There was a wind blowing northwards as Meridian Village continued to combust, bringing smoke and embers to cloud the city and choke those within. The sun was only visible as a red circle rather than the joyful gold it had been a few hours ago, like it were a great eye enraged by what it saw, and the rest of the sky was a smoggy color. Well, the sky Avad could see; right now his vision was clouded by smoke and tears, his eyes felt like they were on fire and his lungs felt no better. He wanted to run across the bridge and find clear air, find somewhere drifting embers couldn't sting his skin, but he held back that base instinct.

He was the King of this city, this burning kingdom, and he had a responsibility to make sure as many civilians were found and evacuated as possible. Most were already making their way across the bridge, those who he knew weren't were trying to keep the elevator fires from spreading. The real problem were those who may have hid when the smoke came or the fighting started, most of them likely being children.

He could remember being a child, being helpless, having no way to fight back. When such was the case, the base human instinct was to run and hide. He hid from all sorts of things as a child, his own father not being the least among them. It gave him an advantage in finding hiding children, though; he knew intimately the sorts of places they might hide, places that offered some kind of reprieve or disconnect from the outside world, the kinds of places his brother or cousin might've found him tucked away in with a scroll.

So as as he led a final sweep about the city, he reminded the guards to check in these places. Under beds, closets or storage units that were out of the typical line of sight; rooftops, even, he had found at an early age were an excellent place to hide, much to Kadaman's pride and Fashav's fearful dismay. When most people were looking for something they tended not to look up, and if anyone else had discovered this and decided to hide upwards when the fighting started, they would be in even more danger of the smoke.

The defense had held for five hours, and broken roughly two hours ago. The cannons had given them an edge, and killing Helis had cut the head off the snake when it came to Eclipse, but ultimately Hades was the one in charge of the machines. The army was tireless, bloodless, and corrupted the very ground it marched on; mere contact with them caused horrible burns and blisters, and breathing in what they left behind caused illness and burned the lungs. Deathbringers and Corruptors could even eat the world around them.

The Shadow Carja, at least, were all but spent; there were prisoners being shuffled along the bridge along with the civilians. With the shock of losing Helis, the Kestrals had been routed easier than they should have been, some even surrendering when they saw the destruction of the city they had wanted so desperately to kill him over. In Shadow or no, they were still Carja.

He was glad to have evacuated the village the day before; most were sheltered up near the quarry by the main road now, which also doubled as the fallback point in a worse case scenario, and the city-folk would be joining them soon afterwards. There had been a few villagers who refused to leave or wanted to take up the sword instead, of course, there always would be. His father would have forced them out, but he knows the desperation to protect one's home and people, the drive to do something, and denying his people the ability to act on that drive would be like denying his own heart. He is not his father; they were free to make a stand, for better or worse.

The village had been alight within moments of the defense falling. General Uthid's detachment was quickly overrun, and the last news that reached them said that Aratak's werak was trying to bolster them, but after that the elevators had caught, and smoke started rising too thick from the village for anyone to see what was happening with certainty. Word is now that the whole village is ablaze, not a building untouched, and it was spreading to the forests and the maizelands. With the smoke so thick, anyone still in the city would likely be suffocated, hence the need for swift egress.

He tries desperately not to think about those who'd been part of the cannon brigade, and those who joined them; one in particular, especially. He listens to every casualty report, but he can't let himself start thinking about them, if he starts he might not be able to stop, and his people need him at his most clear-headed.

The smoke wasn't helping with that last part. His head was pounding in time with his wounds, now, just as well that they were finishing their sweep.

A loud, horrible noise from the edge of the mesa sets him running, he can hear cries of horror accompany it. When he gets there, hot smoke hits him in the face, and he nearly crashes into a fleeing civilian.

"What happened?" He demands, coughing. The smoke is so thick and his eyes water so badly he can barely make the man out.

"Elevators are gone." He wheezes. "We can't stay, smoke's killing us!"

