Nila spread out a large map of Plegia across his kitchen table, the Justice Brigadiers gazing inquisitively at the parchment.

"So the five of you are looking for a Plegian border town, am I correct?" Nila asked, turning his gaze to the very easternmost side of the map.

"That's right," Matt responded, opening a small envelope he had hidden within his black leather pants. "Says here that they lost their protector entity. Fool didn't write down the town name though."

"Wait!" Nila exclaimed, turning to the massive wall of a man, "Say that again."

"Fool didn't write down the—"

"No, not that. Before that."

"… Protector entity?"

"Precisely. You say you're looking for a Plegian border town, guarded by a protector entity… Most likely a manakete? I don't know how you managed to come so far inland, but I know exactly which town you're looking for."

Nila laid the tip of his finger on one tiny dot, which lay very close to the Ylissean border. The members of the Justice Brigade gathered around, their eyes fixated on where Nila's finger was pointing.

"Abnorun."

Lester nodded, a grave expression written across his face. His eyes stared with a passivity all too common of him.

"I… see. It is safe to assume that Ylisstol has fallen as well, I suppose?"

Esthara nodded, sharing the same expression as the paladin. She was undoubtedly scarred by the events that had taken place around her recently, and now she found herself lost in the middle of a tundra without the comforting gaze of her professor watching over her.

"Yes. That is what the professor said," Esthara spoke, her voice merely a whisper against the raging winter storm.

"I understand. Kairos is a great man, and he has assisted myself and many others in times of need. I have no doubt that he is working as diligently as he can to restore Ylisse to order."

Esthara's interest piqued at the mention of her mentor, and her blank expression dissolved into that of inquiry.

"Oh? From where do you know him, Sir Lester?"

Lester held his hand up dismissively.

"Just Lester is suitable, thank you. I met him when I was down on my luck about a year ago. He cared for me for several days, managed to give me an audience with Exalt Spes, and disappeared afterwards."

Esthara nodded, gray eyes shining.

"That sounds like something he would do. He may be mysterious, but he is quite generous."

"And a fine mentor, I would assume," Lester added, a small smile creeping onto his face.

"And that as well."

Silence fell upon the makeshift campsite, only the sounds of Ranofer's snoring rising above the fierce winds. Nearby, Desmond slept, still propped up against Ranofer's gently rising and falling side. Brooks and Samuel held smalltalk while drinking some freshly prepared tea that they discovered in the cart's food store.

Pouring himself a cup of hot water from the kettle atop the roaring fire, Lester broke the heavy barrier of silence.

"What brings you up all this way? You were tasked with informing me of Ylisstol's fall, but I doubt that is your only purpose for venturing up here."

Esthara swallowed a mouthful of Ylissean green tea, setting her cup aside by the fire. She turned to face Lester, her glowing expression faded.

"Kairos tasked me with going to Arena Ferox, and meeting you there. But I suppose both of us encountered some difficulty on the way."

Esthara glanced to her damaged wagon, whose front axle had fallen off while the rest was nearly halfway buried in snow. The canvas covering the cart caved in slightly where snow was beginning to pile up.

"Indeed," Lester said simply, letting the conversation drop. Silence once again fell upon the campsite, as Samuel and Brooks had retreated to safe spots out of reach of the wind to rest. The paladin and novice tactician followed suit after exchanging neutral goodnights, Lester laying a sleeping bag behind a particularly large stone and Esthara retreating inside the damaged wagon.

The heavy snowstorm began to wane as the night carried on further, the howling gale and fog no more than distant memories of a night long gone. Only a light snowfall remained, and with it a peaceful silence.

Esthara stretched as she laid in the makeshift bed of fur pelts she had crafted, her cloak over her shivering body in lieu of a blanket. The course of events over her day had been interesting to say the least, having spent the entirety of it in a cramped cart with Naga fanatics. Esthara too loved the goddess, but she quickly learned over the course of her day that most indoctrinated into the cult were not quite as mentally stable as most church-goers.

Her hometown of Celemis was situated well north of the Ylissean capital, making the journey northward surprisingly quick with the assistance of the modest weather the morning before. Their group reached the border and passed without a hitch, but were ambushed well outside the gate by figures dressed in West Feroxian attire. They were without a doubt Eastern infiltrators based on their fighting patterns, that much was obvious to her.

The cultists were routed quickly after the attack, and Esthara was able to stay hidden underneath the large stash of furs that they brought with them. What the cultists needed with wolf pelts she couldn't say, but they were effective in keeping herself hidden.

"And warm, too," Esthara thought as she buried herself deeper in the pile of pelts. Fortunately, the Feroxian attackers neglected to salvage the wagon's supplies, leaving the vehicle—and more importantly the furs—all to herself. The horse pulling the cart, however, met an untimely end at the hands of a battleaxe, so the tactician was forced to push the cart to a safer position away from the main road.

Thanks to that genius train of thought, the front axle of the wagon was destroyed and the rest of it was buried in a ditch. Without a form of transportation, Esthara had few options left to toy with. She couldn't very well call for help in the Feroxian wilderness, or even in Ylisse if the professor's suspicions were accurate, and the roads weren't particularly suitable for travel at the moment either. The professor had also neglected to give her formal instructions for what to do after finding Lester, so—

"Esthara," a voice spoke, forcibly dragging her back to reality. Lester appeared from behind the canvas wall of the covered wagon, his expression still as neutral and unblinking as it had been minutes ago aside the campfire.

"Lester. What brings you here?" Esthara asked, sitting upright and letting some of the piled furs spill off to either side. A sharp gust of freezing wind suddenly blew through the cart, causing the tactician to wrap her removed cloak around her torso.

"I must ask you something. I had forgotten while we conversed near the fire, but I am afraid it cannot wait until dawn."

"Oh? Speak your mind."

"I… well…" Lester began to stammer, his eyes darting from side to side. "Would you mind… sleeping somewhere else tonight?"

Esthara scowled angrily, and clutched a nearby fur pelt to her chest.

"If you think you're taking my furs, you have another thing coming!"

"N-No, no, it's not that," Lester stuttered, holding his hands up to his sides defensively. "It will be difficult to fix the wagon if you are sleeping in it. Not to mention how unbearably loud it certainly be."

Taken aback, Esthara managed to say, "Y-you can actually fix this thing? Do we even have the right tools?"

"Of course," Lester nodded, his expression unchanging, "I'm familiar with this make of wagon, so the storage should be…"

Lester stepped onto the cart, pushing various items aside until he revealed a trapdoor at the cart's center.

"…right here." Lester released the latch and opened the massive door, digging around inside briefly before pulling out a large wooden beam and a metallic box.

"It's wise to carry a spare axle, and those cultists were very much so. Quite strange," he added, throwing a glance to the fur pelts strewn around the interior, "But quite wise."

