The End of Novo

In the thick silence of night, beneath the weight of darkness and dread, two women crept toward the forest that encircled the burning village of Novo like a great sleeping beast. Their feet, bare and bruised, scraped over twigs and roots. Every step forward was an act of defiance against the fate that hunted them.

Vashti’s heart thudded in her chest. The scent of smoke clung to her skin and hair, a reminder that their home, their people, and everything they once knew was turning into ash. The cries of villagers still echoed in her ears, twisted by wind and distance. Novo, once filled with music and the murmur of sacred rituals, was now consumed by fire, blood, and betrayal.

But the forest? The forest was worse.

Dark, ancient, and alive, it whispered of things far more terrifying than men with swords. Yet that was where they ran. There was no other path left.

“FIND HER!” a voice thundered from behind them.

The sudden clash of swords and the crackling of broken branches splintered the quiet. The sound of men crashing through the undergrowth drew closer. Vashti stumbled, her body freezing mid-step. She grabbed Rem’s arm. Her fingers trembled violently.

Panic surged like a flood.

“Rem…” Vashti gasped, her voice cracking like thin ice. “Rem, I can’t—I can’t do this.”

Both of them halted, unsure where to turn. The underbrush offered no cover. The trees, once a sacred refuge of spirits, now stood like silent judges.

Then Vashti dropped to her knees, then to her side, curling into herself as though she could disappear by becoming smaller, less real. Her voice was a whisper of devastation.

“Kill me,” she said.

Rem blinked, horrified.

“Please,” Vashti pleaded, “don’t let them take me back. I’d rather die than be dragged back to Azah. I’d rather die than live as a broken thing in a golden cage.”

Rem dropped beside her, clutching her by the shoulders. “My lady, no. Don’t say that. You must live. You must live so the truth lives. If you die now, everything ends.”

Vashti didn’t seem to hear. Her fingers dug into the dirt. “Please, Rem... I’m begging you…”

Rem’s own courage was beginning to unravel. She didn’t know what would kill them first—Azah’s men, the forest, or the sky that had started to burn. But she held onto one truth: Vashti must not die here. Not like this.

“My lady… please…” she whispered.

Then Vashti’s eyes lifted, caught by something above.

“They’re beautiful,” she murmured, her voice soft, almost childlike.

Rem followed her gaze.

Above them, the sky was weeping stars.

Dozens—no, hundreds—of fiery balls shot down from the heavens, carving trails of golden flame across the firmament. It was as if Vathala, the god of beginnings, had split open the dome of night and poured forth judgment in light and fire.

The sight struck them still.

One of the meteoric flares struck a tower at the village’s edge. It erupted in a thunderous bloom of flame. More fireballs rained down, illuminating the treetops, revealing glints of eyes—some human, some not—watching from the darkness.

Rem’s mouth fell open. “What is happening?” she whispered, shaking. “Vathala… help us…”

She pulled Vashti again, trying to find a direction—any direction. The heat was rising. The fire was not content to devour the village; it had begun to crawl toward the forest. Smoke curled like fingers, slithering around trunks and roots.

Suddenly, they stumbled upon an old stone structure half-sunken into the earth—a well.

Ahab’s Well.

The cursed well, long abandoned, where whispers were said to come out of the depths, not water. No one drew from it. Children were forbidden to play near it. Some said it was where the first betrayal of Mahganda was sealed.

But tonight, it was water or death.

Rem fell to her knees beside it. A broken, moss-covered vase lay discarded in the dirt. She grabbed it, plunged it into the black pool, and scooped out what little water she could. It smelled of iron and decay—but it was cold.

She splashed Vashti’s face, then her own. The water stung her eyes but grounded her in the moment. She had no choice.

Then Vashti coughed violently. Her body heaved. She vomited onto the ground, the bile mixing with dirt and ash. Her cries were raw, a wounded animal’s wail. Rem wept too, silently, exhausted and furious at the cruelty of this world.

Then the voices came again.

“THEY ARE HERE! NEAR AHAB’S WELL!”

Rem froze. Her pulse roared in her ears.

“No! Not there!” someone shouted.

“We can’t!”

“Lure them away from the well—!”

“AHHHHH!”

“What the—?!”

Chaos. Confusion. Screams.

Something was happening near the well. Something was wrong. Even the warriors seemed afraid.

That was when Rem saw them—two men from Novo stepping into the clearing, blades drawn, eyes sharp. They moved like wolves scenting blood.

Vashti’s eyes widened in terror. Rem stepped in front of her.

“Run,” she whispered. “Run, my lady. Please. You must live.”

Vashti shook her head. “Not without you.”

Rem forced the vase of water into her hands. “This is sacred now. This will carry your memory. Go!”

And then, without another word, Rem ran toward the warriors.

“No! REM!” Vashti screamed, but it was too late.

One warrior raised his blade. Rem didn’t flinch. She launched herself into him, knocking him back. She didn’t fight to win—only to buy a heartbeat more of time.

Vashti stumbled to her feet. Her legs screamed in pain, but she ran toward them. “I won’t let you die! Not for me!”

And then they all looked up.

The fireball was the largest yet. It wasn’t falling—it was diving, spinning like the wrath of a god.

Time slowed.

For one endless second, all sound vanished—no wind, no screams, no breath. The fire consumed the sky. It was beautiful.

It struck the earth in a blinding inferno, right where the well had been.

The explosion cracked the forest open.

Trees split in half. The ground buckled. A wave of heat surged in every direction, flattening everything in its path.

Everyone screamed.

But not Vashti.

She stood in the midst of it, eyes wide, mouth slightly open. Her hair flew wildly around her, her robes scorched. The fire danced in her eyes. It licked her skin but did not burn her.

She felt something awaken inside her—a voice that had always been there, quiet until now.

“Thank you, Vathala,” she whispered. “Thank you for remembering me.”

Behind her, the village howled in agony. The sky wept light and wrath. Her captors screamed in terror. Somewhere in the blaze, the spirit of Rem flew free.

And Vashti stood in the center of it all—drenched in sweat and ash, holding a broken vase full of cursed water, reborn by fire.

She did not run.

She did not hide.

She walked into the blaze.

Not as a captive.

But as something else.

Something more.

"Thank you, Vathala." then Vashti let the fire consume her.