"Get to the bridge, did others from the fire line come with you?" He asked, and he thinks the man shakes his head.

"I'm the last one." No more words are spoken between them; the smoke is just too oppressive. They flee with the soldiers for the bridge, and he prays that they didn't miss anyone. Joruf, the stubborn fellow, was waiting at the bridge for them. There were only a few others trickling across, it was just them and the Bridgeguard left.

"You're late!" The Osaram accuses. "You pull a stunt like that again, I swear-"

"By what? The good ale?" Avad reminds him. He scowls at his ruler. "How does the bridge look?"

"Most everyone's over, fire hasn't reached the forest beneath yet." Erend's stand-in reports. "But we aught to leave now, unless you've still the need for suicidal bravery."

"I have most of it out of my system, let's gather the Bridgeguard and make haste." He says. So they do just that, the Bridgeguard retreating from their posts and following as Avad and the others pass them. Once they are all over, he orders the now bridgless guard to watch their flank and help man the perimeter once they reached the quarry road.

The air is clearer here, but he still feels sick and hoarse. His eyes hurt terribly, and it feels like he's swallowed glass shards. There's a metallic taste in the back of his throat, he keeps coughing black phlegm as they make their way up the road, and he thinks his nose might be clogged with soot. He isn't the only one; two guards have to carry the man who he ran into near the elevators- or rather where they used to he- as he had collapsed upon making it over the bridge, like his body had given up once it realized it was safe. Joruf coughs almost constantly, and several of the soldiers who made the sweep with him sway or threaten to collapse as the civilian had.

He soon finds himself being hearded into a medical tent by Joruf once they reach the encampment. It's already crowded with people, filled with coughing and wheezing, the smell and steam of anit-inflamitory herbs being boiled in water filling the air like incense. One healer tells at them to keep the tent flap closed to the steam can't get out; it was the best way they could think to administer the treatment en masse with such a limited supply on hand.

He obeys when he's made to lay down in a cot, and asks for someone to bring him news of his brother. Itamen probably didn't know Helis was gone, if he could assure the six-year-old that the man who had spent the last two years terrorizing him, his mother, and trying to groom him into a tyrant was gone, he might be able to feel a little better about abandoning Meridian to flame and smoke. At some point he's made to take off his broken crown so the wounds on his face could be cleaned and stitched shut, and for all he cares it can stay off for the rest of his days.

His home is a warzone. The enemy, from what Aloy had told him, was almost beyond understanding, as were the steaks, and from the state of the village it was entirely possible that they had lost. Aloy had a countermeasure that could eliminate the threat- a Master Override, she had called it at some point- but she had been the only one with the technical expertise and tools to use it. If the defense had been wiped out, she was gone, and so was that countermeasure.

Aloy was dead, the Vanguard regulars who'd been with her were dead, if the village was anything to go by, Uthid's men and the Banuk might be dead, it was all down to Erend's company and the Nora, along with some Lodge members. If the cannons were nothing to Hades, if the desperate combined might of several tribes was nothing to Hades, what chance did his friend, some hunters, and the already weakened Nora war party have?

It was like a black hole opening up inside of him, the realization that the world was actually about to end. All the blood, sweat, and tears was going to be erased, if the Old Ones couldn't beat the World-Eaters, how could they? Everything he'd tried to do, everything he'd been through in an attempt to build a world with peace in it, a world where he could finally rest easy, where his little brother could grow up without a shadow of fear looming over him, none of it mattered anymore.

Avad hasn't felt this truly hopeless since the war, when similar black holes would open if he was left with his thoughts for too long. But this time, there's no Ersa pull him out of it, it's getting harder to breath, and there is literally no hope. This was the end of the line.

The tent flap waves in the corner of his vision, and when he dares to turn his head he sees his little brother, unmarred by smoke as the women and children had been the first ones to cross the bridge, faced scared and eyes wide.

"You fought Helis?" He was too young. He wasn't even seven, he was too young to die.