Lester hoisted the massive axle onto his right shoulder while carrying the toolbox in his free hand. He took cautious steps towards the opening at the front of the cart before hopping out onto the snowy ground.

"Can you carry all of that on your own, Lester?" Esthara fretted, clutching a fur to her chest tightly to ward of the cold.

"Absolutely," the paladin responded, setting the two objects down next to the front end of the cart. "I'm already finished. If you don't mind, could you fetch the snow chains from the storage compartment?"

Esthara nodded before retreating back into the wagon, emerging with four sets of chains moments later.

"Ah, excellent," the paladin praised, taking the heavy iron from her grasp and laying atop the pile of maintenance equipment. As he began to survey his tools, a thought seemed to run across his mind. He turned back to the young tactician.

"May I ask you something, Esthara?"

As Esthara pulled the last of the furs from the cart, she tilted her head quizzically at the paladin.

"Of course. Ask away."

Lester nodded, offering her a stern, yet comforting gaze.

"I will not prevaricate. Esthara, we need you to lead us."

Taken by surprise, Esthara's eyes widened as she dropped several of her furs into the snow.

"W-why?" she stammered, "You seemed to get along okay at the gate. You're a capable leader."

"No. I am not," Lester admitted, tearing his gaze away from her's, "I abandoned Brooks and Samuel as I charged blindly into the fog. If Samuel had not discovered he could control magic, they surely would have perished."

The paladin turned back to Esthara, his gaze burning intensely.

"If you are one of Kairos' top students, as you say, it would be my honor to follow your command into battle." Lester lowered himself onto one knee, his head bowed low in respect.

A light breeze began to pick up as Esthara stood in silence, holding a comical amount of fur pelts and staring at the kneeling paladin.

"You're certain about this?" Esthara asked hesitantly, "I actually haven't experienced real combat before. I've sparred with my peers, but never anything real. Am I ready?"

Lester tilted his head up, still not breaking his kneel.

"Samuel was in the same position as you earlier this evening. He did very well, considering the circumstances. And I believe you can too."

Esthara gave a small, close-lipped smile at the paladin's praise. She nodded once before saying, "Then I believe it is settled. I would be happy to lead you."

"And I'm sure any of us would be proud to follow you." Lester stood, standing noticeably taller than the young tactician. He held his hand out before shaking Esthara's firmly.

"Now, where am I supposed to sleep tonight?"

The wind rushed violently against Nila's face as he soared through the sky atop Chast's pegasus. The rolling dunes of sand below seemed to create an abstract painting of beige that melted away into a sea of endless blue sky. A sharp gust of wind buffeted Nila's chest, causing the tactician to grip the Falcon Knight's waist tightly.

"Are you sure this is safe?" Nila yelled, his voice barely carrying over the deafening squall. Chast turned, giving him a knowing, comforting gaze.

"It'll be fine, dear. Owar is one of the smoothest fliers born in the past decade. Just hold on tight."

Nila guessed that she let out a small giggle judging by her facial expression, but whatever sound may have been produced was lost to the wind. Nila sighed, and looked up to Matt's massive wyvern gliding gracefully above them. The wyvern was capable of carrying much more weight than the pegasus, effortlessly bearing the weight of not only the other four Brigadiers, but the entire group's camping supplies as well. Since Nila weighed the least and had the lightest weapons and armor of the three, he was chosen to ride with Chast in place of Marius.

"We can fly to Abnorun," Matt had said, jovial as ever. "It'll be much quicker than marching on foot."

"That's how we got here, after all," Valkus had chimed in, in the midst of equipping her suit of armor. "It's a surefire way to avoid the desert heat, if anything."

"How fast can your mounts fly?" Nila had asked, tracing a line from the red X marking his library on the map to the black dot labeled Abnorun at Plegia's border. "We're looking at least a week's march on foot if we don't run into any sandstorms. Bandit activity has been high in the heart of the desert as well. It may take as long as two on ground."

"Fast enough," Matt had responded, clapping the tactician on the back, nearly knocking him over and onto the scorching sand. "Trust us. We'll get you there in style."

"Style indeed," Nila thought, immediately being lurched into the air by a rough patch of turbulence. Nila buried his face in Chast's back as to not lose his grip on the Falcon Knight.

"Having fun, Nila?" a voice spoke, rising over the rushing winds. It appeared to his left side, distorted by winds that were no longer there. However, as Nila soon began to notice, the winds had disappeared completely, the air becoming deadening almost instantly. Nila struggled for breath as the flat air began to thin, the midday sun faded into a black disk as the surroundings adopted a foreboding darkness. Either Chast didn't notice or wasn't concerned enough to mention anything, as she continued to guide Owar through the eerily calm sky without a care.

"You look like you're having an absolutely fantastic time," the voice continued mockingly. "I wish I was up there with you in the clouds, at risk of falling at the drop of a hat… But wait, I actually am!"

"You," Nila responded, the voice all-too familiar to him. "What do you want?"

"Oh, nothing!" it gasped in mock surprise. "Nothing at all. I just thought I'd drop by and pay you a visit. It's been far too long, you know."

"Please. You were there when these people were asking me to come with them and you know it. Don't think I didn't hear you in my thoughts."

"You know me all too well," the disembodied voice remarked. If it had a mouth, it probably would have smiled, albeit insincerely. "After all, you are me…"

"No you're—"

"Of course I am," it interrupted, asserting dominance over the conversation. "Why else would you call me 'Other Nila,' then? Hmm?"

"Alright, fine," Nila conceded, his eyes closing tightly. What the voice said was true, as Nila had coined the term 'Other Nila' due to the fact that its voice was strikingly similar to his own. Nila was silent for a moment before demanding, "What do you want this time? You always do have a reason for showing up."

"Finally, some measure of respect out of you. Now, you're in the perfect position, Nila. Grip Ashen's hilt for me."

Almost unconsciously, Nila moved his right arm from Chast's waist to the brown, leatherbound hilt of his dark, jagged blade. At his touch, magical energy began to flow through the violet veins of the weapon.

"Excellent," Other Nila praised, "Now, plunge the blade through her soft, white neck. Bury the sword in her supple flesh. Do it."

Other Nila's voice became increasingly demanding, as if time was of essence. This, however, was not the first time Other Nila carried murderous intentions.

"No," Nila exclaimed, his grip loosening on Ashen. The sparks running across the dark metal of the blade immediately began to die as Ashen returned to its resting state. "Why would I do that? Chast is—"

"An evil, terrible person," Other Nila finished, "You're absolutely right. She's out to get you. They all are."

"They all are," The phrase echoed all around him, and began to bounce around on the inside of his skull. Other voices materialized within his mind, repeating the phrase continuously.

