Welcome back for FE:FH Chapter 8! I've got a few announcements to make before you get into the chapter.

The first, and biggest, is that I'm planning on doing is doing complete rewrites for the Exordium through Chapter 2, while doing more minor dialogue edits for Chapter 3. I've already edited some plot points in them already, but the changes I'm planning on making are going to be a lot bigger.

The reason being is because I've developed characters in certain directions that don't fit their speaking patterns and behavior in past chapters (Samuel is a good example of this, especially in this chapter. Also honorable mentions for Nila and Chastity) and the writing itself needs a lot of a touch-up. Seriously, it's like really dated. Go look. Plotwise, I don't anticipate much will change, but if anything does I'll let you all know on /r/fefh as per usual.

I'm not planning on making these changes until we see a story shift similar to what we saw at the end of Chapter 7, and I'll let you know when I'm taking a break from further chapters to touch up the old ones.

Secondly, you may have noticed that I added a "Book One" chapter to the very front of the story. This is because I've decided to make FE:FH into a two-part series, each book containing two arcs. Originally, it was supposed to be a one part, four arc story, but a major shift in what I want for the latter half of the story mandated a change.

I'm not going to announce the name of Book Two until we get to Arc 2 of Book One (which might be some time from now!), but just keep that information in the back of your heads for the time being.

Anyway, I'll bet I've talked for long enough. Let's reunite with the Ylissean Vanguard in Chapter 8: The Shattered City! And we're going to finally fill in Mysterious #7 in the character roster, so watch out for that!

– Aspen

Matt poured a stream of dark, honey-colored tea into a small, ceramic cup and pushed it towards the visibly nervous manakete in front of him. Aside from his obvious fear, however, Matt was astounded at how quickly Jae had recovered from his wounds. Even his clothing looked brand new with Iris' help.

Only one day had passed since the fateful afternoon in the city of Abnorun. Dom was their only tragedy, and everyone was in as high of spirits as they could possibly be, considering the circumstances. Nila was working on their next move as well, which gave Matt time to finally sit down with Jae and hear his story.

With shaking hands, Jae picked up the teacup and took a curious sip before deeming it either safe enough or good enough for him to drink. The manakete downed the liquid in one strong gulp before placing the empty cup on the collapsible wooden table in front of him.

The tea seemed to help calm Jae's nerves, as his trembling had diminished slightly and his wide green eyes looked a little more relaxed than before. With the manakete calmed down, Matt decided that it would be the proper time to speak.

"Jae," the wyvern lord said as warmly as he could, "I know it's been difficult for you for the past month, and I know I haven't given you enough time to get the rest that you deserve. But I need you to tell me everything you can about your capture. It is very, very important."

As Matt had half-expected, Jae was quiet for quite some time. He anxiously rubbed his long green hair, averting his gaze from Matt's. He turned back after a moment, but still remained silent. He poured himself another cup of tea, downing the warm drink even quicker than he did the first.

But Jae knew that he couldn't remain quiet forever. After setting the ceramic cup aside, he finally opened his mouth for the first time since Dom's makeshift funeral in the desert sands the day before.

"Do I have to?" he asked desperately.

"Unfortunately, yes. I know you don't want to, but Nila and I need whatever information you have. It's vital to us taking them down."

Now he had really done it. Whether it was what Matt said or his tone of voice, but he only managed to drive the young manakete even further away. He started trembling even more than before, nearly dropping the teapot as he attempted to pour himself another cup.

Matt held out his hands to help steady the pot, but he only caused Jae to startle. The manakete dropped the pot, which fell to the sandy floor of the tent. Jae's gaze quickly shifted to the fallen, yet fortunately unbroken teapot, and back to Matt, his expression more fearful than ever.

Putting on as kind of a face he could muster, the wyvern lord calmly spoke, "It's okay, Jae. Really."

Jae closed his eyes and quickly bowed his head low. His breaths came rapidly and Matt saw what were unmistakably tears running down his face from the corners of his eyes.

Matt mentally kicked himself. Of course it wouldn't be a good idea to force a scared young manakete to talk only one day after he had been tortured for nearly an entire month. And his friend had been shot in the head, to boot. Just before Matt could tell Jae it would be okay for him to leave, he heard soft, barely noticeable words escape from his mouth.

"…I'm different, you know…" Jae whispered without moving his face up to meet Matt's gaze. But despite Jae's fear and inability to look into Matt's eyes, words were progress. And even against his own common sense, Matt wanted to push those words as far as Jae could possibly muster.

It was something that Matt hated about himself. He tried as hard as he could to be a leader, but his brash nature was something he could never really suppress. It was unprofessional and immature, but it was part of who Matt was.

"Different how?" he urged, trying to keep his voice as neutral as possible. But Jae wasn't stupid. From what Ulysses had told him, Jae was 163 years old. He was wise beyond his days in the eyes of mortals, but he was still prone to fear that only a young child could experience. Truly the odd experience of being a manakete, half-born or not.

"The S-Sons of Naga only like Divine D-Dragons," Jae stammered, "I… I'm not a Divine Dragon. I-I'm a Fire Dragon. I d-don't f-fit in t-t-the world they w-want to see…"

Matt rose from his seat opposite to Jae, quickly striding over to the sobbing manakete, wrapping his small body in a tight hug. He didn't fight Matt's embrace, instead pushing his face into the wyvern rider's chest.

"T-t-they… they want me dead! I'm so s-scared and I don't know w-what to do!"

"Shh… You're okay now. All of us are here to protect you, okay? You won't need to worry about anyone taking you away ever again."

Matt allowed Jae to cry into his chest, tightly squeezing the young manakete in hopes of assuring him that he would be safe around him. All the while, Matt was frustrated the lengths that he went to in order to get the information out of him. It was important to know that at least part of the Sons of Naga's goals were to eradicate all non-Divine Dragons and Fellblood, but Jae surely would have let him know at some other point in time.

Matt felt sick as he held Jae's small, crying body. He felt sick as Jae pulled away and asked to return to his tent. And he felt sick as the manakete walked away into the sand, his black waist-cape trailing behind him.

Burying his face into his hands, Matt let out a curse. If he was going to lead a group larger than just the Justice Brigade, he would have to get his act together. A group couldn't function under intimidation and force. It simply wasn't him.

But first, Nila would want to know what Jae had to say. It pained him to leave the manakete alone, but Matt's first and foremost duty was still to end the Sons of Naga. Jae's feelings would have to wait.

The black void surrounding the red-caped man appeared to give way as it gently lowered him into a velvet-cushioned seat. Darkness still surrounded him, but instead of the nothingness he faced for what seemed like hours before, he now found himself face-to-face with a dark-suited person whose face was obstructed with a skull-shaped masquerade mask. Though their mouth was hidden by their mask, the contours of a smile were just visible on the edges of their face.

Stretched between the two was a chessboard checkered with pastel black and white colors. It floated in the air on its own accord, as no part of the object came close to touching the ground. And upon closer inspection, it appeared as if no ground even existed beneath his feet.

The masked person respectfully raised an arm to him.

"Please," he said in an odd, androgynously-pitched voice, "You may make the first move, Colin."

Colin stared at the board, taking in the details of each of the chess pieces. Truth be told, Colin didn't even know how to play. He had seen Muiris and Carolyn play many times before, but he couldn't even begin to assign movement patterns to any of the pieces.

"I'm not much of a chess player," Colin admitted, "I left games of the mind to my brother and sister. I speak with my axe."

The masked person appeared briefly disappointed before he gave a simple shrug and sigh. With a snap of his fingers, the board disappeared into thin air.

"Oh, that's alright," the person across from him stated flatly, "I suppose there are plenty of other games to play to while away the time. What do you think you'd be interested in?"

"How about an explanation? You can start with where we are and why I'm here."

Disappointment immediately returned to the visible edges black-suited person's face.

"You're no fun at all, are you? I suppose there is little harm in getting down to brass tacks, but I was hoping that you'd make a more interesting guest."

The masked person snapped their fingers a second time, but the chess board did not reappear. Instead, Colin saw himself, stripped down to nothing but his smallclothes, floating in the black expanse of space that made up the room around them. He reached out to touch the image, but his hand phased right through to the other side.

The masked person barely acknowledged Colin's expression of curiosity before turning his attention to the floating Colin between the two.

