The slopes of the hill were a riot of color. Wildflowers of all hues rippled in the gentle breeze. Stark orbs of ripe fruit contrasted sharply with an overcast sky. Gnarled roots and unnaturally thick bushes intermingled on the ground; making travel by cart or horse impossible.

         It was singularly the most beautiful place Sonja had ever seen. Yet, her pale green eyes measured it with contempt. Thin, unpainted lips curled into a snarl as her grip tightened around her sabre. She was called ‘Pariarch’ now, her proving at the bottom of the sea a half-dozen years distant. A small cadre of Untouched answered her command, swords and revolving rifles their only defense against the perversions of Anima they were called to combat.

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