhing as if in pain of its own.

  　“What happened?”

  　More reports from the shotgun, and the daemon’s accompanying roars of pain shook the surrounding dimness. It seemed she’d somehow succeeded in stopping the daemon’s movements, but she wasn’t quite sure how. It was all beyond comprehension.

  　But she decided to try once more. Whatever it was she’d done, she had some idea of the sensation that had accompanied it, and a vague sense of how to make it happen again. The daemon hung in the air, its motions slowed. She moved in close, fighting back the fear. This was not a time to hesitate. She extended her right hand, mind focused on the tips of her fingers.

  　Remember what you felt, she commanded herself, but there was hardly a need. It came again almost automatically. The same puzzling force flowed freely through her arm. There was no need to coax it forth―if anything, it was smothering, overbearing, as if with a will of its own. And now with it came a clear, deep ache, spreading from her chest to the pit of her stomach. Lunafreya held her breath and weathered the pain.

  　The gun sounded several more times, and the daemon was writhing on the ground. Its features began to blur.

  　We’re defeating it, Lunafreya thought to herself. It’s almost over.

  　The sensation in her arms shifted. Before, it was as if something was flowing through them. Now it was a far more disturbing feeling, as if hundreds of tiny insects were crawling about beneath her skin. A guttural noise tried to force its way through her gritted teeth.

  　The daemon continued to squirm on the ground. Just a little more, and it would be gone. There was a grating screech, like metal against metal. She’d see this monster dead. She swore it to herself.

  　“Hey!” the stranger shouted. “Ease up! You’re gonna get yourself killed!”

  　Lunafreya ignored the words of caution
and stretched her hands toward the daemon once more. She steeled herself against a growing nausea.

  　The stranger yelled, “Above you!”

  　Lunafreya looked up. The claws were bearing down. Too close. She wouldn’t be able to avoid them this time. The bluish-white scythes gouged deep into her upper arm. The pain ripped through her, an experience far worse than the crawling in her skin. And then, mere moments after delivering the devastating wound, the daemon dispersed into a spray of black particles. It was defeated.

  　The threat finally vanquished, Lunafreya’s tensed muscles relaxed. But her relief was cut short by another wave of crushing pain. She fell to her knees.

  　“Are you all right?!” the stranger shouted.

  　Lunafreya nodded a lie. No, she was not all right, not in any sense of the words. The agony of her wound consumed her. Bile rose in her throat.

  　“Hang on. I’ll find something to stop the bl―”

  　The stranger’s words cut short with an audible gasp of surprise. Lunafreya’s own breath caught, too. Blood should have been pooling below her arm, but the flow had already stopped. Instead, the gaping wound emitted a sickly purple glow, along with telltale black flecks. The skin closed over before their very eyes.

  　“What the hell just happened?” the stranger demanded, voice suddenly ripe with mistrust.

  　Lunafreya could hardly blame the woman. They’d both seen black flecks like that before. The sight of them could only lead to one line of thought: Miasma. Daemons. Suddenly Lunafreya was against the ground, the barrel of a pistol hard against her cheek.

  　“What are you? Some kind of monster?”

  　After what she’d observed of her own body, Lunafreya found it difficult to argue otherwise. Her silence brought a harsh jab of the gun.

  　“I asked you a question. What the hell are you? Answer me!”

  　Lunafreya didn’t know what to say. But if she failed to speak at all, her fate was apparent.