"This is you," they said, "Or rather your body."

"Meaning what? I'm dead?"

The masked person was silent for quite some time. The person's completely black eyes were all that were visible beneath their mask, and they bored directly into Colin's soul.

The moment seemed to pass quickly, and the person spoke once again.

"No. You are not dead. You have come close many times, but something has always prevented the inevitable. This, however, is the closest you have come to my domain yet. I thought I would pluck you from the ether to speak to you personally."

"So that would make you Death, then?"

The person across from him was quiet for another moment. If Colin had to guess, they were probably pursing their lips as they chose the right words to speak.

"I do not have names like people of the mortal world," they eventually explained, "I am simply an embodiment of one aspect of the mortal spirit. I may not even exist. This is your mind, after all."

"This is my mind? I thought you said we were very close to your domain."

"Yes, I did say that," the person across from him stated flatly. Either he didn't understand the reason Colin pointed out that contradiction, or it wasn't a contradiction to begin with…

The coy expression on the outlines of their face was infuriating. Colin hated when he was confronted with someone who—

"I am allowed to make whatever face I wish," the masked person interrupted, the coyness still refusing to leave his expression, "You have little place in dictating my actions."

"You can read my thoughts?" Colin balked, "How—"

"Like I said, it's your mind. But I'm afraid the time we have scheduled together is beginning to come to an end. You're about to return to the ether until your body decides whether or not it wants to live."

The masked person floated from his velvet-cushioned chair and into the dark void surrounding the two. The corners of his face once again revealed a smile as he raised his hand into a wave.

"We may speak again soon. Or not, depending on how well you take care of yourself. But we will meet again. Such is the course of life."

"Wait! I still have questions!"

"I can give you two answers, but not to the questions you'd have been asking. Don't let rocks fall on you again and don't look down."

The masked person, chairs, and ghostly apparition of Colin retreated behind veils of darkness before the room Colin had been sitting in seemed to remember it wasn't supported by a floor. Colin began to fall, a terrible scream ripping at the sides of his throat as he tumbled into the endless, consuming abyss below.

Bathed in early morning light of the frigid Feroxian tundra, Colin shot awake, his left hand clutching his now-bare chest tightly. His breaths came quickly as he awakened from his nightmare.

The details of what had happened the previous day were still quite fuzzy, but his encounter with the black suited, masked person was as crisp as if it had just happened moments ago. Had he dreamt of another terrible event? Or perhaps he had experienced something terrible? Try as he may, Colin simply couldn't remember anything that had happened before the surreal room.

He forced himself to think back to what had happened the previous night. It wasn't long until what he thought were memories started to arise. They were patchy, but at least they were something.

Colin remembered the siege… running through the Stormguard streets with his siblings… the commerce building collapsing on top of him… Despite how realistic the memories were, they were accompanied by a hazy, dreamlike atmosphere that made Colin dizzy to even think about.

Had all of that just been a terrible, terrible dream? Just like his encounter with the masked person?

The Feroxian glanced around, expecting himself to be in his bed, just like every morning prior. But what he saw was a far cry from his usual homely surroundings. He found himself in what appeared to be a covered wagon, surrounded by an absolutely ridiculous amount of wolf pelts and furs—so many that Colin was quite literally buried underneath them.

But as inane as they appeared when stored in surplus, they proved to be quite warm. Warm enough that Colin didn't notice that he was only wearing his smallclothes, exactly like how his image had appeared during his encounter with the suited person. In his earlier nightmare, though, he remembered wearing his usual red cape, light leather armor, and metal shoulderpiece, but said items were nowhere to be seen. Hauteclere was also missing.

Lifting himself from the pile of furs, Colin dug around in search of his missing armor, or even some ordinary clothes. Not even the thoroughest of searches, however, yielded anything more than a few empty bottles of vulnerary and shattered healing orbs.

The half-naked Feroxian sighed, resigned to whatever fate he may have landed himself in. Perhaps he had been drinking heavily last night? His drunken misadventures had landed him in some very strange places before, but none as odd as this one proved to be.

He had no hangover, though… What exactly was going on?

Colin decided that it wouldn't do any good for him to wallow in unknowing and uncertainty. The Feroxian rose from the furs, shutting his eyes stretching his incredibly stiff arms above his head. A stiff, cold gust brushed against Colin's skin, but his Feroxian fortitude brushed off the chill as if it was nothing more than a gentle spring breeze.

As Colin's spine lengthened with numerous satisfying pops, the odd feeling that someone was watching him arose within him. When he opened his eyes, he was surprised to find himself face to face with a young, pale girl who appeared to be around his age. Judging by her expression, the girl was just as surprised to see him as he was her.

The two stared at each other for a very long time. Neither moved a muscle. Her expressive gray eyes were amusingly analytical and absolutely terrified at the same time. And her two long, blonde braids resting in front of her shoulders shifted gently in the wind, the only disturbance of her statuelike stillness.

Colin soon found his gaze running briefly across the girl's body, more out of curiosity than perverseness. He imagined that under any other circumstances she would be upset, or at the very least annoyed. Considering his own state of undress, however, she probably wouldn't be one to complain.

Her heavy red cloak covered a simple, white underblouse, brown, stitched cloth pants, and light boots of a similar shade and color. The girl did not react to his wandering eyes, as she was still paralyzed in what seemed to be mutual embarrassment and surprise.

As quickly as the add moment had arisen between the two, it ended when the blonde-haired girl pulled her red hood over her eyes, her pale skin reddening to the exact same shade as her cloak.

"I'msorryI'msorryI'msorry!" she shrieked, her words stumbling over themselves, "IthoughtyouwerestillunconsciousIneverexpectedthatyouwereawakeit'sbeensolong—"

"R-relax, relax," Colin stammered, doing his best to reassure the startled girl, "You didn't know."

His words seemed to abate her embarrassment a little, at least, as she turned back to him. Her hood and hands still shielded her eyes, and her scarlet blush still reddened her face to an admittedly comical extent.

"I-I'm going to wait outside the wagon," the red-cloaked girl sputtered, "Your clothes and armor are in the metal box at the back. Put them on. Please."

Without another word, the blonde girl uncovered her eyes and disappeared around the left corner of the wagon, her gaze affixed straight down the entire way.

Colin sat in silence for a moment, still trying to process exactly what had happened. He certainly hadn't been expecting anyone to show up so suddenly. And a girl he hadn't seen before at that!

Sober Colin briefly contemplated what exactly Drunk Colin had consumed the night before, a tinge of jealousy arising when he realized he may never know what sort of magical ale had passed through his body. An ale that gave him vivid hallucinations of a siege and a dark room, all while placing him in some stranger's covered wagon was an ale that Colin desperately wished to try again.

But daylight was burning and he had to answer for his drunken debauchery. Colin stood, working his way through the sea of furs and to the metal footlocker the blonde girl had mentioned earlier. He eventually found it underneath another pile of furs, no less, and flipped the lid open.

The first thing Colin noticed wasn't the state of his armor and clothing. Rather, the Feroxian found himself recoiling at the distinct, cutting smell of acrid smoke. As soon as he caught wind of the scent, a horrible vision passed through his mind.

The Stormguard skyline burning… the ballista bolt nearly impaling Muiris before he vaporized it with a Thunder spell… the merchant building collapsing on top of him…

No. That was a nightmare. Colin had burned things when drunk before! The time when he was twelve and stole Muiris' spellbook surfaced into his consciousness briefly. He managed to stealthily lift the tome from his brother's pouch and produce enough sparks to reduce the dinner table to a smouldering pile of ash. His father never let him hear the end of it. After he was done being angry, he started parading him around, saying that he was taking after his side of the family, at least in regards to drinking.

Colin could have easily done that again, right? Maybe he burned down the tavern with the magical hallucination liquor, too? Yeah, that was it. That's definitely what happened. Maybe the blonde-haired girl was the tavernkeeper's daughter, and he had been kidnapped so he could answer for his crimes personally…

The Feroxian sighed, cutting off his train of thought before he managed to think himself into a rut. He turned his attention back to his armor, plucking each piece out from the chest and examining them thoroughly. If anything could reveal what he had been up to the previous night, it would be his armor.

The first item he pulled out were his leather boots, reinforced with gray metal plating around the vamp and the shaft. Besides a healthy layer of soot and grit and the metal being stained an ugly black color in some places, they looked as normal as ever.

