Tennebris slept well. Thoroughly enjoying her nights rest, and the warm sun slowly lending its light to the alcove. It wasn’t until well into the morning before she stirred. She lazily rose from her comfortable bedroll, which was truly the only luxury she had, if you could even call it that. The first thing to hit her senses was the waves crashing softly nearby. The next thing she noticed was the salty scent of the ocean breeze that was gently blowing through her hideout. She wished so badly that she could live a different life If she could live out her days in comfort in a place like this, she absolutely would.

  Right about then, is when everything came back to her. The horrors of last night rang out in her head as if the bells from a church striking noon. The stink of dead bugs, the metallic tang of blood as bodies piled high on top of bodies, the acrid smell of smoke. Seeing the puddles of blood splash as she sprinted through them the only thing in her mind, survival.

  She found herself hyperventilating before remembering she was safe. Maybe not forever, but at least for now. She leaned her back against the wall, sliding down to the ground, hiding behind her knees, resting her forehead on them. “I need to get a hold of myself. There are surely people who need me.”

  Gathering up the courage to face the day, she once again got to her feet, stretching and releasing the tension she felt aching in her muscles. Suddenly, she was assaulted by a sweet, musky odor emanating from nearby. “Oh gross, that’s me?” She couldn’t remember when the last time she had bathed was, and now was as good of a time as any. She waded into the ocean shortly after loosing her armor and attempting to wash the dirt and grime off her. She knew she would be getting much dirtier as she jumped into the cleanup effort, but not having to smell herself would be a start.

  As she rose from the cold water and walked back to her alcove, she sought out her change of clothes that she had inside, along with a small backpack that held exactly one torch, and a waterskin. An empty waterskin much to her chagrin. It was upon this discovery that she sighed, and changed into her clean clothes, laying out her now clean, but wet clothes out to dry in the sun.

  Before she went to the Lower District, she wanted to go to the gates, the main square where she had fought the Chitinous Horror, as she had begun to call them. She wanted to make her way there to pay her respects to those who had fallen in their effort to protect the city. She had no idea what awaited her, but she knew she owed to them, at least this one small token. She had stowed her arrows and bow in the cave, just in case she would need it later, only somewhat feeling the pain of regret as the memories of last night teased her mind.

  She moved with somber reverence, stepping carefully over debris, her gaze sweeping over the scene, scanning still forms to make sure they didn’t suddenly stir. Some of these bodies were so horribly mangled that they’re completely unrecognizable. Still, she needed to know that the guards she saved last night made it out alive. That at least something meaningful could come out of last night’s horrors.

  As she arrived at the square, she took a deep breath in, scanning the area. She was met with a few tense moments of silence, then, a wave of relief, albeit brief, washed over her. Neither of the guards she fought with were among these silent sentinels. Their fates were unknown at this time, but they did not fall here. “Thank the gods.” She whispers to herself, uttering a silent prayer of gratitude to whomever was listening.

  Now making her way to the Lower District as it was called, named such for its populace being made up entirely of those of the lower class, people like Tennebris. She knew many of these people, and frequented it often as the nearby well, long since dried up, was the main access point of the criminal underbelly. It was through this underbelly that Tennebris would make her money. It was a paltry sum and was usually not worth the risk. It was, however, the only skill she could figure out how to monetize. The only alternative being her other natural assets that is. That part of her life was behind her, unwilling to return to it.

  If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

  She was an attractive Diabli, sporting ears that shot to point like an elf’s do, but going sideways, perpendicular to her head. In some Diabli societies, she had heard that the more piercings you could fit on your ears, the higher caste you were born to.

  Tennebris, even though her ears went slightly wider than normal Diabli, elected not to believe this and chalked it up to nonsensible drivel, dreamt up by ignorant children. Her pale, milky white skin was considered a mark of beauty among every race. Every race except Diabli, that is, who in fact that desired a rich, bright red.