"Trust no one."

"No! Shut up, dammit!"

As Nila spat the last of his words out, the darkness enveloping him seemed to race back into the black hole of a sun, as if it was frightened. The air began to move in violent currents once again, and the sun seemed to flip over like a coin to reveal the comforting yellow disk once again. It was over.

Nila took a breath and looked back up, only to meet Chast's gaze concern in her vibrant red eyes.

"…Dear? Are you okay?" she asked worriedly, taking both reins in one hand as she held the tactician's shoulder. "You just started shouting…"

"Huh? Oh, yes. I'm quite alright," Nila insisted, "Just fine."

Chast didn't seem convinced—Nila wouldn't be either after that pathetic excuse for a cover-up—but she took the tactician at his word before taking up Owar's reins in both hands once again.

"Just let me know if something is the matter, alright?"

Nila laid the side of his head against Chast's back, nodding once. The gale winds seemed to blow more comfortingly as Nila let sleep carry him back into the darkness of his mind.

"Is it fair to regret my every action last night?"

Lester lay inside the cart he had repaired the previous night atop Esthara's pile of furs, his armor cast to the side hastily revealing a simple back shirt and thin, light gray pants. Esthara sat at his side, buried in a book.

"I don't think you should," she said flatly, her eyes not looking up from the text, "It was thanks to you that you got us moving again. Get some rest."

"But I cannot, I still have to—"

"Get some rest, big guy," Desmond interjected, turning from his perch atop Ranofer, "We'll hold down the fort while you're down and out."

"But—"

"I'm the tactician, remember?" Esthara interrupted, looking up from her book, "You're going to need the rest if we're ambushed by bandits tonight. Go on, get some sleep."

Lester fought for words to use in argument, but none immediately came to mind. The paladin sighed, burying his face in a warm fur.

"I… fine. But at the first sign… of danger… make sure to—"

Lester's head fell, hitting a fur pelt with a muffled thud before he could so much as finish his sentence.

Esthara giggled and set her book atop a crate. She laid a thin blanket over the unconscious paladin before moving to the front of the cart and sat at the opening, her legs dangling freely.

"Lonely up here?" she asked the white-haired taguel, who glanced back with a smile before turning back to the snow-covered path before him.

"Maybe," he answered, smiling slyly. "Are Brooks and Samuel still asleep?"

Esthara nodded, but soon vocalized an affirmation after she realized Desmond was facing the opposite way.

"Lester repaired the wagon quite well, didn't he?" she added, rapping the wooden boards with her knuckles. "I never imagined that we might have this thing moving again."

"He's quite the guy, isn't he?" Desmond replied, "Must have learned a lot in the Blackwood court."

"Did you just say 'Blackwood?'" Esthara inquired, her interest piqued. "I've heard of them. Weren't they…"

"All killed. Yeah." Desmond's voice, barely a murmur, was almost lost upon the light breeze.

"Lester must be taking it quite hard."

Desmond winced, as if someone kicked him in the gut. Esthara knew she was treading on thin ice by approaching this topic.

"He doesn't really talk about it much," he stated, choosing his words carefully, "But for the most part, I think he's put it behind him. For better or for worse."

"But some things can never be forgotten, I suppose," Esthara contemplated, her thoughts unintentionally vocalizing. Desmond offered nothing in response. "…Right. Changing the subject… So you're a taguel, right?"

"That I am," Desmond spoke guardedly, "What's it to you?"

"What's that like?"

Desmond shrugged indifferently, tossing a glance back at the tactician.

"Probably no different than being a human, I'd imagine. Except I've got these ears and some fur."

"Ah! I see."

Esthara racked her mind to try and find something to keep the conversation going, but came up blank. Desmond did not seem as if he had anything to contribute to permeate the silence.

After what seemed like an eternity, Esthara eventually asked, "How long until we arrive, do you think?"

"Beats me," Desmond shrugged, refusing to make eye contact with Esthara, "Lester's the navigator in this area. He just told me to keep Ranofer moving this way."

Esthara sighed, no closer to the answers of any of her questions.

"Fair enough. Take care, Desmond."

"See ya," Desmond said plainly, only offering the tactician a backhanded wave before returning to his horse driving.

"Great," Esthara mentally grumbled, returning to the inside the wagon. She let her head fall onto a pile of fur pelts sighing deeply.

"That's one enemy. Way to go, Esthara."

When Nila awoke, the sun had already started to dip below the horizon, a hint of the chill to come later that night blowing on the wind. He also noticed that Owar was no longer flying, and was instead pawing at the ground impatiently. Noticing the tactician's stirring, the mare turned to look at him, her expression nagging, "Get off my back, lazybones."

The voices had all but receded into the back of his mind, but something still didn't feel quite right about the area. As he pushed himself off Owar's back, he noticed small, black figures were dotted along the horizon, spanning in a large arc in front of him. He blinked once, the silhouettes disappearing as quickly as they had come into existence.

"It's getting worse," Nila thought to himself, checking his effects to see if they were still firmly fastened to his belt. Ashen lay dormant at his left, while his spellbook emblazoned with the Mark of Grima was still clipped securely to his right. His knapsack somehow managed to stay attached to his back, as well. "Three weeks without incident, but as soon as these guys show up they come back again."

"I told you they were bad news," Other Nila's voice rang out suddenly, his chastising tone appearing from behind him. Nila glanced backwards, but was only met with the sun setting over the endless sea of sand.

"Quiet, you."

If Other Nila had limbs, he probably would have shrugged before disappearing into nothingness once again. And with that, Nila's mind was quiet. The hushed voices constantly present at the back of his mind had receded along with Other Nila's dominating tone.

The moments were few and far between when Other Nila decided to show up, but he had gotten quite used to them when he was calmly relaxing at home alone. But when the Justice Brigade showed up, the voices returned in full force along with hallucinations.

Nila shoved the thought from his consciousness, focusing on regaining his bearings. He was on the ground, and night was falling. In the center of the desert—where they probably were judging by the flat, expansive sands—potential for freezing was at a minimum, so outdoor camping wouldn't be as large of a risk.

"On the subject of camping," Nila pondered, his eyes wandering along the horizon, "Where have they set up?"

Turning around, Nila was faced with what he could only describe as a miracle. A beautiful, wondrous miracle. Six large canvas wall tents were immaculately set up surrounding a large, roaring fire pit. The Brigadiers set up several stones around it, and Chast was cooking something over the flame on a large, metal grate. Shifting his gaze to Owar, Nila tugged at her reins and led her towards the camp as she begrudgingly followed.

As he walked through the now-cooling sand, Nila felt a presence behind him. As if something was following him. He stole a glance backward, seeing nothing once again. He sighed, frustrated with how his ailment had returned unexpectedly and forcefully.