Next came his white cloth pants, which were torn badly around the leggings. The waistline was slightly burned as well, a fate that his black sleeveless undershirt and leather torso armor shared. His cloth shirt looked fine otherwise, while his armor had several deep gashes that appeared to have come from some sort of bladed weapon.

The final item he pulled from the footlocker was his gray-metal shoulderpiece, affixed to his red cape. The shoulder armor appeared to be in the same condition as the metal plating on his boots, managing to escape with only a black dye and a covering of ash. It also appeared to have been hacked into by a sword or axe, since there were scars covering the piece that Colin did not remember. His cape, however, was another story. The end that hung closest to the ground was far more torn than it had ever been before, and it was burned that same terrifying black color in more areas than he could count.

Whatever Colin had been up to the night before, it had to have been quite intense. Cuts from pocketknives weren't unheard of in tavern brawls, but the damage his armor faced was far, far more grave than a belligerent, drunken Feroxian could have provided.

But there was an issue that was staring Colin in the face, one that had not hit him until after he had looked upon his armor. The fact that Colin's armor had even been used did not bode well for him. When Colin went drinking, he rarely brought his armor out. He usually preferred to wear his townclothes unless he was planning on going to a bad part of town.

Which meant… how much of his nightmare was true?

If anyone would be able to give him a straight answer, it would be that blonde, red-cloaked girl he had talked to earlier. Colin had almost forgot about her presence. She would probably be worried about how long he was taking to get dressed. Or would she think it was normal? Women do take their time preparing for a night out, if Carolyn was anyone to judge by.

Not wanting to cause another scene between the two of them, Colin quickly pulled himself into his armor. It was irritating to be walking around smelling of smoke, but these clothes were all he had at the moment. It would have to suffice for now.

– – –

A moment later, Colin was fully dressed and and sitting on the edge of the covered wagon he had been sleeping in. He pushed himself off the edge and onto the snowy ground, only to find himself falling flat on his face. He was startled to find that his legs had buckled from underneath him, as if he hadn't been standing for days. And the blonde girl from earlier must have noticed, because she was quickly at his side, pulling him up by the shoulders.

"Are you okay?" she fretted, "You need to be careful! You've been unconscious for a long time and your body isn't ready to be thrown around like that yet!"

Colin had tuned her words out as soon as his face had lifted from the snow, however. With as little as a quick glance around, Colin knew exactly where he was. The cart he had been sleeping in wasn't as far away as he had originally thought. It was close to home. Very, very, close to home.

He was at the bottom of the hill on the west side of town that he vaguely remembered gazing out over the night before. Another vision flashed briefly through his mind, this time one of him standing atop the hill, gazing out over countless Eastern siege weapons. Some threw fire, others shot cannonfire, but they were undoubtedly bent on destruction.

Colin's legs soon rose up and started climbing the hill, almost as if they were moving on their own accord. The red-cloaked girl trailed behind him, desperately urging him back. But he didn't care. This was something that he had to see for himself.

Climbing the hill was an arduous task, but his stubbornness managed to overpower the blinding pain in his joints. The Feroxian soon found himself standing atop the hill he saw in his vision, staring at a caved-in section of wall that Colin vaguely remembered being an open hole the night before. His heart fell into his stomach, but his legs kept moving. He had to know what exactly had happened to Stormguard while he was out cold.

A long, painful walk around Stormguard's outer perimeter accompanied by the girl's protesting eventually led him to the town's southern entrance. Colin rounded the corner, only to be rooted to the spot when the town—or what little was left of it—came into view.

What Colin saw was not the proud, sturdy city that had been standing the prior day. What he saw was nothing more than a collection of burnt ruins that vaguely resembled the shape of the southern end of town. Seeing it in such a pathetic, dilapidated state was incredibly surreal.

But Colin knew it to be true, however. Everything that happened the day before suddenly came rushing back: ushering defenseless citizens to safety, fighting Eastern foot soldiers, running through the burning city with his siblings, the argument he and Muiris had, and getting crushed underneath a million bricks of stone. Everything immediately rose to the forefront of his memory, playing across his mind as if it was actually happening.

Colin fell to his knees. He dug his hands into the layer of ashes coating the ground. Their texture and smell… Everything about them matched the ashes that had been baked into his very armor.

There was no way Colin could deny it now. Stormguard was gone. There was nothing left.

The cloaked girl's complaints had long since ended, granting Colin the silence he needed to take in what was in front of him. Eventually, her voice broke the quiet stillness that had befallen the ruins of the town.

"I suppose I don't need to explain what happened, then. I was going to wait until later, but perhaps it was better to have played out this way."

Colin didn't answer for quite some time. He knelt in place, his gaze sturdily affixed on what remained of the southern quarter of Stormguard.

"This is the town I grew up in," he stated without prelude, "The town I made my first memories. Where I had my first steps, my first words, and even my first tavern brawl. To think that everything I've ever known… that everything I've ever loved is gone… my mind simply can't process it. It can't."

"Colin…"

Colin paid her voice little attention. He found it odd that the stranger knew his name, but he wasn't really in the mood to question anything right now. No. Everything was far too real to have doubts.

He had to see the rest of the town. Maybe someone survived, or only part of the town managed to be destroyed by the East!

There had to be something left. There had to.

Colin felt himself rising to his feet, almost involuntarily. His feet pushed him forward, each step sending a small cloud of black ash slightly into the air. He briefly wondered how many people were a part of the ashes he walked upon before shoving the thought from his mind.

They had to have survived. They had to.

Before long, Colin found himself in the center of town. He hadn't gone to this specific part of the town during the siege to avoid exposing his head to cannonfire, but it had been one of his favorite places in Stormguard. The calming central fountain alongside the bustling shops and streetlife could always take his mind off of a terrible day.

What Colin saw barely resembled the town center that he remembered, just like the southern side of town. The fountain was still there, but a stray cannonball that was now at rest in its basin had torn its central spire into several large pieces. Many of the larger mercantile buildings had collapsed, and the smaller market stalls had been reduced to little more than splinters.

Colin sat on the edge of the fountain basin, taking in the cold, harsh reality that had befallen his hometown. He watched all the buildings surrounding him, remembering each and every one of them in their prime. Everything was so prosperous before! Seeing it in such a state now was painful beyond words.

But there was no question about anything anymore. Stormguard, and everyone who lived in it, could be nothing other than dead. His family, his friends, everyone. No one could have survived as massive of an attack as this one.

Wait. His family!

There was one more place Colin had to see for himself. It was a place that he tried so hard to get away from before, but now it was the only thing he wanted to see.

Colin needed to see his house. No matter its state, he knew that it would be the only place he could find closure in.

His home was on the far northern side of town, nestled away in the military district. His father had been a commanding officer of the admittedly pathetic Western militia, and it was customary for serving military of higher ranking to be allowed to live closer to their place of work. Among Feroxians, such a privilege was a tremendous honor.

What folly it was. All these honors and privileges, only for them to be meaningless against the East. They were much better equipped than the West could ever be. And now they were after the Arena. How long could they hold? Would they eventually fall?

Thoughts like these occupied Colin's mind as he passed through the center of town and into the military district. The state of the district Colin had come to know so well over the earliest years of his life was in no better shape than the town center or the mercantile district.

Most of the latticed stone pillars that were once home to large braziers had been toppled by cannonfire. Building windows were shattered, and ballista bolts peppered the once sturdy stone walls. The road itself appeared to be paved with the ashes that plagued the town.

The destruction in this district was a cut above what the rest of the town had experienced, and that was no accident. Someone wanted this specific area of the town to burn.

Colin walked to the corner of the residential area where he normally turned to get to his home. When he turned at the mouth of the street, he felt his eyes being drawn upward rather than forward.

He had expected to see the brass gate that normally guarded the residential area from thieves, but he was mortified to find that it was completely gone. In its place was the fallen remains of one of the two watchtowers that stood adjacent to the gate.

A pile of stood bricks stood in between Colin and his home. He felt his mind trying to draw him back, to protect him from the horrors he would inevitably witness on the other side. But he had come this far. He wasn't about to turn back now.

Brick by brick, Colin climbed what was left of the watchtower. Given his poor physical state, it was an almost impossible task. But the drive he had to finally get the answers he was looking for managed to push him over to the other side.