"He's gone." Avad manages to say, instead of 'It's all over, the world is ending'. "He's dead, he will never cause harm a-"

He doesn't get to finish; Itamen has tackled him, sobbing. It catches him off-guard, his brother was only four when he was taken, and didn't have many reliable memories of him(the only thing he remembers of Kadaman seemed to be the way he died). Thus, he'd treated Avad the same as he did any other adult who wasn't Nasadi or Vanasha, with weariness. It's been three years, adding the time he'd spent in exile, since he'd been hugged by a brother, and it catches him off guard.

"They said-and I-I thought you were dead." The child hiccups as Avad recovers enough to return the embrace. "I thought you were d-dead. He k-kills e-everyone!"

He couldn't say 'it's okay', because it wasn't. He couldn't say 'everything will be fine', because it won't. He can't lie to his brother in their twilight hours, he will not die a liar.

"I'm alive." He chokes out, because it's the only thing he can say right now that's both true and won't terrify a child.

How many people have died already today that he knew or wish he knew better? How many friends, few as his true friends numbered? Even if he knew for certain the answer, he would be joining their ranks shortly along with the rest of the world, as would any of those he cared about who were still alive. But he's locked in a tight hug with his brother and for a moment that's the only thing that matters.

Somehow, despite his burning throat and a six-year-old trying to squeeze the life out of him, breathing- paradoxically enough- becomes gradually easier.

The ground vibrates and rattles the cots. There's a great, horrible, cracking sound from outside, cries of fear and dismay mingled with it. The earth pitches, and for a second he thinks it's an earthquake, but he's felt earthquakes before and this isn't that. Something heavy hits the tent, someone screams, and he cannot ignore it. He sets his brother down, stands and draws his blade before heading outside despite the pain and his brother's protests.

He finds a Deathbringer shaking off rock and dust a mere three yards away, a red mist emanating from two modules on it's head. Itamen screams and pulls on his free hand desperately as the mist devours a soldier, and he dashes back into the tent on his own when the agonized screaming started. It didn't last long.

"They... eat life, as fuel. All life." Aloy chewed on her lip, as if worried he wouldn't believe her tale. But even the most imaginative of nightmares couldn't produce what she was describing, he looks into her eyes and could see only frightened truthfulness, the terror of someone who knew, with certainty, about an impending disaster. "From biggest tree to the smallest germ. Even... even people."

He can only watch with horror as Aloy's words come true, as the poor man is... liquified, for lack of a better word, and the energy is diverted up the stream of mist and into the components it originated from. People scream, flee, soldiers either freeze as he had or lost their nerve and ran. Someone starts firing arrows at the modules the mist comes from, but even as he watches, they fail to leave so much as a scratch, and the mist starts drifting hungrily towards the tent.

This breaks the spell of horror laid upon him. He turns and charges back into the tent, finds Itamen huddled under the cot he'd been laying on. He drags him out from under it.

"Itamen, we can't hide, we need to-" he turns to evacuate out of the flap and sees red mist leaking in, like seeking fingers. "To the back! Everyone to the back!"

He pushes through the terrified crush of people, pulling Itamen behind him, and when he reaches the back of the tent, he plunges his sword through the surprisingly tough fabric. He puts all his back into ripping downwards, and when he's done he beckons the others through. "Everyone out, grab the wounded and run! Joruf, take my brother, find Nasadi, and get them out of here."

"Aye, boss!" The Osaram salutes, jumping out and scooping up the boy.

"No! No! Avad!" He tries to block out his little brother's screaming as he helps the others through.

He was the King of this city, this dying kingdom, and he had a responsibility to make sure these civilians lived as long as possible, regardless of impending doom.

Panic sets in as the mist tickles the ankles of the people in the back. It suddenly occurred to him that, like any predator, if it had something to chew on, it might be slowed down, the others might have more time to get out. He had no evidence that this was even a possibility.

It turned out that sacrifice- real sacrifice, not Jiran's notion of it- was thoughtless. There was no choice. There was instinct, and action.