"Almost like how the Justice Brigade showed up."

He laughed to himself, imagining Marius' antics and Matt's affable personality. From the little time he had spent with the group, Nila already felt as if he was part of a family; a feeling he had not experienced for years.

"No more mistakes this time," he promised himself, his grip on Owar's reins tightening, "I'll see to it that we all get home safely. Wherever we may end up."

Nila continued to walk through the flat desert sand, the frigid air abating as he approached the warm licks of flame roaring in the fire pit. The Justice Brigadiers were carrying on a conversation about something Nila did not understand as he unhanded Owar and sat upon a vacant, flat stone and set his knapsack aside.

After listening for a while, he eventually caught on to the fact that they were discussing their imminent arrival to Abnorun. Matt led the conversation, while Valkus did not go often without interjecting. Chast listened respectfully, still tending to the skewered meat sizzling atop the metal grate, while Marius expanded and contracted arcs of magical electricity in the palm of his hands. Whether or not he was paying attention, Nila could not tell.

Across from him sat the final member of the Justice Brigade, dressed in an ominously black tunic with equally dark leather chaps and shoulder pads. Hunter. The swordmaster was staring directly at him, his eyes narrowed and his lips pursed. The orange glow from the fire accentuated his facial features, making him appear all the more menacing.

Nila was instantly able to place his facial expression as one of distrust and suspicion. An expression that Nila was unfortunately all too accustomed to. As Nila returned his gaze, a familiar image seemed to overlay the swordmaster's face, recognition immediately dawning upon the tactician.

Pushing a quill across a large map, Nila wrote an outline for their newest mission. They had been commissioned to act as guardsmen for the village of Holmfirth in the central Plegian desert for several days, who had been under fire from bandits in the prior weeks. Nila marked another X, drawing a thin line close to the city wall to mark the patrol route for one of his mercenaries.

Sensing movement in the door frame, Nila glanced up only to be met with the angered expression from his senior advisor, Rais.

"You and I are going to have a little chat, buddy," he had growled, pulling a chair back from the front of Nila's desk and throwing himself into it, "I want to know just what the hellyou were thinking when we were dealing with the bandits in Walden."

"Rais, please," Nila had addressed, laying his ink-depleted quill aside, "I did the best I could. We were strongly outnumbered and they had archers on either side of us."

"Like hell that was your best! We lost six good men thanks to you. Those are men we aren't going to get back."

"I understand. No more mistakes this time. I can assure you that the company is in good hands from here on out."

"You said that last time, too," Other Nila had whispered, as quiet laughter rang in Nila's ears. "As a matter of fact, you always say that."

Rais still was not convinced, a furious expression firmly plastered onto his face. He drew a knife from his belt, stabbing it into the dark wood of the desk and launching tiny wooden shards in every direction.

"You don't warrant the legacy of your father," the advisor sneered, pointing directly at the frightened tactician, "When he was leading us, we didn't lose anyone."

Rais pulled the knife from Nila's desk, clipping it to his belt. As he left, the expression upon his face was one that Nila would never forget.

The very same expression that Hunter was making especially effective usage of.

"—and now that our newest tactician has returned from the land of slumber," Nila faintly heard Matt say, "perhaps he would like to provide insight on our next move? He must have a few gold pieces worth of thought."

"Hmm?" Nila absentmindedly mumbled, still lost in thought. "Oh, Matt. Hello. I'm sorry, would you mind repeating?"

"Still haven't shaken the webs from your mind, huh?" Matt asked, a small smile playing across his lips. " That's alright. We were trying to figure out when we'd get to Abnorun and what to do when we get there. Any thoughts?"

Nila thought for a moment, glancing around him to try to determine the area they were currently in. He returned his gaze to Matt before asking, "Have you my map? I may be able to estimate the distance."

Reaching to his side, Matt picked up a large, rolled sheet of parchment and tossed it over Valkus and to him. Catching it, Nila rolled it open to reveal his wall map of Plegia.

"Based on the land around us, we're probably in the middle of the Plegian flats," he mused, pointing to the heart of the desert as it appeared on the map. "We're still well on track to make it to Abnorun. And if we've traveled this far in the course of one day…" Nila traced his finger from the Plegian shoreline where his home was to the Flats, while comparing it with the remaining distance to Abnorun before stating, "We have about a day and a half of travel remaining, more or less."

"Hell, we can probably knock that half day off if we try hard enough!" Valkus laughed, taking a swig out of a sizeable metal flask. "Whaddaya say to that, Matt? Huh?"

"Gods, how much of that stuff did you drink?" Matt snapped, tearing the canister out of her hands and overturning it into his palm. Not a single drop of liquid managed to trickle out of the flask. "What the hell, you drank the whole thing? That was 100 proof, and was going to last us the next three days!"

Valkus giggled, Matt's mood unable to scratch her disposition.

"You're just jealous that you're a lightweight."

"Who're you calling a lightweight? I'll drink you under—"

"Anyway," Chast interrupted, clapping her hands together once to demand attention, "The food is ready. This is the last of the meat we'll have until we get to Abnorun, so dig in."

Nila and the rest of the Brigadiers each grabbed a skewer of meat, digging in greedily. None of them had eaten since the previous morning, since landing on the ground put them at risk to be caught in the raging sandstorms that plague the heart of the Plegian desert. The meat itself was quite tender, if slightly under seasoned, but nevertheless disappeared quickly. While he ate, Nila noticed that Hunter still had his eyes firmly fixed on the tactician, his gaze rarely dropping.

"Now, Nila," Matt began, drawing the tactician's attention away from the swordmaster. After Valkus' departure, Matt has moved to her old rock, positioned nearest to Nila's. Out of the corner of his eye, Nila noticed Marius dragging Valkus away to the tents, who had passed out from alcohol intake. Matt, noticing this as well, added, "Don't worry, she'll be fine. That's pretty much the norm around here."

Matt laughed, his signature hearty bellow echoing throughout the flatlands. After calming himself down, he continued, "We still need to discuss what we'll do when we arrive. What are your thoughts?"

"The most important thing is finding whoever wrote that letter," Nila replied, "Did they leave any information about where to locate them?"

Matt pulled the crumpled parchment from his pocket, skimming it briefly before handing it to Nila.

"Didn't say much. Have a look if you want."

Nila took the parchment from Matt's hand, smoothing it on his knee before reading it thoroughly.

JB—

I write to you dire and unfortunate news. As of late, my hometown has been consumed with distress and fear. Our protector entity has gone missing and, strangely enough, Ylissean foreigners have been seen ducking in and out of the shadows. As we are settled near the border of Ylisse, it is not uncommon for visitors to dot the city streets, but these newcomers seem much more sinister. With crime increasing ever since our manakete's disappearance, we desperately require your aid.