Tumbling slightly as he descended the opposite side of the fallen tower, Colin gazed out over the expanse in front of him. Of all the places he had seen in the ruins of Stormguard, the street he once called home appeared the most alien to him.

Not only had the buildings and roads sustained damage that he had come to expect at this point, but there was evidence that battles between people had taken place here. Colin remembered fighting Easterners outside the city, but he didn't think any were willing to risk their necks entering a city under active siege. It was suicide.

Yet the broken swords and bodies claimed the contrary. Unlike the other places he had set foot, there were actual bodies—badly burned at that—lying in plain sight. Colin claimed to know everyone in Stormguard, but when he knelt down to inspect the body, their face was unrecognizable.

Bile rose into the back of Colin's throat. Just thinking that this corpse could have been someone he knew or loved sent a terrible chill down his spine. He felt his fists clenching, almost automatically.

The East had gone too far this time.

Standing up, Colin set his sights further down the demolished road. His home was not far from here.

– – –

A frigid wind blew through the cold, dead streets of Stormguard as Colin stood on the doorstep of his home. It wasn't a terribly large building, as those were reserved for the highest-ranking military officials, but it was sturdy, warm, and homely. All the things that a home needed to be.

The building he stood before was none of those things. The building itself was mostly intact, but it showed heavy signs of fire damage. The windows had shattered, and the solid wooden door that once served as a barrier between the cold Feroxian midwinter and the inside of his home was oddly missing.

Someone had been here. A door doesn't just go missing in the middle of a siege. And judging from the thick layer of ashes that Colin stepped in as he crossed through the doorway, the charred splinters, and the lone, singed doorkoob that had rolled into the corner of the foyer, it probably met its end at the hands of a powerful Feroxian mage's fire spell. And though it pained him, it explained the charred bodies Colin had seen lining the streets.

Both Regna Feroxes had very few mages at their disposal, let alone powerful ones. Muiris was the only Feroxian mage that Colin knew personally. For such a person to have personally paid his home a visit was odd, without a doubt.

What had happened here was no accident, no byproduct of warfare. This was murder.

Colin fell to his knees once again. His hands cupped the cold cinders that were scattered across the stone floor as the beginnings of tears formed in the corners of his eyes. What was the point of coming here? What did Colin expect to find? It's not like he'd just find his family and friends huddled up together in the back corners of his home, just waiting for him to come and find them.

It was hopeless. Everything was hopeless. The only city Colin had a chance to get to know in his short, pitiful existence was this one. And now it was gone.

And Colin was still here.

The Feroxian heard footsteps, soft, padding footsteps, appear behind him. If it was an Easterner, he didn't care. Let them come and end his torment. It wasn't like he had Hauteclere to protect him right now, either.

But what Colin felt next wasn't the cold sting of a dagger or the blinding pain of a fire spell. Rather, it was a soft, gentle embrace. Someone had wrapped their arms around his chest and held tightly, as if their hug would take away the pain and suffering he was feeling right now.

"I'm here, Colin."

It was the red-cloaked girl's voice. All this time, she had been shadowing him as he lived through the most painful experience of his life. She had come along with him every step of the way. What was he supposed to feel about that? Happiness? Anger? No emotions rose to meet the call of the situation. It was as if he had grown just as cold and lifeless as the city around him.

"Everything is going to be okay," she continued, "I'm here now. We're all here now."

"No," Colin replied, his voice choked with emotion, "Everything isn't going to be okay. I had one chance to defend my home and I screwed it up. I spent all this time underneath a godsdamned building, just waiting for someone to save me. Had I played my cards differently, I could have stopped this before it started. Maybe those people dead in the streets would still be alive right now."

"You couldn't have possibly fought them back on your own. They have a terrifying army with more soldiers than we could ever begin to count. You did what you could!"

"What I did wasn't enough!" Colin quickly turned his head to meet the cloaked stranger's. He didn't care if his eyes were red from tears, or even if he had a damn ocean on his face. If he could stand to be weak before, he could definitely be weak now.

"Did you not see the burned bodies in the street? The watchtower that's nothing more than a pile of rock now? Someone could have stopped those things from happening, even if it meant their life. That someone should be me."

"What good would have come from throwing your life away? You have a second chance now! Lester, Brooks, and the rest of us are on your side. We can help you get revenge!"

"Lester, huh?" Colin found himself glad to have a distraction from the death and destruction around him. Recognizing his name meant a change in subject. He could forget about his failures, if only for a minute or two.

He turned away from her so she wouldn't have to see his tears as he said, "That's a name I haven't heard in a long time. What's he doing here?"

"He came with others from Ylisstol to aid the West after they heard what happened in Stormguard," the girl responded, "They found me on the roadside. It was quite the coincidence. I was looking for him, too."

"That's a hell of a response time. For something that happened only last night, it's surprising that they're already here."

The girl was quiet for a moment. When Colin realized she wasn't responding he turned to her, and found her averting her gaze from him as she shifted uncomfortably in her boots.

After a moment and some silent urging from Colin, the girl managed to squeak out, "You mean you don't know how much time has passed, then…?"

"Time?" Colin asked, his voice quickly building with distraught, "What do you mean, time?"

The girl lifted her gaze to meet Colin's, her gray eyes full of pity and empathy.

"Colin, it's been seven days since Stormguard was attacked," she explained, her voice barely rising over that of a whisper, "It took a day for Lester and the others to respond, and a few more for them to actually get here. It's been three days since we found you, just barely alive underneath a pile of rock. We managed to nurse you back to health, but…"

The girl trailed off, despite looking like she had more on her mind.

Colin sat rooted to the spot. Seven days… seven whole days he spent unconscious, and who knows how many of them under that building. If Colin felt weak before, he felt no stronger than the pile of ash he was sitting in now. How could he have been so helpless for so long?

Colin needed to forget this ever happened, and fast. And he knew just the remedy.

"I need alcohol," he said, "Something to dull the pain."

"I'd give you our lager," Esthara replied with a regretful look, "But Desmond drank all of it last night. Besides, drinking yourself into a rut wouldn't do anyone any good. Especially with bandits in the area."

"I suppose you're right. Who are you, by the way? You knew my name through Lester, I believe?"

"You're right. And it's Esthara."

– – –

Esthara and Colin sat in silence, surrounded by the ruins of his home. Fortunately, Esthara seemed to understand how much he was suffering, and stayed with him for however long he spent in his destroyed foyer. Colin couldn't even begin to imagine how much time had passed.

Regardless of how much time had passed, Colin eventually decided that staying in his house forever wouldn't do him any good. There were people that had to answer for this atrocity. He felt better by stating this, too. Giving himself a goal was good. It would help get his mind off what he was leaving behind.

Colin stood, cursing as his very body revolted against his actions. Esthara was quick to place herself at his side, taking his left arm in her hands and throwing it over her shoulders.

Walking was still a struggle for Colin, even with Esthara's help. For someone who prided himself on the strength of his heart and body, he felt helpless that both were weaker than ever. His heart had left with his home and city, and his muscles were still sickly from their lack of use.

The Feroxian led Esthara to where the northern gate of town stood. It would be faster than trying to go through the entire city and back to where they started. But as they reached where the gate once stood, all they found was a pile of wooden splinters and rubble. Even the entrance and outer wall wasn't safe from the East's onslaught.

They had no choice now but to backtrack through the entire city, reliving each and every horror for a second time. Esthara kept the pace moving quickly, probably because she knew that Colin wouldn't want to experience his pain twicefold.

The two arrived at the southern gate much quicker than Colin expected. The city almost seemed smaller on the way back, as if the damage wasn't limited to only its height and structural integrity. It was remarkable how somewhere so safe and secure became a shell of what it once was in such little time. One day it was here, the next it was gone. The seven days that had actually passed meant little.

They turned after passing the threshold of the gate, retracing their steps from earlier. Their previous footsteps, however, had vanished in the thick layer of snow. Had it snowed while they were in the city?

"So," Esthara said, guiding Colin's steps, "You know Lester. He told me he knew you, but not how you met. Mind filling me in?"

Colin was more than welcoming of any conversation that would direct his attention away from the state of his hometown. He responded, "Lester came around pretty often with the Blackwoods. He started training in knighthood when he was seven, the same age we met. I was five."