  As she continued walking, she was keeping an eye out for more overturned bread carts, hoping to swoop in on another unguarded loaf. She was putting her hair in a simple braid. Doing so to keep it out her face as she worked. Her long, wavy, black hair intertwined in her fingers. She did what she could to keep up with it, the only thing she held any sort of vanity about. It was down to her waist at this point, and usually when other girls she knew got their hair to this length, it was matted, dirty, or unkempt. She would be different as this was the only real thing she ever did for herself and stayed on top of it regularly; while she wouldn’t hang onto a bow, she would always have a hairbrush.

  As she arrived in the slums, she was shocked. The Lower District never was the shining gem of the city, being rundown, messy, and poorly maintained. This, however, was unreal. As she had made her way to slums, the chaos had shifted from direct assault to the more insidious damage of looting and neglect. The sight of it was reminiscent of the war stories that tavern drunks would tell while staring into the bottom of their empty mugs, almost getting hypnotized by it before catching herself. Hearing those stories was one thing, but what she was seeing now was shocking. She stared intently at the stack of dead bodies, hoping- no, praying that she didn’t recognize any of them. As the lifeless bodies met her gaze one by one, it took longer than it should have for the pang of realization to hit her. Standing in a puddle of blood, guts, and viscera, she jumped back in horror.

  Yet, amidst the destruction, she saw the first signs of resilience. Small groups of people, their faces grim but determined, were already beginning to tend to the wounded. Salvaging what they could from the wreckage and rubble, A sense of communal grief and tentative hope hung heavily in the air.

  While she did not recognize any of these poor souls, between the piles of bodies, and the groups of people coming together, she still felt a sense of loss. Remorse and sorrow swirled into one and overtook her emotions. Something she never really had allowed previously.

  It was time to get to work. She started by clearing the rubble, making piles of rock at first, then clearing bricks and making separate piles. Soon, she started gathering broken, splintered, and burnt wood, placing it all neatly nearby. Some of these boards had nails in them that, due to her carelessness, had stabbed her before she learned to be more cognizant of them. Setting them aside as well, she toiled tirelessly, putting her mind to work, blocking everything else out.

  She threw herself in the grueling task, her dexterous abilities keeping her light on her feet, even as fatigue set in. Moving from location to location was only as tiring as lifting the objects were. With the scene here being her motivation, she kept working. Her efforts met with weary, but warm grateful nods. It was more gratitude than she had seen in a long time- maybe ever.

  As the day wore on, the sun climbing higher in the bruised sky, a sense of camaraderie began to solidify among the disparate groups. A collapsed heavy support beam, cracked in half, was the nearest debris to her. Putting everything she had left into lifting it. Heaving and grunting, empowered once again by some unseen force, just like the night of the rooftop battle.

  Perhaps it was some ancestral guidance, perhaps the souls of the departed lending her the last bit of their strength. Tennebris didn’t want to give energy to either of these thoughts, instead electing to focus on the grand task in front of her. As she hoisted the beam onto her shoulder and dropped it on the lumber pile nearby, a stooped old woman, with eyes sharp despite her age, caught her attention.

  “You’ve a good arm, missy,” she rasped a rare flicker of a smile on her lips. “Not many come here to help without bein’ asked. Not these days.” She gestured vaguely towards the more affluent part of the city. Her words hung in the air, a subtle acknowledgment of her efforts, and the unspoken divides within the city.

  “It is in times of need that kindness needs be silent. I may not have been involved in the destruction, but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t come together to do what we can.” After saying this, she quietly dropped her gaze to the ground, remembering the two guards from the defense of the square.

  “Aye missy,” the woman murmured, her voice softer now, “you speak truth. Kindness, silent or otherwise, is a rare coin. Many would rather watch the world burn than lift a finger.” She sighed, a fragile sound amidst the creak of shifting timbers. “This ain’t just our squabble, though, is it? Those… things… they came for all of us. And more will come, mark my words. This city’s wounds run deeper than shattered stone.” She then turns back to the rubble, picking up a smaller stone and adding it to a growing pile, her movements weary but persistent.