–C

"They didn't really give us much to go on, did they?" Nila muttered, folding the parchment neatly before placing it into Matt's hand. "Would it have killed them to at least tell you where to meet them? Or perhaps a name?"

"I dunno," Matt answered, shoving the paper into his pocket once again, "Maybe they have everything figured out and we just need to show up. But I've been doing some thinking about those 'sinister Ylisseans' they were talking about."

Nila nodded, thinking back to the cursory passage. "I noticed that as well. You think they might be Sons?"

"Could be. But kidnapping a manakete would seem wrong of them. After all, they're the closest thing to Naga, right?" Nila didn't respond, and shrugged blankly in anticipation for the wyvern rider to continue. "Either way, let's try to track down this 'C,' and maybe pick up a mercenary or two."

Nila stared with disbelief at the powerful man, his eyes narrowing. "Mercenaries? Do we even have the money for that kind of thing?"

"Of course," Chast added, producing a pouch of gold from her knapsack. "We do get paid for this, after all."

Nila dug into his own pack, revealing a similar pouch, except his was light and limp from the lack of coin.

"Care to share?" he mockingly pleaded, holding his empty pouch open.

Chast burst into laughter, falling off of her stone and onto the sand below. After struggling to pull herself up, she walked over to Nila, still giggling madly, and placed a single gold coin in his pouch.

"There you go," she laughed, struggling to maintain her composure, "Now start your fortune."

The camp erupted in raucous laughter, the only sound permeating the silence of the nighttime desert. The sun had completely set, the brilliant red sunset being replaced by a majestic array of stars dotting the night sky.

Eventually, the desert returned to a blissfully peaceful quiet as the Brigadiers calmed themselves down. Marius rejoined the other four, having successfully dragged Valkus and her massive suit of armor to one of the wall tents. Chast stretched, letting out an exhausted yawn.

"I believe it's time we all got some sleep. We do have an early morning, after all."

Matt cracked his neck before nodding in agreement.

"Too true," Matt agreed, Chast's yawn contagiously contributing to one of his own. "I'm off. See you all bright and early."

"Bright and early!" Marius parroted before bounding off in the direction of the tents.

Nila glanced over to where Hunter had been sitting for most of the night, only to find that he had disappeared. Strange, too, since he had been there only a moment ago. Seeing how fast the swordsman moved in battle, though, Nila understood how he was able to flee the scene so quickly.

Standing up, Nila pulled his left hand from his opposite arm. He was rubbing his sleeved arm, but for how long Nila could not remember. Shrugging, Nila slung his knapsack over his shoulder before turning to Chast, who was packing up the last of her cooking supplies.

"Hey, do you know which one's mine?" Nila inquired running a hand absentmindedly through his hair. "I wouldn't want to stumble in on Valkus."

"Third one down on the left," Chast replied, her eyes still fixed on her work, "Have a pleasant night, dear."

Nila gave her a nod, before trudging through the thin, cold sand down the rows of tents. Despite having woken up so soon, Nila felt immeasurably exhausted. His mind certainly didn't plan on making the day easy for him, though. Nila chuckled at the notion, raising his arms above his head and interlacing his fingers in a stretch.

As he neared his tent, Nila began to feel a presence surrounding him, almost suffocatingly so. He glanced to both sides which yielded nothing but a starlit sky over an endless field of blackness. Nila's face contorted with frustration over the fact that his mind still refused to leave him alone.

But was he alone?

Of course he was. Nila threw open the canvas flap separating him from the interior of the tent and stepped inside. As he entered, he was met with meager surroundings: something that appeared to be a makeshift coat tree and a small sleeping bag. Of course, Nila didn't expect much more, since their inventory was limited along with the fact that he was newly recruited. Just having a safe, secure place to rest was more than he could ask for.

Nila placed his coat upon the hanger and his knapsack below it, which fell over with a soft thump and spilled out a few of its contents. He then placed his sword blade-first into the coarse sand next to his sleeping bag and his spellbook on the opposite side. He took care to make sure both weapons were within arm's reach of his sleeping bag. He could never be too careful.

Nila pulled himself under the covers, checking once again to ensure that his weapons were still there, and then tried to concentrate on sleeping. He shut his eyes, breathed deeply, and thought to himself calming thoughts.

"They are gone now. They are not real, and they cannot hurt you. They will depart again before you know it. Until then, try to calm down and relax."

Nila's drowsy mind continued to toss and turn along with his body, the day's events replaying on a loop: soaring through the skies on pegasusback, Other Nila returning from a mostly dormant state, and sharing his first meal with the Justice Brigade. Eventually letting out a discontented sigh, Nila sat up in his sleeping bag and opened his eyes. Drowsily squinted at first, his eyes soon opened widely in bewilderment.

Something was crouching in the far corner of his tent, glowing red eyes seeming to stare through him. Nila didn't dare to move. He focused as much as he could on the silhouette, bathed in the pitch-blackness of the tent. As his eyes became accustomed to the dark, the face staring back at him was instantly recognizable.

"Hunter, I'm warning you," Nila threatened, his fingers crawling over to his spellbook, "Whatever you're planning to do…"

Hunter shifted, still maintaining a crouched pose in the tent corner. His eyes, red and unblinking, were fully open while his neck contorted into an awkwardly crooked position. The movements were convulsive, unnatural even, as the swordmaster maintained his silent vigil.

Nila's breathing became panicked as he lifted his spellbook off of the ground and turned to the page detailing the Wind spell. A warning spell, nothing more.

"Don't take a step closer. I'm not afraid to strike you down." Despite his brave words, his voice still quavered as he stared down the apparition-like Hunter.

Hunter drew his twinblades, seeming to slide upon the floor as he slowly approached the tactician. Nila quickly pulled the Wind spell from the tome, and let it fly towards the swordmaster. He averted his gaze before the spell connected, still guilty of striking his ally even considering the circumstances. He took a breath, waited for a few moments, and turned back towards the scene.

His eyes met nothing. In place of Hunter remained only a disturbed pile of sand from the spell's impact.

"Drat, he got away," the tactician muttered, laying his spellbook back aside. "I'll have to be more—"

Only then did Nila realize the true magnitude of the situation. The glowing red eyes, the unnatural movement… he had seen these before. And once again, his fear overtook him and he lost the ability to perceive the situation logically.

Nila threw his head back onto the cushioned back of the sleeping bag in frustration before burying his face in it. The tactician forcefully shut his eyes, making an additional effort to make sure they stayed that way this time. Lest his imagination get the better of him once again. Eventually, Nila felt his consciousness ebb as his thoughts ended and his addled mind returned to deep slumber.