"Seven years old? You're joking!"

"I wish I was. That man is brave, but he's a little bit too dedicated. Gods know how many times he tried to shoo away any rats or girls that dared get close to me when he was around."

Esthara laughed, Colin feeling every tiny vibration that rose from her chest with each laugh.

"Believe me, he tried to scare away a snow hare from the camp just yesterday! Something about eating the wagon's axles? At least he didn't try to scare off Desmond."

"Desmond?" That was the second time that name had come up today.

"Desmond. Our resident taguel. Didn't I mention him sometime earlier…?"

"You told me he enjoys his Western Lager. I think I'm already good friends with him, at least spiritually."

Esthara was quiet for a moment, and Colin felt her head turn away from him.

"If you manage to make friends with him," she muttered, "You'd already be a step ahead of me."

"Why's that?"

"No matter what I say or do to him, he never seems to want to talk to me. I'm not sure if I said something wrong…"

"I'm sure he just needs time to think about how he feels about you," Colin assured, "I know I'd be terrible at talking with women without a bottle of liquor."

"That's just the thing, though. Even when he was drunk he still refused to talk to me! He wouldn't even tell me why."

Colin stared blankly at Esthara, his mouth agape. Eventually, what she said had managed to sink in, and the Feroxian pulled the slightly shorter girl in for a side hug.

"I am so, so sorry," he said as comfortingly as he could, "Either that's a really big you problem or a really big him problem."

"I'm just trying to be as good of a leader as I can," Esthara sighed. Colin could tell that the words she said did not match what she was thinking. Even he, the most oblivious man in Regna Ferox, knew that Esthara was completely heartbroken. From the dejectedness in her voice to how she desperately wanted to know where she went wrong, her feelings were obvious.

"Hey, let's not think about Desmond for a minute," Colin said in an attempt to change the subject, "You have any more people that you'd want to tell me about before we get to camp?"

Esthara appeared to be thankful for the shift in subject. Her voice a tad happier, she replied, "Besides myself, there's Brooks and Samuel. Brooks is pretty nice, always with a story to tell. And Samuel is… is…"

Esthara immediately stopped, her face stricken with a look of horror.

"What's wrong?" Colin asked with fervor. Esthara turned to him, her eyes wide with equal parts fear and frustration.

"Godsdammit, I was supposed to bring you to Samuel as soon as you woke up. Between the city and you actually waking up, I completely forgot."

"And Samuel is…?"

Esthara sighed once again, disappointment in herself very obviously plaguing her expression.

"Samuel is your medic. And is he going to be very upset when he finds us…"

– – –

Not long after their discussion, the two hurried as quickly as a weakened Feroxian and accompanying Ylissean could move. They found themselves standing amongst the camp, which was standing proudly despite the heavy covering of snow and stiff chill that would send any Ylissean packing. It was a modest affair, being only a collection of three pale green tents and a central firepit. Colin had expected something more extravagant from the way Esthara had talked up her new companions, and he was honestly a little let down.

At least Samuel wasn't around yet. That was good, right?

Speaking of Samuel being missing, everyone else appeared to be gone as well. In the case of Desmond, it was to be expected. Drinking an entire bottle of Western Lager would have undoubtedly given him a hangover unmatched by most, which he was probably still nursing in his tent. For all four other members of Esthara's group, it was strange that they were all missing in such a small space.

The sudden sound of footsteps crunching through the thick layer of snow caught Colin's attention. He turned, discovering that a man with a thin, red beard and blue-trimmed white priest robes was the source of the noise. His blue eyes were piercing even from a distance, and he had what looked to be frustration upon his face.

After the man opened his mouth to speak, Colin immediately understood why.

"You!" he called, walking up to Colin and staring him directly in the face. He was thin and quite a bit shorter than Colin, but the Feroxian still felt intimidated by his presence.

"Do you understand how stupid it was of you to start walking around in the snow after waking from your coma? Why didn't you send for me?"

"Nice to meet you, too," Colin said dryly, "Name's Colin, by the way."

"Believe me, I know well who you are," the priest spat angrily, "I'm the one that's been making sure you didn't slip off into the realm of Death for the last three days! So don't you start jeopardizing my work."

Colin shuddered at the mention of Death. Either Samuel was aware of the place he had seen in his dream, or it was a complete coincidence.

The red-bearded man wasn't finished, however, as he turned his attention to Esthara with a scowl etched upon his face; it was possibly even more grave than the one he had thrown Colin's way.

"And you! What was the first thing I told you to do if he woke up?"

"…To come find you," Esthara stated dejectedly, "And believe me, I was going to! But Colin was insistent upon seeing the state of his home. I tried to stop him, I really did, but—"

"That's all well and good," the priest interrupted, "But you were gone for three hours. What was I supposed to think?"

"Three hours? We couldn't have been away for as long as that…"

Had three hours really passed while Colin and Esthara were in the shattered ruins of the town? He had noticed that time appeared to move slower up there, but he didn't actually think that such a large amount of time had faded away right under their noses.

The priest's accusatory glare and words soon grounded Colin's thoughts.

"For someone that's been running battle simulations in her head for the past three days," the bearded priest fumed, "I would think you'd have a better perception of the passage of time. You're supposed to be our leader!"

"I know, I'm just… I'm sorry, Samuel."

Huh. So this was Samuel. Colin wasn't really surprised, considering how Esthara said he would react. Seeing his anger in person disjointed even the unoptimistic outlook Esthara recounted to him earlier.

Just when the red-haired priest's frustration seemed like it was about to boil over, he simply drew in a deep breath and exhaled it out slowly. He looked upon Esthara once more, this time with a more neutral expression.

"It's… it's fine," he insisted, though his face still displayed a glaring annoyance, "Water under the bridge."

"I can come with you now, if you want," Colin said, "I don't see why not."

"I'd take you, but I have too much on my hands right now. I have more pressing news to give you two anyway. Esthata, Lester needs to see you. Both of you, I suppose."

"Lester?" Esthara inquired, "What for? And where is he, anyway?"

"Just over the hill that way," The priest pointed to the west, and Colin followed his gesture towards an area largely obstructed by a large snowbank. "A wyvern landed quite some time ago, with two passengers. He and Brooks should still be with them. And since you're the closest thing we have to a leader, it would be wise for you to speak with them."

"Thank you for telling me, Samuel. And seriously, I'm sorry for not getting Colin to you earlier. Time just got away from me."

"Forget about it. But I still want to see him after you finish up your business with them, even if it's only precautionary. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a hungover taguel to deal with."

With a grimace and a shudder, Samuel trudged off through the snow towards the southernmost tent in the encampment. Colin's eyes followed the red-bearded priest with a look of pity. Gods know how taguel handle their drink.

Esthara eventually gently shoved Colin's shoulder to capture his attention.

"Don't worry about the bunny," she said with a giggle, "He'll be fine. This isn't the first hangover I've seen him tangle with."

"Didn't you say that you only met him the other day? How much drink has he gone through?"

"He polished off all our mead and fell into a ditch the day we rescued you. And believe me, we had a lot of mead."

Colin chuckled, remembering a time that he met a similar fate at the hands of the intoxicating, honeyed liquid.

"I seriously do not know why he doesn't get on better with you," Colin said, "He seems to act just like I do, except he's a taguel."

Esthara laughed again. Colin was pleased that what he said helped ease her stress, if only a little bit. But after their run-in with Samuel, Colin did not want to put the priest's request on the backburner.

"Let's not keep Lester waiting, alright?"

The Ylissean strategist nodded, and the two slowly made their way towards the snowbank, the frustrating pace once again thanks to Colin's weakened muscles. But the two eventually peaked over the hill's crest, quickly discovering the scene that Samuel had described moments ago.

The first thing that Colin noticed was the massive, green-armored black dragon that occupied far more space than the four humans standing next to it. As soon as Esthara and Colin started down the hill, the beast glanced towards them, its gaze inquisitive. Colin noticed that Esthara tensed up slightly as the beast exhaled a cloud of hot smoke through its nostrils. Even Colin himself felt slightly on edge in the wyvern's presence.

He had seen quite a few wyverns in his day, but none as large as the beast standing before them. But the wyvern soon appeared to grow bored of them, turning its gaze back towards the four other humans—three of which he couldn't recognize—accompanying it.