He shoves his way to the back of the group and sticks his left hand into a band of red trying to snatch at a a woman's hair. Someone screams, it feels like something is tugging is hand, his arm. People shove past him in increased panic as the mist wraps around his hand and arm, and...

Scatters to the ground. Like a million metal grains of sand. There is a loud, metallic crash and thump outside. The smell of the boiled herb is still wafting through the air, but the steam is escaping, and the last of the civilians flees through his forcibly made exit.

For a few moments, all he can do is blink stupidly at his hand. Hair near his elbow was missing, his skin got redder the further towards his hand it was. Specks of blood start welling all across his hand, like every inch of it had been stabbed by a million needles. He still had his nails, but they look like they've been scraped thin by sandpaper. He hasn't been burned, nothing has been ripped off, it's just... absent.

He spends a solid ten seconds looking at his hand, and then the pain finally hits. It feels like a burn. He gasps. The pinpricks of blood have welled into a slick glove of red, and it starts to drip onto the rock and dirt. It's like he's been stung by a million bees, a horrible throb that gets gets worse with every heartbeat. He's lucky he's in a medical tent, improvised or not, and equally lucky he knows his way around one enough to find clean cloth to wrap his hand in. He wraps it tighter than he could stand, wraps it again, and grabs more in case it bleeds through before rushing out the flap.

His heart is racing and the new source of pain has made his breath short again. All around, people are peeking out of hiding places, and cautious soldiers shuffle forwards with bows drawn taught. The Deathbringer is slumped, like it's dead. Maybe it is, or maybe it's temporary.

"Who killed it?" He demands, not seeing any signs of damage on the hulking terror.

"Noone, it just stopped on it's own." A nearby soldier tells him. Hope was so much brighter when one had just recently lost it. Died on it's own. Maybe... Was it possible? After all the disasters of today, was it possible?

Despite pain in his throat, the poor cooperation of his lungs, the bruises from the battle in the temple, and the intensifying throb of his hand, Avad runs down the road, all on a whim, a chance. A chance to see if this new hope is real. He makes it to the hill overlooking his city. Smoke shrouds it almost completely from view, and plumes into the sky so thickly even Ban-Ur could probably see it. The maizelands have caught, and he has to force down a part of his mind that's already worrying about a thin winter.

He peers through the smoke, trying to see the Spire, but he can only barely see the eastern edge of the Alight. There's nothing bright in the sky, not even(mercifully) one of the corrupted Stormbirds or Glinkhawks. Before the battle, each line of defense had been given flares, one to signal imminent failure, the other to signal victory. Aloy had a separate one meant to signal she had successfully deployed her countermeasure against Hades.

But with smoke this thick, he wasn't sure the flares would be visible from any of the potential battlefields they might be on-

A streak of bright yellow arcs high into the air from the east cliff of the Alight and it flares like hope at the peak of it's flight.

Aloy.

Another flare follows soon after, red for victory, and in that moment, he can't breath for an entirely different reason. Several soldiers catch up with him, and they fix their gazes on the flares glowing through the smoke.

"We... we won?" The young man next to him rasps.

Those flares meant they won. Those flares meant Aloy was alive, meant there might be other survivors from the cannon defences, meant that Erend might be alive. Those flares meant the world wouldn't be eaten, that this wasn't their twilight hour anymore. They would live. There was a future again.

"Yes." He gasps, overcome with the sheer relief, the joy of having a future open to him, to his brother and his people. In his overexcitment, he pulled the soldier into a hug. "We won! We won!"

Mostly what I did here was make things a little more realistic, but I also felt the need to add some more suspense. Letting Avad nearly get slurped up by a Faro bot brings more emphasis to how close a call it truly was for some folks when Aloy shut Hades down, and his injury doubles as a narrative tool that could be used to make some angst for Aloy. Nothing messes with a character more than a visual reminder that someone they know would have been turned into biofuel stew if they'd been a few moments slower.

Let me know what you all think! I live off feedback.

Fare Thee Well!