As morning broke over the expanse of Plegian desert, Chast pulled herself from a deep, relaxing slumber. She missed the sounds of birds delightfully chattering away as the sun rose, yet greatly appreciated the blissful silence of the desert morning. She breathed in deeply, feeling the rich desert air warm her lungs as she sat up in her sleeping bag.

Chast glanced around her tent to refamiliarize herself with her surroundings. Her violet and black Falcon Knight vestments lay across the tent floor and next to the tent flap, where she had placed them the previous night. Begrudgingly, the knight pulled herself from the comforting warmth of her bedroll and began to equip her armor, wishing for a chance to bathe all the while. Her light violet tunic came first, followed shortly by the midnight-black chestguard and pauldrons.

She briefly considered equipping her similarly jet-black armored headdress, but decided to let the ornamental armor be for the moment. Simply preparing a light breakfast wouldn't require her full battle regalia, after all. Giving the headpiece a final glance, Chast pushed the light tent flap open and stepped into the desert outside.

The sun had only just begun to peak over the horizon, the flat lands providing a picturesque view of the pastel-orange sunrise. The beige sand burned a fiery red in the morning light while still appearing a charcoal black further west.

The blazing morning sunlight seemed to produce its own smoky smell, as if its roaring fire was blazing in front of her. As she glanced down the row of tents, she noticed a thin column of smoke rising from the fire pit that she had dug earlier yesterday evening. Someone had apparently woken before her.

As she walked from her tent on the far right towards the fire, her thoughts immediately turned to Nila. Matt and Marius had never been terribly early risers, Hunter spent his mornings meditating, while Valkus was probably sleeping off her hangover.

"Delightful," she thought, a grin forming across her lips, "Someone to spend time with me in the mornings!"

As she approached the roaring fire, her suspicions were confirmed as she noticed the familiarly dark-coated man sitting upon the farthest rock from the fire. He was curled up, his arms hugging his legs, while his blade and spellbook lay to his immediate left.

As she sat upon her own stone and gave the tactician a small wave, she noticed something wasn't quite right. Nila was completely motionless. He stared into the fire, his body as still and unblinking as the rock he sat upon. She gave his spellbook a glance, which lay open to a page with 'Fire' marked in a scratchy scrawl.

Worry guiding her movements, Chast rose from her stone and gave Nila a slight push. The impulse seemed to spur the tactician to life, as he blinked once and and turned to her with an exhausted expression.

"…Chast?" he blinked, trying to focus his vision to her face, "Hello. What are you doing up so late?"

"Late?" she asked, tilting her head to the side quizzically, "Dear, it's sunrise. I woke to make some breakfast before we take off for the day."

Nila slowly turned his head to the east, his eyes adjusting to the sunlight. He gave a contemplative hum before simply whispering, "So it is." The prospect of the sun rising so suddenly didn't seem to faze him. Nila slowly turned his head back to meet Chast's gaze before explaining,

"I came out here to do a patrol. I thought I heard some noises, and you never know when bandits might show up. Needed to clear my head, too." Nila paused briefly, giving the roaring fire another glance before continuing, "Then I made a fire. It's been… how long now since I made this?"

Nila trailed off, giving the back of his head an inquisitive scratch before falling silent. He was staring at Chast, as if expecting her to say something.

"I came to make some breakfast," she repeated, clasping her hands together over her chest, "Would you like to help?"

"Breakfast?" Nila asked, as if the concept was foreign to him. After a moment, insight dawned upon him and his eyes seemed to light up. "Oh! Yes, breakfast. It's that time of day. What's on the menu?"

"We still have a few potatoes left. We could roast those."

"Excellent. Let's get to it, then."

– – –

Chast rotated her skewer over the roaring fire, letting the flames lick the skin of the large potato. Nila imitated her motion, making sure to evenly bathe his own in the warmth of the flames.

"Now, if I had some olive oil I'd bathe the potatoes in it beforehand so the salt sticks," Chast explained as she laid her finished potato aside before replacing it with another, "But my cooking supplies have been running thin ever since we left Arctine in southwestern Ferox. Does Abnorun have a wide selection of culinary items?"

"I've only ever visited in my youth," Nila responded, giving his potato another turn, "But it's the biggest town in eastern Plegia. I don't think it should be too much of an issue to find anything there."

Chast's striking red eyes lit up in excitement.

"You think so? I've just been so inspired since I got to cook back at your house…" Chast trailed off as something came to her mind as she approached the subject of Nila's residence. After she noticed Nila staring at her inquisitively, she continued, "Which… reminds me. Are you… doing alright, dear? You seem slightly out of sorts ever since we left."

Chast noticed Nila immediately flinch and avert his gaze as she brought up the topic, but she believed it was something that needed addressing. From his incoherent muttering to his apparent lack of sleep, something was definitely troubling the man. Eventually, Nila met her gaze and softly spoke,

"It's… nothing that needs to be worried about. Stress just messes with my mind a little. Give me a few days and I should be okay." Chast noticed Nila chose his words carefully as he spoke articulately, every letter being decisively chosen. A trait most often utilized by liars. Chast was not about to call Nila out on lying so early into their friendship, so she pushed her intuition aside and instead sighed deeply.

"I understand," Chast said, her tone neutral. She did not want Nila to perceive what she said as doubtful or suspicious. "This didn't exactly come with warning, after all. But perhaps it would have been better if we let you be at your home instead of bringing you along."

Nila shook his head, removing a slightly-burned potato from the fire before replacing it with another.

"No, it's all right. I wouldn't have left if this wasn't something that I wanted to do. With the Sons probably involved in the crisis at Abnorun, this is as much my responsibility to rectify as it is yours."

"Very fair. Those cultists seem to have a vendetta against you as well, so it is probably safer for you to be accompanying us than for you to be in your home alone. But please, Nila, if something is ever the matter, let me know. I only judge the wicked."

Nila chucked, a quiet "thanks" escaping his lips before he returned to tending his potato.

Chast let her gaze fall upon Nila once more as he concentrated on roasting his potato evenly. Nila definitely seemed troubled or agitated, that much was certain, but Chast could not identify what the problem was. Perhaps she was overthinking everything and stress was the root of his issue. She quietly sighed, letting her final potato rest adjacent to the other two as she reached for her boot knife to slice the starchy root into pieces.

As she let the blade fall against the potatoes, Chast could not help but wonder what exactly was occurring in Nila's mind. Perhaps it was not her business to be involved, but whether it was her internal sense of justice or idle curiosity changed nothing. She was determined to discover the cause of his problems, whatever they may be. No matter how long it would take for him to come clean.

The wagon clattered slowly down the stone path as intense sunlight from above began to melt the layer of snow covering the surrounding land. As it rode over one final hill, a terrible sight made itself manifest. Desmond, riding atop Ranofer, called back to the white-robed priest daydreaming behind him.