The wyvern wasn't the only one to notice the two descending the hillside, either. Stopping midsentence, the sole familiar man in a set of red trimmed gold armor turned to him, recognition flashing across his verdant green eyes almost immediately. A smile grew upon his clean shaven face as he spread his arms wide in greeting.

"Colin, you're awake!" the man called, "It's about time, old friend."

The armored man walked up to the Feroxian, clasping his shoulder.

"I know it's been some time since we last spoke, and you may not recognize me immediately. My name is Lester. It's delightful to see you again."

Colin could only blink in response. The gold-armored man before him was a far cry from the knight-in-training he had known during his intermittent visits to Stormguard. Instead of the young, short, and frail boy he had known, Colin was presented with a man who could not only topple him, but had a look in his eye that spoke of hundreds of battles. He couldn't help but feel a little intimidated.

"Lester?" he asked, trying his best to hide the nervousness in his voice, "Is that really you?"

The paladin gestured to the whole his body with his hands, his warm smile unabating.

"In the flesh. I suppose I look a little different than I did six years ago, no?"

Despite how hard Lester was trying to be good natured, Colin still couldn't help feeling on edge regardless. He had no idea how to interact with his old friend. What subjects could he approach? Which had become more sensitive with time?

Eventually, the Feroxian offered a neutral, "Yes," before averting his gaze from Lester's. But the paladin seemed unfazed by Colin's reaction, and continued speaking.

"Time and experience do often have ways of changing people, for better or for worse."

A heavy silence fell upon the group of six and their accompanying wyvern. The only sound that permeated the veil was Esthara's hushed interaction with the bespectacled, brown and white-haired man in a dark set of mage robes. He nodded at something the red-cloaked girl had said before starting up the hill and out of sight.

Just as the mage left, Lester continued speaking once again.

"As much as I'd like to get reacquainted with you," the paladin admitted, recapturing Colin's attention, "We have more pressing matters at hand. I wish we could have reunited under better circumstances. Truly."

Surprisingly, Colin found himself relieved at the notion. So much had happened to him in such a short period of time: coming to terms with the loss of his home and friends, the encounter with the black-suited, masked person from his dream, and accepting that he had been thrust forward in time an entire week.

Setting his sights on a task, no matter how small, would help him keep moving forward.

"That's alright," Colin assured, "I'm sure we'll have plenty of time to catch up later. What's the problem?"

"It isn't so much of a problem as it is… a situation." Lester raised a hand to the two remaining people after the departure of the black-robed mage. It was easy to identify who the wyvern belonged to, as the red-haired man's traditional wyvern lord armor matched the same green and white color scheme as his beast. He also had plenty of axes, his arsenal composed of a very intricate superior axe and a set of red and white hand axes.

The woman beside him shared a similar shade of hair color, though her's was a brighter shade of red and pulled into a ponytail instead of the loose, shoulder-length hair of her companion. Her deep-mahogany traveling tunic and gray cloth pants were worn from use, and her sturdy steel broadsword, fitted with red gems in the center of the hilt and pommel, had several scars that revealed its heavy use in combat. That, along with a serious, yet determined look in her pale blue eyes revealed that she had seen an entire lifetime's worth of travel and combat.

As Colin looked upon the two new arrivals, he had almost forgotten that Lester was even there. He silently cursed himself for being so unfocused as of late. But with all the distractions and the heavy weight placed on his mind, he couldn't help it.

"Colin, Esthara," Lester began, his hand still raised in acknowledgement of the red-haired companions, "These two are Achaeus and Zoe. They are mercenaries who provide aid all over Western Regna Ferox."

Achaeus, the wyvern rider, nodded his head deeply while Zoe gave the group a polite wave.

"Pleased to meet you two," Achaeus stated simply. His companion stepped forward and continued where he had left off.

"What brings all of you to Stormguard, anyway?" Zoe asked, "The city's in pretty bad shape and Lester here has been doing nothing but stalling."

Esthara giggled, turning to Lester and silently asking him if what the mahogany-garbed swordfighter said was true. The embarrassed look the paladin offered in response proved more than sufficient.

With introductions and the silent exchange out of the way, Esthara deemed it the proper time to take charge of the conversation.

"Lester and his allies came on a relief mission. I'm more of a stowaway, at this point. Is it fair if I ask you the same question?"

Zoe nodded.

"My fiancé wanted to give the damage a look. He's also very worried about an old friend who lived in town, though his expression would never give that away. Would any of you happen to know a Marius, by chance?"

Colin thought back to all the names of the people who had lived in Stormguard. 'Marius' was familiar, but it was one that he hadn't heard or used in a very long time. After a moment, though, realization struck him.

"Marius?" he repeated, "You mean the spell-slinging, sword-swinging lunatic who took on ten dark mages by himself and lived?"

His quip rose another fit of giggles from Esthara, and Zoe found herself laughing as well. Achaeus, however, returned with a stern, deadly serious stare and a silent nod.

The disparity between the two women and Achaeus was enough to even drive Colin to laughter. After composing himself, he continued, "I wouldn't worry too much about him. He was picked up by a band of mercenaries a few years back. I haven't seen him since, though."

Though it was subtle, Achaeus seemed to relax. His shoulders loosened, and the half-determined, half-worried look about him melted away. And he opened himself up to more conversation, as well.

"I'm relieved," the wyvern rider said, "It is difficult to make friends in this world. I wouldn't want to lose the few I have."

Zoe took a step towards her fiancé, wrapping both of her arms around one of his.

"C'mon," she pouted, "You still have me!"

"You're different," Achaeus returned, the beginnings of a smile forming on his face, "I'm stuck with you. Others can come and go as he pleases."

"I could have said no when you proposed."

"Maybe you didn't want to say no."

"You're insufferable, you know that?"

Zoe's words proved to be opposite of her actions, as she squeezed the wyvern rider's green-armored arm even tighter.

"Anyway," the swordfighter continued, returning her attention to Colin, Esthara, and Lester. Her arm, however, still remained tightly wrapped around her fiancé's arm. "I suppose that's about it. No Marius. What a shame."

Despite how her words hinted at the end of the conversation, Colin felt that something in Zoe's eye revealed that she wasn't quite ready to end their encounter.

"What do you plan to do next?" the Feroxian asked. Zoe's wistful expression immediately lightened as Colin spoke, and he knew that he had hit the right mark.

"Well," the swordfighter began, "I wanted to go to the Arena and help with the war effort. We're mercenaries, after all. Fighting is our job. But Achaeus here is worried I'll get hurt. It's like he doesn't believe me when I say I'm invincible."

Colin tried to say something in response, but he felt his voice stop dead in its tracks. The Feroxian couldn't quite decide whether Zoe was delusional or just optimistic. Her personality pointed to the latter, but the way she spoke still gave Colin pause regardless.

After gathering his voice, Colin managed to spit out a stuttered, "Y-you're… invincible?"

"Of course I am!" Zoe stated defensively, "I haven't died yet, therefore I must be invincible. It makes sense."

Colin turned to Achaeus, trying to gauge whether or not the man would be able to help him. Fortunately for him, Achaeus' expression seemed to reveal that he was at least slightly concerned for his fiancée.

"Zoe, my love," the fair-skinned wyvern rider urged, "You couldn't possibly still believe that. Not after—"

"I can believe whatever I want!" Zoe interrupted, her voice still retaliatory, "We need to keep fighting. All of us need to fight, now more than ever."

Colin was inclined to agree with the agitated swordfighter, but the attitude she was taking about it put him on edge. Lester, too, appeared to be on edge, and he took the opportunity to join the conversation.

"You don't have to fight," the paladin began "You and Achaeus seem very happy together. The battlefield isn't the place for lovers."

Zoe grew quiet as Lester spoke. Her defensive, irritated expression melted away, replacing itself with one that spoke more of melancholy and regret.

"No," the red-haired woman murmured, "I have to keep fighting for my late father. He was my hero. And wherever my younger sister is, she would be delighted to know that I haven't lost myself yet. Fighting is all I know how to do, so it is all I can do."

"Zoe," Achaeus broke in, putting a hand on his lover's shoulder, "Isn't it too early to be—"

"No. They need to know because I've already decided what our next step is going to be."

Achaeus sighed softly and closed his eyes. He was quiet for a moment before he gave a small, almost unnoticeable nod.

