Work Text:
How Edgeville still stands, I have no clue.
Ash falls like snow. Our homes burn ceaselessly, no water spells voluminous enough to staunch the flames.
We still have no idea how many are dead.
It was late when it happened. I had closed up shop, but I was still working.
I should’ve known something was wrong when the crickets went quiet.
An explosion sent a quake through my workshop, and my alembic toppled to the floor, shattering. I shouted something I’ll not write here and ran outside, half-done potion still in hand.
At first I thought it was that basement-dweller - Dave - up to no good again.
I was wrong.
Fire coated the guardhouse roof, dripping down to the dry grass and spreading like a flood.
I turned to go back inside, but a viscous missile of that same fire screamed past me and engulfed my home in an instant.
And then, I heard the screams.
Screams from above, drowning out those of my neighbors.
Pained.
Cathartic.
Triumphant.
Inhuman.
I ran.
It was all I could do.
The monastery was too far.
The gutted ruins at the end of the main street, and the coffins inside, were closer.
My potion slipped from my fingers as I wedged myself in between stone and a long-forgotten corpse. Lantadyme precipitate splashed on stone was the last thing I saw before I let the coffin lid fall.
I lay there, holding my breath when I could, until the screaming stopped.