"Samuel, wake Lester. This sight… it isn't pretty."

Snapping back to reality from his reverie, Samuel only needed one look at the horizon before he nodded swiftly and disappeared back into the wagon.

Desmond had denied the destructive power of Eastern Ferox many times before. He had seen damages done to other settlements by the conquering nation, but they had never committed anything to this scale.

Stormguard, which Lester had recounted as a shining beacon of the lowland taiga Western settlement, stood no more than a smoldering pile of ashes on the horizon. The central clock tower that Lester had told stories of did not appear at all, presumably brought to rubble like the rest of the city.

A sharp gasp from behind him alerted Lester's presence to the taguel. Lester must have been more taken aback than any in their group, and his body language did not allude to otherwise. He stared unblinkingly at the horizon, as if he was trying to comprehend the fact that the settlement was no more. Desmond heard the paladin swallow nervously before clearing his throat.

"Everyone," he announced, his emotions refusing to bleed into his speech, "We are here. As soon as we approach the town, I want everyone to fan out and search for survivors. Samuel, have you still the Rescue gem that you can attach to your staff?"

The priest nodded before producing a small, green orb from within his vestments.

"I don't know how long it will last, but I'll try. It should still be able to react to human life force as well."

Samuel replaced the pristine red healing orb in his staff with the smaller green sphere, which burst to life as it reacted to the magic in the staff. As it began to glow, deep cracks appeared along the surface, spanning across the orb like a cavernous ravine. Despite its damage, the orb managed to stay in one piece.

Esthara inspected the orb, running a finger across the fissure left across its surface.

"Fortunately, it still has the capacity for at least one more cast," she remarked, drawing her hand back carefully, "We'll need to be careful not to subject it to any more unnecessary damage."

Samuel nodded his head in agreement, carefully removing the orb from his staff and stowing it away in his robes. He reapplied the healing orb, which sprang to life with a pristine crimson glow.

"We'll be arriving shortly," Lester remarked, stepping back into the interior of the wagon, "Remember to stay on guard. Bandits may be afoot."

As Lester disappeared into the wagon, Samuel and Esthara followed suit. However, Brooks stayed put, his legs dangling over the edge of the wagon's front.

"So, this is Stormguard, huh?" he asked himself, his voice carrying a mixture of regret and pity, "Wonder what it looked like in its prime."

"I suppose neither of us will ever figure it out," Desmond replied, turning back to the mage, "But what's important now is finding survivors. Maybe that Carolyn girl is still trapped in there."

"Carolyn…" Brooks muttered, attempting to place the importance of the name. Eventually, he raised his eyebrows in recognition. "Ah, the sister of that mage we met back at the tavern. I remember."

"Though… I'm not certain. By the looks of it, no one could have made it out of that death trap alive," Desmond said, taking in the horror of the site as the gates drew ever closer. On the pathway up the hill leading to the town's entrance, the remains of destroyed siege engines littered the ground. Black pitch covered the white snow like oil across a surface of water. Enormous ballista bolts pincushioned the ground outside the outer walls, while cast-iron cannon shots were buried halfway in the blackened snow.

Brooks let his eyes fall upon every one of the sights, his mouth hanging agape. In this moment, Desmond remembered that the mage was not yet acquainted with the wholesale destruction that he had seen several times before. Try as he may, though, Desmond could not help but imitate the gesture. The East had pulled out every stop that could be tampered with. Someone had tried very hard to make sure that this settlement was reduced to rubble.

Desmond commanded Ranofer to stop with a gentle pull on her reins, then dismounted the majestic horse and disconnected her from the trace. He quickly gave his gratitude to the horse before turning his attention to Lester, who had exited the wagon along with Esthara, Brooks, and Samuel.

"Brooks, you accompany Samuel," Lester ordered, taking Ranofer's reins in hand, "Desmond, Esthara, and I will search on the opposite side of town. Shout if you need assistance, we should be able to hear you with Desmond's help. Let's get moving."

Samuel held his staff in both hands, the damaged Rescue orb atop its shaft producing a soft, comfortingly green light that lit up the ash and soot still floating in the air. Brooks stood several paces back, an Elfire spell at the ready in case of danger.

The two found themselves in what appeared to be the remains of the town's mercantile district. Spoiled produce and other goods were littered across the ground, the lighter objects blowing in the light breeze. Several small fires still burned in areas less open to wind and snow, creating a thin layer of smoke to accompany the floating ash particles.

Brooks stepped over a fallen stone pillar, closing his spellbook and clipping it to his side.

"I don't think anyone besides us is here," Brooks observed, his gaze slowly shifting across the town. "The East really did a number on this place, huh?"

"On the town, yes," Samuel replied, tightening his grip on his staff, "But I haven't seen any bodies yet. Perhaps everyone escaped."

"Optimistic as ever, I see. Has your staff found anything yet?"

"Afraid not," the priest sighed before pointing to the green sphere atop his staff. "This orb will light up brighter if we come across another person. It's glowing faintly right now since it only senses us."

"That's interesting. Why does it work that way?"

"It draws magic from the staff in order to displace a person in space. It rests when no people are nearby or when disconnected from a source of magical—"

Samuel jumped backwards as several wooden shingles fell from a nearby merchant building, clattering across the ash-covered ground as they landed.

"Gods, this place is still coming apart!" Samuel exclaimed, "We'll need to hurry. This place might come down over our heads if we're not quick enough."

"That was just some roofing," Brooks reassured, ruffling the priest's shoulder-length red hair, "Calm down. We'll be okay."

"If you're certain, I suppose…"

The two continued through the thin streets of the town, stepping over the ruined stone bricks and cannon shots. Eventually the two came across a rather large ballista shot, impaled into the ground in front of a collapsed alleyway. The shot lay undisturbed by the destruction surrounding it, and lay immobile with a thick layer of snow lightly dusting its wooden body.

"How many more of these do you think the East has?" Brooks asked, gently rubbing his hand across the polished-wooden surface. His hand displaced some of the snow, creating a handprint-shaped indent in the thin white powder.

"Enough to bring down a large town, I suppose."

The two were silent for a time, marveling in the destructive beauty of the bolt. Samuel turned towards the alleyway before walking towards the cave-in to investigate.

"Look here. They brought that entire tower down on on this alleway… Wait a moment." Samuel stared at the green orb atop his staff, which was glowing intensely. Samuel's heart skipped a beat as he gasped, "Brooks, I think I've found someone!"

Brooks ran to Samuel's side, kneeling in front of the wreckage.

"You're saying that there's someone in here?!" Brooks shouted, gazing into the Rescue orb atop Samuel's staff. "Gods, it can't be! No one could have survived that!"