"I understand."

Zoe turned to Esthara, the familiar, determined look in her eye returning to her.

"You're here to provide relief to Ferox in the name of Ylisstol? Stormguard isn't going to magically spring back up again anytime soon, so your best option would be to travel to Arena Ferox if you're still interested in helping out. If the Arena is your next destination, Achaeus and I would be happy to help you."

As soon as the words had escaped Zoe's mouth, Esthara did the exact opposite of what Colin expected her to: she smiled. Considering how timid she was and how often she stated she was disappointed in her own actions, it seemed slightly out of place. It didn't appear to be one of happiness or relief, rather one of excitement for a plan coming together perfectly. Colin had seen it before on someone he held dear…

"We were actually planning on going there next," Esthara said, "I knew that Colin would want to pursue the Easterners that destroyed Stormguard, so I've been devising battle plans for the past few days."

"Y-you knew?" the Feroxian sputtered, "I didn't think I had a chance to tell anyone yet."

"Of course I knew. You had it written all over your face."

"I did?"

Esthara simply smiled that odd, strategically successful smile once again, as she interlaced her fingers and held her hands at her chest.

"We can finish our conversation later. Why don't you find Samuel while I square things away with these two? Lester can come with you."

"Are you sure you're okay with that?"

"Believe me, I'll be done before you know it. Once the two of you are through, meet with me again in my tent. Samuel knows where it is. When you're ready, we'll have plenty to discuss. All of us."

Desmond's aching eyes cracked open at the sound of rustling in the corner of his tent. He leaned his head back into the ground, closing his eyes in an attempt to dull the pain. Unfortunately, he accomplished little more than making himself even more nauseous than he already was.

The taguel knew exactly who was rummaging through the corner of the tent without even looking. Lester was technically the one assigned to be his roommate, but between keeping the camp stocked and helping Esthara, the stalwart man only came in to sleep. He didn't interact with Brooks as much, and Esthara still was on his nerves, which left only one other person.

Samuel.

It wasn't the first time he had come around, either. Apparently, Samuel had designated him "problematic"—in the priest's own words, too—after the incident with the mead and the ditch two nights ago. So Samuel had kindly decided—his own words, again—to assist him in alleviating his morning hangovers.

Or was it afternoon? Desmond couldn't tell. The brightness of the morning and afternoon sun hurt his eyes equally.

"Here. I'm putting this on your head."

Yup. Definitely Samuel.

Desmond felt an ice cold cloth lower onto his head, instantly abating a portion of his headache. Samuel's hands moved away before he felt a leathery bundle being placed against the side of his bare chest. If it was what it was yesterday, it was a canteen filled with a mixture of water and pine syrup: the Feroxian's go-to hangover cure.

After which, Desmond heard Samuel's body slowly rise from his side and his footsteps retreat to the tent's entrance. But Desmond never heard the sound of the priest opening the tent flap and walking out into the snow. Rather, his feet remained firmly planted right in front of the exit.

"You really shouldn't do this to yourself, Desmond," Samuel said in a soft, yet not distinctly kind voice, "Getting drunk and waking up like this is not productive in the slightest."

"What's it to you if I get drunk?" he retorted, "You don't have to do any of this for me."

Desmond could feel the tension rise in the air, and his ears picked up the soft, nearly unnoticeable sound of Samuel's fists clenching.

"It's not about any of that. You know as well as I do that all of us are in way over our heads. Don't you remember what Esthara is planning? Or were you too—"

"I don't give a damn what that girl says," Desmond interrupted, slowly opening his eyes propping himself up in a sitting position. The cloth fell from his head, landing in his lap. Apparently the snow on top of it was what made it cool, since the snow had fallen from the cloth and into his lap and onto his bedroll.

"Esthara can go ahead and plan whatever the hell she wants. I don't really care."

"Desmond, we're talking about the lives of people we don't even know!" Samuel turned to face him, anger written all over his face. "Colin especially."

"Colin's awake?"

"Of course Colin's awake. He's been conscious for over three hours now. Unlike yourself."

Desmond felt a primal growl rise up from his throat, and his teeth bared themselves almost naturally.

"Back off," the taguel warned, "You don't know what you're getting yourself into."

"I'm sure that whatever it is, it's a hell of a lot less dangerous than going into battle half-conscious and disoriented. Don't you understand that I'm trying to protect you?"

"No one said you had to protect me."

"Dammit Desmond, protecting you is my job! I'm the one with the staff and you're the one with the axe! Who do you think is going to get hurt more?"

Samuel gave a deep sigh before nearly throwing himself into a collapsable chair set up in the far corner closest to the tent flap. He buried his red-bearded head in his hands, clutching his forehead tightly.

"I don't want anyone to die," he murmured, "Not you, not Esthara, not anyone. I want all of us to get to Arena Ferox safely. And we're not going to be able to do that if you're putting yourself at risk."

Samuel slowly rose his head to meet Desmond's gaze. His anger had all but vanished, replaced with what could only be described as exhaustion.

"Just please take care of yourself. That is all I ask."

Desmond was quiet for a moment as he sat studying Samuel's tired eyes. Before long, the taguel laid back down and turned himself over to face the wall opposite the priest. It certainly wasn't the right time for him to be making decisions or giving half-hearted apologies, especially with his head still aching.

Samuel sighed once again, this one more a sigh of sadness and forfeit than once of annoyance. Desmond heard the red-haired priest rise from his chair, open the tent flap, and step outside without another word.

Not a moment later, soft, almost unintelligible words floated on the breeze to Desmond's ears. Samuel hadn't probably intended for him to hear what he had said, but the taguel listened to them as if they were intended for his ears regardless.

"Clean yourself up, Desmond."

The cold, brisk wind that had been plaguing the midwinter Feroxian lowlands only managed to worsen as the sun moved through the sky. Even on top of the hill overlooking the Ylissean Vanguard camp, the wind threatened to freeze anyone unlucky enough to be exposed to its frigid bite.

Lester, clad in his reinforced suit of gilded armor, scoffed as the chill tried to bore its way through his metal hull. Colin, who was standing to his left, appeared to not be bothered by the chill either, despite his sleeves being near-completely bare and exposed to the elements.

Ever since Lester first reunited with Colin, something seemed off about him. The paladin understood that he would be torn by his home's destruction at the hands of the East, and rightfully so, but something else seemed to grip at the Feroxian's emotions that Lester couldn't quite put his finger on.

But Colin was Lester's friend. No matter how many years had separated them, friendship was something that shouldn't be scorned by the passage of time.

"Colin," the gilded paladin began, capturing the Feroxian's attention, "Before I accompany you to meet with Samuel, there is something that I must ask you."

"Hmm?" Colin replied in a manner that appeared to be something akin to disinterest on the surface. But Lester knew better. The face that the Feroxian displayed was different than that of the words he spoke. His eyes, especially, sung a far different song than what his mouth had to say. It was odd, even for someone who had quite clearly been traumatized.

They were supposed to be friends. This wasn't supposed to be happening. Why couldn't Colin be pleased to see him again? Lester had to get to the bottom of whatever was driving a rift between them.

"You seem…" Lester paused, choosing his next words carefully, "Tense. Perhaps detached? I know you just lost your home, but…"

That had taken Colin by surprise. His clouded, unreadable expression a more recognizable expression of confusion. Lester wasn't quite sure what Colin had been expecting to hear, but it certainly wasn't what he had just said.

It took a moment for the Feroxian to respond. He had obviously taken the time to make sure he would say the correct words.

"It's… a lot of things, actually. Do you remember the last time we met?"

"Of course. The weeks that followed were quite… memorable, for me. I remember the chain of events perfectly."

"Then you remember the fountain in the center of Stormguard, right?"

Lester closed his eyes, imagining the scene. He remembered the vibrant blue sky of the pleasant summer's day, the bustle and din of the merchants and their customers, and the faint trickling of water from the fountain. A younger, twelve-year-old Colin stood with an older man and woman, while Lester—fourteen—had Lord and Lady Blackwood at his back. They parted without so much as four words.

"I'll see you, Colin," he had said, before obediently following the Blackwoods to their chariot.

If Colin wanted to point out how insensitive Lester was that day, he couldn't possibly blame him. Colin would be justified in believing that. Lester had meant to keep in contact with Colin, but what had happened after that… well, it prevented him from doing much of anything.