"That's what I thought too. But by the looks of it, we're both wrong. Call for Lester and the others. I'll see if I can't get them out."

Brooks nodded, taking off down the street towards the opposite side of town. Samuel took a deep breath before pacing backwards from the ruin. He held the staff above his head, channeling additional magic into the rod in order to activate the power of the orb. The Rescue gem began to glow a blinding white as the spell began to cast. The rubble adopted a similar glow before both faded to darkness, a large bundle appearing before the priest's feet. As the man appeared, Samuel briefly heard a cracking sound before the Rescue gem shattered to pieces.

A slightly musclebound, brown-haired man who looked no older than eighteen lay before him, wrapped in a tattered mantle of red. He was clutching a gold-bladed axe, tightly wrapping his arms around the hilt of the weapon. He was breathing, but only barely. And from what Samuel could tell, suffered some minor head trauma, revealed by the blood running down his face.

Samuel heard quick footsteps approach behind him, accompanied by the clattering of hooves. He turned, confirming that the other four had arrived.

"Lester, make space on your horse. This man needs healing, and fast."

A pen moved meticulously across the delicate pages of a small, black journal. The writer pushed a lock of maroon hair from in front of one of her eyes as she began the final paragraph of her log entry.

"As I write this, I am still on the move, this time heading towards Plegia—specifically, Abnorun. I haven't been there since a little bit after my mother died, so I wonder if there's any work for me there. I guess I'll just have to find out for myself once I get there."

She signed her name, as she did after each passage, and placed the small book in her knapsack. She shivered as a cold, desert-night wind danced across her shoulders, pulling her dark-blue coat tighter to abate the chill. Her fire had devolved into little more than embers, and she had expended the last of her kindling to bring these pathetic cinders to life.

The young myrmidon had little more than hope to rely on the past few years. She had fortunately managed to stay out of the trouble these past few years have brought. Guarding officials, selling her sword, and occasionally stealing were far easier than being subject to the Sons of Naga who had been making leaps and bounds in her homeland recently, or being in the presence of the everlasting civil war up north.

She glanced to the west, taking in the lights shining just over the horizon. The beacon of her salvation shone iridescently, standing tall and bright amongst the low, dark desert lands. She was nearly there, and with it came another chance to mete out at least an average living. Abnorun lay close.

Roster

No.001 Nila

A resident of Plegia and descendent of one of the famous time travelers of Ylissean past, Morgan. Although weakly, he carries the same blood of Grima used to revive the fell dragon generations ago. He was a tactician for the Plegian Mercenaries in the past, who eventually dissolved under his leadership.

The most likely fall asleep while reading.

Born on December 20th, age 24.

Class: Tactician (Sword|Anima, Dark from Shadowgift)

No.002 Matthew

The leader of a group of fighters known as the Justice Brigade, who prefers the name Matt. He brought the group together after he and Hunter fled a devastated city in Western Ferox, one of the first Western settlements destroyed by the marauding nation. His confident personality is what the Justice Brigade's foundation stands upon, yet he harbors doubts of his own sometimes.

The one who slouches the most.

Born on January 2nd, age 21.

Class: Wyvern Lord (Axe|Lance)

No.003 Hunter

A Feroxian duelist with a deadly mastery of swordplay. He has lived in not one, but two villages that have been razed by magic-wielding bandits or conquesting Easterners. The loss of his sister invoked a keen sense of justice within him and a fear of magic and fire.

The least fond of parlor tricks.

Born on January 25th, age 22.

Class: Swordmaster (Sword)

No.004 Chastity

An Ylissean Falcon Knight—who prefers to go by Chast—with pale white skin and red eyes. Her albinism runs in the family, being shared with her father. She had high hopes of joining the Ylissean cavalry, yet was advised to pursue a separate line of work by her father. She instead took up work as a mercenary, and eventually met Matt after he saved her life.

The one with the scariest glare.

Born on October 29th, age 17.

Class: Falcon Knight (Lance|Staff)

No.005 Marius

A peculiar fighter hailing from Stormguard. Initially striving to be a scholar, Marius studied magic diligently throughout his childhood. However, he shifted priorities when bands of rogue dark mages attacked the settlement. With his interesting combination of swords, Anima, and throwing axes, he joined the enthusiastic Justice Brigade to put his skills to the test.

The one with the worst sense of humor.

Born on April 1st, age 20.

Class: Dread Fighter (Sword|Axe|Anima)

No.006 Valkus

A Valmese quartermaster who tolerates nonsense of no kind. After a false claim of fraudulence, Valkus chartered a ship to the Ylissean continent. She joined the Justice Brigade after falling to them in a battle to mete out justice for herself and others. How this beauty's personality meshes with the jovial brigade is a mystery.

The most likely to enjoy taking inventory.

Born on March 25th, age 28.

Class: General (Lance|Axe)

No.007 ?

…

No.008 Lester

A seasoned veteran and guardian of Ylissean royalty. Lester began his training for knighthood at the young age of seven. He failed to protect the lord he was sworn to from a powerful East Feroxian warlord. He formed the Ylissean Vanguard in an attempt right the mistakes that he brought upon the halidom.

The longest bather.

Born on May 15th, age 20.

Class: Paladin (Sword|Lance)

No.009 Desmond

One of the rare taguel who bounced back from the brink of extinction. Desmond is one of the few taguel who have refused to their cultural roots of warren life. He trained under a man who fought against the Gray Claw, a taguel purist society that threatened his home. He refuses to use his beaststone.

The one with the biggest rock collection.

Born on August 8th, age 19.

Class: Taguel Fighter (Axe|Beaststone)

No.010 Samuel

An Ylissean priest of minor nobility. His rigorous education led him to priesthood, where he trained in the Holy Church of Naga to heal his allies. After being denied entry to the Ylissean military, he was recruited by Lester to heal for the Ylissean Vanguard.

The best at insulting others.

Born on July 14th, age 21.

Class: Scholar (Staff|Anima)

No.011 Brooks

A mage of Ylissean background that has traveled the world across. With his traveling mage caravan, he saw the shores of Valm, the peaks of both Feroxes, the sands of Plegia, and the rolling hills of Ylisse. Longing to be greater than an entertainer, he left his caravan to create his own adventures.

The one with dirt on absolutely everyone.

Born on March 10th, age 25.

Class: Mage (Anima)

No.012 Esthara

An Ylissean tactician in training. She wields the legendary weapon Mercurius, one of the three regalia of old, given to her as a gift by her professor. Studying under the legendary tactician and professor Kairos, she aims to one day match the intellectual might of the most famous tacticians in history.

The lightest sleeper.

Born on November 19, age 19.

Class: Strategist (Sword)