What came out of the Feroxian's mouth, however, was nothing like Lester had imagined him saying.

"I saw that fountain destroyed today. It's just… I'm afraid of change, Lester. People, places, anything. You're so different from the day we parted. Look at you! You're stronger, braver… Hell, you're even taller than I am now. It's scary to think how much changes with time."

"I'm inclined to agree with you, Colin," Lester murmured, "Have you wondered why I'm not stuck to the heels of the Blackwood family anymore?"

"Between waking up after a seven day coma and seeing my city in ruins, I haven't done much of any thinking. But I can't imagine it being any good."

"You'd be right about that. It's…" Lester took a deep breath, preparing himself for what he was about to say. He had tried and failed to tell Desmond and the others a few night's before, but he felt like Colin would understand his situation the best.

He continued, "It's because I failed to do my duty as a knight. They raised me from orphanhood, and I swore to protect them. But that day, just weeks after you and I parted, they were murdered."

"Lester," Colin said, his expression both taken aback and sympathetic, "I… I had no idea…"

"Neither does anyone else in this camp. I tried to explain it to them earlier, but I soon realized they would only see me as weak and shameful. This vanguard—this Ylissean Vanguard—is my way to repay my debt to the Ylissean households I dishonored and the family I let die.

"Every night, the people I failed to protect haunt me in my sleep. That's the reason I have changed so much, Colin. I needed to become stronger and I needed to become more resilient if I'm to ever put these spirits to rest. And perhaps I might get revenge on the man responsible for all this."

"You know who did it?"

"I crossed blades with him," Lester chuckled dryly, "The very fourth-in-command in the Eastern war machine, just under Lambert and Ilias: Etzel."

"Etzel…" Colin muttered, as if trying to place where he remembered the name from, "I haven't met him, but I have heard of him. He's cruel beyond words."

"That he is. But if you take one thing away from this conversation of ours, it's that terrible things will inevitably befall every one of us. But if we refuse to move on, or stay too connected to the past, we would become stuck in time. We must grow and adapt with the flow of time if we are to ever overcome the things that make us look weak."

"But how can I grow past this?" Colin countered, his voice growing more distressed, "Everything I've ever known is—"

"I can't decide that for you. That is a path you must forge on your own. But I will be there with you every step of the way. As a friend."

Lester held out his gloved hand to Colin, who looked upon it hesitantly.

"We may not be able to solve each other's problems," the Ylissean paladin stated, "But we can work at them together. What do you say?"

The Feroxian still gazed at Lester's outstretched hand, unsure what to make of it. Lester knew exactly how difficult it was for one to come to terms with a life-shattering event. But with all his experience with atoning for his failure to protect the Blackwood family, he knew that this would be the best way to go about it.

After shutting his eyes and taking a deep breath, Colin clasped his hand against Lester's, shaking it once firmly.

In a voice far more confident than it had been earlier Colin said, "We'll do it as friends. Let's take down those damn Easterners, one soldier at a time. Together."

Caesar's Journal

Forewarning

If you are reading this journal, I am most likely dead. My name is King Caesar, the current king of Plegia, and I have seen things I do not wish to remember. After witnessing the end of Grima, I have found myself intrigued with the potential of the Outrealm Gate. Several visits to several realities have yielded magical knowledge far beyond what those of us on this plane have been able to master. Since my visits to the Gate, I have been plagued with terrible, terrible visions… I have seen the future. I have seen the past. I have seen the fates of infinite worlds. The end is nigh, and there is little you or I can do to stop it…

–Ouhjqjd–

– – –

Page One

J qsbz gps zpv, sfbefs pg uijt kpvsobm. Csbwf uif mboet tdbssfe cz uif esbhpo't gmbnft.

– – –

Page Two

Ecp aqw hggn kv?

Ecp aqw ugg kv?

Ecp aqw dtgcvjg kv?

Kv eqogu.

– – –

Page Three *New*

Qhyhu wuxvw d pdvnhg pdq.

– – –

The contents of the other twelve pages are hidden behind an unintelligible assortment of letters. You can't read any further without your head hurting…

Perhaps you should return to it later after giving it some time.

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)

*New* No.007 Colin

A resident of Stormguard and Western Regna Ferox. He was brought up as a fighter from a young age, and the majority of his time outside of his education was preparing for the inevitable Eastern invasion. He was given his family's axe, Hauteclere, because of his technically older twin Muiris' disability.

Can hold his alcohol the best.

Born on January 2, age 18.

Class: Lord (Axe)

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)

No.013 Christopher

A masked prodigy dark mage who shortens his name to Chris. His skill comes from necessity, having lived his most of his life around bandits and thieves. He trained under a Plegian outlaw sorcerer, partaking in both assassinations and thefts. After being conned into murdering his parents, he took up his father's mask and fled to Abnorun, a Plegian border town. He shares a proficiency in shadow with Nila.

The giddiest laugher.

Born on October 4th, age 16.

Class: Dark Mage (Dark|Anima, Dark enhanced from Shadowgift)

No.014 Grace

A nimble and powerful Ylissean myrmidon. Her father and older sister served as fighters for the Plegian Mercenaries years ago, a fateful mission taking her father's life and causing her sister to vanish. At the age of only fifteen, she picked up the pieces of her shattered life and became a wanderer with her mother. Finding herself a mercenary after her mother's recent death, she will invoke any means necessary to stay on her feet.

The most sentimental.

Born on September 19, age 19.

Class: Myrmidon (Sword)

No.015 Iris

The royal hierophant of the Plegian Court. She and the Autumn Queen Meliora have been great friends for many years, alongside the parents of both Nila and Grace. Désirée, Nila's mother, worked alongside Iris to put Meliora in power twenty years ago. The six friends have shared many an adventure, but Iris is definitely hiding something…

The one with her eyes on the horizon.

Born on February 15, age 43.

Class: Hierophant (Dark|Anima|Staff|Rapier)

No.016 Bell

A Valmese fighter whose travels have landed him in Abnorun. Previously an orphan, he found himself running with the worst types of crowds. He traveled to Ylisse to escape his past, but much of his experiences are unknown. Even his real name is shrouded in mystery.

The most fiercely protective.

Born on September 30th, age 28.

Class: Fighter (Axe)

No.017 Ulysses

The proclaimed 'Scourge of Abnorun.' Unsatisfied with the poor family he was forced to grow up with, the stealthy man turned to robbing Abnorun's wealthiest for years. He has conned, cheated, and stolen his way to the top of the Abnorun food chain, and is feared for good reason. Now an outcast, he hopes to turn over a new leaf in the eyes of the Justice Brigade, especially Chast.

The most likely to cry when worked up.

Born on February 13th, age 27.

Class: Thief (Dagger|Bow)

No.018 Jae

A half-manakete hailing from Plegia, as well as being the protector entity of Abnorun. Compared to most manaketes making their way in the world, Jae is remarkably young. His brother and two sisters often worry about him, but this soft-spoken half-manakete is more than capable of taking care of himself.

The most absentminded.

Born on June 9th, age 163.

Class: Manakete (Dragonstone)

No.019 Katrina

A Ylissean archer, and identical twin sibling of the Grand Ranger Kayla. She has always resented the path Kayla chose to take with the Sons of Naga, and has been pursuing her estranged sister in hopes of ending her path of torment. Her personality much more calm than her sister's, but she shares a slight abrasiveness with her.

The most resentful.

Born on July 20th, age 21.

Class: Ranger (Bow|Greatsword)

*New* No.020 Zoe

A Ylissean mercenary and Grace's estranged sister. After her father's death during his service with the Plegian Mercenaries, she fled from home in order to quell the anger and depression of losing her hero. Her travels eventually landed her a position as a bounty hunter in Western Ferox before she met Achaeus.

The most pain-resistant.

Born on May 24th, age 21.

Class: Myrmidon (Sword)

*New* No.021 Achaeus

An axe-fighter who fights atop his wyvern, Asaara. He was a Valmese wyvern-handler in his past, but was exiled from the country. He took up work in Plegia before being driven off by the invading Sons of Naga. Western Ferox eventually became the place he would find solace, and where he would meet his beloved, Zoe.

The most diligent caretaker.

Born on November 27th, age 24.

Class: Wyvern Rider (Axe)